Coming Home (119 page)

‘London? What are you coming to London for? You hate London.’

‘I'll explain. We're coming together. And I really want to see you.’ She sounded a bit frantic. ‘I've got so much to tell you. Can you come? Can you get time off?’

‘Well, I could try for a short weekend…’

‘Oh, do. Do. Say it's dreadfully important. Life and Death. Mummy and I are going up tomorrow in the train. No petrol for the poor old Bentley. Tomorrow's Thursday. How soon can you be with us?’

‘I don't know. I'll have to see. Saturday, at the earliest.’

‘Perfect. I'll be there, even if Mummy isn't. I'll expect you unless I hear from you…’

‘I may not be able to—’

‘Oh, of course you can. Make any old excuse. Compassionate grounds. Anything. It's terribly important.’

‘I'll try…’

‘Goodie. Longing to see you.’
Pip-pip-pip
went the telephone. ‘Byeee.’ Click. The call was finished.

Judith, in some puzzlement, replaced the receiver. What on earth was Loveday up to now? And why was she coming to London, which she had always sworn she loathed? There was, however, no answer to these questions. The only thing that was perfectly clear was that, tomorrow morning, first thing, she must present herself at the First Officer's lair, and somehow persuade that frightening female into signing a weekend pass for the very next day. If refused, Judith would blatantly cut corners and appeal for the co-operation of Lieutenant Commander Crombie. The image of him, entering battle on her side, was very reassuring.

The First Officer WRNS was just as uncooperative as Judith had feared, and it took a certain amount of distasteful pleading before she finally, reluctantly, and with little grace, signed the weekend pass. Abasement had worked. Judith thanked her profusely, and then escaped as quickly as she could before the embittered old hag of a spinster could change her mind.

In the outer office, the Wren on duty looked up from her typewriter and raised her eyes in silent question. Judith made a face, and gave her a thumbs-up.

‘Good for you,’ the other girl muttered, ‘she's in a foul mood this morning. I thought you were doomed from the start.’ And Judith, leaving her to her typing, walked back to the Training Development Office in high heart, and, unasked, made a cup of coffee for dear Lieutenant Commander Crombie, just because she was so grateful to be working for him, and not some prune-faced woman with a power complex.

Saturday was a beautiful April morning, without a cloud in the sky. Emerging from the cavernous gloom of Waterloo Station, she decided to indulge in the extravagance of a taxi, and rode in state to Cadogan Mews. In the warm spring sunshine, London looked surprisingly lovely. Trees were in fresh green leaf; bomb sites countrified by new growths of willow-herb; a mallard duck swam on the still surface of emergency water tanks. In the park, purple crocus spread carpets on the grass, and daffodils nodded yellow heads in the sweet breeze. High above, barrage balloons gleamed silver in the sunlight, flags snapped over important buildings, and the faces of passers-by, jostling the busy pavements, were rendered hopeful and smiling by the clement weather.

The taxi stopped in the road, by the stone arch which led into the Mews.

‘This do you, luv?’

‘Perfect.’

Carrying her overnight bag, she walked the cobbled length of the Mews, where the small houses faced each other, with tubs and window-boxes burgeoning flowers. A cat sat in the sunshine and washed himself, and someone had fixed up a rope and pegged out a line of washing, which made it all feel a bit like Porthkerris. She looked up. The windows of Diana's house had been flung wide open, a curtain blew, and the wooden tub at the yellow front door brimmed with velvety polyanthus.

‘Loveday!’ she called.

‘Hello!’ Loveday's head appeared at the open window. ‘You're here. You are marvellous. I'll come down and let you in.’

‘Don't bother. I've got my key.’

She opened the door, and Loveday was standing at the head of the stairs. ‘I was terrified you wouldn't make it. Did you have to tell frightful lies to get permission?’

‘No. Just bow and scrape a bit.’ She climbed the staircase. ‘And listen to a lot of codswallop about giving First Officer so little notice, making extra work for her staff, being so inconsiderate, travel vouchers et cetera, blah, blah, blah. All too boring.’ She dumped her bag, pulled off her hat, and they hugged. ‘Where's Diana?’

‘Shopping, needless to say. We're meeting her at a quarter to one, at the Ritz. Tommy Mortimer's giving us all lunch.’

‘Heavens, how smart. I've nothing to wear.’

‘You look stunning just as you are, in uniform.’

‘I don't know that I do. Never mind, with a bit of luck they won't drum me out of the restaurant for not being an officer.’ She looked about her. Last time she had come, it had been midwinter and dark and cold. Now, everything was quite different, the pretty room bright with sunshine, cool with fresh air, and filled with flowers. Nancherrow flowers, brought from Cornwall, and Diana's trademark.

She flopped down on one of the huge, ample sofas and sighed with pleasure. ‘Heaven. It's like being home again.’

Facing her, Loveday curled up in one of the big armchairs. ‘I have to admit, even though I'm not mad on London, it is rather a dear little house.’

‘Where are we all going to sleep?’

‘You and I are sharing the double bed, and Mummy's going in with the ironing board.’

‘That's not very fair.’

‘She doesn't mind. She says she prefers privacy to luxury. Anyway, that bed's quite comfortable.’

‘When did you get here?’

‘Thursday. Came up on the train. It wasn't too bad. And at Paddington, Tommy met us with a car, which is always rather comforting.’ Loveday giggled. ‘Did you know, he got a medal for being frightfully brave in the blitz? Too modest, he's only just told us.’

‘A
medal?
What did he get a medal for?’

‘He rescued some old girl from her burning house. Plunged in through smoke and fire and hauled her out, by the legs, from under her dining-room table.’

Judith gaped in admiration and astonishment. It was not easy to visualise the urbane Tommy Mortimer, silk-shirted and smoothly suited, indulging in such heroics. ‘Good for him! I hope she was grateful.’

‘Not a bit. She was livid because he hadn't rescued her canary as well. Ungrateful old bag.’

She was laughing. She looked, thought Judith, prettier than ever, and charmingly sophisticated in a fine woollen dress of hyacinth blue, with short sleeves and a white piqué collar. Silk stockings on her slender legs, black patent high-heeled pumps, bright lipstick, dark lashes, her violet eyes sparkling. But something was different…

‘Loveday, you've had your hair cut.’

‘I know. Mummy said I looked like a gollywog. She wheeled me off to Antoine's yesterday. It took hours.’

‘I love it.’

Loveday tossed her head. ‘It's a bit short, but it'll grow. I never have time to have it done at home. Incidentally, everybody sends their love. Pops and Athena and Mary and everybody. Including Nettlebeds. Clementina's a hoot. She's got a ghastly doll's pram and pushes it everywhere.’

‘What news of Rupert?’

‘Battling it out in the Western Desert. But he writes long letters to Athena and he seems to be quite cheerful.’ She stopped then, and fell silent. Across the room they faced each other, and some of the laughter died from Loveday's face. After a bit, ‘At least she hears from him. Gets letters.’ She sighed. ‘Nothing, I suppose, from your family?’

Judith shook her head. ‘Not a word.’

‘I'm so sorry.’

‘It's like a shutter's come down. But the boat Mummy and Jess were on never got to Australia. That's all we know.’

‘If they were rescued, I suppose they'll have been taken prisoner.’

‘I suppose.’

‘And your father?’

She shook her head again. ‘Nothing.’ And then, because it had to be said, ‘And Gus? I imagine, nothing from Gus, otherwise you'd have let me know.’

For a moment, Loveday sat, eyes downcast, her fingers picking at the braid of the armchair. And then, abruptly, she sprang to her feet, and went to stand at the window, looking down into the Mews, her back to Judith, and the sunlight making an aureole of her curly dark hair. Judith waited. After a bit, she said, ‘Gus is dead.’

Judith felt cold with shock, and for a moment unable to think of anything to say. ‘Then you
have
heard. You've had news.’

‘No. But I know.’

‘
How
can you know he's dead?’

Watching, appalled, she saw Loveday shrug her bony shoulders. ‘I just know.’ And then she turned to face Judith, leaning her weight against the white-painted sill of the window. ‘I would know if he was alive. Like I did after St Valéry. Then, it was like a telephone message, but without any words. I told you about it, and I was right. He was safe then. But he's dead now. After Singapore fell, every day, I sat on the gate by the Lidgey farmyard, and shut my eyes and thought and thought about him, and tried to get a message to Gus, and to get him to send one back to me. But there's nothing there but darkness and silence. He's gone.’

Judith was horrified. ‘But, Loveday, that's the same as killing him
yourself.
You mustn't give up hope. He needs you to keep hoping and thinking about him, all the time.’

‘Is that what
you
do?’

‘Don't speak in that horrible, condescending way. Of course it's what I do. I have to.’

‘Do you believe your mother and father and Jess are still alive?’

‘I said, I have to. For their sakes. Don't you see how important it is?’

‘It's not important if I already know Gus is dead.’

‘Stop saying it, over and over. You've no right to be so certain. Just because it happened once, that telepathy thing, it doesn't mean it's bound to happen again. That time, Gus was in France, quite close. This time he's on the other side of the world.’

‘Distance makes no difference.’ Loveday was immovable, stubborn as she had always been once she had set her mind on something, and was determined never to be side tracked. ‘Thought transference covers thousands of miles in a millionth of a second. I would know if he was alive. And I
know
that he's been killed.’

‘Oh, Loveday. Please don't be so final.’

‘I can't help it. I am.’

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Judith sighed. ‘Is this what you had to tell me?’ she asked at last. ‘Is this why you wanted me to come to London?’

‘That. And other things.’ Judith waited in some apprehension. Then Loveday dropped her bombshell. ‘I'm going to get married.’

She said it casually, as though imparting some inconsequent piece of information, and for a moment Judith thought that she had totally misheard.

‘What?’

‘I'm going to get married.’

‘Married.’ Now, totally nonplussed. ‘Who?’

‘Walter.’

‘
Walter.
Walter Mudge?’

‘Do you know any other Walter?’

The whole idea was so inconceivable that Judith felt quite winded, as though some person had delivered a blow in her solar plexus, and left her without breath to speak. Finally, ‘But…but what has got into you, that you want to marry Walter?’