by Fiona Field
Camilla looked daggers at her. ‘You didn’t tell me they’d be here today,’ she muttered into Sam’s ear. ‘As a common courtesy I should have known.’
Sam was about to say that she herself hadn’t known until the day before, and anyway they were her guests and hadn’t come to see the CO and his wife, when Amanda Pemberton-Blake took her arm and drew her towards her, neatly cutting Camilla out of the conversation.
‘Now, Sam, I’ve found the most divine website that sells wedding napery.’
‘Can’t we just hire the stuff?’ blurted Sam. ‘I only want to get married once so I’ll hardly be using it again.’
Amanda gave her a rather withering look. ‘But we’d have no idea who’d used it before.’
Sam wondered if Amanda insisted on new sheets when she stayed in hotels or friends’ houses... if she had any friends, which, frankly, Sam doubted right now.
‘You must tell me all about it,’ gushed Camilla, wheedling her way back into the conversation.
Sam stood back. If Camilla wanted to talk about wedding arrangements she could be Sam’s guest.
Across the room Maddy parked Rose in her chair by a nearby coffee table, scooped up Nathan and sat him on her hip. Seb looked relieved as Maddy’s actions stopped Nathan from whinging.
‘I’ve just heard a great piece of news,’ said Seb.
‘Good news? Blimey, that’ll make a change around here,’ said Maddy with feeling.
‘Andy’s just told me.’
‘Told you what? Spit it out.’
Seb drew Maddy closer. ‘Will’s going to be my 2IC,’ he said, quietly.
‘Will?’ squealed Maddy, only to get loudly shushed by Seb. Maddy glanced about to see if anyone had overheard her exclamation. She lowered her voice. ‘You mean, Will Edwards, as in Caro-and-Will Edwards?’
Seb nodded.
‘But won’t he mind being your subordinate?’
‘According to Andy, he’s utterly delighted to be coming back to the battalion. He doesn’t care what post he’s given as long as he gets away from being a Whitehall Warrior.’
‘All the same...’ said Maddy.
‘And Caro, apparently, is just thrilled too. Can’t wait.’
But, Maddy thought, it still didn’t address the problem that Will would be Seb’s subordinate and while it was all fine and dandy in theory, the practicalities might prove to be somewhat different. After all, Will had been commissioned several years prior to Seb and being overtaken by a junior was never an easy pill to swallow.
*
Miles away in Surrey, Caro Edwards was dishing up roast chicken and preparing to carry the plates filled with Sunday lunch through to the sitting-dining room of her poky MoD quarter. Will and her two boys were already sitting at the table. She managed to balance three plates to take through to her hungry and expectant family.
‘There you go,’ she said as she put them down in front of them before she went back into the kitchen to fetch her own and her glass of wine.
‘Well,’ she said to her husband as the two boys fell on their food like they hadn’t been fed in a week, ‘I can’t say I’ll miss this place.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Will.
Caro raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s nice for the kids. It’s great that just about all their friends from school live locally, it’s grand that there are so many young families here so they never have a shortage of playmates, but I am not going to miss that dreadful kitchen, nor the damp in the bathroom, nor the lack of double glazing...’
‘Enough,’ said Will.
‘Just saying,’ said Caro.
‘You’ll miss being close to London.’
‘Really?’ Caro’s eyebrows went up again. ‘Yeah, really going to miss you coming home every night in a vile mood because you’ve had a dreadful day at work and a worse commute. Or never being able to park in town unless I get there at about seven in the morning. Or the traffic jams which hold us up for hours if we want to go anywhere. Or the pollution. Or the joke of a garden.’ She shot a look at the tiny square of paving at the back of the house which just about allowed a rotary drier the space to open out.
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Will again.
‘Wiltshire will be better,’ said Caro, firmly. ‘And I’ll be back with all my friends.’
‘You’ve got friends here.’
‘But not mates like Maddy.’
‘Have you told her yet?’
‘I need to see the posting order in writing yet. You know what the army is like – being warned for a posting, particularly one you’d really like, isn’t the same as actually having it in the bag. Besides, I don’t want to jinx it.’
‘Mummy, can I have some more please?’ Oliver held out his empty plate to his mother.
‘Just wait till everyone else has finished,’ said Caro, realising she’d barely touched her meal. She started to attack her roast with gusto. ‘But as soon as you get the order in your hand,’ she said, speaking with her mouth full, ‘I’m going to ring Maddy and give her the good news.’ She swallowed. ‘Second in command of B Company, eh? I hope Seb doesn’t mind you being his boss.’
‘Hardly,’ said Will. ‘2IC doesn’t mean I’m anyone’s boss – general dogsbody, more like.’
‘Still... he’ll just be a platoon commander though, won’t he?’
Will nodded. ‘But I am a couple of years senior to him so, y’know, it’s how it should be.’
‘So that’s all right then.’
Fifteen minutes later, while Will took Oliver and his brother out to the play park at the end of the road, Caro was in the kitchen with the last of her glass of wine and the washing up. As always the kitchen was in chaos – with a tiny work surface, minimal cupboard space and no dishwasher, clearing up after any meal was always an ergonomic nightmare. And as always, Will had offered to help but it was much easier to get him and the boys out of the house and tackle it, in the minute space, on her own.
She was just getting to grips with the burned-on fat in the roasting tin when the phone rang. Wiping her hands on a tea towel she went into the sitting room to answer it.
‘Hello.’
‘Caro!’
She recognised the voice. ‘Maddy, how lovely. Were your ears burning?’
‘Why, were you talking about me, you old moo?’
Caro could hear the laughter in Maddy’s voice. ‘I certainly was.’
‘Snap then because Seb and I were discussing you. Look, I can’t be long as I’m at a curry lunch but Seb told me earlier that you’re getting posted here.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You don’t sound wild about it.’
‘Oh, but I am. Truly, I’m thrilled. Honest. I just wasn’t going to tell you till I had it in writing. But if you know about it, then I suppose the battalion does so it must be official.’
‘Woo-hoo. But that’s brilliant. I am so pleased.’ There was a pause. ‘Will doesn’t mind being 2IC?’
‘Mind? Why should he? He’ll be back in the same company as Seb and that’s all he cares about. He adores Seb, as you well know. No, they’ll be as happy as sandboys to be working together.’
‘Phew. So when are you moving?’
‘As soon as I can get packed, if I had my way.’
‘But in reality...?’
‘In reality, sometime in the summer holidays.’
‘Not long then. Look, you keep me in the loop about your move and I’ll make sure I’m around to help out as much as I can. If nothing else I can have the boys to stay for a night if that would make life easier for you.’
‘Maddy, you are such a star. I might hold you to that.’
‘Do. Look, I’ve got to go; I’ve left Seb with the kids and told him I was just popping to the loo so I can’t chat for hours.’
‘No, I completely understand. We’ll talk more another time.’
‘Byeee.’
Caro put the phone back on its stand. She couldn’t wait to get back to 1 Herts and all her friends. W
ith a happy heart she went back to the kitchen to finish the washing up.
Chapter 5
Seb sat in the armchair in Colonel Rayner’s office feeling more than a little awkward. Mike Collins was still, technically, the OC of B Company and Seb didn’t like the fact that the CO seemed to be sidelining his boss before the bloke had even gone on his terminal leave. Yes, they both knew that Mike had made it perfectly plain that he was going to concentrate on sorting out his future and his family (and why shouldn’t he since he’d been so comprehensively shafted by the army?) but the fact that Rayner was being so obvious about bypassing the proper chain of command was very disconcerting. Seb just had to hope that the other officers in the battalion knew he wasn’t conniving in the situation or, still less, approving of the CO’s behaviour.
‘So,’ said Rayner, steepling his fingers, ‘I think we need some innovation in the battalion.’
‘Sir?’ said Seb cautiously. He didn’t like the sound of this. What sort of innovation? The phrase about new brooms sprang into his mind and from past experience he’d found that ‘new brooms’ rarely swept clean but just stirred up a load of shit which others then had to deal with.
‘I want you to take over as PMC of the officers’ mess.’
‘Oh.’ Bloody hell. Then Seb quickly added, ‘I see, Colonel.’ Although he didn’t. He was going to be pushed to his limit as OC of B Company given his youth and inexperience; to be given another major role in the battalion, that of being the officer who oversaw the day-to-day running of the mess, was surely potty. And worse, with McManners being made redundant too he wouldn’t even have an experienced manager as his right-hand man.
‘Indeed,’ said Rayner, with enthusiasm. ‘Out with the old, in with the new.’
‘But with McManners going...’ Seb wondered how he could voice his concern that it might all degenerate into rat-shit with a new manager and an inexperienced PMC.
‘It’s the perfect time to make changes.’ Rayner gave Seb a smile that resembled more a baring of his teeth than an encouraging grin.
‘If you’re sure.’ Seb certainly wasn’t.
‘Excellent. I knew you’d see it my way.’
Seb suddenly felt empathy for the lone Chinese man who’d tried to face down the column of tanks in Tiananmen Square decades earlier – any show of resistance was utterly pointless. He smiled weakly at his boss and hoped his internal panic wasn’t showing.
‘So,’ continued Rayner, ‘how’s it hanging in B Company?’
How’s it hanging? Oh, for fuck’s sake! Who on earth did this man think he was? Did he think he was ‘down wiv da kidz’? The squaddies would laugh him off the parade square if he ever came out with stuff like that in public. Seb wondered if he ought to say something to save his boss from himself but then his dislike of the man got the better of him. Let the twat make a fool of himself.
‘Well... it’s awkward.’
‘How come?’ Rayner put on his caring face.
Seb felt like gagging. For a split second he thought about fudging the issue but then decided it would do no good. ‘Sir, I can’t go and sit in Mike’s office because, de facto, he’s still OC, so I’m still very much a platoon commander and besides, I don’t have a replacement yet. Craig isn’t talking to me because he feels overlooked and blames me for making him resign and on top of that, everyone in B Company thinks the army is wrong to be getting rid of Mike so there is a certain amount of resentment about the changes taking place.’
Rayner’s eyes hardened. ‘Thank you for your honesty, Seb. I appreciate it.’
No, you bloody don’t, thought Seb.
‘Of course, if you don’t think you’re up to the promotion...’
‘Sir, I can assure you I am capable of doing the job. It’s the interregnum that’s proving tricky.’
‘You want me to tell the postings branch to arrange for Mike’s redundancy to be brought forward?’
‘No!’ Shit, that was the last thing Seb wanted. As if he didn’t feel guilty enough about taking over from Mike. He couldn’t bear the thought he might be responsible for elbowing him out early.
‘It would only be an administrative arrangement,’ said Rayner, silkily. ‘He wouldn’t suffer a financial penalty, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
That put a different spin on it. But not different enough. Mike would still feel even less loved and wanted. Besides which, the clock would start counting down even earlier to when he and his family would have to vacate their quarter. They had enough on their plate without that too. ‘I can cope, sir.’
‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I’d like you to take over as PMC with immediate effect.’
‘Oh.’ Was this some kind of test? Seb wondered. And it also flashed through his mind that Maddy mightn’t be overjoyed at being the wife of the PMC but before he had time to consider all the implications of the offer the CO carried on speaking.
‘Yes, I don’t think Alan Milward is up to the job. Very old school. To be honest the mess operates more like the sergeants’ mess than the officers’ one and it certainly looks like one. That’s the problem with having a commissioned warrant officer do the job of PMC – old habits die hard.’
Hardly, the mess was beautiful and comfortable, and Milward had done a sterling job but Seb stayed quiet.
‘Yes, I think the furnishings need updating. Let’s get rid of all that dreary mahogany and damask and start again with some clean lines and modern textiles, linens and beech, for example, instead of that tatty, old-hat stuff.’
Seb was appalled. The lovely old furniture was part of the charm of the mess; 1 Herts had spent centuries acquiring the antiques in the building. OK, most of the better bits were the spoils of battles – looted by them, the victors, back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some of the stuff was priceless. And as for the silver... did the CO think it would be properly set off in a bunch of Ikea Billy bookshelves rather than on the wonderful pair of French Empire-style side tables that 1 Herts had ‘liberated’ in the Peninsular war? ‘I think, sir,’ said Seb carefully, ‘the regimental association might have a view on your plans.’
‘If they feel strongly, tell them they can have it for their museum. Most of that stuff belongs in one anyway. I want you to come up with some ideas for renovations. Maybe Maddy can help, sound her out for ideas; she’s young and on-trend.’
On-trend? Maddy?! Seb loved his wife to bits but he’d never known her take the least interest in fashion and trends.
‘Come to me in a few weeks with your ideas. Let’s say mid-July. But don’t go talking to the other officers yet, eh? I don’t want this to go off half-cocked. I want to be able to present them with a comprehensive plan. That way they’ll more than likely agree that my idea is for the best. And I mean it, Seb, nothing to be said about this to anyone with the exception of Maddy. You understand, don’t you?’
His way or the highway, and everything to be done in secrecy. Just great. Talk about a poisoned chalice. The trouble was, now he’d accepted the job of PMC he could hardly hand it back, Seb thought as he left Rayner’s office.
But, as Seb knew, it wasn’t just the mess that Colonel Rayner seemed to want to change. He’d allowed a short period of grace after the departure of his predecessor but as soon as a couple of weeks had passed he’d set about changing things left, right and centre in the battalion.
‘It needs shaking up,’ he’d told the officers.
It didn’t, most of them had thought, but the CO had carried on anyway. The RSM, Mr Jenks, who had been as popular with the troops as an RSM was ever likely to be, had been posted out with unseemly haste and replaced with a man who had been universally loathed from the outset. The new RSM, Mr Horrocks, had come from one of the TA battalions and the on dit was that he’d spent most of his career with the TA because none of the regular battalions would have him once they realised what a useless NCO he was. And, since the quickest way to get rid of a dud soldier was to promote him beyond the unit’s establishment, he had to g
o somewhere where there was a vacancy for that rank. Horrocks had hurtled up to the top and was now a warrant officer class one – and with nowhere else to go, 1 Herts was stuck with him. But he and Rayner obviously got on well enough, to judge by the amount of time they spent in each other’s offices.
And with the arrival of a new RSM, the mood of the regiment shifted. The discipline had, apparently, been allowed to get exceedingly lax. Not that anyone had noticed but they certainly noticed the new regime; soldiers were picked up and charged for the least peccadillo, and the duty officer rota went out of the window as the junior ones found they were constantly picking up extras for the least thing.
Still, thought Seb, as he went back to his office, he was obviously doing something right if the CO had chosen him to be PMC, although at the back of his mind he had a faint niggle that he’d been given the post because Rayner thought that being such a junior major he might roll over and do as he was told.
Surprisingly though, when he told Maddy about being made the PMC, she seemed rather pleased.
‘I didn’t think you’d like the idea,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have you down for wanting to be the PMC’s wife; having to deal with the flower rota and make sure wives and girlfriends don’t violate the dress code.’
Maddy shuddered. ‘Gawd, spare me from the flower rota – although if you’re in charge I won’t be... spared it, that it. But as for the dress code... are you sure anyone at all cares about that these days?’
‘Maybe not, but if some girlfriend did come in wearing something completely awful and inappropriate, I think it would be up to you to have a word.’
