‘He’s been squared. But there’s a station in ten minutes. After that, there’s a long break before the next.’
‘Ten minutes,’ she breathed, kissing him again. He could taste the champagne in her mouth, but also her essential sweetness. Now he felt confident enough to unbutton the rest of her bodice and gently slip his hand inside, feeling the passion mounting to take control of his entire body. He touched silk, but no corset; she did not need one. Then he was inside the silk, and discovering soft flesh, and then the nipple, rising beneath his hand, while she clung to him, kissing him now with an almost savage intensity.
The train slowed, and stopped with a squeaking of brakes and a hissing of steam. They sprang apart with almost childlike guilt, listening to the doors of the adjacent compartments opening and banging shut again, to people talking right outside their window, almost as if they were inside with them. Feet sounded in the corridor, and someone even tried the door of their compartment; Lee held the blouse across her half-exposed breasts, mouth open in a most beautiful expression of dismay. But the wedge held and the people passed on, and a few minutes later the train was on its way again.
‘An hour to the next stop,’ he said.
‘Boy, that gave me the willies. Quite got me going. Would you like me to do a strip for you?’ she asked.
He wasn’t sure what she meant for a moment, then understood as she slipped from his grasp and stood up, swaying with the train, taking off her blouse as she did so. Then he was completely taken aback. But that she was apparently not the least nervous or uncertain was reassuring—even if the champagne probably had a lot to do with it—because he was certainly fairly nervous himself. Yet he was sure she was not entirely at ease, and was using this kind of half-seduction to settle her own nerves as well. But he was not going to stop her now. He could only watch in fascination as she laid the blouse on the seat beside her, and then released her skirt, sliding it past her thighs, stepping out of it and daintily laying it beside the blouse. She sat down to release her boots, while he gazed at the wealth of white undergarments—Margriet Voorlandt had worn not a fraction of those in the African heat.
But now the petticoat and the chemise were also being laid on the seat, and she was sitting down again to take off her garters and her stockings, wearing only her drawers. Now there was another world of white, but this was flesh, surprisingly large breasts for so small a woman, crying out to be held and caressed. She was no longer looking at him; her cheeks were flushed and she was working with tremendous anxiety.
He felt he should match her, got up and spread two of the travelling rugs Reynolds had thoughtfully provided on the other seat, then undressed himself, but could not help turning to look at her as she slipped the drawers down as well, and stood there, slightly shivering, a sprite of glowing white flesh and black hair. His wife!
‘I guess you should inspect my mouth and teeth,’ she said—half joking and half defiant, he decided, as if she expected him not to appreciate her beauty.
‘I shall,’ he agreed, and kissed her. When he released her, she sat on the seat, gazing at him, appearing to see him for the first time.
‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘Oh, my.’
‘Not an entirely pretty sight.’
‘Turn around,’ she commanded, and again remarked, ‘Oh, my!’ She leaned forward to touch the blue mark on his left shoulder, then even darker blue mark behind his right shoulder, the older scars on his side and in his leg. ‘The battle honours of a warrior,’ she said.
‘I’m glad you can think of them that way.’ He sat beside her, and she kissed him.
‘Touch me,’ she said. ‘With your fingertips. Touch me, everywhere.’
He obeyed, and could feel the passion joining them as his fingers coursed lightly over every inch of her skin, and she held him, also lightly; when Margriet had done that, she was already a married woman of several years’ experience.
Lee lay down on her back, her arm thrown beneath her head, in the most natural and yet seductive of poses. ‘I am going to love you, Murdoch Mackinder,’ she promised, staring into his eyes. ‘For ever and ever and ever.’
He gazed at her breasts, rising and falling with every breath, and at her slightly parted legs.
‘Kiss me,’ she commanded. ‘There! Kiss me!’
Not even Margriet had ever asked for that. But was it not something he had always dreamed of doing? Reality surpassed expectation, and a few moments later he was on top of her, while her arms were tight round his neck, urging him on with increasing anxiety. He expected her to cry out or make some kind of noise when he entered her, but she did not, just surged against him, gasping as he held her more tightly than he had intended. Only then, as he rolled off her, did he realise she was weeping.
‘Oh, my darling,’ he said. Was it that painful?’
‘It was wonderful. Not painful at all.’
‘Oh... splendid. That’s a relief.’ He sat up and retrieved their champagne glasses.
She rose on her elbow to take a sip. ‘Do we have to dress right away?’
‘Fifteen minutes will do.’ He stroked a tear away from her eye with his forefinger.
‘I...’ Colour flared into her cheeks. ‘I guess I owe you an explanation.’
‘For what?’
‘For...’ She sat up beside him, drawing up her legs. ‘Have you been with many girls?’
‘As a matter of fact, no.’
‘But you weren’t...?’ She looked positively alarmed.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Thank God! I didn’t think you were. I didn’t think you could be, I mean, being an Army officer and all, travelling all over the world...’
‘Doesn’t actually follow. Maybe you are mixing up the Army and the Navy. Soldiers generally get stuck in one place for two or three years on end.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ She gave her quick smile. ‘I guess I do know navies better than armies.’
Of course, he recalled, Baltimore was a port. He didn’t want to appear to pry, so he kissed her instead of asking questions. She responded, then went on, ‘Confessions are the most ridiculous things.’
‘Agreed. And in the main, quite unnecessary. Believe me.’
‘But I have to. Please understand...There should have been blood. Just a little. Where you punctured my hymen. Right?’
‘I’ve never thought about it. I know I was supposed to hurt you.’ He refused to accept what she was trying to tell him.
‘I was just about engaged once before,’ she said, meeting his eyes. ‘To a naval officer. He had to make another voyage before he reckoned he’d be senior enough to ask for my hand. Not too different to your set-up, after all, I guess. So off he went to sea.’
‘And he never came back?’
‘There was a storm, or something...she went down with all hands. She was only a little ship. One of those new torpedo boat destroyers. Very narrow, and...they thought she must have rolled over.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘There were no survivors.’
He held her hand. ‘Were you very much in love with him?’
She raised her head. ‘In love? Well, I...I don’t know. Not the way I am with you.’
He studied her; he was still not sure he understood, or wanted to understand, what she was telling him. It would have been much simpler if she’d said, yes, the drowned sailor had been her true love.
‘The trouble was ...’ she sighed. ‘I guess Ma never took enough trouble, looking after me. She was always busy, helping Pa in the business, and she always reckoned I could look after myself. Maybe I can. Could, even. But I thought I was looking after myself, don’t you see? I thought we were going to get married just as soon as he got back. So...well, it just happened, the night before he left. I’m so terribly sorry. I think I was sorry five minutes afterwards. But it’s one of those things you can’t ever undo, can you?’
‘I suppose not.’ He was still holding her hand, and he knew he couldn’t let it go; not at this moment. ‘How long ago was this
?’
‘Autumn of 1905. When Al got drowned. It was a hurricane.’
‘Ah. So when you came to England the following year...
‘Harry was trying to get me out of my mood of depression, I guess. Oh, he knew nothing about...what happened. Only that I’d been in love with Al, and that I was shattered by his death.’ She gazed at him. ‘When I saw you...it wasn’t love at first sight. I didn’t want to love anybody, ever again. Oh, I thought you were very attractive. And you were so nice, sending me down to Broad Acres and all...that had a much better effect on me than traipsing around Europe looking at nude statues. And then Phil was so absolutely sweet, from the start. It was she began the whole thing.’
‘You didn’t tell her?’ Murdoch asked in sudden alarm.
‘Only that I’d been engaged. I’ve never told anybody, until now.’
And did he wish she hadn’t? He was too unsure of his emotions to know.
‘It was when I returned to Broad Acres, you know, after the European trip. You’d already gone off to...Italy, wasn’t it? The funny thing was, we’d been in Italy only a couple of weeks before. But I thought you’d said you were going to South Africa.’
He squeezed her hand. Italy, he thought. And South Africa.
‘So Phil and I went riding together, and walking together, and we talked, and one day, just before I was due to leave, she said, “I think you should marry Murdoch, when he gets home. He needs a wife, and you are just perfect for him. Besides,” she added, “I would so like to have you as a sister-in-law.”’
Her shoulders hunched, and he squeezed her fingers again; he didn’t know what else to do. But he knew he couldn’t stop her, now; this was something she had to get off her chest. Besides, he was interested to learn just how he had been captured.
‘So we arranged I would come back to England the following spring, to visit with her. But you were sent off to Somaliland almost as soon as you got home, so I cancelled my trip. But then you were wounded, and I had to arrange it all over again ...’ She gazed at him, her eyes enormous, her mouth slightly open. ‘I guess you must think I am just about the most awful person you have ever met.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Well, all that deceit...and then kind of pushing you into marrying me...’
‘I’m not that easy to push, save in the direction I want to go,’ he told her.
‘But... if you’d known about...if I’d been honest with you...?’
‘Would it have made any difference?’ He considered, quite seriously, initial dismay already being replaced with objective common sense. He would have gone away with Margriet Voorlandt in 1906, and she had actually been another man’s wife. While this man Al was dead. His knowledge of Lee was lost forever, save between them. And between them now was their knowledge of each other. When it was complete. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. He got up and handed her her clothes. ‘We’ll be passing through the next station in ten minutes.’
‘You hate me.’
‘I love you.’ He willed her to believe him.
‘That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.’
‘You have never said it to me. You said you would love me, just now.’
‘I meant, if you’d let me.’
‘I want you to.’
She was on her knees now, on the seat, facing him, the most appealing picture he had ever seen. ‘And the other thing?’
He stooped and kissed her on the lips. ‘I never told you I was a father, either,’ he said.
*
‘Welcome home, captain. Welcome home. Welcome home, miss...I beg your pardon, Mrs Mackinder.’ Corporal Reynolds stood in the doorway of their little apartment rather like a diminutive genie of the lamp, smiling his greetings. ‘How was Penzance?’
‘Chilly,’ Lee told him, walking into the small sitting room. ‘Is that a fire? Oh boy.’ She stood before it, stripping off her gloves to toast her fingers. ‘That was real thoughtful of you.’ She looked around. She had bought the furniture before the wedding, and even arranged it herself, so the place was not altogether unfamiliar. Reynolds had brightened it up with vases of flowers—badly arranged but still cheerful enough—and had clearly spent the entire fortnight they were away cleaning and polishing; the room shone. ‘Say, you’ve done us proud.’
‘My pleasure, Mrs Mackinder. Now, I have some persons coming to see you tomorrow morning, whom I have taken the liberty of interviewing myself. I can assure you that they are clean and honest—I have obtained references—and if you like the look of them, why, they can start right away.’
‘Persons?’ Lee asked.
‘A cook, madam. And a housemaid. I thought that a lady’s maid would be better chosen by you personally.’
‘Cook?’ she repeated. ‘Housemaid? Lady’s maid...?’ She looked at Murdoch.
He grinned. ‘Essentials, all.’
‘Oh, my,’ she said. ‘I have never had a lady’s maid. Pa didn’t believe in servants. What does she do?’
‘Everything you don’t wish to do yourself; madam,’ Reynolds assured her.
‘Corporal,’ she told him, ‘you are an absolute treasure.’
‘You have actually done very well, George,’ Murdoch assured him. ‘But now ...’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ Reynolds said. ‘I was just hurrying off. There’s some eggs in the larder, and...’ He gazed at them, uncertain that they could cope on their own.
‘We shall manage, George. And if we can’t, there’s always the canteen,’ Murdoch reminded him.
‘Indeed, yes, sir. There’s the mail.’ He pointed at the pile of letters on the table, saluted and backed out of the door.
‘He really is a dear,’ Lee said. ‘How long have you had him?’
‘Reynolds has been with me nine years now, all but. Ever since I joined the regiment.’
‘Gee,’ she said. ‘And all of these servants...will they be white people?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Gee,’ she said again. ‘Ma did have a cook once, when she wasn’t well. A black girl. White people...I won’t know what to say to them.’
‘Just be yourself. It’ll come naturally.’
She came close to him. ‘Do you think I’m a hick?’ She made a moue. ‘Apart from everything else?’
It was the first time she had mentioned ‘everything else’ since the first night of their marriage. That had been by mutual agreement. She had, predictably, reacted in her own way to what Murdoch confessed to her. ‘But your son!’ she had exclaimed. ‘Isn’t there some way you can get him back?’
‘He’s Margriet’s son. I only have her word for it that he’s mine, although the age is roughly right. No, there is no way to get him back.’
‘But...don’t you want to?’
‘I don’t think so, really. I think I’d rather start again. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, if we hadn’t been playing Confessions.’
‘Gee, have I broken every rule in the book?’
‘Every one,’ he had agreed. ‘But I think we should begin by making our own rules, anyway. If you knew what a load that is off my mind.’ The death of Knox, that was another matter. That was a male secret, not to be shared with any woman, even a wife.
Now he took her in his arms. ‘I think you are the loveliest hick I have ever met.’
The door behind him opened. ‘I am sure you had enough time for all of that down in Penzance,’ announced Judith Walters. ‘Welcome home. Now, Marylee, my dear, you are of course both expected for lunch. Can’t have you cooking the first day home, eh? I suspect Murdoch hasn’t even arranged your servants yet. And then, this afternoon, I want to have a good gossip. I know Murdoch will be anxious to get back to work. And there is a lot to be done. I’m afraid I haven’t really released the news yet. I was waiting for you to return.’
‘Oh,’ Lee said. ‘Well, ah...gee, it’s awfully nice of you to have us to lunch, Mrs Walters...’
‘Judith,’ Judith Walters told her. ‘You must call me Judith. After
all, you and I...’ She frowned at Murdoch. ‘You haven’t opened your mail, have you?’
‘There hasn’t been time,’ Murdoch confessed. ‘What’s this about news to be released?’
‘You’d better read it.’ She seized the pile of letters, sifted through it and selected one. ‘This.’
Murdoch took the OHMS envelope with some caution, slit it and took out the sheet of paper inside.
‘I know this is both unusual, and will disturb you,’ Sir John French had written, ‘but life is full of the oddest ups and downs. You will be aware that the sad death of Tony Chapman left you the second most senior captain in the regiment, after Johnnie Morton, who was then promoted brevet major and adjutant. It was anticipated that when the regiment returned home next year, he would be confirmed in that rank, and you would then assume command of a squadron as the senior captain. However, as they say, Man proposes, and God disposes. After the catastrophic news from Peshawar...’ Murdoch raised his eyes to stare at Judith Walters, who appeared to know exactly where he had reached.
‘Cholera,’ she said briefly. ‘It seems men were dying like flies.’
‘My God,’ he said. ‘Colonel Walters...?’
‘Oh, he is all right,’ she said. ‘Or I wouldn’t be quite so calm, would I. But the rest...’
Murdoch dropped his gaze to the page again. ‘And the way Morton has fallen by the wayside...’ Again he looked up.
‘Oh, he’s not dead,’ Judith said. ‘He’s just contracted some hideous disease.’ She gazed at him archly. ‘You know, in the bazaars.’ It was the first time he had ever seen Judith Walters blush. But wasn’t Morton always bound to wind up like that? he thought.
He resumed reading.. the whole situation has changed. It has therefore been decided, in view of your seniority and record, to promote you to major immediately, with the duties of adjutant, and to require you to prepare for the return of the regiment, which—in view of its appalling misfortunes and high death rate—will be relieved this summer, and should be back in England by the autumn, a year ahead of schedule. I know that you are very young for the responsibilities entailed, but I am sure you will carry out your duties to the very best of your considerable abilities, and therefore offer you my congratulations. John French.’
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