The Horizon (1993)

by Reeman, Douglas

  Alexandra smiled. She had always liked Kitty even though they came from very different backgrounds: she was not afraid of hard work, and had turned her hand to anything she could get when everyone had been against her. She had met a young corporal when the county regiment had had a couple of battalions under canvas at Eastwood Farm. It must have seemed like another world to her, as she had been only a naive eighteen when the soldiers arrived. All those young straight-backed men in uniform, parading and marching, walking out in Alresford where there were a few ale houses and inns.

  Kitty and her corporal had fallen in love: as simply as that. Her father, the police sergeant in Alresford, had seemingly been in favour. A regular soldier with prospects, he said, she could have done a lot worse. They had spoken with the vicar, exchanged letters with the corporal’s parents. It was all arranged.

  Then without warning the regiment had been ordered to France. Two months later the corporal was killed in action, and a few months after that Kitty gave birth to a little girl.

  Everything had changed for her, and infuriated by the shame it might cast on his career in the county police her father had turned her out of the house. I’ll have no slut in my home!

  If Kitty still brooded about that she never mentioned it. Alexandra’s father had, characteristically, offered her a room, and in exchange she had worked about the house. It was perhaps the first time that Alexandra had seen her father in a different light, not merely a dedicated country G.P. but as a radical, and a man above all who cared for his fellow human beings whether they were sick or well. It was fortunate that she had still been living at home, otherwise she knew some of the more spiteful gossips would have suggested that the doctor was keeping a woman ‘who was no better than she ought to be’, after the death of his wife.

  Kitty had always opened her heart to the doctor’s daughter, although she did not visit so often now that she had a respectable job in the town working in a milliner’s shop, where her ready smile had become a great asset to the owner. Her newborn child had not lived long enough for Kitty to know it. Like her dead corporal, it was something that remained locked in her heart, still precious and private.

  In town, as here in this small village, the gossip surrounding her had died. After nearly three years of war hers was not the only loss of innocence, and there were too many families concerned with their own bereavement to condemn her one indiscretion.

  She lay now on the grass with her chin propped in her hands.

  ‘Thought you were going out today, Alex?’

  ‘I was going down into Alresford, to buy some perfume if there is any.’

  Kitty’s bare legs moved back and forth like scissors, and her eyes were thoughtful.

  ‘So there is a fellow then.’

  ‘Is that what they say?’ She was used to Kitty’s directness; maybe that was why they had always got along. But it was a shock all the same.

  ‘Tis what I say.’ She blew some of her hair from her mouth. ‘You can tell me, you know that. Should, after all we’ve been through together.’

  Alex put a strawberry to her lips. ‘It’s quite silly, really.’

  ‘Was that why you were going into town? To see him? What’s he like? What does he do?’

  ‘He’s – he’s a soldier, Kitty. But he’s not here, he’s gone over. You know.’ Kitty was so worldly, she thought with a sudden rush of embarrassment. Younger than herself by about five years, but she always felt so uninformed and ignorant by comparison.

  Kitty said, ‘I know, right enough,’ and the silence was suddenly grave. Then her mood changed again like quicksilver, as it always did. ‘And you want him, is that it?’

  To her own annoyance Alex knew she was blushing. ‘I don’t know. I never really knew how it could be. How I could feel . . .’ She tried to put it into words. ‘I just want to see him again. He’s never bored with what I say, and he’s good to be with . . .’

  Kitty was on her knees beside her, one sun-warmed arm around her shoulders. ‘Tell Kitty, Alex love. You’ve done more than enough for me. Maybe I can repay some of it now.’ She paused, examining the lovely, innocent profile. ‘He hasn’t – well – you didn’t—’

  ‘No. I never have.’ She thought wildly of the blinded officer who had attacked her. Maybe that was how it always was, all she would ever know. ‘I’ll be an old maid, you’ll see.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft, girl!’ Kitty studied her, weighing the words and the moment, not wanting to stem the rush of confidences. ‘You’re thinking: maybe he won’t come back, maybe he’ll be killed, is that it? Afraid you’ll be all alone again.’

  And I have been alone, more than anyone will ever know.

  ‘I want him.’ She gazed intensely at Kitty, with eyes that were clear green in the sunlight. Like the sea, Kitty thought, although she had never seen it. ‘What is it like?’ She saw the younger girl’s mouth twitch. ‘Don’t mock me, Kitty!’

  Kitty took her hand in hers and patted it as she would a small, uncertain animal.

  ‘Like nothing else. My Bobby and I used to do it in the fields when he could get out of camp. He used to make me so excited I couldn’t wait, I wanted it that bad.’ She watched the fine colour flood Alex’s face. ‘There now, I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?’

  ‘No. I’m just shocked with myself. I didn’t know, you see, and I still don’t.’

  ‘Where’s your soldier live? Somewhere you’d not be known?’

  Alex laughed with amusement and despair.

  ‘He lives here.’

  Kitty released her hand and exclaimed, ‘That one who was here? The colonel?’ She breathed out noisily. ‘My God, girl, you’ve got a nerve, an’ I love you for it!’

  Alex said quietly, ‘He’s had a bad time. Far worse even than my father realised. At first I thought he was afraid of going back, but I don’t think so now. He’s troubled about something, and he thinks his men might suffer because of him.’

  Kitty stood up as the church clock chimed. ‘Must get back, I promised to take the baker’s kids for a walk when they come out of school.’ She paused in collecting her baskets. ‘You’re entitled to some happiness even in this rotten war, Alex. Just be careful, and listen to me.’ She walked away, and then paused. ‘If you only knew what it was like, and how much I envy you!’

  For a long time Alex remained there, watching the sun on the red-brick walls, going over what she had said, how she had been able to discuss something so private. Even thinking about it made her cheeks burn. I couldn’t wait, I wanted it that bad.

  She turned suddenly as her father came out of the back door, his spectacles on the top of his head, and she knew she was blushing again, as if he could read her thoughts.

  The doctor glanced around vaguely. ‘Oh, she’s gone, has she?’

  ‘Is something wrong, Daddy?’

  ‘Quite the reverse, my dear.’ He held up a London newspaper, which she knew the army dispatch riders always brought him when they could. ‘There’s been another battle. Near Ypres, as far as I can make out.’ He did not see the anxiety on her face as he lowered his glasses to peer at the front page. ‘It’s official. They drove the enemy back and the General Staff say that the German army is almost beaten, and after this victory will be . . .’ he squinted closer to read the exact words, ‘will be little more than a disorganised rabble!’

  He smiled at her. ‘Thought you would like that.’ He folded the paper under his arm and tugged out his watch. ‘What about some tea before I go out again?’

  She scarcely heard him. There had been no mention of the Royal Marines at all. He was safe. It was almost over.

  She thought of her talk with the irrepressible Kitty, and was surprised to discover that she was no longer ashamed.

  The Royal Marines commandant-general slammed through the doors of his Caxton House office and thrust an aggressive hand out toward Major-General Loftus, who stood up as he entered.

  ‘God damn it, Herbert, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting!’ He hurled h
is cap and swagger-stick onto a chair. ‘I’ve been all this time at the damned War Office. Looking for somebody who actually understands what’s going on in Flanders, and in this damned coalition government, is like looking for a pork chop in a synagogue!’ He calmed down slightly but he was still fuming. ‘Care for a drink?’ He stabbed a bell button and a marine appeared in the doorway in seconds.

  Loftus pulled out his newspaper with its glaring headlines about the Germans’ impending defeat, and spread it on the desk.

  The general scowled. ‘I know. I’ve seen it. I sometimes think the enemy is on this side of the Channel.’ The marine returned with a tray, decanter and two glasses, then backed out of the door as discreetly as a butler. Loftus took a glass and peered over it, his blue eyes very hard.

  ‘They promised me, sir. The Fifty-First was to remain independent until my Grenville Division could move up to the front.’

  ‘Well, Herbert, your division isn’t going, not yet anyway. They need reinforcements everywhere, not least to prop up our Italian allies in the Alps, and of course the Russians are nearer to bloody revolution than they’ve ever been. I happen to know that the prime minister wants to get rid of Haig, but as I discovered at the War Office there’s no alternative to Haig’s plan, and who would replace him in any case?’

  Loftus put down his empty glass without having even tasted the whisky. ‘I heard as much, sir. Lloyd-George has never liked the G.O.C. . . .’

  The general waved him down. ‘That’s not the point, Herbert. All this optimism, this pie in the sky about the Germans is rubbish. One more push will not cause their collapse, and in any case the army can never cover thirty-five miles to the Belgian coast before the weather breaks. How could anyone be so blind as to promise to complete the first fifteen miles in under two weeks? You’ve read my report. We lost all those men for a mere two or three miles. It’s not a battlefield, it’s a bloody cemetery!’

  They were silent, each immersed in thought, while the muted murmur of London penetrated even to this office. Then Loftus said, ‘So Blackwood’s battalion remains under army control.’

  ‘Yes. I did everything I could, but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘They did agree to allow the battalion to fall back to the French coast for a rest period. The R.M.A. will remain to support the next big push.’ He stared at his glass. ‘End of next month. Top secret, of course.’

  Loftus thought he had misheard. ‘But it isn’t even the end of June yet, sir! Our people gained an advance, albeit a small one, but the whole point, unless I misunderstood my orders, was to follow up the success before the enemy could regroup and make good his line.’

  The general refilled the glasses. ‘I know, and you didn’t misunderstand. Haig intends to follow up when he’s ready, not before. There’s an even worse enemy than the general staff, Herbert. The weather. That land has been fought over so often it would become a bog. The army has put some new tanks into the field and they seem to have done well enough, especially from the tactical point of view. Nobody wants to be rolled flat by one of those brutes, and they offer good cover for advancing infantry.’

  Loftus said, ‘But in last year’s weather they would have been useless.’

  The general turned over some papers without seeing them. ‘Absolutely.’

  Loftus suggested, ‘I could spare another company, sir. All marines.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Then he said sharply, ‘In your opinion, Herbert: should I pull Blackwood out, put somebody higher in command?’

  ‘No, sir. He’s the right man for the job.’

  ‘I think so too.’ He smiled. ‘Can’t bump up his promotion any more – they wouldn’t stand for that!’

  Loftus said, ‘My Grenville Division is based at one of the big camps at Étaples near Boulogne, about fifty miles from the front at Ypres. The Fifty-First can withdraw to there for a rest and training period. If there’s to be no attack until late July, it might be useful, for both the battalion and the division.’ He tried to smile, but it was impossible. ‘Keep the discontent and mischief to a minimum at least.’

  The general nodded absently. ‘Pig of a place, I’m told, but I’ll make certain your total authority isn’t challenged, until the advance anyway.’

  Loftus said, ‘I think we should bring Blackwood to London, sir. His adjutant too. Bright young chap, very useful. I’ve seen his reports.’

  The general studied him keenly. ‘Had to say that, didn’t you? His father is a friend of yours.’ He smiled. ‘See to it then. I expect Blackwood is a little bitter about the change of plans – I would be, in his place. Make the necessary arrangements. His second-in-command . . .’ He frowned, groping for the name and face.

  ‘Major Vaughan, sir.’

  The general’s eyes crinkled briefly. ‘Yes, him. Saw the young devil fight a few times – knocked the hell out of everybody. Well, he’s earmarked for promotion to half-colonel. Do him good to be left in charge for a while.’ He reached for the decanter. ‘Blackwood isn’t married, is he? I’d have heard.’

  Loftus’s face was impassive. The general certainly would have known: he missed nothing.

  ‘No. Not married, sir.’

  ‘Pity. Plenty of time though. Have to think of the future.’ He sighed. ‘Well, keep him in London, where I can have an eye on him. We’ll be able to get him back to his men soon enough if the balloon goes up prematurely, and it might do him some good as well. Bit more life than down at that godforsaken place in Hampshire.’

  They both looked at their watches and the general said, ‘Leave it to you then, Herbert. I must be off. Dining with the fourth Sea Lord tonight. Useful of course, but it does tend to mess up one’s other arrangements.’

  The marine orderly entered with Loftus’s cap as if to a signal. Loftus accepted it with a wry smile.

  ‘I know, sir. Hell, isn’t it?’

  So Jonathan Blackwood’s life was arranged.

  A few days later Alexandra Pitcairn was sitting in the garden, depressed after a long session with one of the patients at Hawks Hill. He was a young subaltern, no more than nineteen, who had been blinded in France when a flare pistol shot from another officer’s hand had exploded. There was no hope of his recovery and he lacked any sense of purpose, and even her efforts to explain how successful the Braille training could be had made no impression upon him. It often began like that, until she was able to win a man’s confidence and remove from his own mind the stigma of cripple.

  She had let him talk for much of the time, his young husky voice telling her what it had been like. How he had lain for two days in a shell hole before anyone had found him. He told her about his girl, how he had hoped to marry her when it was all over. His parents had been to visit him at the previous hospital, and his mother in particular had kept saying he was not to worry, that everything was going to be just as it was. It was no help at all.

  Once he said, ‘I wish they’d left me out there to die!’

  She had held his hands in hers, wanting somehow to reassure him. But even that was different now. Once they had been only instruments, coaxing minds out of darkness into understanding. Now they had become hands, human, physical things, not to be ignored when she had tried to move stiff fingers, and guide them to learning.

  There had been no word from Jonathan Blackwood. She had told herself countless times not to be so silly. He would write again when he had the opportunity. She was amazed by the hunger she felt for the briefest message, anything that might sustain her.

  ‘So this is how the idle rich carry on!’

  She looked up and saw Kitty Booth grinning over the gate. Kitty came into the garden and sat beside her.

  ‘Bad day, my dear?’

  She sighed. ‘I get so tired sometimes – and the work just goes on and on. And I think waiting . . .’

  ‘No word, then?’

  ‘No. I . . .’ She hesitated. ‘After I told you about him I thought perhaps I was imagining it, because I wanted to.’

  Kitty smiled. ‘Don’t you even th
ink such things! Anything I can do?’

  Good old Kitty. ‘My father’s up at the hospital, giving the medical officers a hand.’ She forced a smile. ‘You could make us some tea . . .’ Then she broke off and stared beyond Kitty’s shoulder. Her face was suddenly ashen.

  Kitty exclaimed, ‘What is it?’

  She could neither breathe nor speak. The gate was half open and the post girl was leaning her bicycle against the wall beyond it. She opened her bag.

  ‘Telegram, Miss Pitcairn.’

  ‘Oh my God – no—’

  The post girl pulled it out and they saw the official stamp.

  Kitty said sharply, ‘I’ll take it.’

  The post girl waited. She had delivered so many, and yet she had never got over seeing the anguish on the faces of the recipients.

  Alexandra held out her hand but it was visibly shaking. ‘No, it’s all right. He wouldn’t want . . .’

  But her eyes were almost blinded with tears. Kitty opened it and read the brief message, then she put her arm around her friend and whispered, ‘He’s coming home, Alex love. He’s not hurt – or anything.’

  Eventually she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and took the telegram with unsteady fingers. It seemed a long time before she could read it.

  My very dear Alex. I am coming to London. Please meet me. Letter following. With love, Jonathan.

  The word love seemed to steady her more than anything.

  ‘He’s coming home, Kitty!’ She hugged her, and then the post girl, who grinned and said, ‘Well! Must be quite a man, I’m thinkin’!’

  When they were alone and Kitty was at last brewing the tea she asked, ‘What’s London like, Kitty? I only went once, when I was a child.’

  ‘I don’t know – I’ve never been. Don’t have that sort of money.’ But she smiled. ‘You’ll get his letter soon, I shouldn’t wonder. You will go to him, won’t you?’

  Alex nodded, fingers gripped tightly together as the young subaltern’s had been.