by Mary Wesley
Then two orderlies were easing him into a dressing gown (their breath hissed as he changed the hand that held the revolver, watching it with swivelling eyes) transferring him from the bed to a wheelchair, propelling him down the corridor to the lift, down, out through the hall, out of the hospital, to help him into the front seat of Rose’s car, wrapping a blanket around his legs.
While this was going on he was aware of Rose beside him. She had at some stage regained the baby, which she put into a basket on the back seat beside Comrade who was furiously wagging her tail and moaning in pleasurable recognition.
‘Don’t faint yet,’ Rose murmured, leaning into the car. ‘Are you comfortable, darling? Where’s the revolver?’
‘Here.’
‘Better give it to me now.’ She took it from him. ‘Goodbye,’ she said to Sister (Matron had not come out with them), ‘and thank you so much. What?’ She leaned towards Sister, who was explaining something in a low voice. ‘No, of course you couldn’t, no, I understand perfectly,’ and ‘Goodbye.’ She shook the old doctor’s hand. ‘Thank you for all your care and help.’ She got in beside Mylo and started the engine. She put the revolver into the glove compartment and drove. As she drove she let out a crow of laughter. ‘That poor Sister said they hadn’t dared wash you because of the revolver.’ Mylo did not answer. ‘You can faint now,’ said Rose after half a mile. Mylo closed his eyes. After two more miles, Rose said, ‘I think they thought it was loaded.’
‘It is.’
‘Good God.’ Rose pulled into the side of the road. ‘You might have killed somebody.’
‘I meant to shoot those yahoos. I would have if you hadn’t arrived, they were driving me crazy.’
‘Unload it at once.’ Rose reached into the glove compartment and fished out the revolver. ‘You must be out of your mind.’
Meekly Mylo unloaded the revolver. Rose threw the bullets into the ditch. ‘Really, Mylo,’ she was trembling, ‘I thought you were averse to killing people.’ She was near tears.
Mylo was interested to see that her hands shook. This was the Rose he knew. ‘I’d rather like to kiss you,’ he said. Then he said, ‘How the hell did you find me?’
‘I got your message; a man rang up.’
‘So I didn’t dream it.’
‘No.’
‘Whose baby is that?’
‘Mine.’
Mylo felt confused; he had forgotten that she had been pregnant. ‘The man said he wouldn’t telephone you unless I paid him. I had no money.’
‘He must have thought better of it.’
In his basket on the back seat Christopher began to scream.
‘Sorry,’ said Rose, ‘he’s hungry. I must feed him, won’t be long.’ She moved the car closer to the side of the road and got out. ‘You’d better have a run,’ she said to Comrade.
Mylo watched the dog sniffing about in the grass, then Rose was sitting beside him with the child, undoing her blouse and thrusting her nipple into its violent mouth, silencing the screams. Her breast was swollen, marbled with veins. ‘Will they recover?’
‘What?’
‘Your breasts, will they …?’
‘Back to normal. When I wean him.’
‘So that’s how it works.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah.’ So peaceful. Only what, two days ago? The violence in the dark on the rough sea, the pain, fear, seasickness … and now. ‘This is all rather unreal.’
‘I don’t think you should talk. That doctor said you should be kept quiet at home, and rest.’
‘Is that so?’ (Soon I shall be able to laugh. Home.)
‘Yes.’ She moved the baby from left breast to right.
Mylo watched the child’s gums bite on her tender nipple. ‘You said it hurt when I …’
‘One gets used to it. You mustn’t talk. I’ll give you a hot drink in a minute. Mrs Farthing lumbered me with supplies. She asked me to call her Edwina and, guess what, she and Farthing are not married, isn’t that a turn-up for the book?’
‘Nor, alas, are we.’
Rose did not answer. He watched her burp the baby, change it and settle it back in the basket, then as they sat drinking hot chocolate he said, ‘Excuse me asking, but where did the extraordinary bossy act you put on with the nurses and doctor come from? You ordered those dragons about and twisted the old doctor around your little finger.’
‘It’s not an act. It’s me. If sufficiently frightened or enraged, it comes naturally. I found I could do it when the Min of Ag sent people to shoot our rooks.’
Mylo noted the our.
‘And what did you tell them that allowed them to release me into your charge?’
‘I said you were top secret, working hush-hush for General Pye (I promoted him), and that since you were fit to move, it was better all round for you to be at home with me. Your revolver had rather unnerved them, they are not really a military hospital.’
‘Did they think you were my wife?’
‘Of course.’
‘You are not far wrong.’
‘How so?’
‘The intelligence bit. I shall have to contact the bastard, let him know I’m not dead.’
‘Let him go on thinking it for a bit,’ said Rose. ‘I’m in no hurry to lose you again.’
‘The war.’
‘Let the war wait.’
Rose screwed the top back on the thermos. ‘Now shut up and let me get you home before Christopher starts screaming again. He’s terrible when he puts his mind to it, he’s been good so far.’
Some time later, waking from an uneasy sleep, Mylo asked, ‘Did we eat the Camembert?’
‘What Camembert?’
‘The Camembert I brought you last summer when I brought Picot over …’ She did not ask who Picot might be, but she remembered the cheese. Delicious, a little squashed on its travels, over-ripe. They had eaten it in bed, washed down with a bottle of Ned’s claret, what a peculiar thing to remember now. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I remember. I remember it well. Try to sleep, darling, it won’t be long now, we are nearly home.’
Home, thought Mylo wryly. What home, whose home?
36
TIME WAS, THOUGHT ROSE, pausing out of breath to sit on a granite boulder, when I would have reached the top of this hill without effort. But then, she thought as she stretched her legs, I would hardly have noticed the view.
Noticing the view comes with age, she thought, looking down the valley where mist still laced around the tops of the trees she had walked under, drifted across the waters of the creek, reluctant to give way to the sun which now warmed her back. It was going to be a perfect autumn day, blue and gold, no breeze to ruffle the water, pewter flat and deep, or loosen the leaves of oak and beech on the turn from dark green to rust to gold. Unaware of the view, one missed a lot in the hunger of youth, one wasn’t prepared, one was taken by surprise, she thought, casting her thoughts back to the day when in weather of sleepy beauty she had arrived back with Mylo from the hospital in Cornwall to cherish and heal him in privacy and love.
What possessed me, what gave me the nerve to kidnap him from the hospital, over-ride the objections of the staff? What did I think I was doing? It is difficult at sixty-seven to recall the emotions of twenty. I wish I still had the nerve, the mix of bloody-mindedness and innocence. Have I quite lost it, she wondered? Am I blunted, am I too aware?
She had not that day been aware of anything other than Mylo’s need. It was vital that he should have peace and quiet, to protect him. If his nerves were shaken by whatever embroilment had resulted in his wound, she would heal them. They would be together, her passion would revive him. Had he not in distress sent for her? Beyond this she had no plan.
It was a shock and surprise to be met on arrival by Edwina Farthing wearing an air of warning, drooping the corners of her mouth, raising her eyebrows, whispering, ‘Watch out,’ as she leaned into the car.
‘What’s up?’ asked Rose, startled, pulling on the handbrake, switching off
the engine.
‘Mr Loftus and Mrs Malone,’ hissed Edwina. ‘I have made up the gentleman’s bed in the yellow room,’ she said loudly, ‘and the other gentlemen, the young chap from Down Under, the pilot, is quite happy in the blue room. Mr Loftus and Mrs Malone think that will do very well. That’s what you ordered, isn’t it?’
Blue room? Yellow room? What was the woman up to putting on this air of servility? Rose was amazed to see Edwina semaphore with her eyebrows, hiss breath in through her teeth. She had not previously particularly noticed Edwina’s teeth. Large and slightly crossed, they brought to some errant corner of her mind a likeness to the evacuee waifs when they would not admit an urgent need to leave the room and go to the lavatory in case they missed something of interest. Edwina’s act of an old retainer was putting a message across: she was under strain.
But then Archibald Loftus had come hurrying from the house: ‘Rose, my dear! Good girl! Great minds think alike.’ He had kissed her as she got out of the car. ‘When Edith told me—when I suggested—when we found you had thought of the same scheme and gone to fetch—it is young Cooper, isn’t it? That’s what Edith said. I wasn’t quite sure myself. We’d better get you into the house, my dear fellow, let Mrs Farthing give me a hand with you, you look just about done in, they should have kept you a while longer, shortage of beds, I dare say. Ah, here is Edith—now give me your arm—oh, I see, you can manage with a stick, jolly good.’ (Had Mylo winked as he caught her eye?)
As Edith Malone embraced Rose she watched Mylo hop and hobble into the house between Uncle Archie and Edwina. He did not look back as he adapted himself to the unexpected. (This is how he survives doing whatever it is he does in enemy France.) Rose let Edith press her to her breast. ‘I thought I had sent you all the particulars of the scheme, you must have answered but in my usual stupidly vague way’ (Edith vague? Come on!) ‘I mislaid your letter. I was so enraged with Emily and Nicholas I tore their letter up. I must have destroyed yours with it.’ (Oops, clever one.) ‘They really are too selfish for words; they have at the very least two spare rooms in that house of theirs; people with far less convenient houses have joined the scheme and are putting themselves out, and look at you, living alone and willing. Nobody will persuade me that one small baby and part-time work—she’s only part-time now at the Ministry of Agriculture, I took the trouble to find out before asking her—take up all her time. Why, look at you with Christopher, you took him with you to fetch—oh, by the way, my dear, don’t take me amiss, but it was a little over-zealous to fetch him yourself. Where, by the way, did you get the petrol? Another time, leave it to the ambulance people, it is their job, you know, all the forms and so on. Never mind, you’ll know another time …’
Tactfully, a quality he lost as he grew up, Christopher had begun to scream. Comrade, anxious to be of use, licked the baby’s face, switching Edith Malone onto another tack. ‘Do you think it’s a good idea to let the dog lick him? I know there is a school of thought which says it doesn’t matter, but when you think where dogs put their noses and the things they pick up and eat—please don’t think I am interfering …’
‘Oh, no, of course not, not at all. I think he is hungry.’ Rose had picked Christopher out of his basket, grateful that he saved her the necessity of answering Edith’s flow (she is gabbling to hide her embarrassment, to save me from mine. Why should I be embarrassed?) ‘Gosh, he’s soaking, rather overdone his jobs too, needs changing, would you like to hold him a minute?’ She had offered Edith the bundled, stinking baby.
‘No, thanks, my dear. I am no good with babies.’ Edith backed away. ‘I had Nanny for George and Richard; I like children when they are older.’
‘House-trained?’
‘That’s it. I think you girls who look after your own babies without help are wonderful.’
‘Emily?’
‘Most extraordinary, that brother Nicholas helps her, baths the baby, I hear …’
‘They are keen on baths.’ Rose shouted above Christopher’s yells; he was working himself up into high gear. ‘How are the evacuees?’ she bellowed. ‘Hush, hush, won’t be a minute.’ She held hungry, smelly Christopher as a shield between herself and Edith.
‘Marvellous, my dear. Tremendous fun. They all go to the village school, bright as buttons, they don’t get on with the village children who simply loathe them, but all ten are pretty well behaved, bless them, that’s why I haven’t a chink of room for the chaps on leave. I started you off with an Australian, by the way, he’s a nice young man, broke his leg learning to fly. Such a shame, though it’s probably saved his life, they say far too many bombers are getting lost. I’ll just go and see he is settled now you are back, then I must fly, Archie has our only spare bed. He was coming back by bus after talking to you, but perhaps you could run him back, you seem pretty flush with petrol?’
‘I …’
Edith Malone hurried ahead into the house, mistress of the situation.
Rose took the baby to her room, changed him and sat down to nurse him. Mylo had been taken from her, she was afraid to protest.
Alone with the child, she found herself trembling with a mixture of anger and fatigue. She tried to compose herself while Christopher sucked and nuzzled at her breast, fat tears wet on his cheeks. He looked old and pathetic; he snatched and grabbed at her nipple, strenuous with hunger and anxiety, reminding Rose of Ned when he feared the war and its unknown consequences. ‘Hush,’ she said, ‘there, quiet baby, quiet. Don’t be in such a hurry, you’ll get wind. Take it easy. Take it slow.’ When Edwina put her head round the door, she said, ‘Come in, tell me what the hell’s going on. Is this a plot?’
‘Got it in one.’ Edwina came in and shut the door.
‘Sit down and tell.’
Edwina sat. ‘Your fellow’s all right. He got straight into bed without a word. Wants sleep, I’d say, and quiet.’
‘Thanks. And?’
‘People are more observant than you give credit,’ said Edwina.
‘What if they are?’ snapped Rose.
‘Someone, some busybody in the village maybe, sees you and him together the last time or the time before, it doesn’t matter who. They talk. Talk spreads, see? The master’s Uncle Archibald …’
‘I wish you wouldn’t call him that …’
‘Just our joke, Farthing’s and mine. Well, his Uncle Archie gets a sniff, smells a rat. When he called by chance, he said it was by chance, and found you gone. You follow me?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘He didn’t say anything, nor will he, but he acts, takes advantage of this scheme of Mrs Malone’s for officers and men from all over on leave with nowhere to go and, what ho, bingo, it’s done. He pops an Australian into the house, and you’ve got yourself a chaperon.’
‘Damn him, curse his guts,’ said Rose.
‘He’s protecting your name from gossip. Instead of playing with fire and singeing your reputation, thanks to him and Mrs Malone you are doing important war work.’ Edwina cackled with laughter, ‘Can’t say it’s not funny.’
‘Most droll. Bloody hell, how could …?’
‘You are so wrapped up in yourself, you never think anybody notices what you are doing, do you? You are too young, they think, to be on your own with him overseas. They watch …’
‘Curse them.’
‘They commune.’
‘They what?’ Rose laughed now and the child at her breast eased perceptibly.
‘They commune,’ Edwina repeated, enjoying the word, ‘that means nothing gets said, but a lot gets thought and with those sort of crafties, they act. Sort of sly.’ Rose could see that Edwina admired Archie and Edith.
‘Does Mr Malone play any part in this?’
‘No, no. Driven out of the house by the evacuee children’s noise, he spends a lot of time in London these days, says he’d rather have the air raids.’
‘What a lot you know,’ said Rose sarcastically.
‘Well, Farthing and I are over the initial stage, you m
ight say. We can see beyond our noses. Hear too, stopped being blind.’
Rose giggled, she held the baby up to pat and stroke his back. ‘Come on, my pretty, don’t go to sleep. Burp for mother.’ Christopher obliged so violently a mouthful of curdled milk trickled out. Rose wiped his mouth and put him to her other breast. ‘So we have an Australian lodger. What’s his name?’
‘Jack Bowen. He’s harmless enough. I think, on the whole, those two did right.’
‘Traitor. Tell me one reason,’ said Rose in fury.
‘You don’t want to burn your boats so far from land, that’s one.’
‘I believe you and Farthing want me to be respectable, to conform to …’
‘There’s such a thing as compromise, too.’
‘Ugh.’
‘He’s not exactly offering you security, is he, your young fellow? You have the baby to consider.’
‘I do …’
‘The house. The farm. The place …’
‘You and Farthing?’
‘I didn’t say so.’ Edwina flushed.
‘Oh, Edwina, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s got to be said; he comes and goes, you never know where you are with him; let’s face it, one of these days he might not come back. You don’t even know where he goes, do you?’
‘I do,’ said Rose bravely.
‘Somebody had to say it, love.’
When Edwina left her, Rose sat on with the child dozing on her knee. She had felt trapped, she remembered in age, sitting in the sun near the top of the hill looking at the view. She had viewed the trap she was in with sorrow and, she admitted now but not then, with resignation. Even if Uncle Archibald and Edith Malone had not interfered to frustrate her by the tacit use of their social act, she would have been self-snared by her promise to Ned. We had enough obstacles without them butting in, she thought. I hope I am wise enough not to interfere between Christopher and Helen.
She remembered that she had put Christopher down to sleep, washed her face, brushed her hair, and gone down carrying the dirty nappies in a pail. Archibald Loftus had been hovering in the hall. ‘Hullo, everything all right?’ he had asked, rather bluff.
