Camomile Lawn (7 page)

‘Became famous in this country.’

‘I’ve always believed it was the General’s doing.’

‘What General?’

‘General Peachum, a friend of your great-uncle’s, a neighbour, loathed Jews, an admirer of Hitler and Ribbentrop, rather a silly man, Master of Hounds, urged the local police and coastguards to watch for spies, a typical “country gentleman”, a good man. They do a lot of harm.’

C
ALYPSO’S MARRIAGE TO HECTOR
Grant, during the early days of the war, when for months nothing happened except a tremendous freeze, came as welcome entertainment. One day she was working in the glamorous secret job she had found for herself and the next inviting everybody to her wedding at Caxton Hall.

Hector Grant, a tall, elegant Member of Parliament for a Scottish constituency, had been married before with no issue and was extremely rich, with a house in Westminster and a castle in the Highlands. The trouble in the eyes of Calypso’s parents was that he was the same age as Calypso’s father; indeed it was he who had introduced them.

‘How could John have been so stupid?’ cried Sarah, on hearing the news.

‘I don’t suppose it occurred to him,’ replied George. ‘The man is supposed to be uncatchable. How was John to know the advent of war made Hector determined to beget a son and heir?’

‘But he’s had a wife.’

‘Who wouldn’t or couldn’t oblige.’

‘Perhaps Hector can’t.’

‘We shall see, won’t we?’ And George had gone gloomily off to his office, leaving Sarah to telephone what she called the Cornish Contingent, Helena and Richard.

Richard refused Calypso’s invitation, excusing himself on the grounds of pressure of work. ‘I’ve written to Hector of course about the Erstweilers, knew him in the war, splendid chap, got a very good D.S.O.’ Richard had received no decoration for losing his leg. Sarah suspected that Richard resented this. She asked to speak to Helena, putting this point to her.

‘Don’t be absurd, Sarah,’ Helena had said briskly. ‘His leg blew off when he had his back to the enemy and was drinking a mug of tea. He remembers it perfectly. He never expected a medal. He really is busy.’

‘Will you come, then? Stay with us.’

‘I’d love to. I’ve never been to a registry office wedding.’

‘The reception is at the Ritz.’

‘I daresay he can afford it. I gather he’s paying for all of us to have lunch.’

‘Yes. He won’t allow Calypso’s parents to spend a penny.’

‘They have no pennies, that’s their trouble. Calypso wants money.’

‘Helena, you will bring Sophy, won’t you?’

‘She’s at school.’

‘They might let her come. Try.’

‘I’ll have to see.’

See that she doesn’t, Sarah thought, but did not say, and Sophy did not come. In the event George, too, was too busy. Sarah and Helena sat with Calypso’s mother, watching a stony-faced John give his only child to Hector, magnificent in a morning suit with hardly a grey hair in his thick thatch, his black eyebrows like moths’ wings meeting above his nose.

Calypso shone triumphant in a white coat and skirt, satin shirt, a wreath of gardenias on her sleek head.

‘I’ve never seen anyone look so smug,’ one twin in Air Force uniform whispered to the other. Polly, overhearing, grinned. Walter arrived in time for the luncheon, a scrubbed and healthy Able Seaman. Oliver came late but in time to kiss the bride, hugging her against his rough khaki uniform.

‘How prickly you are.’

‘Am I still to get my comforts?’

‘Oh, that!’

‘I may claim them soon. I am hoping to get to Finland.’

‘Hector says that’s all collapsing.’

‘There will be other campaigns.’

‘I wish you joy of them—’ She looked at him with fear.

‘Well, you’ve got what you wanted.’ Oliver made no effort to lower his voice. He turned away, caught Walter by the arm, ‘Come on, old sod, let’s go and get drunk.’

Hector raised eyebrows, murmuring, ‘He seems half-way to his goal,’ and, holding Calypso’s arm, steered her away. ‘Come and meet some of my friends from the House. Then we must go, if we are to catch our train.’

‘Even you were young once,’ Calypso said brightly, thus setting the tone of their future relations. ‘I’ll keep my word if you’ll keep yours,’ she whispered up at his darkening face.

‘How fond she is of him.’ The wife of a junior minister tried to open a conversation with Helena, who was watching.

‘Fond? Oh yes, fond.’ Helena, who had drunk more champagne than she should, let the conversation abort.

Later that evening Polly steered the twins to the York Minster in Soho, where they found Oliver and Walter sunk in alcoholic gloom, and amazed them by leading them on to the Gargoyle, a haunt Oliver had heard of but never visited, where Polly appeared to be quite well known. Amused by their dazed expressions she said: ‘I have not been letting the grass grow. I work for half the literati in London in my dump.’ Oliver grew sober as she pointed out Cyril Connolly, Philip Toynbee, Erica Mann, Robert Newton, Brian Howard and various other figures of the older generation.

‘My bosses know them, I don’t,’ she tried to console Oliver. ‘When’s your train?’

‘Midnight, Paddington.’

‘Walter, too. We’ll put you on it. The twins are staying until tomorrow.’

‘She’s quite a girl, your sister,’ Oliver gasped when he and Walter had struggled on to the train, pushing their way into an overcrowded carriage.

‘Not stupid,’ agreed Walter.

‘Very pretty, really—pity old Sophy couldn’t make it.’

‘That’s the most uncomfortable wedding I’ve ever been to.’ Sarah climbed into bed with George that night. ‘I’ve never seen so many unhappy faces. Oh, my poor Oliver.’

‘Lucky escape, if you ask me.’

‘Perhaps. I wonder what’s going on in the night train to Inverness.’

‘Night of the long knives, by the bride’s looks.’

But George was wrong. Hector had whisked Calypso off to the Savoy, where her joy at finding a telephone by the lavatory seat had set the tone for an enjoyable wedding night.

‘I did appreciate that,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t tell you how I was dreading it.’

‘I thought as much.’ Hector was pleased. ‘Would you like some oysters?’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘Why not?’

‘Build up our strength for your Highlands? I’m dreading them, too.’

‘Wait till you see them.’

‘All right, I will. They’d better be good.’

‘You are driving too fast again.’ Helena, sitting ancient in the bucket seat, turned her head to look at Hamish, watching his mouth tighten with annoyance as he obediently reduced speed. ‘You are very like your mother.’

‘Oh, am I? I’m glad to hear it. I thought I took after my father.’

‘You do, but you often have your mother’s expression.’ Helena undid her safety belt, letting it wind back, to Hamish’s alarm.

‘You really should wear that belt, Great-aunt. She must have been very beautiful.’

‘Not if you drive at a reasonable speed. Of course she was beautiful. She still is. Much improved since her stroke.’

‘What could you mean?’

‘Calypso’s face was too regular, both sides were the same. Since her stroke she looks human, lopsided. I don’t suppose it’s changed her character.’

‘She seems to have made a good recovery except for her face. She drags a foot sometimes. How well did you know her when she was young?’

‘My dear, I was just an onlooker. She and the others came every summer. All the men were in love with her; she took it as a matter of course, as far as one could see.’

‘How far was that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Helena turned to watch the landscape flashing past. ‘She never made any bones about what she wanted.’

‘Oh?’

‘She got it, too. Money, a good time, nice houses, clothes, jewels, yes, she got what she wanted.’

‘Did she want me?’

‘Of course she did.’ In her eighties Helena’s voice was better than it had been in her forties. ‘Of course she wanted you,’ she repeated. Was he not part of the bargain? ‘I don’t believe she wanted more than you. She had a bad time when you were born.’

‘So she always says.’

‘Well, it wasn’t your fault, my dear. She would insist on staying in London. Air raids and childbirth are not compatible, but you don’t want to hear about the war.’

‘Why did she have me in London?’

‘She loathed Scotland, that was a flaw in her marriage. Your father wanted her to have you in Edinburgh.’

‘He adored Scotland. I do, too.’

‘He took her up there on their honeymoon. She found it cold. How she complained when she got back! The train got stuck in a snowdrift.’

‘I expect they had a sleeper.’ Hamish tried to visualize Calypso young and beautiful in a sleeper with his father. ‘I suppose they had sleepers in the war?’

‘Oh yes. Paddington to Penzance. Euston to Inverness. We had them when we could get them. Your father, being an M.P., had priority.’

‘My mother must have liked that.’ Hamish drove faster.

Helena resigned herself, closing her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it made up for the cold.’

‘So you don’t think I was conceived in a sleeping car?’

‘Not until much later, my dear. At this speed we shall arrive early.’

‘We can have a drink or two.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I don’t take after my father in that.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you did.’

‘Do you think he got drunk in the sleeper?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Helena, who had often wondered the same thing.

G
ETTING NO NEARER FINLAND
than a brief interview in London, Oliver went to his parents’ house for a bath. The house was empty; in the bitter cold the water either turned off or frozen. After wandering round the empty rooms he telephoned Calypso, writing her name in the dust as he waited.

‘I am in London for the night. Any chance of seeing you?’

‘We are going out, you just caught us. Hector’s already on the doorstep, we are due at a party.’ She sounded breathless.

‘Can’t I come too?’

‘It’s not your sort of party, so sorry. Another time give us some notice. There are so many parties. London’s great fun.’

‘My camp isn’t.’

‘I suppose not. Why don’t you try Polly? Coming, Hector, coming.’ She rang off.

Oliver walked through the snow to Polly’s and rang the bell, stamping his feet in their heavy boots.

The door flew open.

‘Oliver!’

‘Sophy, what are you doing here? I thought you were at school.’

‘I’ve got a week off because I’ve had German measles. Polly’s out with the twins. Come in, don’t let the ice indoors.’

‘You’ve grown. D’you think I could have a bath?’

‘Of course.’

‘Anything to drink?’

‘There’s some gin in the kitchen. I was just going to have my supper. The twins are up for the night.’

‘I’ll take you out to supper when I’ve had a bath.’ The child looked peaky. Helping himself to gin, Oliver tried to remember what his mother had told him. Something had happened to Sophy. What?

‘Any news of the Erstweilers?’

‘Uncle Richard is trying to get them out. I had a letter from Monika. It was censored. Isn’t it stupid?’ Sophy flushed.

‘The whole bloody war is stupid.’ Oliver swallowed his gin. ‘Boring, too. Polly shouldn’t leave you alone in the house, there might be an air raid.’

‘I’m all right. I’m used to being alone. There have been no raids.’

‘There will be.’ Oliver had a bath and emerged feeling better.

‘Where shall we have dinner?’ The child looked a waif with her black silky hair unbecomingly cut, eyes wary.

‘Anywhere.’

‘I’ll take you to the Savoy. I’d like a good dinner.’

‘I’ve never been anywhere in London.’

He took her to the Savoy. ‘My father used to give me lunch here at half term. Why didn’t you go back to Cornwall?’

‘Aunt Helena said it was too far for such a short time.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not really.’ Sophy looked evasive.

‘Do you like school?’

‘It’s all right.’

‘Not like Cornwall?’

‘Not a bit. What’s it like being a soldier?’

Oliver tried to tell her, watching her eat, gradually relax after drinking a glass of wine.

‘You weren’t at Calypso’s wedding.’

‘Aunt Helena didn’t want me to miss school.’

‘I see. Going back to Cornwall for the holidays?’

‘Yes. Perhaps Uncle Richard will have got the Erstweilers out by then. She said they are hoping in their letter.’

Oliver refilled her glass. ‘Drink up.’

‘Won’t I get tipsy?’

‘I’ll look after you.’

Sophy drank. ‘I don’t like it much but it makes me feel warm.’ She pressed her flat chest then, leaning towards Oliver, she whispered: ‘I ran the Terror Run.’

‘What?’

‘It’s wired off now but I ran it the day before they put the wire along it to prevent the Germans invading.’

‘Oh, the Terror Run. I’d forgotten. Seems a long time ago. What was the other thing going to be? Something idiotic. We drew lots, a killing, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘but you cancelled it.’

‘What’s the matter, Sophy? You look funny. Seen something in the woodshed? Did the Terror Run frighten you?’

‘Fear lent me wings. I met, I mean I saw, I—’ Sophy stared at Oliver, who stared back, thinking, She’s going to be lovely one day with those eyes. What did she see that day? ‘Yes?’ he said.

Sophy drew a deep breath. ‘I met the Rector, he was very kind and took me home.’ She rearranged the knife and fork by her plate. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, looking across the restaurant. ‘There’s Calypso.’

There indeed was Calypso, dining with a man in naval uniform, not Hector. By the look of their table, they had reached the brandy stage. They had been there some time.

‘Bloody, bloody bitch—“London’s great fun”. How long have you known she was there, Sophy?’

‘I saw her when we came in. I’m not a bloody bitch.’

‘I meant Calypso, not you. Waiter, my bill, please.’ She did see something in the woodshed and she’s not going to tell me, Oliver thought as, choked with jealousy of the unknown naval man, he paid his bill and led Sophy out past Calypso who, deep in talk, had not seen them. ‘Comforts for you, old chap?’ He addressed the stranger, who looked startled, as he pushed Sophy on ahead. Calypso laughed. In the Strand the cold bit deep. Oliver took Sophy by the hand. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’