The Wind Off the Sea

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Then I shall leave at once, rather than risk your unblemished reputation.’ Waldo half turned, imagining that he did indeed see a curtain opposite twitching.

  ‘You don’t have to go—’

  ‘Why, but Missus Tate, if your husband isn’t home, Ah couldn’t possibly stay. What would your mammy say if I did?’ Waldo teased, pushing his hat to the back of his head. ‘And what would the young master have to say if he a-came a-home to find you and Ah sitting together on the stoop chatting and laughing over a mint julep? Why, missus – why, Ah would think we’d both be in for a whipping.’

  As usual Judy wasn’t sure which she was more mesmerised by – the mischievous look in Waldo’s eyes, or his smile.

  ‘You’re frightened to let me into your cottage, aren’t you, Mrs Tate – because you think I am a dangerous influence not only on your life, but on the lives of all the women in Bexham. I am the unknown quantity, the will o’ the wisp that no husband wants to meet when he comes home from work, or in your case comes home from London.’

  Having opened the door, Judy entered her house, bending down to greet and pick up Hamish who was barking his usual greeting. As she did so, Waldo waltzed by them both and before she could say any more was standing in the sitting room of the little cottage, his size making it look even smaller than it was.

  ‘I don’t remember asking you in, Mr Waldo Astley,’ she said primly, before going on into the kitchen to put away her shopping. Waldo watched her from the door.

  ‘My word.’ He stared at the food she was unpacking. ‘I think I’d better get the American Embassy to start sending you some food parcels. That isn’t really what you’re living on?’

  He moved behind her to the food shelf and held up a tin of stewed beef and carrots, a tin of whale meat and another of snoek.

  ‘You can do better than this, surely. Stewed beef? Whale meat? Our army ate better than this. And as for snoek … until I came here I’d never even heard of the wretched poisson.’

  ‘Can I offer you some tea?’ Judy said, ignoring his amazement. ‘I’m just about to put the kettle on.’

  ‘That is something the British always seem about to do. Do you think your nation was born kettle in hand? I would love a cup of tea. I really and truly have grown to like tea, believe it or not. It’s also rather chic – what with it still being rationed. Gives it a somewhat risqué status. So yes – let us abandon ourselves and drink a whole pot of tea. Let us embrace life to the full. Let us live right on the edge.’

  Refusing to crack even the semblance of a smile lest it should encourage her uninvited visitor to the delivery of even more absurd monologues, Judy put on the kettle, which took an age to boil as it always does when someone is watching you. She had hoped Waldo Astley might take himself off into the sitting room while she made tea, but in spite of several hints in that direction, Waldo pronounced himself quite happy where he was, and sat on the edge of the kitchen table watching her while she resolutely watched the kettle. After what seemed like the best part of half a day, the kettle finally boiled, Judy warmed the small blue and white teapot with two inches of hot water, spooned three small teaspoons of the precious leaf into the bottom of the pot, and finally filled it to the brim.

  ‘Silly, really,’ Judy said to Waldo as she took the tray through to the sitting room. ‘Tea’s such a precious commodity still that I get nervous making it.’

  She didn’t at all. She simply offered this up as an excuse in case Waldo had noticed her hands trembling as she had spooned the tea into the pot. Why, she had no idea. She was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Having survived the Blitz and everything that Jerry had to throw at London, as they used to say, she had no fear of men such as Waldo Astley. Smiling politely at him she indicated a chair for him to take, and in return Waldo bowed in an exaggerated fashion before doing as invited.

  ‘I see you’re a gardener,’ he remarked, looking out of the window.

  ‘It’s difficult to garden by the sea,’ she replied, pouring tea. ‘I expect you may be finding that already at your new house. It’s the wind. I nearly gave up at first, but then I hit on the idea of copying the beach, and making a garden that echoed what was happening there. Like the nursery rhyme. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockle shells.’

  ‘You’ve certainly been very successful. Even this late in the year your garden looks quite beautiful,’ Waldo said, taking a cup of tea. ‘May I take a closer look at it?’

  He put down his tea, and then rising pushed open the French windows and stood outside surveying the garden. Judy was thankful for a moment to be alone, to compose herself, to try to cover the nerves she was feeling at being alone with Waldo in her home. She bet that her return hadn’t been missed by her curtain-twitching neighbour who watched constantly from the side of her windows even when nothing was going on, and if she had noticed Judy returning she would almost certainly have noticed Waldo Astley as well, which meant that very soon the whole village would know not just that Mr Astley had arrived, but also that he had been invited in and had stayed.

  The truth was that as soon as he was inside the cottage Judy simply did not know how to get rid of him. What was more, if she was going to be truthful again, quite a large part of her wanted him to stay. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that the longer Waldo Astley stayed in Owl Cottage, the louder the rumours would become in the village. In some way his very presence filled her with confidence and liberated her from the constant feeling of failure from which she had been suffering, as if she was covered by a thin grey film which clung to her face and body wherever she turned, preventing her from seeing anything clearly.

  Helped by such thoughts as well as the strength of the tea she had brewed, Judy pulled herself together while Waldo continued to gaze out at the imaginative layout of her garden, the beauty she had created out of rounded pebbles and shells, and of strong plants that could cope with seaside conditions.

  ‘This garden says a great deal about you, did you know that?’

  ‘In what way exactly?’

  ‘A love of adventure. A hatred of being shut in.’

  ‘How could you tell that just from my garden?’

  ‘The use of shells – and pieces of mirror, for instance. Mirror represents a sense of claustrophobia, while the sea shells return you to the sea, not only to where you came from but to where you are happiest.’

  ‘The sea shells are taking the place of the flowers whose seeds we can’t get anywhere right at the moment – and mirror has always been used in all sorts of gardens to make them look bigger. It’s quite a vogue in London at the moment.’

  Waldo smiled at her, but his dark eyes turned from studying her profile back to the garden. ‘The choice of colour in the plants you do have is interesting,’ he continued in his deep, mellifluous voice. ‘Not too much blue, so that’s a tendency to veer away from convention and adopt a carefree attitude to what people think, while the reds and the pinks—’

  ‘I like hot colours in a small dark garden but they make Walter cringe. I expect you feel the same.’

  ‘Not at all. On the contrary I love contrast. Chalk and cheese are my favourite two media.’

  ‘My mother always says put a redhead or a blonde in pink or red and every man in the room will become fascinated.’

  ‘I like bold, and I love unconventional. And I too love adventure.’

  Waldo had now returned into the room to sit down opposite Judy and continue drinking his tea, his eyes never leaving her face.

  ‘My life isn’t always going to be here,’ Judy found herself saying, as if answering some unasked question. ‘This isn’t going to be how I pass the rest of my life. Walter and I have great plans.’

  ‘I am very glad to hear it, Mrs Tate – even though it is no business of mine whatsoever.’

  ‘I don’t know whether you know about what happened to my husband or not?’

  ‘Of course, Mrs Tate. His heroism is well known. As is his m
iraculous return from what must have seemed to you to be the dead. How long was he gone? Was it really all the war?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My.’

  Waldo left unsaid what he was thinking and what Judy knew he was thinking: that it must have been very difficult when he did finally turn up out of the blue. Instead he just smiled sympathetically while Judy enquired whether he would like some more tea.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, handing her back his cup. ‘That was delicious.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy,’ Judy said suddenly, again finding herself volunteering information she had been absolutely intent on not divulging. ‘In fact it wasn’t at all easy.’

  ‘No, it can’t have been,’ Waldo agreed. ‘In fact I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like, suddenly for the man you thought was dead to turn up on your doorstep. Romantic yes – certainly. Sort of thing Hollywood might imagine they could handle. I say “might”. The difficulties two people faced having to rebuild a relationship one of them had thought was dead and buried.’

  Aware that he was staring at her, as if to elicit a response, Judy found herself suddenly tongue-tied and unable to make a sensible reply.

  ‘Maybe you should write it,’ he suddenly suggested. ‘Maybe it could make your fortune.’

  ‘I’m not a writer,’ Judy came in hastily. ‘My writing never got beyond schoolgirl letters home.’

  ‘You never know till you try.’ Waldo smiled. ‘Ask your mother-in-law.’

  ‘Why? Is she thinking of writing something?’

  ‘No. No, her thing is painting, which it seems is something none of you lot take much notice of.’ As Judy coloured and lowered her eyes to her teacup, he went on. ‘But to get back to this book you might write – given the huge interest in the subject of women dealing with their men when they have returned from war – either when they are demobbed or as in your case through some sort of miraculous resurrection – you could be on your way.’

  Judy knew he was provoking her quite deliberately, but this time managed to be more careful, asking only as to the state of his second cup of tea.

  ‘My tea is just fine, thank you, Mrs Tate,’ he returned. ‘But please – I am being serious here. Think of how your book would appeal to women – to all those who had to live without their men for five or six years. Who had to bring up their families single-handed, cope with the daily round, stay faithful – or not as the case might be – who had to wait, wait, and wait some more. Waiting to see whether the guy they loved was going to get blown to bits in the corner of some foreign field or step off the train at their local station changed into someone they didn’t know any longer. You of all people could give a pretty first-hand depiction of how that must have been.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I don’t think this is the sort of thing a woman should discuss with a near perfect stranger.’

  ‘I like the near perfect bit.’ Waldo smiled. ‘But I don’t go for the stranger designation.’

  ‘I hardly know you, Mr Astley.’

  ‘Then get to know me better, Mrs Tate.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be proper for me to do so. I’m a married woman, if you remember.’

  ‘Which is the whole point of this conversation, if you remember.’

  ‘Are you trying to say that the whole point of following me here, of coming into my house uninvited, Mr Astley—’

  ‘Please. You sound cross. I don’t want you to be cross with me.’

  ‘I just can’t believe that the whole purpose of arriving on my doorstep unannounced and uninvited was to suggest I might write a book.’

  ‘What do you think the idea was, Mrs Tate?’

  To cover yet another attack of the carnations, as Judy called her blushes, she quickly picked up the tea tray, excused herself and hurried out to the kitchen. To her dismay she heard the sound of Waldo following on close behind.

  ‘I asked you what you thought my motive might be, Mrs Tate?’ he said, redefining his question. ‘I do hope you’re not questioning my motives.’

  ‘You’re an American,’ Judy replied in sudden exasperation. ‘I’m sure you see – and do – these things differently.’

  ‘You mean There Is A Code.’

  ‘There is absolutely no need to mock.’

  ‘I feel I am upsetting you,’ Waldo said politely. ‘Forgive me. I must leave at once.’

  ‘No!’ Judy could have bitten her tongue but it was too late. ‘I mean – no. No, don’t go yet. Not because of a misunderstanding – because that’s all it is. We just misunderstood each other, I think. You were being somewhat too forthright and I – I was being far too stuffy.’

  ‘I understand,’ Waldo replied. ‘But it really was my fault. I hadn’t given the matter proper thought. That’s the way I am – impulsive and consequently more often than not tactless. Please forgive me if I have upset you. It really wasn’t my intention.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘To talk to you. I like talking to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ Judy said, her mood suddenly dipping. ‘Other than I could do with a rather stiff gin. How about you, Mr Astley?’

  ‘Now I’m confused. First you want me to go – now you’re offering me alcohol. And as we all know, that’s the stuff we take to find the truth too late.’

  Judy shrugged and opened a kitchen cupboard, to take out a bottle of gin and a bottle of whisky.

  ‘I have some Scotch as well. Something tells me you’re not a gin man.’

  ‘What I am is easily persuaded.’

  While Judy was making the drinks she dared to ask Waldo for an explanation about something that had long been intriguing her.

  ‘Why did you stand outside my parents-in-law’s house that Sunday last winter? Was there a reason for it? Because it was rather extraordinary. Were you trying to embarrass me, for some reason?’

  ‘No, no,’ Waldo assured her, his eyes brimful of good humour. ‘I would never try to embarrass you. I only ever want to help you.’

  ‘Help? Where was the help in that?’

  ‘You looked so sad. So I wanted to make you laugh. That always helps.’

  ‘I wasn’t sad,’ Judy said, defensively.

  ‘You were. Your eyes had this deep down sadness. I saw it when I nearly knocked you down in the snow. You looked to me as if you needed to be challenged to laugh. Like when you’re a child and you’re told not to giggle in church, or when you’re at tea with your grandmother. You needed the challenge – at least it seemed to me you did.’

  ‘How could you know? You didn’t know anything about me then, even less than you do now.’

  ‘But I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘You can work that one out for yourself,’ Judy told him, handing him his drink.

  ‘I was right,’ Waldo said with a big smile, before sitting down at the kitchen table.

  This time as they talked Waldo hardly had to prompt Judy at all, nor did she need the gin to get her going. She simply found that she wanted to talk and so she did, unprompted. In fact she hardly touched the drink in front of her for the first half-hour other than the occasional sip. She didn’t even consider why she was telling Waldo what she was telling him, let alone how she began to do so. She just quite simply found herself at this place, at this time, with this person, in the company of the truth.

  ‘To begin with I got married,’ Judy found herself saying. ‘I did what my friend Meggie Gore-Stewart was advised not to do – to get married in the middle of a war. I didn’t see why not. Walter and I fell in love the moment we met, so I suppose it was an inevitability. Although we both lived in Bexham, we’d never really met, not properly, and then all of a sudden there he was and there I was, and we fell in love. Then there was all that fear and all that excitement as well, the thought that we might not live to see another day – something we all felt. We’d known war was coming for some time, so perhaps we were all looking to fall in love, I don’t know – anyway—’ She looked across at Waldo and paused. Then took
a deep breath and continued. ‘Anyway, we knew we were in love, we just didn’t know whether they’d let us get married – my mother put up an awful amount of flak about it. She really is the very worst sort of snob, you know.’

  ‘Is there a really good sort of snob, I wonder?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Judy smiled. ‘One thing I hate and that’s snobbery.’

  ‘We don’t suffer from it at all,’ Waldo replied wryly. ‘We Americans. We just judge people on how much they’re worth.’

  ‘Anyway, as I was saying, Walter and I knew we were in love, we weren’t sure we could get married, so – well, to put it bluntly I wasn’t a virgin when we married.’

  ‘Good for you. You’d have been crazy to have been so. You very well might never have seen Walter again. Go on.’

  ‘We did manage to get married – after me having to spend a spell in Scotland cooling my heels by order of my mother. Then as soon as we were married Walter was sent to Norway, after which I hardly heard a thing until a telegram came saying that the Admiralty feared that Walter Tate RNVR was missing believed killed.’ She paused. ‘And so we went into mourning, all of us, and all in our completely different ways. My father-in-law went up to London and stayed there as much as he could, despite the bombing, my mother-in-law nearly killed herself with drink, and I – I, well, I joined the WVS. Which was possibly the saving of me, particularly since finally I had to give up on Walter.’

  ‘And you never heard a word?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ Judy thought for a moment. ‘Then the war came to a close, I spent VE day and night in London, got tight and tearful by turns like everyone else, and came home to Bexham.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then.’ Judy’s hand went down to stroke the top of Hamish’s head. ‘And then Walter returned. Literally from the dead, he came back across those fields, over there, one summer evening, just as I was laying the table. I don’t know why that’s important, except I was still laying for two—’

  ‘I’d say that’s important.’ Waldo had become very still, his eyes never leaving Judy’s face.

  ‘I knew it was him because—’ The tears suddenly came into Judy’s eyes, and she felt furious with herself because she hated public displays of emotion.