“I’ve got Black’s taxi,” Caroline told him.
“I wondered if you’d know me,” said James as he took her arm and steered her through the crowd.
“Of course, I’d have known you. I didn’t see you,” Caroline declared … but would she have known him? If she had met him in the street would she have stopped him and said, “You’re James?” Could she have picked him out from twenty young men and said confidently, “That’s my son?” Surely her heart would have told her. But it wasn’t right, thought Caroline confusedly. There was something wrong with a world in which mothers were parted from their sons for years and years; for so long that when the sons came back their own mothers found them almost unrecognisable.
“I’m sorry I gave you a shock,” James was saying. “You did get a shock when I phoned, didn’t you? I thought you sounded a bit bowled over. The fact was I couldn’t make up my mind what to do: whether to cable that I was coming — but then you’d have panicked, wouldn’t you? I mean you’d have had one of your ‘things’ and imagined the plane falling into the sea and me swimming about in the water. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“I might,” admitted Caroline with a shaky laugh.
“And then I thought: shall I just roll up at the cottage without saying a word? But that seemed a bit too dramatic. Gosh, here’s Black!” cried James. “How are you, Black? You haven’t changed much.”
“You’ve changed a good deal, Mr. James,” said Black, looking at him in amazement.
“Yes,” agreed James. “Yes, I believe I have. Everybody seems to think so.”
They sat side by side in the taxi. James had taken her hand and was holding it in a firm clasp. “You can’t believe it, can you?” he said. “I feel exactly the same. It’s incredible that I should be here — in Wandlebury. I didn’t know I was coming until the night before I started. A fellow got ill — he was going home in the plane and I managed to wangle his seat. I packed all night; it was a rush I can tell you. Ten days ago I was thinking vaguely that I’d be coming home next Spring — and here I am. Here I am and here you are,” said James, giving her hand a little squeeze.
“It’s marvellous,” Caroline told him. “I’ve been terrified all the time — every moment.”
“Everything is just the same,” said James. “Even Black’s cars. I remember him taking us to parties and his ears always fascinated me; I’ve never seen any one with such enormous ears. Goodness!” he exclaimed leaning forward and craning his head out of the window. “There’s the dear old Apollo and Boot! They’ve painted the woodwork brown. The cottage isn’t altered, is it?”
“No, it’s just the same.”
“Chrysanthemums in the front garden?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said James, nodding. “I was thinking of it coming over in the plane. I thought, it’s too late for hollyhocks but the chrysanthemums will be at their best It’s too late for blackberries, I suppose.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“I thought of you on my birthday. You did go up to the gravel-pit on my birthday?”
“Yes,” said Caroline.
“You didn’t think of me when you were picking them, of course.”
“Of course not,” said Caroline smiling. “Why should I think of you?”
“Golly, there’s a cow! There’s a nice fat cow,” said James with intense satisfaction. “It’s eating nice green grass. How’s Comfort?”
Caroline laughed.
“She hasn’t got thin or anything?” inquired James anxiously.
Caroline was able to reassure him.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked suddenly. “You seem a bit — I mean you sound rather — but you’re all right, aren’t you?”
“A little giddy … with happiness,” she told him.
He squeezed her hand. “Chinny,” he said. He had called her Chinny when he was chin high, when his head had just fitted beneath her chin. Now she could fit in under his, thought Caroline.
“Oh, James, I don’t want to wake up,” she said shakily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
VITTORIA COTTAGE had been a houseful of women for years but with the advent of James the atmosphere changed completely. The hall wore a different aspect; James’s cap was usually lying upon the chest; his mackintosh and overcoat hung on the pegs. His bedroom door stood open; there were large sponges in the bathroom — and shaving tackle. The house resounded to his cheerful whistling. Caroline ceased to be bored with food, for it was worth while thinking about food and planning it when James was there to enjoy the meals.
It was delightful to have James at home; Caroline could scarcely take her eyes off him. Her knitting would lie idly in her lap and she would look at him sitting back in the big chair reading the paper, or a book. His light-brown, glossy head lay against the cushion and his long legs were stretched out towards the fire, and his feet were half in and half out of his red morocco-leather slippers. Sometimes he would feel her eyes upon him and would look up and smile.
He was happy and comfortable — that was the joy. Caroline knew he had a soft bed with a hot-water bottle in it, so when she got into her own bed there was no need to wonder where James was, and what sort of night he was having (perhaps sleeping on the ground in the damp jungle with mosquitoes buzzing round and terrorists lurking in the bushes) and there was no need, when she took up her knife and fork, to wonder if James had anything to eat.
There were many things to discuss. Caroline found she could talk things over with James; she was surprised at his maturity and his breadth of outlook. It was a new sensation and a very pleasant one to find someone who could advise her sensibly, who was deeply interested in all that concerned her. They talked about Leda’s engagement and the failure of Eve*s Dilemma and the problem of the hens.
“I wouldn’t make an illicit pact with Widgeon if I were you,” said James after due deliberation. “It’s tempting, I admit, but you’d worry about it — I know what you are — and it isn’t worth worrying about. I should sell them and just keep twenty-four for your own use. Then you’ll have no bother at all. If you’re feeling generous-minded you could give the Widgeons a few for Christmas, couldn’t you?”
“Could I?” asked Caroline, with a worried frown. “I mean that wouldn’t be against the Law?”
“Against the Law! They’re your hens, aren’t they?”
Caroline had begun to think they were not.
“Of course you can,” James said. “Nobody can possibly object. That’s what I should do, Mother.”
“And that’s what I shall do,” declared Caroline smiling at him. She could lean on James.
James had problems of his own, or more correctly one problem and, unlike Leda, he wanted Caroline’s advice. He had decided to leave the Army and the question was, what should he do? One of his fellow officers had offered him a business partnership, but it meant putting money into the business; another friend was the son of a well-known publisher and James had been offered a post in the firm. Neither job appealed to James, he was not sure what did appeal to him — except farming, of course.
“Well, why not farming?” asked Caroline. “There’s Uncle Jock, you know.”
“Uncle Jock! D’you mean he would have me? Would he teach me — show me the ropes?”
Caroline said she was sure of it. She did not tell James that Jock Johnstone had spoken of making James his heir, for Jock might have changed his mind.
“That would be wonderful,” declared James. “I’d like that better than anything. I like Mureth better than any place on earth — it seems to fit me if you know what I mean. I think it’s because you’re Scots and I’m like you. There’s only one snag,” said James … and there he stopped rather suddenly.
Caroline waited for the one snag to be uncovered, but James did not uncover it.
“Well, think it over,” she advised. “There’s no hurry and you need a rest.”
He certainly needed a rest, for he was too thin and, beneath the brow
n tan, he was much too pale. He had had malaria rather badly — so he said — and that was the real reason why he had been able to wangle the seat in the plane all of a sudden at the last moment.
James was quite as happy to be home as Caroline was to have him. It was delightful to be absolutely free — free to do anything he liked or to do nothing. For several days he did nothing except sleep and eat and talk to his relations, and all Bobbie’s persuasions could not move him to do anything else. Bobbie wanted to take him to the village and show him off, she wanted him to bicycle over to the Meldrums or to go to Wandlebury and see a picture, but James only smiled and shook his head. He had dreamed of his home for three years and now he was here he wanted to stay in it.
“I shall make my début at Rhoda’s Birthday Party,” said James with absurd gravity. “I shall burst upon Ashbridge in all my glory. It would spoil the effect if I were seen bicycling through the village.”
“And what are you going to wear?” inquired Bobbie.
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” retorted James.
He and Caroline had already debated the matter of what James was to wear and they had discovered that his father’s evening clothes, which had been carefully put away, fitted him not too badly.
The other members of the family were much exercised upon the subject of garments for the party at Ash House, indeed a great many female inhabitants of Ashbridge were so exercised, for this was a Social Event of the first magnitude. Those who could not afford coupons or cash for new frocks had a busy time altering old ones, letting down hems and taking in bodices and ironing out frills and furbelows. Leda had a new pink frock for the occasion, it had a long, full skirt and a tight-fitting corsage and little puff sleeves; Bobbie’s blue silk had been let out at every seam and let down with strips of contrasting ribbon. It was a work of art when it was finished and even Harriet said it was charming. Caroline had been too busy with Bobbie’s dress to bother about her own; she resurrected a black velvet gown which was old enough to have the New Look. Comfort seized it and steamed it carefully and when Caroline put it on and put on the family diamonds, which had been reposing in the safe for the last ten years, she decided she would do. It was Harriet, of course, who shone most brightly. Harriet wore a stiff silk dress of broad sugar-stick stripes, it was long and very full-skirted — almost like a crinoline. She had bare shoulders and arms and a sugar-stick bow in her hair. When James saw her he told her she looked good enough to eat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RHODA HAD DETERMINED that this should be a “pre-war party” by which she meant that it was to be in the grand manner with a “proper dinner” and dancing to follow. The dinner started with soup, went on to game (pheasants shot by the host and carefully preserved for the occasion) and finished with a huge plum-pudding — hardly a pre-war plum-pudding owing to shortage of fruit, but quite a respectable substitute. Sir Michael produced some good hock and there were apples and pears and nuts in plenty.
The long mahogany table was dark and shining; there were candles in shining silver candelabra and shining silver dishes and bowls of roses and glittering glass. How many dinner-parties had this table seen! Dinner-parties of twenty or thirty people with seven or eight courses and a different wine for each course! Caroline thought of this as she took her place; she and Arnold had often dined here. Alice Ware — who loved entertaining — had sat at the end of the table where Rhoda was sitting now. Was Sir Michael remembering, Caroline wondered, and then she caught his eye and knew that he was. She shared the memory with him; nobody else shared it … but perhaps this was as well for memories of the past are apt to cloud the gaiety of the present.
It was a gay party. All the more so because parties were rare events nowadays, and to most of those present the knowledge that they were “all dressed up” and looking their very best was slightly intoxicating. When you are accustomed to going about in old tweeds and a darned pullover it is a pleasant change to be arrayed like the lilies of the field. Anne Severn looked sweet, Caroline decided. She was wearing a grey silk frock with pink roses at her waist. Mrs. Severn had once had a grey silk dress, Caroline remembered, but if this were indeed the same garment it was a masterpiece of transformation. Mrs. Severn was an expert dressmaker of course. Rhoda was wearing a brown picture-frock, she looked lovely with her pure-gold hair framing her face like a halo.
The men of the party had made an effort too. Sir Michael had decreed dinner-jackets (he was aware that several of his male guests possessed no tails) and his male guests had produced the goods, all except an Art-School friend of Rhoda’s who was in a brown velvet coat and a flowing yellow tie. This gentleman had been introduced as “Bubbles” and appeared to have no other name. Mr. Shepperton was here, so too was Alister Smart, the doctor’s son, who had just been demobbed and intended to take up medicine and follow in his father’s footsteps. Caroline counted the party and found there were twelve.
Leda and Derek were sitting next to one another, but they did not seem to be talking much; Harriet was talking to Mr. Shepperton and ignoring her host who was on her other side. James was engrossed in Rhoda, his head was turned towards her and he was leaning forward and forgetting to eat. They had always been friends, those two, thought Caroline; they had the same adventurous spirit, the same happy outlook upon life. Perhaps Rhoda was the “snag” … and if so it was rather a big snag, for one could not imagine Rhoda settling down at Mureth as a farmer’s wife.
Bobbie was enjoying herself. She was sitting beside Alister, listening to what he was saying and nodding to show that she was taking it all in. Suddenly there was a pause in the general conversation and Bobbie’s voice rang out:
“Uttering!” cried Bobbie. “Alister, how extraordinary! I never knew people were put in prison for using bad language.”
The whole table rocked with laughter.
“What’s the joke?” demanded Bobbie. “Alister knows a man who was given five years’ imprisonment for uttering!”
“Alister has some funny friends,” declared Derek.
“But what did he say? That’s what I want to know.”
Bubbles leaned forward. “He said,” began Bubbles solemnly. “He said … no, I can’t tell you what he said. You see I might be given five years’ imprisonment if I said it.”
When dessert was over Rhoda signalled to Harriet, who was the guest of honour, and the ladies withdrew.
“You’re going to wash up, I suppose,” said Derek.
“Not on your life,” declared Rhoda. “This is a ‘pre-war party’ and we’re going to sit in the drawing-room and pull our friends to pieces while you finish Dad’s port. Don’t be too long about it because we want to dance.”
The port was circulated. It was extremely good port for Sir Michael had an extensive cellar and had always kept it well stocked.
“You must have had an uncomfortable time, James,” said Sir Michael. “I want to hear about it some time. Bandits must be almost worse to tackle than civilised troops.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed James, “but of course I’ve never had any experience of warfare against civilised troops, only of guerrilla fighting against these Communist Terrorists. They roam about the country holding up cars and attacking isolated bungalows; you never know where you are with them. Some of the bands were trained during the Jap War, of course. Personally I think things will settle down if we can get more food into the country. The shortage of rice is very serious.”
“Oh, you were in Malaya!” exclaimed Bubbles. “I was there at the very beginning when the Japs came swarming down the peninsula. I only escaped from Singapore by the skin of my teeth.”
They all began to talk of where they had been: Sir Michael had spent most of the war in the Mediterranean, Alister had been at Alamein, Derek had been at the crossing of the Rhine.
“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” said Alister. “I mean here we are, all sitting round this table, and — and I mean —”
“We’ve seen a bit of the world between us,” his
host agreed smiling.
Derek leant forward. “Yes,” he said. “We’ve all pulled our weight except Mr. Shepperton; he doesn’t seem very keen to tell us what he did in the Big War.”
“I was a spy,” said Robert Shepperton quietly.
There was a short but somewhat embarrassed silence.
“Brave fellows, spies,” Sir Michael said.
“I’m with you, sir,” declared James. “It must be worse than jungle-fighting.”
“Rather like jungle-fighting,” said Robert Shepperton, smiling.
James nodded, “I see what you mean. People all round you — never knowing from what direction the danger will come.”
“That’s it,” Bubbles put in. “That’s jungle fighting. I used to long for a nice solid wall to put my back against; I used to wish my head would turn round and round on a swivel.”
“Invisible enemies,” said Robert, turning his glass so that the light was caught and coloured by the ruby wine. “My enemies were not exactly invisible but I often longed for a wall at my back.”
“You must tell me about it, Shepperton,” said Sir Michael. “You must come some evening when I’m alone … meanwhile we’ll join the ladies, shall we? Rhoda wants to dance.”
James would have liked to hear about some of Mr. Shepperton’s adventures here and now, but there was no evading the Admiral’s orders, so he rose and opened the door — he was nearest to it. Mr. Shepperton went out followed by Alister and Bubbles; Sir Michael and Derek had stayed behind to snuff out the candles.
“Derek,” Sir Michael was saying. “Derek, I should like to remind you of something which you seem to have forgotten, rudeness to a guest is inexcusable.”
“I wasn’t rude,” muttered Derek.
“You were impertinent, which is worse …”
At this point James deserted his post at the door and hastened after the others; he had no wish to hear any more.
*
The drawing-room was ready for dancing; the furniture had been moved to one end and the floor polished. Several other guests had arrived and were standing about, chatting to one another. James looked round eagerly and, seeing Rhoda at the radiogram, he made a bee-line across the room towards her.
Vittoria Cottage (Drumberley Book 1) Page 13
