Coming Home (136 page)

‘Who runs it?’

‘Oh, some guy. Half-Portuguese, I think.’

‘It's a bit like something out of an enormously romantic film.’

He laughed. ‘This isn't why I brought you.’

‘Why did you bring me?’

‘For the food, you ninny.’

Presently the head-waiter returned with the wine-waiter in tow, bearing a silver ice bucket containing a large frosted green bottle.

Judith was amazed. ‘When did you order that?’

‘When I reserved the table.’

‘It's not
champagne,
is it? It couldn't be
champagne?
’

‘No, but it's the best I could do. Sahtheffrican.’

‘Sorry.’

‘South African. From the Cape. A humble little sparkling white wine with no background and no pretensions. A true wine buff would sneer. But I think it's delicious.’

The cork was drawn, the wine poured, the bucket left by their table. Judith lifted her long-stemmed glass. ‘Your health,’ said Hugo, and she took a single mouthful, and if it wasn't champagne, then it was just about the next best thing. Chilled, sparkling with bubbles, deliciously fresh.

He set down his glass and said, ‘Now. I have two things to say to you before another moment passes.’

‘What have you got to say?’

‘First…is something I should perhaps have said before. It's just that you really are incredibly lovely.’

She was much touched by this. As well, a bit embarrassed and confused. ‘Oh, Hugo.’

‘Now, don't get all flustered. English women are notoriously bad at dealing with compliments. American women, on the other hand, are particularly good at it. They accept kind words and appreciation as no more than their due.’

‘Well, that's very kind of you. The dress is new.’

‘It's enchanting.’

‘What's the second thing? You said you had two things to say.’

‘That's a bit different.’

‘So?’

He set down his glass and leaned forward across the table. He said, ‘I know about your family. I know that you have just been told that none of them survived…after Singapore. I know that you have been waiting for three and a half years for news; only to be told that there is no longer any hope. I am so very sorry. And if you want, we won't talk about it again. But I didn't want to start the evening without you knowing that I know. I didn't want words, unsaid, to lie between us, like something we would have to circle…a sort of forbidden area.’

After a bit, Judith said, ‘No. No, you're quite right. Perhaps I should have been the first to say something. It's just that I don't find it very easy…’

He waited, and then, when she didn't finish, said, ‘I don't mind you talking about it, if you want to.’

‘I don't, particularly.’

‘Right.’

A thought occurred to her. ‘Who told you?’ she asked.

‘Admiral Somerville.’

‘Did he tell you
before
we met? I mean, did you always know?’

‘No, not until last Sunday, when I took you back to the Galle Road after we'd been swimming. You disappeared for ten minutes or so to get changed, and he and I had a bit of time together on our own. He told me then.’

‘You didn't say anything to me.’

‘Not an appropriate moment.’

‘I'm glad you didn't know before. Otherwise I would suspect that you were just being kind.’

‘I don't understand.’

‘Oh, you know.
I'm bringing my rather sad niece to a party. I want you to look after her.
’

Hugo laughed. ‘I promise you. I'm not much use with sad nieces. Run a mile if I see one.’

There was a little pause.

And then he said, ‘So that's it. Subject closed. Over and out?’

‘Better that way.’

‘Talk about something else. When do you go back to Trincomalee?’

‘Not for three weeks. I have to report for duty on the Monday morning. Bob's going to see if he can get me a lift up to Kandy, and then I'll go on from there.’

‘Why don't you fly?’

‘It would have to be an RAF plane, and it's not easy getting rides.’

‘Do you want to go back?’

‘Not particularly. The urgency's gone out of it all now. Since the war's finished I suppose it'll just be a case of winding everything down, people gradually being sent home. I think
Adelaide
— that's the submarine depot ship I've been working in — and the Fourth Flotilla will probably get sent to Australia. So I'll have to go to some shore-based job.’ She reached for her glass, took another mouthful of the delicious wine, and then laid the glass down again. ‘I've actually had enough of it all,’ she admitted. ‘What I would really like to do is to hop on a troop-ship and go home
now.
But that's unlikely to happen.’

‘And when it does happen? What will you do then?’

‘Go home.’ She had told him about Cornwall, and The Dower House, and Biddy Somerville and Phyllis, that day when they had sat on the beach at Mount Lavinia, and watched the un-swimmable-in breakers pounding up onto the sand. ‘And I shan't look for a job and I shan't do anything that I don't want to. I shall grow my hair until it reaches my waist, and go to bed when I want, and get up when I want, and stay out carousing until the small hours. I've lived with rules and regulations for the whole of my life. School; the war; the Wrens. And I'm twenty-four, Hugo. Don't you agree it's about time I sowed a wild oat or two?’

‘I certainly do. But everybody of your age has been hit by the war. A whole generation. What you have to realise is that for some others it had the very opposite effect. A sort of release. From conventional backgrounds, dead-end jobs, limited horizons.’ Judith thought of Cyril Eddy, seizing the opportunity to leave the tin-mine and realise, at last, his life's ambition of going to sea. ‘I know at least two women, well bred, and married in their early twenties simply because they couldn't think of anything else to do. Then the war, and, relieved of deadly husbands and with access to Free French, Free Poles, and Free Norwegians — to say nothing of the United States Army — they proceeded to have the time of their lives.’

‘Will they go back to their husbands?’

‘I expect so. Older and wiser women.’

Judith laughed. ‘Oh, well. Nobody's the same.’

‘And it would be a dull world if we were.’

She thought he was being very wise. ‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘Thirty-four.’

‘Did you never want to get married?’

‘Dozens of times. But not in wartime. I never relished the prospect of being killed, but I would hate to die knowing that I was leaving behind a widow and a string of fatherless children.’

‘But now the war's over.’

‘True. But my future is still with the Navy. Unless I get passed over or made redundant, or put into moth-balls and a deadly shore job…’

The head-waiter returned then to take their order, which involved a bit of time because they hadn't even got around to scanning the menu. In the end, they both chose the same things, shellfish and chicken, and the waiter refilled their glasses and padded away once more.

For a moment they fell silent. Then Judith sighed.

‘What's that for?’ Hugo asked.

‘I don't know. The thought of having to return to Trincomalee, I suppose. A bit like going back to boarding-school.’

‘Don't think about it.’

She made up her mind. ‘No, I won't. And I don't know how we got onto this rather serious conversation.’

‘Probably my fault. So let's put an end to it now, and start being frivolous.’

‘I don't quite know how to begin.’

‘You could tell me a joke, or ask me a riddle.’

‘Pity we haven't got any paper hats.’

‘But that would make us conspicuous. If we make an exhibition of ourselves, I might get all my buttons cut off and be asked to leave. Think of the scandal. Drummed out of the Salamander. Moira Burridge would love it, give her something to talk about for months.’

‘She'd say, serves us right for telling lies and being unfriendly.’

‘I think we should make plans for the next three weeks, and not waste a moment. So that you return to Trincomalee with a light in your eye and a host of happy memories. I shall take you to Negombo, and show you the old Portuguese Fort. It's particularly beautiful. And we shall swim at Panadura, which is a beach straight out of
The Blue Lagoon.
And perhaps drive up to Ratanapura. In the rest-house there, old soup plates sit around on tables, filled with sapphires. I shall buy you one, to pin in your nostril. What else do you like doing? Sporting activities? We could play tennis.’

‘I haven't got my racquet.’

‘I shall borrow one for you.’

‘It depends. Are you frightfully good?’

‘Brilliant. The picture of manly grace as I leap the net to congratulate the winner.’

The band was playing again. Not South American music now, but an old smoochy tune, the melody carried by the tenor saxophone.

I can't give you anything but love, baby

That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby…

Abruptly, Hugo stood, ‘Come and dance.’

They stepped down onto the floor, and she turned into his arms. He danced, as she had suspected he would, with easy expertise, neither shifting from foot to foot, nor steering her around the floor like a vacuum cleaner, two hazards that Judith had learned, over the years, to deal with. He held her very close, his head bent so that their cheeks touched. And he didn't talk. And there was no need to say anything.

Gee, I'd like to see you looking swell, baby.

Diamond bracelets Woolworth's couldn't sell, baby.

Till that lucky day, you know darn well, baby,

I can't give you anything but love.

Over his shoulder she looked up into the face of the moon, and felt as though, for a moment, she was being touched by the very edge of happiness.

Half past two in the morning, and he drove her back to the Galle Road. The sentry opened the gates for them, and the car rolled through and around the curve of the driveway, to draw up in front of the portico of the main door. They got out. The air was scented with Temple flowers, and the moon so bright that garden shadows lay black as Indian ink. At the foot of the steps, Judith paused and turned to him. She said, ‘Thank you, Hugo. It was a lovely evening. All of it.’

‘Even Mrs Burridge?’

‘At least she gave us a laugh.’ She hesitated for an instant and then said, ‘Good night.’

He put his hands on her arms, and stooped to kiss her. It was a long time since she had been kissed so thoroughly. And even longer since she had so thoroughly enjoyed it. She put her arms around him, and responded with a sort of grateful passion.

The front door opened, and they were caught in a wedge of yellow electric light. They drew apart, amused and not in the least abashed, and saw Thomas standing at the head of the steps, his dark features betraying neither disapproval nor satisfaction. Then Hugo apologised for keeping him up so late, and Thomas smiled, the moonlight glinting on his gold teeth.

Judith said again, ‘Good night,’ and went up the steps and through the open door. Thomas followed, closing and bolting the heavy locks behind him.