‘I am, thank you. And yourself?’
‘Oh yes, we’re all fine, aren’t we, Worthy?’ Kit smiled up at her ox of a husband.
‘By heck I nearly didn’t recognize Toby!’ Probyn was examining the eleven-year-old with amazement. ‘He’s as tall as me. A few more years and we’ll make a cracking soldier of you.’
‘You will not!’ exclaimed Kit, half laughing, half serious. ‘He’s not going in the firing line he’s all I’ve got. Grace knows what I mean, don’t you?’ The two women shared a mother’s smile.
Grace, though, did not feel totally relaxed and in the moments that followed, said awkwardly, ‘Well, I’ll just go see to the dinner.’
‘No you won’t!’ But she had gone to the kitchen before Probyn could stop her. ‘I’m doing the cooking,’ he told his guests. ‘Sit yourselves at the table it’s almost ready.’ And he too dashed off.
‘May I help?’ Kit handed over Clemmie to his great-uncle and followed her nephew into the hectic atmosphere of the kitchen.
Grace was opening and shutting drawers as if searching for something. Pans bubbled and steamed on the range.
‘No, everything’s in hand, Aunt!’ Probyn was trying to remove a joint of beef from the oven. ‘Grace, shift your bum, love, you’re in me way!’
‘I’m looking for the masher,’ came the low reply.
‘I’ve told you, I’ll do everything! Go and sit down with our guests.’
Inwardly furious at being ejected from her own kitchen, but not wanting to cause a scene, Grace forced herself to smile and went with Kit back to the parlour where the meal was duly served.
‘Eh, you’re a lucky lass to have such a husband!’ Kit told Grace, before wading in with her knife and fork, the other guests showing similar relish.
And Grace returned a smiling nod of agreement, wishing that she had never invited them.
After dinner, she tried to escape by washing the pots but Probyn told her to leave them in the sink and he would do them after Aunt Kit and her family had gone. ‘Come and sit down, Gobbie, enjoy yourself. It’s not often we have guests.’
‘I’ll just rinse them off so the gravy doesn’t stick.’ Grace hurried away with a stack of plates.
Kit transported a gravy boat to the kitchen. ‘Where shall I put this?’
I know where I’d like you to put it, thought Grace, with her back to the guest, but she threw Kit a smile and said, ‘Just leave it there, thank you,’ before returning her attention to the sink.
Kit’s lips parted in surprise. There had been the glint of tears in Grace’s eye, she was sure of it. Taken aback, she was momentarily lost for words and cast her mind back over the last hour, wondering what could have caused such distress. Had it been her fault? She hadn’t really wanted to come but Worthy had talked her into it. Perhaps her reluctance had shown on her face. Much as she detested the marriage, she had tried to be civil. Obviously she had failed. Pricked by conscience, she wandered over to stand at Grace’s shoulder, wondering how to approach this.
Grace sensed the huge flouncilly-clad presence at her side, felt dwarfed by it and wished Kit would go away. Saying nothing, she continued to rinse the plates.
Kit folded her arms under her colossal silken bosom. ‘Our Probe seems very happy.’
Grace cleared her throat and stacked the rinsed plates on the draining board, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Yes, he does.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised. Who wouldn’t be with a nice little family like he’s got?’ Kit tried to crane her neck to see if she had been mistaken about the tears but Grace kept her face averted.
Only when the diminutive figure snatched a handkerchief from her apron and blew her nose did Kit suspect she had been right. ‘Are you crying?’
‘It’s nothing! I’ve just got a cold.’ Grace dashed her eyes and put the handkerchief away.
A bolt of guilt assailed Kit. ‘I’m right sorry if I wasn’t very welcoming to you, I’ve regretted—’
‘It’s not you,’ rushed Grace.
‘Then what is it – oh, lass, what’s wrong?’ Kit saw the tears well up again and her heart went out to the young wife.
Grace was angry with herself for airing her marital troubles before an outsider. ‘I’m just being silly. I’m sure nobody else would object if their husband helped around the house.’
A look of understanding flooded Kit’s face as she recalled the previous scene in the kitchen. ‘Ah, but he’s taking too much upon himself? I thought he was a bit bossy, being a sergeant’s gone to his head.’
‘You mustn’t say anything!’ Grace wiped her eyes one last time, making certain that all tears were dried. ‘He’d be dreadfully hurt.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ promised Kit. ‘But you wouldn’t object if I make a few hints surely?’
Grace managed to issue a damp chuckle. ‘Then I hope you’ll have more luck than me. Probe doesn’t get hints. Anyway, thanks for listening, I’m sure I’ll get over it. Go sit down and I’ll fetch us all a cup of tea.’
Kit pressed Grace’s arm, a genuine gesture, then returned to the parlour.
‘What’s that wife of mine doing in there?’ asked Probyn happily, jiggling Clemmie on his lap. ‘I hope she hasn’t started the washing-up. She puts all the do-dahs in the wrong place.’
‘She’s just making a pot of tea.’ Kit sat down and smoothed her silken lap.
‘I’ll go do that!’
She grabbed his sleeve, preventing him from rising. ‘Leave the lass something to do! You’ve been whizzing around like a bluebottle since we arrived.’
‘I don’t mind!’ Probyn handed the baby to his aunt and rose.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ said Kit, taking possession of Clemmie. ‘You don’t want to be like your father who did nothing at all.’
Stopped in his tracks, he marvelled at Kit’s insight.
‘But nobody expects you to drive yourself into the ground,’ added his aunt. ‘Least of all your wife. I’m sure she can’t appreciate all the interference.’
Probyn gave a breezy smile. ‘Nay, Gobbie doesn’t mind!’ And he went off to the kitchen, blind to all hints.
‘Well, I tried,’ sighed Kit to her bemused husband.
Later, she was to whisper the same thing to Grace as the two men brought the cart around to the door. Grace brushed the matter aside and said it didn’t matter, somewhat guilty now that she had complained.
‘Well, it’s nice that we’re friends at least,’ murmured Kit, gripping the other’s hand. ‘We are friends, aren’t we?’
‘Oh surely,’ smiled Grace and returned the fond grip, though she still found the huge woman daunting.
Probyn’s aunt made her way to the cart. ‘Say goodbye to Clemmie for me.’ The child was having an afternoon nap
It took both men to get the overweight Kit into the vehicle, Probyn and Toby to push from the rear, Worthy to pull from his driving seat. Then it was all waves and smiles as they rolled out of the barrack gates.
It was a lovely, crisp, sunny afternoon and even after the visitors had disappeared onto the main road Probyn and Grace remained for a moment to enjoy it.
As often happened due to his long terms in the southern hemisphere, the position of the sun in the sky still confused Probyn. He held his face to its light, closed his eyes and soaked up the warmth.
Grace too was enjoying the moment. ‘Spring’s in the air,’ she murmured.
‘Aye, almost September,’ came the absent reply.
She laughed. ‘No it’s April. My birthday next week remember?’
‘Oh sorry!’ he laughed. ‘I was back in Africa for a moment.’
Yes, you’re always far away, thought Grace wistfully, and was first to turn indoors.
He followed her, tweaking his moustache and sounding cheerful. ‘Aunt Kit seemed a lot more well-disposed towards you.’
Grace went to the kitchen. ‘Yes, we appear to have come to an understanding.’
‘Oh, that’s good!’ He steered h
er away from the sink. ‘I’ll do that, you go and sit down in the parlour.’
Sighing, Grace did as she was told and picked up some sewing.
Later, the washing-up done, Probyn fell into the chair opposite and watched her for a while, smiling in contentment, before he realized that the garment she worked upon was very tiny and said expectantly, ‘Eh, you’re not smittled again are you?’
She returned his smile, but there was sadness in it. ‘No it’s a shroud for Sergeant Atkinson’s little girl.’
He lost some of his verve, expressing sorrow. But soon he was smiling again. ‘Oh well, I don’t suppose it’ll be long before Clemmie has a brother or sister.’
She looked up briefly from her sewing to share his fond grin.
Those hooded eyes could always stir him. Enjoying a moment’s imaginary passion, Probyn then picked up the Sunday newspaper he had not had time to finish that morning.
‘It was nice Clemmie being born with the new century,’ said Grace. ‘He’ll always feel special.’
Probyn spoke without taking his eye from the page. ‘Some folk are still arguing that the new century didn’t begin till this year. Daft beggars, nothing better to do.’ He read for a while longer before exploding, ‘And if I see fin de siècle mentioned in this blessed newspaper one more time I’ll rip it to shreds! Blinking journalists, once they latch onto a word or phrase they can’t write a paragraph without using it.’
Grace laughed. Then both fell silent, she to sew and he to read.
He had not realized he had fallen asleep until a noise woke him. Grace’s chair was empty. Stretching, he was about to go and see where she was when she poked her head around the door. ‘Sorry, I dropped a pan. Hope it didn’t make you jump?’
‘What are you doing in there?’ Ever keen to be in her presence, he went to join her in the kitchen.
‘Just getting things done while Clemmie’s asleep, sorting the washing out for tomorrow.’ She was separating clothes into piles.
Probyn stood to watch her, then, noticing that a utensil was not where he had hung it, began to change things around, straightening and tidying. Grace held her tongue.
A knock came at the door. Probyn went to answer it, returning to say rather tersely, ‘It’s for you – another one wanting your services.’
Grace went off, returning a few moments later.
‘What did she want?’ asked Probyn, still rearranging articles in the kitchen.
‘Oh, I promised to lend a hand with—‘
‘Another hand! How many hands do those swaddies’ wives think you’ve got?’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Grace tightly.
‘Well, I do!’ he complained. ‘I’m not having it, Grace. Things have got to change around here.’
‘You’re damned right they have!’
Startled, he fixed his eyes on the potato peeler that Grace had grabbed and was now directing at him with menace.
Her expression was furious – almost maniacal. ‘I’m sick to death of this house being run like a military operation! That’s your area out there!’ She wagged the utensil at the parade ground, then made a stabbing gesture at the kitchen floor. ‘In here is my domain and I’ll be the one who says what goes!’
Gasping at the audacity of this, he finally found his tongue. ‘I’m only trying to look after you!’
‘I don’t need looking after!’ she raged at him. ‘I’m not a child!’
‘I didn’t say you were! If this is all the thanks I get for—’ he broke off as she seized a potato and aimed it at his head.
Ducking quickly, he swore at her, ‘You’re bloody mad!’ And he marched out, his own face as red with fury as her own, hearing as he went another potato hit the woodwork.
Breast rising and falling under the crisp white pinafore, Grace swore too, hoping that the din had not woken the baby. How stupid of her to let it build up like this! What if he didn’t come back?
Probyn had no intention of coming back, marching directly to the sergeants’ mess. Here, he glanced into the carpeted sitting room, seeking out an armchair but all were taken. The billiard table was occupied too. He stood there indecisively for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists and looking at the military pictures on the wall. Then, catching sight of his angry face in the mirror over the fireplace, he made his way to one of the small tables, calling for the waiter to fetch him a cup of tea and a Sunday newspaper, behind which he was to sulk for the next half an hour until he realized that he had not digested a word and slapped the paper down with a sigh.
The ungrateful … ! What woman in her right mind would turn down the offer of help from her husband? Not many, he’d be bound. There weren’t that many men who would put themselves out in such a fashion. His mind racing with angry thoughts, he tried eventually to put these aside, to see it from Grace’s point of view, but he couldn’t. Try as he might, he just could not understand her.
‘Mind if I join you?’ He looked up as another sergeant presented himself at the table.
Shaking his head, he indicated for the man to sit down. ‘Have this if you like.’ He pushed the newspaper across the tablecloth in the hope that the other would leave him alone.
‘Thanks, I’ve read it.’ His fellow sergeant obviously preferred to talk, for he was to bend Probyn’s ear for the next fifteen minutes, during which the recipient hardly heard a word, consumed by his own dilemma.
He had shot himself in the foot by walking out, would have to go home some time, but was damned if he was going to be the one to say sorry.
The man who had been speaking to him was mumbling something. ‘Major’s here.’
Glancing up, Probyn noticed that the RSM had entered the mess and upon this sight he swiftly rectified his tardiness, joining the others on their feet to evince respect for this absolute master, before sitting down again to brood.
As the man beside him droned on, he simply nodding, Probyn finally began to see the situation more clearly. He had totally forgotten in all this that, despite being a wife and a mother, Grace was still very young. One could not expect her to view this with the same maturity as did he. He must put aside his own hurt and behave like the disciplined individual he was … besides anything else, he could not stay here all afternoon.
Excusing himself to his tablemate, he went home.
* * *
An hour had passed since he had stormed out. Grace had gone back to the parlour and resumed her sewing in an attempt to calm herself down, but only succeeding in pricking her thumb and sat there trying to fend off the sporadic bouts of tears.
She had pricked her thumb yet again and was sucking this and wallowing in self-pity when a subdued, disembodied voice asked, ‘Is there any more danger of flying spuds?’
She whipped her thumb from her mouth. ‘I’m not laughing!’ Fighting his own pride, Probyn entered sheepishly and analysed her angry stance for a moment before muttering, ‘I just don’t like to see generous bodies like you being put on. I wasn’t trying to throw my weight about.’
Grace had not finished scolding. In fact after being compliant for so long she seemed to have acquired a relish for rebellion, stalking up to place her trembling little body before him, her face flushed and upset and her dark blue eyes swimming with moisture. ‘It’s not just what you said! It’s what you’ve been doing ever since you got home, taking my job away from me. You make me feel inadequate!’
He projected shock. ‘I never intended to! Believe me I wouldn’t hurt you for the world!’ He wanted to hug her but daren’t. ‘It’s just that I always promised myself I’d never treat my wife like a slave as my father did. Even when Mother was at death’s door he expected her to run around after him. It’s not right!’
Taking her heavy sigh as a sign of mellowing, he made a tentative attempt to hug her which she accepted, though her spine remained unyielding. ‘I’m sorry, Grace.’
Grace became more pliant then and melted into his embrace. ‘No, no, I’m sorry, Probe. I shouldn’t have been so touch
y, I know you were only trying to help and I’m glad of it really, it was just—’
‘The way I went at it like a bull in a china shop.’ Glad that she had admitted it was not wholly his fault he could be magnanimous now, and hugged her more tightly, kissing her and breathing in the scent of her hair. ‘Oh, Gobbie, I hate to see you so upset, I swear I won’t do it again. To think you’ve been suffering in silence all these months … Well you must never put up with it again! If anything I do makes you angry you must always tell me.’
Blowing her nose, she promised. ‘And vice versa.’
‘Well, now you come to mention it—’ he broke off with a laugh to show he was joking.
They stood hugging for a long time before he made another pacific gesture. ‘From now on, you’ll be the one to give me orders and I’ll carry them out.’
Restored to happiness, Grace turned impish, lifting her tear-mottled but gleeful face to his. ‘Right then, Sergeant Kilmaster, I’m ordering you to get up them stairs!’
He was not slow to get her meaning, one blink of those hooded eyes inciting him to press himself against her. ‘What about Clemmie? We might wake him up.’
‘Then we’ll just have to be quiet about it, won’t we?’ And with that Grace laughingly drove him up to bed.
20
From then on things were much improved between the couple, each being clear as to where their own boundaries lay. Over the following months they continued to learn about each other, for in the two years they had been married they had spent much of it apart. Although acutely aware that her husband had another life besides the one he shared with her and their child, Grace was not prepared for the things he told her in the dark haven of their bed, wanted to cry as, stage by stage, he divulged things she could never have imagined, the true awfulness of battle, the human losses, the guilt over his own barbarity. Yet, even more difficult to fathom was his attitude the following morning when, as if all this were forgotten, he embarked with gusto on the life he loved.
Unable to erase such horrors from her mind, and with Probyn’s time about to expire at the end of that year, Grace hoped that perhaps he might leave the army and allow them both to have a normal life. Some wives might envy her the good pay and the free accommodation but for Grace this was far outweighed by the risk of her dear husband having to go to war again. Her experience of being parted from him during those nine months had been so miserable and his feelings appearing to sympathize with her own, she hoped never to repeat such a separation.
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