A Regimental Affair (34 page)

‘What on earth for? ‘I’ve hardly denied anything, have I?’

‘I think that if there’s going to be any disciplinary action, they’re going to need it.’

‘Oh.’ Ginny felt quite shaken at that piece of news. Disciplinary action implied a court martial and all the dreadful things that went with it. ‘Oh, I see.’

‘They have asked for another woman to be present while they go through your things. I thought I ought to ask if there is someone you would prefer.’

Ginny rolled her eyes. This was getting worse and worse. ‘Would Debbie do it?’

‘I think it has to be someone military.’ Richard didn’t tell her that he’d already approached Debbie and she’d refused point-blank. After the initial shock of the revelation in the press and the subsequent repercussions, feelings had become more focused and Alice, the innocent victim, was getting all the sympathy with none at all left for Ginny.

‘Oh.’ What would be worse? Someone she worked with, or one of the female soldiers she barely knew? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. ‘Anyone, Richard. It doesn’t matter. Find someone who can be spared.’

‘OK.’

‘So how are things in the regiment?’ She tried to sound bright, as though she was making a general, conversational inquiry.

But Richard’s reply was shot from the hip. ‘Pretty grim. The troops are a bit shocked about it all, half of them are wandering around as if they’re lost sheep and the other half are too busy chewing the fat to be any use. Poor old Alisdair has been dropped right in it and is desperately trying to pull everything and everyone together, and it doesn’t help matters any that we haven’t got an admin officer either.’

Poor Richard
, thought Ginny,
he sounds as if he’s having a tough time too
. ‘It doesn’t sound a bundle of laughs,’ she said guiltily.

‘It can’t be any better for you.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve got no one to blame but myself.’

‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’

‘It’s very sweet of you to say so but I’m a big girl now. I’m as responsible for this horrid state of affairs as anyone.’

‘Look, I’d better go. It’s pretty busy here. I’ll talk to you again soon. Bye.’

‘Bye,’ said Ginny, but she thought the line was cut before she had got the word out. It sounded to her as if someone had interrupted Richard and he hadn’t wanted to have to admit to talking to her.
Well
, she thought,
so this is what it’s like to be a persona non grata
. She returned to the lunch table and tried to put her worries about possible disciplinary action out of her head, but every time there was a lull in the conversation she couldn’t help letting her thoughts slip back to the news of the military police’s involvement in the affair.

Granny Flo returned to her own house in the afternoon and Ginny was left in sole charge of the four children. Outside, the weather had taken a turn for the worse; the showers had banded themselves together to form a steady downpour, the temperature had dropped and although the wind was no longer as strong or as gusty, it was still very blowy. All in all, it was a miserable January afternoon. Before Petroc had returned outside to carry on with whatever jobs needed doing on his land, he had lit a roaring fire in the sitting room. Ginny had found the cupboard containing a great pile of kids’ games and was now teaching them all how to play Mousetrap. She had fallen on it with great glee having remembered it from her own childhood. In fact, as she looked at the box, she was convinced that it was the very game that had been given to her on her tenth birthday, and when she examined the pieces she was sure, as the little white mouse was missing its tail – just like the white mouse in her game had done. Typical of Netta to snaffle it from the family home when Ginny’s back was turned, without even asking her, she thought. But then, what would she have done with it? It was hardly the sort of thing she would have dragged around the world with her for the past ten years.

‘Your mummy and I used to play this when we were little girls,’ she told her charges.

‘Did you?’ said Flossie. ‘And did you argue over things like Barnaby and I do?’

‘Probably,’ acknowledged Ginny. Actually they had fought like cats and on one occasion their father had been so incensed that a game designed to be fun had caused such discord that he had confiscated it and forbidden them to play it for weeks. Ginny just hoped things didn’t degenerate to such an extent this time. ‘Come on then,’ she said, lifting the lid off the box. ‘You and Barnaby will have to play on your own. I shall help Lisa and Jack.’

Ginny and the children settled themselves on the big rug in front of the fire with the board and the plastic components of the giant Heath Robinson mousetrap. The rain splattered against the little cottage windows and the wind whistled round the comer of the house but they were quite content and warm in the low-ceilinged room with its cheerful chintz curtains and covers and its rough plaster walls that had been standing for generations. The flames from the fire made the shadows dance and weave on the walls and the glow of the lamps made the room seem warmer still.

Lisa leaned against Ginny, happy to let her throw the dice and move her little plastic mouse. Jack was much more independent, although he needed help when it came to assembling his bit of the trap. Needless to say, Flossie directed him as to exactly how he should do it. After they had been playing for a while, and despite the chatter and occasional squeal or shout, Ginny realised that Lisa had fallen asleep. She picked her up and laid her on the sofa, wedging her with cushions so she couldn’t roll off. She was a picture of contentment with her eyes shut tight, her fat little thumb crammed into her mouth and a half smile on her face as if she were dreaming about something agreeable. Ginny returned to the game, more than happy to play on her own behalf instead of Lisa’s. She’d forgotten how much fun board games could be.

There was a sharp rapping on the front door. Ginny sighed and excused herself to the children. ‘I won’t be a minute. Don’t throw the dice till I get back, Barnaby, and don’t touch anything, Flossie. That way there can be no arguments.’ There had been a couple already but nothing major, but Ginny didn’t trust Barnaby and Flossie not to have a good set-to if she wasn’t there to referee. She uncurled her legs from under her and staggered to her feet. ‘God, I’m too old to sit on the floor,’ she muttered under her breath as her muscles twanged painfully. She tottered across to the sitting-room door. As she opened it she was struck by a cold draught. She shivered and glanced longingly back at the roaring fire before she shut it again behind her, isolating herself from the warmth of the room, but there was no point in letting the heat out. She opened the front door.

‘Hello,’ said the wild-haired man from the hospital.

Ginny stared at him and then went to slam the door again. But the man was too quick for her and got his foot in the way before she could get it closed.

‘Ow,’ he hollered as she leant her whole weight on the door.

‘Get out,’ she hissed at him.

‘I can’t. My foot’s trapped.’

Ginny eased fractionally with the idea that he would withdraw his foot but instead he shouldered the door and got half his body through it.

‘Go away,’ she snarled.

‘Ginny, listen to me.’

‘No.’ She heaved against the door.

‘Why won’t you talk to me?’

‘Because the last time I talked to you, you told the press where I was.’ Her voice came out almost as a series of grunts as she put all her effort into trying to evict her visitor and shut the door.

There was a guffaw from the man. ‘Press! Press? What do you mean I told the press?’

‘Of course you bloody did, now bugger off.’

‘Wait till I tell Petroc that one.’

Ginny relaxed slightly at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name, but she still kept her weight pressed firmly against the door. ‘You know Petroc?’

‘Course I do. We went to school together.’

‘Prove it.’

‘What?’

‘Prove it.’

‘Now?’

‘If you want to talk to me, yes.’

‘How?’

‘How should I know? It’s your problem not mine.’

‘His mum’s called Flo.’

‘Not good enough. Anyone could have told you that.’

‘His wife is Netta, his kids are Flossie, Barnaby, Jack and Lisa.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘If you’re such a good friend of Petroc’s you’d know what I meant.’ Ginny gave the door another shove and was gratified to hear a gasp of pain from the stranger.

‘You mean she’s had the baby?’

Ginny relaxed again but the door didn’t move.

‘Hey, that’s great. I didn’t know.’

If this guy isn’t a friend then he’s a remarkable actor who knows a lot about the family
, thought Ginny. Which didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t gone to the press, but it did make it rather less likely. She took her weight off the door. The wild-haired man half fell sideways through it at the sudden release. He regained his balance and rubbed his shoulder and his hip, then he flexed his foot and winced.

‘Sorry,’ said Ginny, not sounding sorry at all.

‘Yeah, well. Christ, you’re strong for a woman. What do you do for a living? Kick-start jumbos?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She stared at him stonily.

He breathed out heavily. ‘My turn to apologise. That was rude.’

‘Hmm.’ What was it with this man that he had to be so horrible? It was the second time that day she had found his manners obnoxious. She wasn’t sure she was inclined to accept his contrition.

‘I’m just feeling a bit battered and I’m not at my best when I’m in pain.’

Ginny couldn’t feel any sympathy for him. He’d put his foot in the door, when all was said and done. Flossie appeared, intrigued by the odd noises coming from the hall and curious about what was delaying Ginny.

‘Oh, hi, Uncle Chris,’ she said.

‘Uncle Chris?’ queried Ginny.

‘I told you, I’ve known Petroc all my life and so, of course, the kids know me.’

‘Are you coming to play Mousetrap with us?’ asked Flossie.

‘I hadn’t planned on it, but if you’d like me to …’

‘I’m sure Uncle Chris is far too busy to stay for games,’ said Ginny firmly.

‘Oh no I’m not,’ said Chris, equally firmly. ‘And Mousetrap is one of my favourites.’ He shot Ginny a look of triumph.

‘Great,’ said Flossie, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the sitting room where he was greeted with yelps of delight from Barnaby and Jack. Lisa slept on.

The game continued. The kids didn’t notice the tension between Ginny and Chris, or that they didn’t exchange a word except for things like, ‘Pass me the dice, please,’ or ‘Help Jack to move his mouse.’ As far as they were concerned, the grown-ups were having just as much fun as they were. But Ginny was just going through the motions and all the time she was longing for the game to finish so she could get shot of this rude, self-assured man. She hadn’t wanted him here, she hadn’t invited him, she didn’t trust him, and hell, she didn’t even like him. The sooner he went, the better, as far as she was concerned, even if he was Petroc’s bosom buddy.

It was getting dark before the children tired of playing Mousetrap and decided they would rather watch television. They gathered round the set, Flossie naturally calling the shots as she had the remote, while Ginny tidied the game away and then finally woke Lisa who blearily stumbled off the sofa and went to join her siblings, still with her thumb plugged firmly into her mouth.

‘She won’t sleep tonight,’ said Chris.

‘And you are the great expert,’ said Ginny.

‘No, but I know that Netta doesn’t like her to sleep too long in the afternoon otherwise she’s awake half the night.’

‘So why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

‘You didn’t ask.’

Ginny sighed angrily and stomped off to the kitchen. Chris followed. She hadn’t wanted him to do that. She’d hoped he would get the hint and just bugger off. Ginny thumped the big kettle on to the hotplate and opened the door of the big freezer. She thought she could probably cope with fish fingers, chips and beans for the children’s supper but she wanted to make sure she had everything before she made rash promises to them. If Petroc was going into Hugh Town to fetch Netta, he could always collect any shopping required at the same time.

‘Are you making tea?’ he asked hopefully as Ginny, having found what she wanted, slammed the freezer door shut and then went to the cupboard where the mugs were kept.

Ginny didn’t reply but she took down two mugs and the teapot. Obviously she wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily.

‘Anyway,’ said Chris, unperturbed by Ginny’s chilly attitude, ‘you are probably wondering what I am doing here?’

‘Not really,’ said Ginny leaning against the warm rail at the front of the Aga.

‘I just wanted to say sorry for being so odd at the hospital this morning.’

‘I didn’t realise that you were behaving oddly. I thought bad manners must have just come naturally.’

‘Ouch.’

Ginny didn’t care. Why should she? She had enough problems of her own without worrying about the sensibilities of a man who didn’t seem to care about other people’s.

‘Look, I’m eating humble pie here.’

Ginny hoped it would choke him. ‘So what do you want, a round of applause?’

‘No, just a cup of tea actually.’

Ginny turned away as she felt dangerously close to smiling. This man was incorrigible.

‘I’m really sorry, though, that I was so odd. It’s just you caught me completely off my guard. I was taking in someone who had cut himself badly with a kitchen knife and I was worried about him, and not really thinking.’

‘So?’

‘It’s just you look so like Netta.’

‘So I’m told.’

‘Only you weren’t pregnant.’

‘Ten out of ten for observation, then.’

‘But apparently, as Netta has now had the baby, neither is she, although I didn’t know that this morning.’

‘Perhaps you had better get on to whoever runs the bush telegraph.’ Ginny paused as she thought about what Chris had told her and about their encounter at the hospital. Then she said. ‘So when you said, “I know exactly who you are”, you recognised me as Netta’s sister and not the person on the front page of the
Mercury
?’