We Saw The Sea

by John Winton

  Michael went on to congratulate the bridesmaids on their turn-out and to propose a toast to them. Michael’s speech went surprisingly well although, as he reflected, a best man had the most tolerant and well-disposed audience of anyone in the world except a bridegroom.

  Paul was almost completely tongue-tied. He restricted himself to thanking his mother for bringing him up, his fellow officers for keeping sober, at least until the wedding was over, and his bride for consenting and turning up to marry him. Then Paul stopped and blushed. For the first time Michael understood that the old Paul with whom he had joined the Navy and with whom he had enjoyed so many happy times had now gone for ever. The thought crossed Michael’s mind that he might try it himself; he looked round for Mary.

  “Here I am. Cheer up, Michael,” said Mary. “Anyone would think you were getting married, you look so doleful.

  I thought you were going to ignore me.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, honestly. I’ve been quite busy.”

  “I thought your speech was jolly good.”

  “Did you really?”

  “Yes, did you have it all rehearsed?”

  “Oh yes, I knew exactly what I was going to say.”

  “You liar, Michael.” Mary grinned. “I bet when you got up you hadn’t the vaguest idea what you were going to say.”

  “Of course I did! Not perhaps in so many words, but....” Mary laughed. “Never mind, it was a jolly good speech.”

  “When would you like me to pick you up tonight?”

  “Michael, you haven’t changed a bit!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You change the subject so quickly. I always used to find it difficult to keep up with you. One moment you’d be saying something wonderful to me and the next you’d be talking about the car. And the other way round.”

  “Well, we mustn’t get in a groove.”

  “No, but you were so sudden.”

  “Right. We’ll see Paul and Anne off and I’ll go and change and pick you up at six o’clock. How's that?”

  “That would be lovely, Michael.”

  Before he went, Michael said good-bye to The Bodger. “Well, young Hobbes,” said The Bodger breezily (he had met a good many old friends at the wedding). “Got your next appointment?”

  “No, sir. I thought of going to see Commander Leanover next week.”

  “Good God, don’t do that! He’ll write things down on bits of paper and get ’em all mixed up and you’ll find yourself in the one job you didn’t want. Go and see Gwladys, his secretary. She runs the department. It’s Gwladys who does all the officers’ appointments in the Navy. Go and see her.”

  “Do you know where you’re going, sir?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m retiring. Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been thinking of it for some time. I’ve been thinking of retiring from the Navy ever since I joined but of course I never meant it. But I do now.”

  “What are you going to do outside, sir?”

  “No idea. Something will turn up, I’ve no doubt. What I would really like to do would be a gamekeeper or a factor for somebody.”

  Michael tried to imagine The Bodger in leggings, carrying a gun under his arm and chasing after poachers, but he found it impossible. His imagination could not encompass it.

  “I’m very sorry you’re leaving the Navy, sir,” he said.

  “Oh, I’ve had a good run. I would do it again if I had the chance. But the Navy’s changed radically since I joined. There’s probably a future in it for the people joining it now, but for those of us who knew it years ago it’s changed out of all recognition. We haven’t got enough fanatics in the Navy now. People who don’t give a damn about brass hats or pensions or married quarters or anything else, who just do it for the sheer love of it. Most of the people who joined with me would still have done it for half the money. Of course, most of them could afford to. Nowadays we’re getting people who’ve chosen the Navy when they might have chosen banking or stock-broking or local government, whatever that may be. That’s not the right way to approach it. There are very few of my term left now. Those who weren’t killed in the war are, ironically enough, banking or stock-broking. Still, enough of all that. I’ll just go and seize Jerry Leanover before he climbs down the front of my wife’s dress and we’ll shout Hallelujah at young Vincent from the top of the stairs.”

  It was a perfect time to be back in London. The whole city breathed of spring. The parks were pale green, the plane trees in bud, dogs gambolled, there was tennis in the evenings, and damp tables outside the small restaurants in Chelsea and Notting Hill Gate.

  Michael drew in a deep breath. He was experiencing one of life’s supreme pleasures, that of walking, bathed, shaved and wearing a black tie, along a quiet street on a cool spring evening with a girl in an evening dress on his arm.

  “Oh boy, oh boy!” Michael jogged up and down. He leaped into the air, executed a makeshift entrechat before he landed. He was still wearing the glow of Maconochie champagne. “I feel good. Where shall we go tonight?”

  “How about Toni’s?”

  Michael whistled. “O.K. Let’s go all nostalgic. We’ll have minestrone, spaghetti, Chianti and pretend we’re just married. ... I mean, just starting out on our affair.” Toni’s was still the same. Toni himself pretended to recognize them and gave Mary a rose, as he had done on their first visit. He gave all the other couples roses too, as he had been doing for more than twenty years. The couples sat gazing at each other, all wearing the unmistakable aura of awakening, wondering, first love. Michael thought them a touching sight; he observed them sardonically, as an experienced performer looks upon the first efforts of beginners.

  Michael finished the first bottle and ordered another (to Toni’s surprise; most of his customers were as new to wine as they were to love and treated them both gingerly, as though they were explosive). It was one of Michael’s rare evenings, when his head grew clearer as he drank, when thoughts of great philosophical significance filled his mind, and when nothing in the world seemed impossible.

  “You have changed, Michael,” Mary said.

  “In what way?”

  “I think the Navy’s done something for you.”

  “Done something to me, you mean.”

  “You’ve got more poise now. Is that the right word? Do boys have poise?”

  “I’ve got more money now, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Michael, do be serious. I mean you’re more confident. Much more. I thought your speech today was jolly good. I couldn’t imagine you doing that before you went away. You were a bit dull. But now. . . .”

  “Now what? Do go on. If there’s one subject I can go on discussing for hours it’s me.”

  “That’s what I mean. Before you went away you wouldn’t have said that. You seem to have expanded and got tougher.”

  “I had to, my dear. Carousel was only two steps removed from the jungle. You know, when I look back on myself a few years ago I think, cor blimey, what a bloody idiot you were then. And then I think, never mind, you’re not such a bloody idiot now. And yet I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few years I look back on myself now and see that I’m still a bloody idiot. What was that place you were talking about? I suppose I ought to feel guilty at not taking the bridesmaids out but I don’t. Come on, let’s hit the trail.” Mary laughed as she bent down to pick up her handbag. “What’s up now?”

  “You remember what I said about changing the subject.”

  “Oh, very well.”

  “Haven’t I been here before?”

  “Yes. It was the place you said George Dewberry recommended. It’s under new management now and terribly fashionable. Debs get their names in the papers here. My dear, everybody goes here.”

  “Does it matter that I’m not a member?”

  “No. We’ve got to pay ten bob each to get in anyway.”

  “Have we?”

  “Oh dear, is that too much, Michael?”

  “Too much! You�
��re speaking to someone who’s loaded for bear. I’m a mean hound dog and tonight’s my night to howl.”

  Michael put his finger to his mouth and whooped. “Michael, please, just say you’re in the Navy. The manager’s got quite a soft spot for naval officers.”

  “Golly, that’s unusual! Normally you say you’re in the Navy and they start calling up the bouncers right away. The mere mention of the initials ‘R.N.’ puts ten per cent on everything, drinks, car insurance, magistrates’ fines, the lot.” The club had been redecorated and renamed “The Capricorn Light”. The photographs on the walls had been replaced by heavy curtains. The floor was now carpeted and the room was lit by small shaded sconces. A bright bar occupied one corner. The dance floor was its original size but the band platform was empty except for a tubby little man absent-mindedly rippling his fingers over the piano keyboard. The whole room had the subtle but perceptible atmosphere of sophisticated patronage. This was plainly where the very best people got drunk.

  The clientele showed more clearly than anything else the change in the club’s fortunes. Pony tails and jeans had given way to evening dress, though it was still early and most of the tables were unoccupied.

  “Nobody’s here yet,” Mary said.

  Michael looked round. All the men he could see were obviously naval officers.

  “Nothing but riff-raff,” he agreed. “You pop off now and ditch your coat and do your face and I’ll get a table.”

  The Manager himself came forward. Michael recognized him immediately. It was someone he had not seen since he was a cadet. It was Mr Sammidge, the Commissioned Catering Officer in Barsetshire.

  “Good heavens, it’s Mr Sammidge! “

  Mr Sammidge looked furtively over his shoulder. “If you please, sir, my name is Rinaldo, now.”

  “Dear me, I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s all right, sir. It’s Mr Hobbes, isn’t it?”

  “Good heavens, you must have an astonishing memory! “ Mr Sammidge shrugged modestly.

  “It pays, sir, it pays.”

  “You own this place, Mr . . . Rinaldo?”

  “I collected a few friends together when I left the service and started here. That’s the Captain’s steward, Knowles, behind the bar and Lieutenant-Commander Morton, at the piano. Everyone calls him Jellyroll now.”

  “I hear you’re doing well here.”

  “Can’t complain, sir. Let me find you a table. I’ll put you near the floor.”

  “I didn’t know you knew Rinaldo?” Mary said, as she sat down.

  “Chap I used to know. It’s astonishing how you meet people.”

  Towards midnight the club filled up for the floorshow. The band arrived and several couples danced. Rinaldo had a reputation for engaging the best artists available and he had at that time engaged a dancer of international fame. In the space of one year “La Pompadour” had risen to the top of her profession. Her name was known as far afield as the Far East.

  Michael considered himself an expert on strip-tease. He had watched discarded feathers, beads, veils, and even snakes, all over the world. He had tucked notes beneath navels in Istanbul, trafficked for strange webs and pinched naked bottoms in Tangier, and had admired the universal shape of woman from Piccadilly to Suki Yaki by way of Dhon Phon Huang. Michael had seen many dances but after a few moments of “La Pompadour” he acknowledged that he was witnessing one of the finest.

  La Pompadour’s face was veiled and her body clothed in layers of gauze which she shed without breaking the rhythm of her dance. The dance was enticing, perfectly timed. Michael thought it quite beautiful.

  As the dance progressed and more of “La Pompadour” became visible, Michael felt a faint twitching of memory. The twitching grew to a turmoil. Michael racked his brains. When at last the ultimate veil was dropped and “La Pompadour” stood revealed, Michael remembered.

  “La Pompadour” was Phyllis Featherday.

  At the same time, Michael had another thought, blinding in its certainty and in its irrelevance.

  “Mary,” he said, “will you marry me?”

  In the morning, Michael woke to the sound of tyres swishing through water. He got up and went to the window. The weather had broken. It was hard to imagine the street outside as the one down which he had skipped the previous evening.

  Michael rubbed his chin. He tried to remember something The Bodger had said, years ago. “If you want to make up your mind about a woman, sleep with her. There’s nothing like it for separating the sheep from the goats.” Once again, The Bodger had been absolutely right. Michael made up his mind to marry Mary the minute it could be arranged. He dressed and went out to look for a shave.

  Michael walked thoughtfully, thinking of the term who had joined the Navy with him. They were now separated all over the world. Some of them were even dead. Some he had met, others he had merely heard of; most of them could hear but not see each other, like troops thrashing through thick jungle.

  When Michael became conscious of his surroundings again, he found blue sky, and Euston Station. He had walked the rain away.

  The station was in a state of excitement. Flags hung over the roadway, officials were bustling about, and a large crowd lined the station approach.

  Michael did not enquire the reason for the crowd. He joined it and was content to wait until something happened.

  A black car flying the Royal Standard swept through the crowd and drew up at the station entrance. The crowd cheered and several small children waved flags.

  Once the reason for their assembly had passed, the crowd dispersed. A woman with a shopping bag who had been standing next to Michael jogged his arm.

  “That was nice, wasn’t it?” she said. “I always stop to see Them go by. Sets me up for the day. I shall have to tell Irene--that’s me daughter--I seen ’em when I git home. Fair crazy on Them she is.” The woman turned and looked squarely at Michael. “He used to be in your mob, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “Yes, he was.”

  “Well, cheer up then. He might make you an admiral some day.”

  “He might,” Michael admitted.

  Michael walked on. After a few yards he stopped, so suddenly that a man cannoned into him from behind.

  “Watch where you’re going, chum.”

  Michael paid no attention. He was examining himself in a shop window. He was still wearing evening dress, with a grey top coat and no hat. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot.

  Michael addressed himself to the shop window. “How the hell did she know?”