The Kissing Garden

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘I agree,’ the man on Amelia’s left said, ‘There is absolutely no reason for us to be at loggerheads with Nazi Germany.’

  ‘Really?’ Ralph said smoothly. ‘I find that very interesting. Why is that, do you think?’

  ‘Because we taught Fritz a good lesson in fourteen to eighteen,’ the man replied. ‘And one that he’s not going to forget in a hurry.’

  ‘He seems to have forgotten it already,’ Ralph insisted. ‘Marching into the Rhineland. Sending troops to help Franco. Building up his air force. Hardly the stuff of keeping the peace.’

  ‘You could say the same about us, if you chose to do so,’ the man replied. ‘Except when we keep our troops up to number and modernize our forces we are said to be doing it for the good of the country and the Empire.’

  ‘We don’t march into other people’s backyards.’

  ‘We have done. Otherwise how would we have got an Empire?’

  ‘The point is the Nazis are being aggressive.’

  ‘I fail to agree.’ The man on the other side of Amelia now joined in the debate. ‘Economically Germany is on her knees. What Herr Hitler is doing is dangerously overstretching an already overstretched economy. Were we to allow him his overheated head for a while, when the German people found they still have little or nothing to eat they would soon remove Herr Hitler from power and return to their senses.’

  ‘Precisely so,’ their host agreed. ‘My understanding of the matter is that Hitler’s generals have already expressed their disapproval of his expansionist programme, believing as Sir John has just remarked that any such policy would be detrimental to the health of the country. However, Herr Hitler has let it be known for some time now that there are really only two things he wants, two objectives which I and a great many other of my colleagues in actual government view with a certain amount of sympathy. The German Chancellor—’

  ‘Der Führer,’ Ralph interrupted, earning himself a glacial look from Sir Cedric.

  ‘The German Chancellor wants the restitution of territory taken from his country after the war,’ he continued. ‘I have sympathy with this because like many others I feel the Treaty of Versailles was a badly designed document, one which took no account of the bad feeling it would engender in the vanquished foe.’

  Ralph put his head back to laugh incredulously, much to the private delight of Amelia. ‘The vanquished foe!’ he said. ‘It took no account of the feelings of the vanquished foe!’ He closed his eyes and fell silent, before opening them and leaning right across the table in the direction of his host. ‘What about the feelings of the victors, Sir Cedric? What about the feelings of the hundreds of thousands of men who fought the war to end all wars? What about those who endured a hardship which is beyond description? Who suffered wounds the like of which had never been seen before? Who lived through all those terrors and those horrors? Not only the millions killed, but the millions of parents who sacrificed their children so that people like you can sit complacently round your laden dinner tables telling us all that we must have compassion for our vanquished foe. An enemy who’s now feeling hard-done-by because someone confiscated some of his lands. What sort of man are you, I wonder, Sir Cedric? Did you fight in the last war? Or did the government find you some cosy, well-paid corner to hide in?’

  ‘That’s enough, Ralph. You’ve had too much wine.’

  ‘I’m well aware of how much wine I have had, George. If ever I was in need of too much wine, it’s this evening.’

  ‘I don’t know who this gentleman is,’ Sir Cedric said. ‘But since he came with you, George, I suppose we must tolerate such monkey manners. But for your information, sir—’

  ‘Ralph Grace,’ Amelia put in. ‘Lieutenant Ralph Grace MC, Sir Cedric.’

  Her host shot her a frosty glance before continuing. ‘For your information, Mr Grace, you like many others of your kind are responding hysterically to what you see as the Nazi threat.’

  ‘Perhaps because I and others of my kind have not seen threat, sir, we have seen war, not Wellington’s war, but modern war. We know. You do not.’

  Although she knew it was a lapse of manners to argue with one’s host, Amelia could not take her eyes off Ralph. He was like a terrier now, his hackles up, waiting for the rabbit to run. But the rabbit showed no such signs.

  ‘Mr Grace,’ Sir Cedric said, eyeing his antagonist carefully. ‘You must understand that greater intelligence is at work here, the indication being that given the present economic state of Germany, if she is to expand at all then better by far to allow her to do so eastwards. All that agriculturally useful space there is going to waste in those thinly populated areas. Once they have sufficient food in their bellies the Nazi lions will become tabby cats once more. They simply want food and the room to grow it.’

  ‘People live in those thinly populated areas. Sir Cedric. The Czechs. The Poles. The Hungarians.’

  Her host’s small dark eyes flicked back to Amelia for a moment, blinked slowly and contemptuously and then returned to watch Ralph.

  ‘This is for the greater good, Mr Grace—’ he began again.

  ‘Mrs Dashwood had something to say, Sir Cedric.’ Ralph indicated Amelia. ‘Of course she’s only a woman, and like all your bedfellows no doubt you believe that women are morally decadent.’

  ‘That’s quite enough, Ralph,’ George warned his friend.

  ‘Mr Grace,’ his host continued, and Amelia caught the look of hurt surprise which George was giving her, as if she had somehow betrayed him.

  ‘Excuse me, Sir Cedric,’ Ralph interrupted. ‘As a gentleman you should at least afford Mrs Dashwood the courtesy of an acknowledgement.’

  ‘Before asking you to leave my table and my house, Mr Grace, I shall just make my point. What those whom you have helped elect to represent you are of a mind to do is for the future health of this country. As such their actions cannot be governed by a grateful feeling that a war was fought twenty years ago and that in the process lives were lost. That is now consigned to the past. Those of us with a mind to the future welfare of England must make sure that we do not condemn yet more soldiers to their deaths through a lack of proper understanding. To the scaremongers and the rumour merchants who run newspapers Hitler looks like the bogeyman, which is a nonsense. What he is in fact is a man intent on getting his own country back into shape, and should he fail to do this or should he overstep the mark he will be removed, either by his generals or by his people.’

  ‘Like hell,’ Ralph replied, pushing back his chair. ‘This is not why I fought for years in the mud. To sit and listen to this Fascist claptrap.’ He was on his feet, and seeing him about to leave Amelia stood up in her place as well.

  ‘Wait for me.’

  Ralph looked in amazement over to where she was standing. But it was George who spoke.

  ‘Amelia – please sit down.’

  ‘I’m sorry, George, but I can’t. Really not. I agree with everything Ralph has just said – and with not one word I have heard anybody else utter. I don’t believe in appeasing Hitler because to do so would mean those who fought and died in the last war did so in vain. I think anyone who thinks the way everyone here appears to think should be deeply ashamed of themselves, and if you choose to remain here, George, then so too should you. Good night, Sir Cedric. Lady Wareham.’

  In the deathly silence that ensued Amelia walked to the door, hoping and praying that George would get up and follow her. But he did not. He called after her twice, but sensing he was not intending to support her Amelia ignored him. Instead it was Ralph who followed her out of the room.

  ‘How are we to get home?’ she wondered as a maid went to fetch their coats.

  ‘We shall walk, Amelia.’

  ‘But it’s miles.’

  ‘So what? The walk will do us good.’

  * * *

  It was ten miles and it took them the best part of three hours.

  At first Amelia hoped that any moment she would hear the sound of the Bentley roaring up b
ehind to rescue them and that George would take them both on board, laughing like the old George and apologizing for his temporary loss of humour, but no car came to their rescue, least of all her husband’s.

  A vicar returning home late after attending a sickly parishioner did stop and offer them a lift, as did a drunk in an Austin 10, but the first offer was going in the wrong direction and the second was from a driver who was far too inebriated for his own good let alone that of his passengers.

  So they walked, and the more they walked the less Amelia remembered how far they had to go, such was the power of Ralph’s conversation.

  He talked mostly about his boyhood, once again asserting that he was not sure what might have happened to him without George, so utterly desperate was he by the end of his first three months in battle. Before he had enlisted he had never so much as seen a badly injured body, let alone a dead one, yet two days after landing in France he was surrounded by young boys, men, his own age, dying by the hour.

  ‘To say that it was a nightmare would be ridiculously understating it,’ he sighed as they turned off the main road into a minor one which would finally lead them to the gates of The Priory. ‘There are no words to describe the real horrors of war.’

  ‘Then maybe appeasement isn’t such a bad thing after all,’ Amelia ventured. ‘Maybe what George believes--’

  ‘Appeasement?’ Ralph cried. ‘Appeasement? When you think of all those young men who died!’

  ‘Very well,’ Amelia said hastily, taking his arm. ‘I was just trying to examine the argument.’

  ‘There isn’t one, Mrs Rafferty. There is no argument that makes sense of appeasement. And to hear George of all people . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘No sense at all.’

  They walked along in thoughtful silence for a while, Ralph swishing at the dark nettles with a long branch he had pulled from the hedgerow.

  ‘You rather hero-worship George, don’t you?’ Amelia asked at last.

  ‘I certainly did. When we were in the army. When I volunteered I knew nothing. Nothing at all – and suddenly there was George, who seemed to know everything. I didn’t know anything about girls, let alone women—’

  ‘I don’t think George knew very much about women either, when he joined up.’

  ‘When I met him, he was every inch the soldier-hero. An absurdly handsome officer renowned for his courage. Someone like that had to know everything there was to know about everything. Of course I hero-worshipped him. Everyone did.’

  Ralph dead-headed another dozen or so nettles before turning sideways to glance at his companion.

  ‘I’d only taken a girl out once by the time I joined up,’ he said with a grin. ‘We went to a friend’s party and we danced – and I fell madly in love with her – and I didn’t even kiss her. Imagine, I might have been killed without ever kissing a girl!’

  ‘What a terrible thought!’

  ‘I’m glad you agree. Just imagine – imagine going to your grave having never kissed someone like you.’

  Ralph looked at her as they walked on, and Amelia at once averted her eyes, fixing them firmly on the long road unwinding ahead of her.

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’ Ralph asked, freeing his arm from hers and turning to walk backwards down the road ahead of her.

  ‘Of course I heard what you said.’

  ‘Well, can you imagine such a thing? The other way round, say – dying young before you had the chance to be kissed.’

  ‘What you don’t know, you don’t miss.’

  ‘That is simply not true.’

  ‘Can we change the subject please?’

  ‘Very well. I told George after the war – that I hero-worshipped him, you know,’ Ralph continued. ‘We were getting drunk together, or more correctly I was already drunk – and when I told George how – I mean what – I felt, he smiled, put his arms round me, and hugged me like a brother. Of course by then I felt I could tell him. I mean we were in Paris and I’d just lost my virginity – so I was a man, and we could talk man to man.’

  ‘Now it’s you who’s teasing me.’

  ‘Why should that be a tease?’

  ‘Isn’t fighting a war enough to make someone a man?’ Amelia wondered. ‘Or is it all down to losing your virginity?’

  ‘Oh come on!’ Ralph laughed, still walking backwards ahead of her. ‘You know as well as I – it’s so different for men and women. A man has to lose his virginity! Just as much as a woman has to keep hers!’

  ‘I’ve often tried to puzzle that one out. If all girls have to remain virgins, then with whom is it that men lose their virginity?’

  ‘Who do you think? Les demoiselles de la nuit. The ladies of the night.’

  ‘I know perfectly well what les demoiselles de la nuit are, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ Ralph said, widening his eyes. ‘How would you have found out about such things?’

  ‘My parents.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ Ralph grinned. ‘I can imagine. Darling – I think it’s time you learned what a harlot is.’

  ‘Don’t be so crude, Ralph. And don’t mock.’

  ‘I’m not mocking. Tell me something else. What did you think when you got married? Did you enjoy making love straight away? Or were you frightened? It’s all right – most girls are, you know.’

  Amelia glared at him, shook her hair out over the top of her high velvet collar and taking the stick from his hand began her own thrashing of the roadside nettles.

  ‘I don’t see that’s any of your business.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Making love is a fact of life, not something about which you should be embarrassed. Or worse – ashamed. How does George make love to you? Is he a good lover? A fanciful one? Or just good, plain and unvarnished?’

  ‘You are about to go too far, and you know it—’

  ‘Of course. That is one of the most delightful things about life, knowing you are about to go too far.’

  She knew he was smiling. She could feel it, yet she refused to look at him in order to be sure. Instead she just concentrated on executing as many nettles as she could on the roadside.

  ‘People are so shy in England nowadays about making love. Don’t you find? Making love is so important – and yet so many Englishmen are virgins when they get married. It’s ridiculous. My mama being half French she wanted my father to take me to a brothel when I was eighteen, which of course is the custom in France.’

  ‘What?’ Amelia turned to stare at him.

  ‘Didn’t you know? In France you send your sons to experienced women to be initiated. And what a good idea it is, too, because who else is going to teach you? Who else but a professional – or an older woman? That’s what is so amazing about the English. They treat lovemaking as if it’s something you pick up as you go along. But how can you? Someone teaches you how to play poker, or whist – or tennis or golf – or to ride a horse or play the piano, but no-one in England ever speaks of learning to make love. Why ever not? It’s an art!’

  She continued to walk and swish at the undergrowth but her mind was racing. How did George make love? she wondered. She had simply no idea, since George was the only person who had ever kissed her, let alone made love to her – so how could she tell?

  ‘I would love to make love to you,’ Amelia now heard Ralph saying, feeling his hand take hers, two actions – his speech and his holding of her hand – which brought Amelia swiftly back to earth. ‘Don’t look so shocked.’

  ‘You can’t tell how I look, you idiot,’ she retorted, pulling her hand away. ‘It’s practically pitch dark.’

  Ralph laughed. ‘Of course it isn’t. Anyway, I can feel how you look. And there’s no need.’ He took her hand again and this time for some reason Amelia allowed him to keep hold of it. ‘You deserve to be made love to beautifully,’ he said, now transferring her left hand from his right into his left so that her arm was across his body while he slipped his right arm round her waist. ‘You
deserve to be made love to beautifully, Amelia,’ he whispered, his face now close to hers, his lips brushing her hair, ‘because you are such an utterly beautiful woman.’

  ‘You shouldn’t speak to me like that, Ralph,’ she protested, although not very forcefully. ‘You really should not. Anyway, you’re drunk.’

  ‘Drunk with your beauty.’

  ‘Drunk with too much wine and champagne.’

  ‘Not too drunk to know what I want, Amelia. And you’re what I want. Please let me be your lover.’

  ‘My lover? What are you talking about, Ralph? People like me don’t have lovers!’

  ‘Of course they do, Amelia! I have been the lover of women just like you!’

  ‘I’m sure that you have – but that’s not what I meant. I meant women who love their husbands don’t take lovers. And please – please don’t kiss my neck like that.’

  ‘Like this then?’

  ‘No. Not like that either.’

  ‘You will have me as your lover, sooner or later, Mrs Rafferty.’

  ‘No, Ralph. You’re wrong. I won’t have you as my lover.’

  ‘You will. The moment George is no longer true to you, you will want me as your lover! And what if George was already being untrue to you? Wouldn’t that change things?’

  ‘How?’ Amelia pulled herself right away from him, freeing herself and turning to face him, stopped in the middle of the road. ‘How is George being untrue, Ralph? You’re the one who is being untrue. You’re being untrue to your best friend!’

  ‘If he was still my best friend you’d be right. But he’s not. He can’t be, because he’s betraying me just as he’s betraying you. By what he thinks. By what he is. By what he’s become.’

  Amelia stared at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, that just isn’t true.’

  ‘But it is, you know it is. Otherwise he would have left with us. Otherwise we would all be driving home together in his car, laughing at all those terrible people, and making plans to fight the Nazis.’