‘How long would it be for?’
‘Six months minimum. Current target is to get us out by June next year.’
‘Sounds like it would be quite an experience.’
‘Good for you. Let me have your number, and stand by for a call.’
They exchange phone numbers, and Rupert and Geraldine hurry out into the street. Larry lingers for a little while in the big dark church, so that he can say thank you. It seems to him his prayer has been answered.
*
Two days later Larry presents himself in his only good suit at Brook House on Park Lane, the mansion that became Mountbatten’s London base on his marriage to the heiress Edwina Ashley. Rupert Blundell is waiting for him in the immense lobby.
‘Looking good,’ he says. ‘He’s got someone with him, but he says you’re to hang on.’
He leads Larry up the wide curving staircase to a first-floor reception room.
‘Do you mind if I abandon you? We’ve got a sort of staff pow-wow coming up. The old man knows you’re here.’
‘No, no. Off you go.’
Left to himself, Larry feels out of place in the grandeur and the aura of power of his surroundings. He goes to the wide window and stands gazing out at the bare trees and grey snow of Hyde Park. He tries to imagine India, a muddle of images from Kipling’s stories and models of the Taj Mahal and newsreels of Gandhi in his loincloth. Strange to think that this little frozen island should govern a faraway continent where the hot sun is, presumably, shining even now.
Rapid footsteps outside and in bursts Mountbatten, bringing with him a wave of energy and goodwill.
‘Cornford!’ he cries. ‘This is marvellous news! Will you join us?’
‘If you’ll have me, sir.’
‘I need all the good men I can find. It’s going to be what they call a challenge.’
He sits Larry down before him and pins him with his handsome boyish gaze.
‘Probably best to get you back into uniform,’ he says. ‘They go for that sort of thing out there. What rank did you end on?’
‘Captain, sir.’
‘Pity it has to be army. There, the terrible snobbery of a navy man. You’ll just have to forgive me.’
He runs through the team he’s assembling, and the nature of the challenges they face, speaking briskly, even bluntly.
‘Our job is to get us out without it looking like a scuttle, and without leaving too unholy a mess behind. Not a pretty job, when you look at it in the cold light of day. Not a job I wanted at all, to be honest. But one does one’s duty. And I think both Edwina and I need to get out of London.’
At this point Lady Mountbatten herself looks into the room.
‘Just on my way out, darling,’ she says.
Mountbatten introduces Larry.
‘His grandfather was the banana king,’ he says. ‘Larry was in Combined Ops with me.’
Edwina Mountbatten gives Larry a sharp appraising look, and a quick smile.
‘That was a shambles, as far as I can tell.’
She goes again.
‘The most remarkable woman in the world,’ says Mountbatten. ‘I’ll tell you what. Let me show you something.’
He strides out of the room and up the stairs. Larry hurries to keep up.
‘My wife knows all I’ve ever really wanted is to be at sea. I worship the navy. You can keep all this viceroy nonsense. Just give me command of a capital ship and I’m a happy man.’
He leads Larry through a door into a suite at the back of the fourth floor. The walls and ceilings are white enamel, criss-crossed by pipes and cables. At one end is a ship’s bunk, with a brass rail. On one side there are three portholes. The entire illusion is that they have entered the captain’s cabin on a man-of-war.
Mountbatten looks happily at Larry’s amazed face.
‘Edwina had this made for me.’
On one side there stands a dressmaker’s dummy wearing an admiral’s uniform, complete with decorations.
‘My father’s uniform,’ says Mountbatten. ‘Prince Louis, who your grandfather wrote to The Times about. So you see, I don’t forget.’
As they descend the stairs again he says, ‘Speaking of not forgetting, and of what my wife calls a shambles, I’ve not forgotten Dieppe. I don’t expect you have, either.’
‘I’ll never forget that day, sir.’
‘Nor I. We did all we could, but I shall always have it on my conscience. What’s done is done. All any of us can do is try to do better next time.’
At the bottom of the stairs an anxious group of staff members wait for him.
‘Oh, Lord,’ says Mountbatten. ‘Is it time already?’
He turns and shakes Larry’s hand.
‘Welcome aboard,’ he says. And with that he strides away, followed by his staff.
*
In the short period between his interview with Mountbatten and his departure for India, Larry sees no one. He writes his father a short letter to say he’s leaving, implying that his trip to India is a chance opportunity too good to be missed. He says nothing about his abandoned ambition to be an artist. His father’s support and generosity are now a reproach to him. He writes a second short letter, similarly reticent, to Ed and Kitty. He has heard nothing from Nell. He presumes that by now she’s been alerted by Tony Armitage, and is keeping out of his way. He makes no attempt to contact her.
25
‘It’s like being back in the bloody Oflag,’ says Ed, staring out at the falling snow. ‘This winter’s gone on longer than the bloody war.’
Kitty, still in bed, does not reply. She doesn’t want to get up because the bedroom is so cold. She doesn’t reply because she knows there’s no point. These days Ed is always in a foul mood until he’s got some breakfast inside him. Until he’s got a drink or two inside him, to be precise.
Pamela comes in and scampers across the cold floor to jump into bed beside her mother.
‘You’re frozen!’ exclaims Kitty, hugging her close.
‘Snowing again,’ says Pamela. ‘Let’s stay in bed.’
‘See you downstairs,’ says Ed, and off he goes.
Kitty lies in bed with her child in her arms, struggling with feelings of hurt and anger. At night in bed he can be so loving, but each day, when morning comes, it’s as if she loses him all over again. Why must life be so hard for him? Can’t he at least greet his own daughter? Why does he say it’s like being in the prisoner-of-war camp when he’s got her and Pammy with him? The winter has been endless, but it’s the same for all of them. He behaves as if he’s been specially singled out by fate.
By the time she and Pamela are downstairs he’s outside, fetching in firewood from the stack by the gun room. There’s no need for him to do this, old John Hunter is kept on for jobs like this, or one of the outside men can do it. But Ed needs reasons to be up and out. He needs reasons to be away.
This is what hurts Kitty most. Yes, this is a hard time, but it’s also a time when they’re together. This could be such a precious time. And the worst of it is, it feels like it must be her fault. She’s not making him happy.
‘What are we going to do today, Mummy?’ says Pamela.
‘I don’t know, darling. Shall we do some more reading?’
‘I hate reading.’
She’s not yet four years old, there’s no hurry. And you can’t really call it lessons. All Kitty has been doing is reading her The Tale of Tom Kitten, following the words on the page with her finger. And however much Pamela pretends not to like it, she has clearly been listening. The other day Kitty heard her say to Mrs Lott the cook, ‘I am affronted,’ just like Mrs Tabitha Twitchit in the book.
Pamela is an outdoors creature, like her father. But outdoors has become such hard work. So many clothes to put on, and just walking to the lake is such a labour in the snow, and the lake itself is frozen over and dangerous. Pamela wants to go on it because it looks just like the rest of the park now, all flat and smooth and white. She refuses to believe there’s ice under the s
now, and water under the ice, and she might fall through and freeze and drown. Or maybe she does believe it but still wants to go on the ice, because she sees how it frightens and angers her mother. Why is she like that?
Louisa comes down, blinking and yawning.
‘Why is Ed doing the logs?’ she says. ‘That’s John Hunter’s job.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ says Kitty. ‘I suppose he just wants to keep busy.’
‘George has decided to rearrange all the books in the library,’ says Louisa. ‘Maybe Ed could help him with that.’
‘Daddy hates reading,’ says Pamela.
‘That’s nonsense, darling,’ says Kitty.
‘I wouldn’t say George exactly reads his books,’ says Louisa. ‘But he loves collecting them. And he loves rearranging them.’
Later Ed takes Pamela out into the park and they draw patterns in the snow with sticks, and the falling snow obliterates them, along with the prints of their footsteps.
At lunch Ed calls for beer.
‘A good bracing bitter,’ he says.
Mr Lott taps the barrel in the cellar. Ed drinks all of a pint tankard and calls for more, and then retreats to the billiard room.
‘I wish he wouldn’t drink so much,’ says Kitty. ‘Can’t you tell Lott not to serve him?’
‘Awkward,’ says George. ‘One doesn’t want to appear to be telling a fellow how to live his life.’
‘You have to do it, Kitty,’ says Louisa.
The problem is that Ed’s drinking is in its way quite controlled. He never becomes loud and abusive. He just becomes more remote. By the end of the evening, when he’s moved on to Scotch, it’s as if he isn’t there at all. He goes about slowly, and looks without seeing. At such times Kitty is possessed by a frightening rage that makes her want to hit him, and hurt him, so that he cries out in pain. Anything to make him see her.
Pamela has gone out with Betsy the scullery maid to search for eggs. The hens have taken to laying in odd places, in the storerooms and the workshop, which being close to the boilers share some of their heat. Pamela likes Betsy and always does whatever Betsy tells her, which puzzled Kitty until she asked about it.
‘Why are you so good with Betsy?’
‘Because I don’t have to be,’ said Pamela.
Sometimes she frightens Kitty, she seems so grown-up. How can a four-year-old be so self-possessed?
Kitty goes to the billiard room to talk to Ed. The room is unheated, with a handsome west-facing window opposite the great but empty fireplace, and dormer windows in the high beamed roof. Ed is leaning over the billiard table, his cue reached out to attempt a tricky shot. A half-empty glass of Scotch stands on the shelf beside the scoreboard.
‘You should have a fire if you’re going to be in here,’ Kitty says.
‘Waste of fuel,’ says Ed, not turning to look at her.
He takes his shot and misses.
‘Damn.’
She watches him shamble round the billiard table, eyes on the balls, and realises he’s already very drunk.
‘I wish you wouldn’t, Ed,’ she says softly.
‘Wouldn’t what?’
‘Drink so much.’
‘No harm in it,’ he says. ‘Keeps me quiet.’
‘I don’t want you to be quiet,’ she says. ‘Not like this.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry to hear that,’ he says, speaking slowly and heavily. ‘But there’s not much I can do about it.’
He lines up his next shot.
‘Of course there is.’ She can feel herself digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands. ‘You could if you tried.’
‘Ah, if I tried. Yes, I could do anything if I tried.’
This is what maddens her when he’s drunk. This slow hazy way he has of not taking anything in.
‘Please, Eddy.’ She’s aware her voice has risen. ‘For me.’
He takes his shot. The billiard balls crack sharply in the chill air.
‘Please will you do it for me,’ she says again.
He straightens himself up and turns to look at her.
‘I’d do anything for you,’ he says. ‘What is it I’m to do?’
‘I just want you not to drink so much.’
‘Right, then,’ he says. ‘That’s easy. I won’t drink so much. What else?’
‘That’s all.’
‘You wouldn’t like me to be a better husband? A better father? A better human being?’
‘No— ’
But something has come over him that she’s never seen before: a darkness contorts his face, and all at once he’s raising his voice, speaking sharply.
‘I am what I am, Kitty. I can’t change. It’s no good. I always knew it would be no good.’
‘But Ed, what are you talking about? What’s no good?’
‘I can’t be what you want me to be. I can’t do it.’
He’s shaking, almost shouting, but not at her. She watches him in terror. He’s acting as if some invisible force is binding him, and he’s fighting to set himself free.
‘I don’t want you to be anything,’ she says. ‘Truly, truly.’
She tries to touch him, to soothe him, but he throws her off with a violent gesture that shocks her.
‘No! Get off! Get away from me!’
‘Eddy! Please!’
She feels the tears rising to her eyes. But the worst of it is, she still feels angry with him. Why is he behaving like this? Why has it somehow become her fault?
He picks up his half-full glass of Scotch and drinks it, gulping it down. Then he holds out the empty glass for her to see.
‘You want to know why I drink too much? Because it’s better for you if I’m drunk.’
‘No!’ she says. ‘No! It isn’t better for me!’
Suddenly her anger comes flooding out.
‘I hate the way you tell me you’re doing it for me. You’re not doing it for me. You’re doing it for yourself. You’re doing it to run away. That’s just taking the coward’s way out. You’ve no right to do that. Why should you run away and leave the rest of us to clean up the mess? It’s not fair. It’s not right. We’re all worn out by this vile winter, it’s not just you. Stop being so sorry for yourself, for God’s sake! Make a bit of an effort for once, can’t you?’
He stares at her in silence. Kitty feels the anger drain away.
‘Please,’ she says in a gentler voice.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘You know what I need? I need some fresh air.’
With that, he walks briskly out of the room.
Kitty sits down in the armchair in the corner and wraps her arms round her body and shakes. This is where Pamela finds her.
‘Look,’ she says, holding out her basket. ‘Four eggs.’ Then aware of the masculine nature of the room, ‘Where’s Daddy?’
‘He’s gone out.’
‘But it’s still snowing.’
‘I don’t think Daddy minds the snow.’
*
Ed returns later, and makes himself busy building a fire in the big drawing room, one of the rooms that has been closed off to save heat. He says nothing to Kitty about their argument. He comes and goes with the manner of one who has too many tasks to do to stop and talk. Kitty feels sick and miserable and doesn’t know what to do.
Louisa comes to her as she sits by the fire in the Oak Room.
‘What on earth is Ed up to?’ she says. ‘He’s pushing the furniture about in the drawing room.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ says Kitty. ‘We had a bit of a row earlier.’
‘Oh, I’m always having rows with George,’ says Louisa. ‘You’re allowed to have rows when you’re married.’
‘I don’t like it,’ says Kitty. ‘It frightens me.’
Then Ed himself appears.
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he says to Kitty.
She follows him across the hall and through the anteroom to the drawing room. Here a cheerful fire is blazing, and there are candles glowing on all the side tables
, throwing their soft light onto the red damask walls. He has moved the sofas and chairs to one end, and rolled up the carpet. A gramophone stands ready on the table by the door.
‘What’s this, Ed?’ says Kitty, looking round. The shutters are open on the tall windows, and outside the white light of afternoon makes a strange contrast with the amber light of the fire and the candles within.
‘Our ballroom,’ says Ed.
He pulls the lever on the gramophone that starts the turntable spinning, and lowers the arm with the needle onto the disc. The sound of a dance band fills the room.
‘Would you care to dance?’ he says, holding out his hand.
Kitty takes his hand, and he draws her into his arms. The high clear voice of the singer begins, and Ed and Kitty dance together, holding each other close.
If I didn’t care
More than words can say
If I didn’t care
Would I feel this way?
They dance in a slow wide circle over the bared floor, from the windows to the fire. Kitty rests her head on his shoulder and feels his breath on her cheek and wants to cry.
If this isn’t love
Then why do I thrill?
And what makes my head go round and round
While my heart stands still?
He lowers his head to hers and they kiss as they dance. When she looks up again she sees Louisa standing smiling in the doorway, with Pamela beside her.
If I didn’t care
Would it be the same?
Would my every prayer
Begin and end with just your name?
And would I be sure
That this is love beyond compare?
Would all this be true
If I didn’t care
For you?
When the song finishes they come to a stop and stand by the fire in each other’s arms.
‘My Ink Spots record,’ says Louisa. ‘I love that.’
‘Why are you dancing?’ says Pamela.
‘Because Daddy wanted to,’ says Kitty.
‘I want to dance,’ says Pamela.
So Ed puts the song on again and dances with Pamela while Kitty and Louisa watch. The little girl frowns with concentration as they dance, trying to make sure she moves in time. Ed dances with his daughter, one arm on her shoulder, one hand holding her hand, looking down to make sure he’s not treading on her toes, handling her with grave gentleness. Kitty feels almost more full of love watching him dance with Pamela than when she was in his arms herself. He has said nothing about their row, and nothing needs to be said.
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