The Weeping Tree

by Audrey Reimann

  'Telephone, eh? Posh!' Greg laughed.

  'It's the blind man. He needs it. But it's ruddy useful.' Andrew pulled on his bell-bottoms and tunic then swiftly tied his shoes. 'I'll wait for you by the gate. Don't be long.' He ran a comb through his hair and put it in his pocket beside his wallet and travel pass.

  Under a cloudless sky he ran down the quay, ignoring the men who were bringing supplies aboard, glancing only briefly at the deck crew of the Rutland who were scrubbing the armour-plated decks. They were preparing for a long stretch at sea, judging by the stack of crates to be loaded. Andrew went to the office, found an empty phone box and within seconds the operator had put him through.

  'Flora?'

  'Andrew. Where are you?' Her voice was sweet and musical. She was his beautiful, graceful and gentle girl and as always his heart felt as if it were going to burst with love for her.

  'I'm still in Rosyth. Take the day off.' He spoke fast and loud so she'd hear and he could get everything said before his twopence ran out. 'I've got twenty-four hours' shore leave but I have to leave Edinburgh at midnight. So we've got precisely..' he looked at his watch; it was 10.30. 'thirteen and a half hours. I'm taking you to Ingersley to meet Ma.'

  'Oh, Andrew!'

  'I'll be there in an hour.' Andrew looked through the glass door to see if Greg was about. 'And Flora?'

  'Yes.'

  'Can I tell Ma we're getting married?' He heard her catch her breath. His heart stopped for the few seconds it took her to say, 'Yes ... but. ..' and he took her hesitation for the shynes he loved her for. He'd settle all her fears about marrying him, but not from a call box. And she was full of fears. It could have already been done - they could have married in a registry office today - if she had gone for the forms when he'd asked her, weeks ago. He whispered over the line, 'I love you, sweetheart. I'll be there in an hour.' He blew a kiss and hung up.

  Outside he saw Greg running towards him, being passed on the roadway by Captain Sir Gordon Campbell, who was behind the wheel of the Armstrong Siddeley, looking serious, making speed for the gates and Ingersley. Senior officers could take leave when the ship was in dock but Sir Gordon, though he left the ship for a few hours every day, returned to his command at night. It made him a heroic figure and a fine example to crew and officers.

  Sir Gordon would know where they were being sent tomorrow. But it was all classified information and just as well, Andrew thought grimly. He hoped he'd acquit himself well under fire, but stronger than that hope was the hope that the war would be won in a few months.

  Flora put down the phone and went to Mr Davidson's sitting-room door. She rapped hard because the radio was on. Mr Davidson left it on for long periods, without thought for conserving the battery. He did not like silences; besides which, he said, there was a chance that the Germans would retreat.

  'Enter,' he called out in his educated Scots voice at the same time as he turned down the sound.

  'That was Andrew,' Flora said as soon as she closed the door. She had become so sensitive to his blindness that she instinctively spoke as she moved towards him. He never had to turn his head this way and that, as he did in church, to locate the speaker. She said, 'He's got twenty-four-hours' leave.'

  'Then invite your brother for supper and a musical evening, Miss Stewart,' he said. 'If that's what you'd like.'

  Flora's stomach went into a quivering spasm again. How could she tell this kind, God-fearing man that Andrew was not her brother? How could she tell Andrew that she was not yet sixteen and was too young to marry? How could she go on lying to both of them? But she said, 'He's taking me to North Berwick.' She hesitated, seeing disappointment cloud Mr Davidson's face, then went on to say, 'I made a bacon and egg pie. I'll leave you a slice with salad and ham. There's scones and bread as well. Is that all right?'

  'That's very kind of you, my dear,’ he said.

  'We won't be back in time for supper.'

  'Don't worry about me. You haven't forgotten that you are singing in church tomorrow, Flora?'

  'I've remembered.' She sang in her powerful soprano in the choir and at church concerts. And tomorrow, she was to sing solo a verse of the anthem. 'I've been practising: she said shyly. Then, with a little laugh, 'It's a wonder you haven't heard me. The woman next door banged on the wall to tell me to quieten down, then stopped me in the street and said I was a noisy lass.'

  'Whatever next?' Mr Davidson looked cross. 'She's an awful gabby woman. A terrible gossip. I do wish she'd keep her nose out of my business.'

  Flora answered, 'It's all right. I'm always polite. I said it won't happen again. I'll sing quieter songs - and sing them when she's out.' She would not dare tell Mr Davidson the downright wicked questioning the woman had subjected her to: 'Where do you come from?' and 'How old are you? You look awfu' young to be a housekeeper.' and once, 'I hope there's no funny business going on. It's not right for a young lass to be in a man's employ.'

  Mr Davidson said he wanted her to go and enjoy her day out with Andrew and now she ran upstairs to wash at the washstand placed to one side of the deep bay window that had thick net curtains for privacy. Anyone who had a view of the Forth as she had from here in her little sitting room could see that the wide river seaway had more armoured ships than the cargo and fishing boats it was once home to. She was afraid. Andrew's ship was ready for battle operations and the men awaiting orders were on tenterhooks.

  With shaking hands she soaped her neck and arms. In an hour's time, when she and Andrew arrived by train at North Berwick station, she'd be taken to meet the mother he talked about, wrote about and was so proud and protective of. Andrew was going to tell his Ma that they were to be married as soon as possible. Suppose his rna didn't like her? Then, as if meeting her were not enough, Flora would also meet the Commander, who always came down to the kitchen after dinner to thank them all. Andrew would introduce her as 'the girl I'm going to marry'.

  She dried herself on a snowy-white towel, put on clean underwear and checked for the umpteenth time that she looked neat and tidy. She was going to wear a maroon spotted dress with puffed short sleeves and white pique Peter Pan collar and cuffs. She had made it herself on the Singer treadle machine that had been Mr Davidson's mother's. The whiteness of the cuffs made her pale arms look less peely-wally than normal, for she could not take a tan but had to sit in the shade or freckles would cover her translucent fine skin. She was thinner than when she had come here a year ago, but losing her puppy fat was all to the good if she were to go on pretending.

  Wearing only her underclothes, she sat down with a thump on the bedroom chair as she thought on the truth of it all again. She was a month off sixteen. And she was sure the police were after her. She dodged into a doorway or turned about-face whenever she saw their blue uniforms. There was a police station only yards from her lodgings and the policemen stared at her more than they did the other girls who worked in the area. They were trained to spot spies and impostors. They could pick her up any time on suspicion of her being Flora Macdonald who had never finished her sentence at Guthrie's.

  Six months ago she'd taken the tram to Leith and found Jessie Fairbairn. Jessie told her, 'It goes on your record, Flora. You'll have a record, ye ken. They'll take you back to Guthrie's or clap you in prison.'

  'But I told you - I stole my records. Stole everything: the court order, my school report, birth certificate - everything.'

  'They'll have copies. Stealing makes it worse agin ye.'

  'But I nearly did my two years - all but for a week or two.'

  'Disnae matter. There's girls of seventeen in Guthrie's. And girls of thirteen in prison.'

  'You'll never tell anyone, will you, Jessie? Never tell anyone how old -how young - I am?'

  'I won't tell. I'd never do that.

  'They maybe will stop looking. I've got money now. I've saved four pounds. I'm not destitute like before. I'm not a vagrant.'

  'Four pounds is nothing, to them.'

  'When will they stop looking for
me, do you think?'

  'Never,' Jessie replied firmly. 'Not till you get married. They canna put a man's wife in prison.'

  Flora was almost in tears. 'Are you sure?'

  'Good grief! I should be. I'm married. Nobody is after me now.'

  But even though she was not convinced of Jessie's legal knowledge, Flora went sick to the stomach thinking about it; she wanted to faint whenever she saw a policeman walking on the beat.

  'Five minutes. We have to leave for church in five minutes,' Gordon said in the cold tone of voice he once used only on men for whom he had no time and less respect. He increasingly used it now on Ruth.

  He watched her in the dressing-table mirror as slowly she ran a comb through her hair, turning it over her hand and curling it under into the page-boy style she favoured. He watched her - and he wondered why he should think that marriage to Ruth was a mistake. She had taken up the duties of Lady Campbell of Ingersley with alacrity, and her civic duties with a great deal less enthusiasm. He believed that she was more interested in feathering her own nest than in doing her duty when war came.

  Two weeks ago the government had passed the Emergency Powers (Defence) Act, giving themselves sweeping powers to requisition property and to take any steps deemed necessary in the defence of the realm. Poor women would be drafted into factory work. Already most ladies had volunteered for unpaid work. And all Ruth could say was that she was determined not to be pushed around when war came, but to be one of the civilian order-givers and to this end she would offer her services only where she would have the most influence. As far as she was concerned that meant that she would decide how the empty properties at Ingersley were distributed. She would be on the board of trustees and governors, should Ingersley, the estate and farm, be requisitioned. Already she was prepared. When war was declared tomorrow, mothers and children and expectant mothers would be evacuated from Edinburgh into East Lothian. Ruth was in charge of billeting.

  Against the fact that titled women were rolling up their sleeves to help the war effort in any way they could, it was only a minor vexation that Ruth had set about re-establishing the use of titles, expecting servitude and not service from staff she could not hope to keep. Now, the look on her face was one of utter vanity. His own expression could not be hard to read but she had not noticed, for she said in her sharpest voice, 'Why on earth - with only two days' notice - did you offer to give a wedding reception for an employee? And why here?'

  'You know very well. There are hundreds of young couples marrying this weekend, before war comes to separate them.' He adjusted his tie and reached for his uniform jacket. 'Mike Hamilton is not just an employee. He is my neighbour and friend. He needs a wife. He has made a good choice in Lucy.' His eyes were steely.

  'Lucy McNab's a simpering fool.' Satisfied with her reflection, Ruth set her hat over her shining gold-blonde hair. The wide brim framed her heart-shaped face and the ice-blue velour set off her eyes. 'She is older than him, you know. She will bring a large dowry, I expect.' She added, 'Why did Mike Hamilton choose a time like this? A hasty marriage in a registry office would have been best.'

  His eyebrow lifted in amusement. 'Are you suggesting that Lucy is with child?' he said. Perhaps he misjudged Ruth. It would be hard for her to accept her own infertility if Mike Hamilton's wife produced child after child. In truth, though, Ruth was not solely to blame for their childless state. Their marriage bed was not a loving place. He was so much the gentleman that he needed to know that his wife consented before he would make a move, and Ruth initiated lovemaking only when she saw coldness and distance in him. As now, when he'd answered her remark about the hasty marriage by suggesting that Lucy might already be with child.

  Ruth faced him and lifted her skirt high above the knees like a common harlot. She pursed her lips and said in the voice she thought provocative, 'Women like Lucy don't allow a man even a glimpse until they are married.' Then she dropped the hem of her skirt and bent down to fasten her corsage to her handbag so as not to ruin the lapels of her dress.

  'How very different from you, Ruth,' he said. But he was angry with himself for speaking this way to his wife with what he saw as cheap and unworthy distrust of her, even though he felt the familiar thrill of arousal at her behaviour. It was as if he hated her, instead of himself, for his having been so easy to seduce in the first place. Why would a man feel that he had been used when the woman had offered the very sexual comfort he'd wanted? Why would he despise himself and think himself weak because, for all their differences, she need only crook her little finger for his body's response to override his common sense? And why did he always agree - why did he say, 'If you must, Ruth,' to her every suggestion of lovemaking in the bizarre places and positions that she liked.

  Ruth straightened up, looked herself over for a final time and said, 'I'm ready. Let's go.'

  She waited for Gordon to go striding ahead before she closed the bedroom door and followed in his wake along the landing, under the iron and glass cupola that gave light to the central sweeping staircase. Tension mounted in her at every step that drew her nearer to witnessing Mike Hamilton's spiteful marriage. She was certain that Mike was marrying to spite her. After all, she was in charge of every inch of the land he farmed, as well as the Ingersley estate. It was all under her control and, should anything happen to Gordon, the very title deeds to the estate would be hers. In fact she had everything she'd ever wanted. She had land, her own money, a handsome husband who adored her. She had everything except Mike Hamilton's devotion to her wilder needs.

  In the entrance hall the servants were lined up beside the front door to see them in their finery. Gordon and Ruth made a handsome couple; he resplendent in uniform and she in the blue silk grosgrain costume that showed off her tiny waist, slender hips and long shapely legs. They would far outshine the bride and groom - as she intended they should. There were gasps of pleasure at the sight of them, and though Ruth might only have nodded in recognition, Gordon shook hands with all the servants before giving last-minute instructions to Mrs Stewart.

  Then they were in the Armstrong Siddeley and heading for the church in North Berwick, Gordon silent and evidently preoccupied with thoughts of war. He did not even remember that the last time they had made a wedding journey together, six months ago, she had returned to Ingersley as Lady Campbell.

  Six months ago, with her marriage four days old and Gordon returned to his ship; and though she was dreading the confrontation, Ruth went to the stables to find Mike Hamilton. She walked towards him across the cobbled yard and saw that his dark eyes were cold with contempt. He sneered, 'Lady Campbell?'

  Ruth made for Heather's loose box and stroked her horse's neck. She spoke calmly but avoided Mike's eyes. 'I did it for you as well as myself. Gordon wanted to sell the fann and send me back to Cheshire.'

  'Gordon would not sell the land without telling me.' He came to stand behind her and spat out, 'No, madam. Ye didnae do it for me. Ye did it for yerself.'

  She turned around and, knowing that it excited him, moved closer and bent her knee so that their legs touched. She kept her eyes down, adopting a contrite, subservient pose, then looked up at him and said, 'Mike. We can still be lovers. You are the only man who can satisfy...'

  She got no further. Mike's jaw clenched and his hot eyes flashed with rage as his hand smacked across her face with a sound like the crack of a whip. 'Ye're a cold, calculating bitch. And I'll have nae mair of ye.'

  She'd thought he would be back, that he could not keep away from her, but eight weeks later she'd had neither sight nor sound of him. There were ten Land Anny girls living on the estate, working in the fields and the dairy. She had put in the application herself as soon as she'd heard of the scheme; she'd picked them for their plain sturdiness and lack of feminine wiles, housing them in the Dower House and in the grooms' cottages across the cobbled yard from Mike's farmhouse. This labour force should have given Mike more time for leisure, for Ruth, but always there was someone with him when he came to
the house on farm business. The nearest entrance to the farmhouse was the North Gate and he used that in preference to the South Gate, which was closer to Ingersley House, so she could not waylay him. And she never saw him around the stables so was obliged to groom and exercise her horse alone.

  One hot July evening, when the hay was in, Ruth, who was always at her wildest on the long midsummer nights, went down to the stables to let Heather into the adjacent paddock to graze. Mike was alone in the barn, the Land Army girls having returned to their billets. He was stripped to the waist, moving the sweet-smelling hay bales so as to leave a space between them to lessen the risk of spontaneous combustion sending the wooden barn up in flames. Ruth had on a slip of a dress -a printed crepe de Chine in apricot and blue. She wore nothing underneath, knowing that, standing in the doorway in the dim light of the barn, her body would be outlined against the pearly-pink July sky.

  'Can't we be friends?' she said.

  'No.' Refusing to glance her way, he carried on working. His bare back, hairy on the shoulders, was turned away from her. 'Ye're no' looking for company, Ruth. It's your pleasure you want.'

  'And you don't?'

  He did not reply immediately but after a few moments came to stand before her. She could smell his sweat. Beads of it glistened on his brow. 'Och aye. I want it too. But not half as much as you.'

  'Then what's stopping us?' she asked, glancing upwards.

  'Ye really don't know?' He was standing so close now she could feel the heat off his body. 'Ye dinnae give a tinker's cuss for your marriage vows?'

  'Gordon doesn't want for anything,' she said in a small, cajoling voice, as if surprised he thought badly of her.

  'Except children and a faithful wife,' he said bitterly.

  'Don't be angry with me.' She went closer, ran her fingers down his bare chest and put on the pleading voice that used to excite him. 'Unless Gordon does better, I'll never have children. Does that tell you what's wrong?'