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White Feathers

Page 29

by Susan Lanigan


  ‘You weren’t passionate all by yourself,’ Eva said quietly.

  He threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. ‘No. The way you were with me was different to when we were together before. You answered my every gesture, and surpassed several of them.’ A brief grin flickered across his face at the memory. ‘I can tell that you know desire now and you didn’t before.’ He put up a hand as Eva made to protest. ‘No, let me finish. Last night, I thought of him, your husband, then I fancied I was the one being dragged to the court martial, I was being blindfolded or having a bag put over my head or whatever and nearly pissing myself in mortal terror because I knew what was going to come. I need another cigarette.’ His hands were shaking hard as he lit up, the scabs and sores around his fingers very noticeable.

  Eva did not dare offer to help. It was all she could do to speak, lest there be a repeat of the rage he had shown her yesterday. ‘I need to tell you this,’ she said. ‘There was no desire in my marriage. Not for one moment. Anything that happened was … coercion.’

  Christopher looked at her with suspicion, his mouth a thin line. It was as Eva feared: he did not believe her. ‘After what I did to you, I was broken, do you understand? I knew you were lost to me, and, after that, all I could do was obey Catherine. You will tell me I am responsible for my own actions, and that’s true. All I can tell you is I have never felt like this before. I have never behaved like this before with any man.’

  He was silent, inhaling and then blowing out a long cloud of smoke. But some of the hardness had gone from his expression, his shoulders had relaxed, and, when he spoke again, his tone was softer: ‘I thought I had some control, but then last night it all came back, memories like flying shards of glass. You opened the box,’ he added ruefully. ‘You opened the box.’

  He pulled out yet another cigarette. ‘Want one?’

  Eva nodded, even though she had her own. He lit it and passed it over to her. They stood for a while, smoking in silence. A lone bee buzzed uninterested around the clumps of snapdragons near their feet. Too late in the year, probably.

  ‘The nurse who spoke to me said they gave you shocks,’ Eva said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘they did.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  He reached for her hand. ‘Painful,’ he said, in a tone that conveyed as much. Then, after a pause, ‘I didn’t have anyone with whom I could speak of it, not even a psychiatrist, until later. It was hard, Evie.’

  ‘I’m here now,’ Eva said, adding glumly, ‘if that’s any comfort, which it probably isn’t.’

  Christopher slipped his thumb inside her palm and started to stroke it. ‘Perhaps not, dear girl. Nevertheless, I’m very glad you’re here.’

  She looked up at him, knowing that she had a shaky, stupid smile on her face. But he was smiling too.

  ‘I understand Dilys, that’s Nurse Parvenor, warned you off me. Told you to get out while the going was good? As it is, I’ve no idea why you’re still here.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I’m made of sterner stuff than that.’

  ‘Good! I am glad to hear it. I’m not dead yet, just in the funny farm.’

  Eva put out her cigarette and leaned against him. Christopher put an arm around her, and she felt at rights with the world again. That corduroy coat did smell odd, as if it had been left to gather damp, but beneath it lay his distinctive smell, which comforted her. She said, ‘You do know that I stood up to Nurse Parvenor, don’t you? Christopher?’

  ‘I am led to believe,’ he replied, in an amused tone, ‘that your precise response was to tell her that you loved me.’

  ‘Well, what if I did?’ she said, blushing. ‘It’s not a crime.’

  ‘It certainly isn’t,’ Christopher said with a laugh, adding, ‘but it may well be a disease. That said,’ putting her hand on his heart, ‘I seem to suffer from the same problem, specifically with regard to you.’

  ‘Silly,’ Eva laughed, but she let him hold it there a moment.

  He leaned towards her and touched her forehead with the lightest of kisses, then trod another cigarette butt into the ground. ‘Eva, now that we’ve both acknowledged how we feel, do you think …?’

  He turned to her, looking rather anxious, his forehead lined and dappled by light and shade. ‘I was just thinking after what happened yesterday. There’s a logical next step, you know. Would you be offended if I suggested that sometime soon we might take it?’

  Eva felt her heart beat a little faster and more unevenly, like a child playing hopscotch and skipping the cracks. He meant to go to bed with her soon, that was what he was saying. ‘If you do,’ she said, trying to sound calm, ‘I owe it to you to tell you everything.’

  And, in a low voice, so that the guests sitting on the stone seat next to them wouldn’t hear her, she related the entire story of her return to London after Joseph Cronin’s death, her unwelcome pregnancy and Sybil’s and Lucia’s help in dealing with it. Christopher said nothing to all this, but she saw him flinch, just as he had in the church porch years before, when her silence to a question had spoken volumes.

  She found herself defending Lucia, though Christopher made no attack; it felt important to explain that the decision was hers alone. Still he said nothing, though he looked her in the eye. Finally, he looked down and said, even more quietly, ‘That was a hard thing to go through on your own.’

  An old lady with an unfinished book in the crook of her arm strode past. Her bookmark had a little tassel that bobbed up and down along the spine. She batted midges out of the way, which mystified Eva since she hadn’t noticed any. ‘You’re shocked, aren’t you?’ she said, turning back to Christopher.

  ‘Yes. A little.’

  ‘I don’t know if it affects things, if we—’

  He waved that away. ‘Evie. We all have our stories.’

  She did not know how to take his response, whether to be offended or relieved.

  ‘What I would like to do,’ Christopher said at length, ‘is to take you out tomorrow. Like an ordinary couple. And we’ll talk about ordinary things. I’ll bring a packed lunch and Lord Northcliffe’s finest newspaper, and we shall pore over it for gossip. Do you think we can manage that? Without the Sturm und Drang?’

  ‘I’ll be as ordinary as possible,’ Eva said.

  ‘You’ll be lucky if you manage mediocre. Let’s not be overambitious, anyway. I want to keep my head in one piece from here on in.’

  Eva squeezed his hand and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  18 September 1916

  Dearest Eva,

  It’s time to tell you. I daresay you’ve already guessed and you’ve not sent me to Coventry, so perhaps you’ll tolerate it in me. Suffice it to say, R. and I are head over heels in love, and I’ve given in to my true nature at last. (I really do hope this doesn’t shock you.) He confesses he has loved me for quite some time but was waiting for me to catch up and realise it. Isn’t that just like him?! Cool as a cucumber while I’m flapping about.

  It is awfully unfair on C., now that I come to think of it, but he has matters in hand, and that’s all I want to say about that for the present.

  R. is bored with hanging about in Dunkirk and fancies a stint on the eastern front, so he is considering heading off with another war artist, to paint blood, mayhem and butchery with a bit of sunny weather. If he does, I’ll be following him! I’m praying for you both too, you and Christopher. Still cannot for the life of me get used to calling him that. I’m scared he’ll give me lines. Anyway. Do cease your lovemaking long enough to write to me! I’m burning to find out what’s happened.

  Love from,

  Still your friend – I hope!

  Sybil

  Forwarded

  14 September 1916

  Dear Eva,

  Why didn’t you respond to my last letter? I know we’ve had our differences, but this is important. I have something I urgently
need to tell you in person. Please write instantly and apprise me of a good time to meet.

  Regards,

  Grace Fellowes (Mrs.)

  31

  Christopher arrived at Eva’s hotel at nine-thirty the following morning, with a full knapsack. He offered her his elbow as they walked out but was not long abandoning this chivalry and taking her hand instead, interlacing their fingers. He hummed discordantly, a sure sign that he was in a good mood. To Eva’s enquiries as to where they might be going he gave a knowing smile and said, ‘You’ll see.’

  For a while they made impassioned conversation on various topics, being much distracted by an argument about whether Thomas Wyatt had or had not written the first sonnets in English. A couple of hours later, with the sun not quite at its highest point, he said, ‘Well, Eva, you had your confession yesterday. Now it’s my turn.’ Oh, God, what now? ‘I don’t know if I’m clean. At least I think I might not be.’ At first Eva did not understand. Then she guessed: when he was in France, he had been with a woman.

  ‘Was it … Did you go to the place? Where the men go?’

  ‘No, it was nothing like that. Well,’ he added shamefacedly, ‘she worked there, but I didn’t know that she did.’

  Eva began to laugh, out of sheer relief. She had plenty of experience with treating gonorrhoea in the field hospital. She remembered Sybil once lifting a blanket and exclaiming in swift horror before dropping it again. Eva had had to step in and take her place. ‘So, she was a prostitute.’

  ‘No money changed hands!’ Christopher was puce with embarrassment as he stammered out an explanation. He had been off duty and drinking in an Amiens estaminet with Purcell and a couple of others when the woman approached him. It was only later that he found out she was a stalwart of a ‘blue lamp’ brothel and had probably been with all the officers in the regiment. Word got out, of course, and they all laughed at him, though with a certain respectful tinge, given that he was an NCO and the officers’ tart had condescended to sleep with him. No, he’d had no symptoms, and yes, he had taken some Protargol, which the MO had prescribed, but, still, he had thought he’d better tell her.

  ‘Are you disgusted?’ he asked hesitantly.

  ‘Christopher, I’ve been working in a field hospital for four months. I might as well be disgusted at you for being human. As long as it isn’t the syph, I don’t care. Look,’ she started to giggle, half covering her mouth with her hand, ‘let’s take things as they come. Anyway, I don’t think you’re in any danger if you haven’t had symptoms by now.’

  He gave her a grateful look. ‘I’m glad you think so. But I promise I’ll be careful.’

  They reached the beach just before noon. Like the rest of the shoreline, it faced north and so received scant sunlight, and chilly winds blew across it. The steps down from the cliff path were tricky. Christopher had to take Eva’s hand often, while also reassuring himself of his own balance. But when they got down to the sand it was all worth it. They were completely alone, under the shade of the jutting cliffs. Eva wasted no time in undoing her boots and stuffing her stockings inside them. She sifted the sand between her toes. It felt cold and heavy.

  The ham sandwiches turned out to be rather good, with real ham and mustard, and no gristle to speak of. ‘These are delicious,’ Eva said with her mouth full, sitting on a rock. ‘Did you make them?’

  ‘I intended to,’ Christopher said with a smile, ‘but once I told Mrs Parvenor of my intentions, she told me not to go near the kitchen. Said I had a good chance here, and she wasn’t going to let me ruin it. I was quite offended, you know. I’m perfectly capable of making a ham sandwich!’

  Eva laughed. ‘She likes you, Christopher. It must be your charm. I’m glad she didn’t let you though: this is the nicest sandwich I’ve had in quite some time.’

  They sat side by side and ate in silence, watching the sea advance and recede, seething, roaring and hissing as it trapped itself in rock pools and blowholes. Occasionally Christopher would catch Eva’s eye, and a little smile would play about his face, and she would smile back at him.

  Some time later, Christopher uncurled himself and rose to his feet, declaring his intention to go for a swim. Eva protested that they had no costumes. He ignored her and started to strip off his shirt. Pink-faced, she pointed at the waves. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ He shot her a scathing look. ‘It’s 1916. Everywhere’s dangerous.’

  ‘You said earlier you wanted to keep me safe.’

  ‘From my own depredations, yes. From life, no. Come swim.’ He continued to undress; now he was unbuttoning his trousers. Eva had never seen a man naked in a setting not related to hospital work, not even Joseph Cronin, who had always had the forethought to assault her only once he had his nightgown on.

  She couldn’t take her clothes off. Not on a beach. He was asking too much now, surely he knew that.

  But no. ‘Come on, Evie. Nobody can see you. There’s no one for miles.’

  So first her shoes, then her lower undergarments, then her stockings. Although her dress was a simple calico shift, she claimed to need help undoing it, help which Christopher was happy to provide, lingeringly so, with lots of extra touches that didn’t have anything to do with the task at hand. By now, he was completely naked, and she tried to ignore that fact as he worked on the fastenings. Then – There! – it was done, and she was as naked as he.

  She allowed herself a glance at him, the subtlety of which he torpedoed with an amused stare in return.

  There was an expression they used in Ireland, ‘There’s not a pick on him.’ It described him perfectly. His arms and upper body were pale and spare, with sparse clusters of hair. His head stuck out like a bullet on a sinewed neck, and his ribcage was too visible for ideal health. Yet he was wiry and fit. When Eva allowed herself a glance at his lower parts, they looked perfectly ordinary. No sign of anything untoward, not much to see in fact under a shock of dark hair. Of course he noticed her looking, and of course he had to comment on it to the effect that she had not been so coy the other day.

  Before she could reply, he took her hand, and they ran towards the waves. Eva winced at the small, sharp stones underfoot, but Christopher was relentless, pulling her with him so she had to run along the flinty seabed, the water first lapping at her ankles, then slapping against her knees, then off her feet and into deeper water, where he let her go.

  She yelled from the sweet sharpness of the cold seawater as it hit her groin, chest and neck. God, it is freezing! For a few seconds all she could do was shout and flail, then she got used to it and let the waves bounce her around, not doing much more than kicking her legs to stay balanced.

  She forgot that she was naked. She even forgot about Christopher. The sun was shining on the water like a million bright knives, and she turned ashore and raised her arms to it, as if it were a god.

  Then she heard Christopher call her name and turned around. There he was, his hair flattened against his head, grinning like a loon. ‘I told you you’d like it!’ he declared, motioning her to join him further out. They swam into deeper water.

  ‘Are you happy?’ she called at him.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘So am I!’

  He splashed her, and she retaliated. They were like children. Then they were like seals, dunking each other and wrestling underwater. Then they were like themselves, drunk with the cold and excitement of being in the sea.

  They stayed in the water for about twenty minutes before Eva decided she’d had enough and swam in towards the shore. She crouched down in the shallow water before springing to her feet, much to the enthusiastic approval of the man behind her. Eva blushed; she had forgotten the view she would be giving him. She ran up the beach as quickly as she could and put her wet backside on the tartan rug, folding her arms over her breasts and drawing her legs close.

  Christopher bounded behind and sat down close beside her. His wet skin slid against hers. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her,
putting his tongue in her mouth, licking some of the salt off her lips. It felt nice, but she was still chilly and so folded her arms tighter about her.

  ‘Don’t be shy,’ he said, uncrossing her arms. ‘Not now, not with me.’

  She dropped them obediently to her sides and let him take first one breast, then the other, in his hands. He licked one of her nipples and she yelped in surprise.

  ‘Salty,’ he remarked. She tried to think of a sarcastic reply, but then he put his hands on her shoulders and laid her down on her back, pressing himself onto her and entwining his legs in hers. She felt his weight on her and the rug tickling her back, until she could no longer bear it and brought his head down to turn his lips towards hers. She held his head in her hands and kissed him without stopping so that he had to pull away to breathe. Then he scooped his hands around the small of her back down to her buttocks and lifted her towards him. When they came together like that, hip to hip and groin to groin, his flesh on hers, a madness overcame her, and she grabbed a fistful of his hair in one hand and once again dug into his shoulder blades with the other.

  ‘There you go again,’ he groaned. ‘Jesus Christ, it wasn’t enough to send me to war, you want to kill me yourself while you’re at it.’

  She cut him off by the simple means of kissing him again, then flipped him over onto his back so that her full weight was on him. ‘You kill me first then.’

  ‘Not likely,’ said Christopher, adding ungallantly, ‘I’m struggling to breathe as it is.’

  Eva sat up. ‘Very well then. I’ll stop, will I?’

  ‘The hell you will, come here.’ They embraced and wrestled with each other again, and when she felt his hand between her legs Eva was at first surprised, then pleased. He asked her, in a harsh, breathless undertone, if she liked it when he did this with his fingers? And she said ‘yes’. Did she like this, here, again? She said ‘yes’. And again, here? She let her body answer for her. He must have known she liked what he was doing, because he put his full weight on her once more, and, with a pleasurable shock, she felt that he had put something else between her legs. She reared up to meet it. Feeling him against her, in her heightened state and in that certain way, was enough; a spasm of ecstasy coursed through her, her body forgetting all but the simplest imperative to unburden itself of a want she had unknowingly held inside herself for years. As she moved against him, in a half-sob he called out to her to be careful. Then he simply called her name, before making a sudden, loud cry, his head jerking repeatedly, then collapsing on her chest.

 

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