First Friends

by Marcia Willett

  ‘But not too much, Hammy,’ said Cass, who was packing the twins’ presents. ‘Remember we shall be having the barbecue in the evening.’

  Mrs Hampton pursed her lips.

  ‘It will be fun, Hammy.’ Charlotte, who was wrapped in a huge apron, perfectly understood Mrs Hampton’s silent disapproval. ‘Daddy’s got all the things ready and we’re going to have beefburgers and sausages. And we’re going to wait ‘til it’s dark.’

  ‘You’ll need a good tea first,’ said Mrs Hampton firmly. ‘ ‘Tisn’t a birthday without there’s a proper birthday tea.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Tom, who had just come in. He winked at Cass. ‘I can’t wait. The barbecue’s just a bit of fun. It’s the tea that counts. I hope you’re making plenty.’ He stuck his finger into Charlotte’s mixing bowl and licked it. ‘Mmmmm!’

  ‘Daddy!’ cried Charlotte. With her lips primmed but her eyes sparkling, she looked at Mrs Hampton.

  ‘Worse than the children,’ announced that worthy. ‘You’ll find that, my lover, when you grow up. Men aren’t nothin’ but trouble.’

  ‘Not Giles, though,’ murmured Charlotte, painstakingly placing spoonfuls of mixture into little paper cups.

  Mrs Hampton sucked in her breath and shook her head. ‘All on ’em,’ she pronounced. ‘Never known one different.’

  ‘Nor Grandfather.’

  ‘The General’s a wunnerful man, I’ll give ‘ee that.’ ‘Nor Daddy.’

  ‘All on ’em!’

  THE COMMISSIONING TOOK PLACE two weeks after the twins went back to school.

  ‘ . . . and make sure you are here by mid-day,’ Mark had written. ‘There is absolutely no point in your coming the night before. I shall be far too busy to have time for you and I can’t find anywhere for you to stay. I have been able to book a cabin for you for the night of the Commissioning. Make sure you arrive on time and . . . ’

  It was the General who insisted that she should drive up on the previous afternoon and put up at an hotel on the way.

  ‘You’ll be quite exhausted otherwise,’ he told her. ‘You’ll have to get away at about five in the morning and, if I know anything about that sort of military set-up, it will be a long and tiring day.’

  ‘It’ll be hell,’ agreed Kate. ‘It starts at mid-day and goes on until about two the following morning. First of all there’ll be a big buffet lunch with all the Wardroom and their wives and families, not to mention the Personage.’

  ‘The Personage?’

  ‘Usually Royalty. Someone who’s been selected from a host of applicants to chuck the bottle of champagne at the submarine. Well, after lunch, we go over to the dockyard and stand in the pouring rain or a force eight gale while the sailors fall in for the service. Then the Padre does his little bit and we all sing “Eternal Father, strong to save,” while the dockyard workers look on making ribald remarks. Then the Personage wishes the boat bon voyage and chucks the bottle and looks a fearful idiot when the wretched thing won’t smash!’

  ‘What a delightful word picture you paint,’ murmured the General.

  ‘Well then,’ said Kate, warming to her theme, ‘there’s a cocktail party on the boat so that all the people who have helped with the refit can come and get stoned out of their minds and have to be carried up the gangplank afterwards. By this time, your head is bursting and your feet are killing you but it simply isn’t done to be seen sitting down at a cocktail party, even if you’ve got varicose veins and gangrene is setting in. After all, the shock might kill FOSM!’

  ‘FOSM?’

  ‘Flag Officer Submarines. Everyone talks in capitals, General. You should know that. So then it’s far too late to find anything as civilised as a cup of tea—steward’s off duty, kitchen’s shut—so you go back to change for the Ship’s Company’s Dance and that’s hell on wheels. It’s held in some draughty hall or other somewhere near the dockyard and all the sailors have enough to drink to tell the officers what they think of them—all discreetly forgotten the next day—and their wives sit in little huddles glaring at the officers’ wives. If we go and talk to them they think we’re patronising and if we don’t they say we’re snobs. And all to the background of your local dance band “Sid Biggins and the Astronauts” with the floor awash with beer.’

  ‘It does sound rather grim,’ admitted the General.

  ‘Grim?’ Kate snorted. ‘If that’s the best you can do then all I can say is you have a very poor command of the English language!’

  Kate arrived at Chatham in a state of terror. The thought of confronting Mark, not to mention the Wardroom and all their wives, was totally unnerving. He was waiting for her in full uniform on the steps and looked forbidding.

  ‘You’re late,’ he said, as she got out of the car.

  She stared at him. ‘You said mid-day. It’s not quite ten to. I have just driven all the way from Devon.’

  She walked past him towards the Wardroom. The usual hubbub of clinking glasses and voices greeted her. Inside the door, she hesitated for a moment, trying to pick out a face she knew. A small dark woman detached herself from the crowd and came towards her.

  ‘You must be Kate,’ she said. ‘I’m Janet Anderson.’

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Kate remembered the Engineer Officer, a rather pleasant Scot.

  On a nuclear submarine, the Senior Engineer Officer, like the Captain, has to be a Commander and Kate knew that she, as Mark was only a Lieutenant Commander, must be properly submissive.

  ‘How clever of you to know me,’ she said, taking a glass from a steward who was circulating with a tray of drinks.

  ‘Well, you were the only wife not here. Mark says that you’re always late.’

  Kate looked at her quickly and in some surprise. The note of censure was unmistakable.

  ‘I had a long way to come . . .’ she began but Janet put a hand on her arm.

  ‘Just a word. I’m sure you’ll take it in the right spirit. It was rather noted that you couldn’t be bothered to come to the Ladies’ Night last night. It was a very special occasion, you know, and Mark is the First Lieutenant. He did his best. He explained that you hate socialising. But there are times, my dear, when we have to put our husbands first.’ She patted Kate’s arm. ‘A word to the wise,’ she said. ‘Must circulate.’

  She disappeared and Kate stood quite still. It was as if she had received an electric jolt to her system, a charge that had split open the chrysalis of her fear of Mark, respect for the Navy and her loyalty to their marriage. She seemed to have been looking at her life through a thin membrane that had distorted and confused and now it was torn from her eyes at last. The little tears and cracks had given way and she saw things clearly and knew that she was free and strong. Mark materialised beside her.

  ‘You bastard.’ Kate spoke in a low tone but a social smile was pinned to her lips. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the Ladies’ Night?’

  He looked profoundly embarrassed.

  ‘And all those other lies you’ve told? What a shit you are, Mark! And what a coward. Well, you’ve had it your way for eleven years and now it’s my turn.’ He made a move towards her but she stepped back. Still she smiled at him. To any observer they might have been having a pleasant if private chat. ‘No more talk. It’s much too late for that. This is my ultimatum, Mark, so listen carefully. These are my conditions. One. You will continue to provide for the twins.’

  A steward appeared beside them. ‘Drink, sir?’

  Mark waved him away. Kate swallowed her drink, exchanged her empty glass for a full one and continued to smile. The steward moved on.

  ‘Two. You will pay the mortgage until I get something sorted out. Three. You will not consider it your home although you can see the twins whenever it’s reasonable.’

  ‘Any hitches, Mark? Nice to see you, Kate.’ It was the Captain this time. He looked a little on edge.

  ‘Everything under control, sir. FOSM’s due any time now.’

  ‘Good. Well, better circulate.’ He nodded and left
them.

  ‘If you don’t agree, I shall get up on that chair and scream. And when I’ve got everyone’s attention, I shall tell them a few truths. Especially the one about the vasectomy. If you do agree, I shall go through with this farce although it will be for the last time.’

  ‘FOSM’s car just approaching, sir.’ A steward thrust his head between them.

  Mark nodded to him.

  ‘If you renege, Mark, I swear to you that everyone will know all the facts. Otherwise, you can blame the break up on me. You can say whatever you like and I promise I shall never deny it.’

  ‘What goes on here?’ The Electrical Officer, already a little the worse for wear, blundered between them. ‘Can’t have this! Canoodling in corners? Especially not with your own wife. Shocking bad form!’

  ‘Is it a deal?’ Kate raised her voice as Mark was forced to step back. She laughed and sparkled at him as though they had been making some delightful pact but Mark saw the determination and contempt and knew that, for the first time, she had taken control away from him. For one moment, his true feelings showed in his face and Kate caught her breath. How he hated her at that moment!

  ‘Definitely a deal!’ he cried gaily, murder in his eyes. ‘Every bit. You can trust me, I promise!’

  She raised her glass towards him. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ she said. She took a sip, her eyes still locked with his. ‘Goodbye, Mark,’ she said and her voice was almost inaudible and infinitely sad. Turning away from him, she pushed her way into the throng of laughing people.

  Part Three

  Twelve

  1976-78

  On a July day during the hot summer of 1976 Annabel Hope-Latymer wheeled her thirteen-month-old daughter, Sophie, down the long drive from the Manor, past the church and through the village. Abby had adjusted slowly to life in a rambling, draughty manor house on the edge of Dartmoor but now she was beginning to enjoy the feeling that there was more to country life than she had first imagined. Here Cass had made quite a contribution. She and Abby had much in common, not least their light-hearted approach to life, and Abby and William had been included in Cass and Tom’s social round just as, in turn, they had been enjoined in the friendships which the Hope-Latymers had with the local landowners. The small Sophie’s growing attachment to Gemma had strengthened the bond which easily surmounted the eight-year age gap between the two women.

  William had taken on the responsibilities of running the estate very willingly and, although there was very little ready cash available and the Manor was in fairly urgent need of repair, the Hope-Latymers managed with all the philosophical optimism of youth. They were very happy together, the relationship containing a great deal of camaraderie and easy-going give and take rather than overwhelming passion, and they appeared to be a well-matched couple.

  It was early but already the crushing weight of the heat was beginning to make itself felt. No current of air stirred the stillness and the flowers in the cottage gardens were beginning to wilt and fade; the patches of lawn burnt to a dull ochre. The hosepipe ban was beginning to take effect.

  The General, immaculate as always in a linen jacket, raised his Panama hat to her. In his view, Abby didn’t look old enough to be a mother. There was so much of the waif, the gamine, about her. She had such a frail look with her dark spiky hair and the grey eyes, huge in the tiny pointed face. She was like a kitten, he thought, in a sudden flight of fancy. A kitten that had been left out in the rain. She might purr happily if you picked her up and petted her: on the other hand she might just as easily scratch your hand to ribbons. Amused by his fanciful thoughts, he strolled over to his gate.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Taking your constitutional early, I see. Very wise. Going to be another hot one.’

  ‘I love it,’ confessed Abby, ‘it can’t be too hot for me. Sophie feels it, though.’

  The General smiled at the child in the pushchair who waved her fists and then tore off her linen hat, casting it to the ground. Abby picked it up resignedly.

  ‘That’s how it’s been all the way down. She hates this hat. I never have any trouble with her blue one but she simply won’t keep this one on. I couldn’t find the other one.’ She put it back on Sophie’s dark head.

  ‘Amazing things, women.’ The General shook his head. ‘Shall never understand them. Know what they want from the cradle. And generally get it.’

  Abby laughed as Sophie gave a loud shriek and flung the offending article away from her yet again.

  ‘You try,’ she said, picking the hat up and offering it to the General. ‘Perhaps she’ll wear it for you.’

  The General let himself out of his gate, took the hat and gently but firmly placed it on Sophie’s head.

  ‘Very beautiful you look,’ he told her. ‘A hat always does something for a woman.’

  The child surveyed him thoughtfully and gave him an angelic smile. Abruptly, she put her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes.

  ‘Well!’ Abby raised her eyebrows. ‘I can see that I shall have trouble with her later on. Obviously she likes older men.’

  ‘Beginner’s luck,’ said the General, rather taken aback by his success. ‘Care for refreshment? Coffee? Something cold?’

  ‘You are kind but I’m on my way to see Cass. We’re making plans for Saul’s birthday next week. Maybe see you later?’

  He nodded, smiled at her, raised his hat again and returned to the contemplation of his roses.

  Abby strolled on along the lane where the cow parsley, crumbly with pollen, stood almost head high and the muddy ruts made by tractors’ wheels were baked hard as rock. In at the Rectory gate she turned and up the rhododendron-lined drive to the big open space before the front door. The drive wound on away to the left into the old stable yard where cars were kept. Lawns, still flanked by rhododendrons, stretched away to the right. Abby pushed the chair to the bottom of the steps. Sophie appeared to be sleeping and, leaving her where she was, Abby trod up the wide shallow steps and peered through the open door into the cool dark interior.

  ‘Hi,’ she called. ‘Cass?’ She went in.

  To the right of the hall was the door to the long gracious drawing room. To the left was the much smaller study and the cloakroom. Abby walked past them to the back of the house and put her head round the kitchen door. As she did so, Cass came in from the utility room opposite.

  ‘I didn’t hear you arrive,’ she said. ‘I was hanging out some washing. Where’s Sophie?’

  ‘She fell asleep on the way up. I didn’t want to wake her so I left her in the pushchair. She’s in the shade.’

  ‘Gemma’s napping too. She was awake at dawn. At least, it felt like it. Let’s have some coffee. I’m sure you’re gasping. It’s exhausting, walking in that heat. I’m sure we’ll hear her when she wakes.’

  ‘No fear of that,’ said Abby, grimly, sitting down at Cass’s huge and ancient kitchen table and pulling some cigarettes out of her canvas shoulder bag. ‘Your pa put a spell on her. Persuaded her to wear her hat and then sent her to sleep. D’you think he’d like to come and live with me? Or even better, I could go and live with him. He’s so much nicer than William!’

  Cass burst out laughing and pushed the kettle on to the Aga’s hotplate. ‘You can keep your hands off my pa! I need him! I’ve already had offers from Kate.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘OK. She’s beginning to get on top of things at last. I hardly see her these days, she’s so busy.’

  ‘I never know quite what to say to her. Does she ever see her husband? It must be awful living in that sort of limbo for so long.’

  ‘It’s nearly a year now since they separated but I think it’s been very hard for her to come to terms with it.’

  ‘She never mentions him. What’s he like?’

  ‘He’s a shit! She’s better off without him but it’s difficult to start again when you’re thirty—especially when you haven’t been brought up to fend for yourself. Mark supports the twins but Kate won’t take anything f
or herself except that, to begin with, he continued to pay the mortgage. Her father had already paid half the cost of the cottage in the deposit and in the end Kate borrowed the other half from him and is trying to pay it back.’

  ‘Well surely her father won’t make life difficult?’ Abby accepted her mug of black coffee. ‘Or is he hard up?’

  ‘Not particularly. But Kate’s got two brothers and a sister and she feels that it isn’t fair on them. When he gave her the deposit, they all had equal amounts but this is rather different. Kate looks upon it as a loan, which is why she took that job with the bookshop in Tavistock and breeds dogs on the side. She doesn’t make that much, I suspect, but she likes to pay bits off the loan whenever she can.’

  Abby sighed. ‘Poor Kate. She’s such a sweetie. She must find it a bit much trying to do it all.’

  ‘I think she does in the holidays when the twins are home. But the chap who owns the bookshop is super to her. Gives her time off and lets her adjust her hours. She rushes home at lunchtime to let the dogs out. To be honest,’ Cass hitched her chair forward conspiratorially, ‘I think he fancies her.’

  ‘Oh?’ Abby put her elbows on the table, eyebrows raised. ‘Is he available?’

  Cass shook her head vexedly. ‘I don’t know. Kate’s very cagey and I don’t want to probe too much. She’s been hurt quite enough.’ She grinned. ‘He’s rather dishy, though. Have you seen him?’

  Abby shook her head. ‘I’m not even sure where the bookshop is. You don’t mean W.H. Smith’s, do you?’

  ‘No, no. This is a little antiquarian bookshop round the back. He sells old prints and things, too. He’s very tall. Lean and sexy. Wears gorgeous cords. Casual but right. You know?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Abby sounded appreciative as if Cass were offering her a cream cake. ‘I do indeed. Perhaps I’ll pop in and buy a book!’

  ‘Honestly. First my old pa and now Kate’s boss! There’s a name for women like you! Anyway, you haven’t got a hope. He’d find out in the first two minutes that you never learned to read!’