Coming Home (144 page)

Judith was packing. It was an occupation which she had always found something of a chore, but was now made more complicated by the fact that there were two people to pack for, and four separate items of baggage in which to pack. Two for Wanted on Voyage, and two for Not Wanted on Voyage.

For the Not Wanted on Voyage bit, she had invested in large, sturdy leather suitcases, girthed with buckled straps. Strong enough, one hoped, to survive being manhandled by the dockyard maties of both Colombo and Liverpool, and not fall apart should they be dropped from a great height. For Wanted on Voyage, she was using her own suitcase, that she had brought from Trincomalee, but for Jess had purchased a capacious brown hide hold-all.

Whiteaway and Laidlaw, that Harrods of the East, had not let them down.

As for clothes, the great shopping expedition had taken most of a day, and Judith had let rip, casting prudence aside. She knew that in England clothes rationing was tighter than ever, and once they got home, there wouldn't be a hope of buying anything very much. To say nothing of the fact that it would probably take some time for all the formalities of officialdom to filter through varying pipelines, and until they did, neither she nor Jess would have access to clothes-coupons, let alone food-ration books, petrol-coupons, identity cards, and all the restrictions of wartime that still dogged a beleaguered and long-suffering nation.

So, for Jess, a complete wardrobe, from underclothes upwards. Shirts, sweaters, skirts, woollen knee-stockings, pyjamas, four pairs of shoes, a thick dressing-gown, and a warm and sensible raincoat. All this lay on Jess's bed, in neat folded bundles, destined for the hold of the troop-ship. For the voyage home, she set aside only the most essential of basics. The ship, they had been told, was packed to the gunwales with returning troops, and personal space was at a premium. So, cotton shorts and jumpers, a cardigan, a thin night-dress, canvas gym-shoes. And, for the day that they disembarked, a pair of trousers and a soft, tan suede jacket…

Now, four o'clock in the afternoon, it was so breathlessly hot that it was almost impossible to realise that, in three weeks' time, she and Jess would actually be
glad
of all these heavy, scratchy, thick garments. The very effort of folding a Shetland sweater was a bit like knitting in a heat wave, and she could feel the sweat trickling down the back of her neck, and the dampness of hair sticking to her forehead.

‘Missy Judith.’ Thomas's soft voice. She straightened and turned, pushing her hair out of her face. She had left the door open, to create a through-draught, and now saw Thomas standing there, diffident at interrupting.

‘What is it, Thomas?’

‘A visitor. He is waiting for you. On the veranda.’

‘Who?’

‘Commander Halley.’

‘Oh.’ Instinctively, Judith put her hand over her mouth. Hugo. She felt really badly about Hugo because, since Jess's return a week ago, she hadn't seen him, hadn't been in touch, and — if truth be told — scarcely thought of him. And, during the last few days, so much had there been to do, so many arrangements to be made, that an appropriate moment of time had never presented itself in which to pick up the receiver and dial his number. As the days slipped by, guilt niggled, and this very morning she had written a stern note to herself,
RING HUGO,
and stuck the bit of paper in the frame of her mirror. And now he was
here. He
had taken the initiative, and she felt both ashamed and abashed at her fall from social grace. ‘I…I'll be with him in a moment, Thomas. Will you say?’

‘I shall bring you afternoon tea.’

‘That would be lovely.’

Thomas bowed, and glided away. Judith, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, abandoned the packing, washed her sweaty hands and her face, and tried to do something about her lank hair. Her sleeveless cotton dress was neither clean nor fresh, but would have to suffice. She pushed her bare feet into a pair of thongs and went to abase herself.

She found him standing, a shoulder propped against the post of the veranda, his back to her, gazing out over the garden. He was in uniform, but had tossed his hat down on the seat of a chair.

‘Hugo.’

He turned. ‘Judith.’ His expression was neither reproachful nor cross, which was a great relief. Instead, he looked, as always, delighted to see her.

‘Oh, Hugo, I'm filled with shame.’

‘Why ever?’

‘Because I should have telephoned you long before now, and given you some idea of what was going on. But there's been so much to do, and I just never got around to it. Too rude. I am sorry.’

‘Stop grovelling. I never even thought about it.’

‘And I'm looking disgustingly grubby, but everything clean's already been packed.’

‘You look fine. And certainly cleaner than I do. I've been to Katakarunda all day; just thought I'd drop in on my way back to the Fort.’

‘I'm so glad you did. Because we're going tomorrow.’

‘So soon?’

‘I put a note on my dressing-table to ring you this evening.’

‘Perhaps it's I who should have been in touch with you. But knowing the situation, I didn't want to intrude.’

‘I would never have left without saying goodbye.’

He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Let's forget it. You're looking frazzled and I'm feeling frazzled. Why don't we both sit down for a moment, and simply relax?’

Which was just about the best idea anybody had had all day. Judith collapsed into Bob's long chair, with her feet up on the leg-rest, and lay back on the cushions with a sigh of relief, while Hugo pulled up a stool and sat facing her, leaning forward, his elbows supported by his bare brown knees.

‘Now, let's start at the beginning. You're leaving tomorrow?’

‘I've been trying to pack all afternoon.’

‘What about the Wrens? Your job?’

‘I'm on indefinite compassionate leave, and when I get home, I'll get a compassionate discharge. All fixed. Chief Officer Colombo's arranged the whole deal.’

‘How are you getting back?’

‘Troop-ship. Bob fixed us a couple of berths at the very last moment.’

‘The Queen of the Pacific?’

‘That's right. Oddly enough, the same old liner I came out in. But this voyage, it's going to be really close quarters. Families from Ceylon going home, and a draft of Royal Air Force from India. But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we'll be on board.’ She smiled, feeling guilty again. ‘It's an awful thing to say, but it does help having a Rear Admiral as a relation. Bob hasn't just pulled strings, he's been winching hawsers. Blasting away on the telephone, pulling rank. He's done it all.’

‘And Trincomalee?’

‘I never went back. I'm never going back.’

‘What about your gear? The stuff you left behind.’

‘Anything special, I brought with me to Colombo; all that got left behind were a few books and some washed-out clothes and my winter uniform. I don't care what happens to any of that. Not important. As well, last week Jess and I went to Whiteaway and Laidlaw, and spent an entire day buying the shop out. So we're both kitted up for all eventualities.’

He smiled. ‘I like the way you said that.’

‘Said what?’

‘Jess and I. It sounds as though you'd never been apart.’

‘Wasn't it a miracle, Hugo? Wasn't it like something out of a dream? I maybe
sound
as though we've never been apart, but I still wake in the night and wonder if I've imagined it all, and I have to turn on the light so that I can look at her, lying in the next bed, and know that it's really true.’

‘How is she?’

‘Amazing. So resilient. Later, we may have problems. Physical, or psychological. But so far, she seems to have emerged with colours flying.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘Bob took her to the zoo. She wanted to look at the alligators.’

‘I'm sorry I've missed her.’

‘They'll be back sometime. Stay till they come.’

‘I can't. I've been bidden for drinks with the C in C, and if I'm late I'll be court-martialled.’

At this point they were interrupted by Thomas, approaching down the length of the veranda, and bearing the tea-tray. Hugo reached forward and pulled up a table, and Thomas, with his customary formality, set down the tray, bowed, and withdrew.

When he had gone, she said, ‘I know Bob told you all about Jess, and the camp in Java and everything, but did he tell you about Gus Callender?’

‘Who's Gus Callender? Do you want me to be mother and pour the tea?’

‘Please. He obviously
didn't
tell you. It was just the most extraordinary thing. It all happened on the same day. The morning of the day that we knew that Jess was alive. You know about the hospital ship?
Orion
? With the men from the Burma Railway?’

‘Yes. She was here for a day, sailed that evening.’

‘Well, I went to welcome the men who came ashore…’ He handed her a cup and saucer, and she smelt the fresh scent of China tea and the tang of lemon, but it was too hot to drink, so she let it rest on her lap. ‘…and there was this man there, a captain in the Gordon Highlanders…’

She told him about the bizarre encounter. Believing that Gus was dead, and suddenly finding him alive. Going with him to the Galle Face Hotel; the touching reunion with the old waiter; the bottle of Black and White whisky. She told him how Gus had looked, and how he had been dressed, and how, at the end, she had put him in another taxi, headed for the Fort and the hospital ship; and said goodbye.

‘…and then I came back here and even before I'd got into the house, Bob had appeared and was telling me that Jess was alive. Two people I thought had gone forever. All in the same day. Wasn't that the strangest thing, Hugo?’

He said, ‘Quite amazing,’ and clearly meant it.

‘The only thing is, I don't feel as happy about Gus as I do about Jess. His old parents died while he was in prison and working on the railway; he was told in Rangoon that they had died. He hasn't got any other family. No brothers or sisters. I feel it's going to be rather a dismal homecoming for him when he does get back to Scotland.’

‘Where's his home?’

‘Aberdeenshire, somewhere. I don't know. I never knew him all that well. He was a friend of friends, in Cornwall. He stayed with them during the summer before the war. That's when I met him, and I've never set eyes on him since. Until I saw him again, standing there on Gordon's Green.’

‘Has he got a home to return to?’

‘Yes. I think it's some sort of a great big estate. There certainly seemed to be plenty of money. He was at Cambridge, and before that he'd been at Rugby. And he drove around in a very elegant, supercharged Lagonda.’

‘Sounds as though he should be all right.’

‘But
people
matter, don't they? Family. Friends.’

‘If he's served in a Scottish regiment, he'll be surrounded by friends.’

‘I hope so, Hugo. I really hope so.’

Her tea had cooled. She lifted the cup and drank some, and felt heated, and yet refreshed, all at the same time. Still thinking of Gus, she said, ‘But I
must
keep in touch.’

‘And who,’ asked Hugo, ‘are
you
going back to?’

She laughed. ‘A jolly houseful of women.’

‘And Jess?’

‘Sooner or later, she'll have to go to school. Perhaps later. She deserves a bit of time to settle in, get her bearings, have some fun.’

‘Friends and family?’

‘Of course.’

‘No loving swain, waiting to claim you? Waiting to jam a wedding ring on your finger?’

It was sometimes hard to tell whether or not Hugo was joking. She looked up into his face, and saw that he was not.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because if there were, I should say he was a lucky man.’

She took her cup and saucer and leaned over to put it back on the table. ‘Hugo, I would hate you ever to think I had simply used you.’

‘I would never think that. I just happened to be around when you were having a bad day. I only wish we'd had more time together.’

‘We said all this before. I don't think it would have made any difference.’

‘No. Probably not.’

‘But that doesn't mean that it wasn't the
best.
Meeting you, and all the things we did together. And the war over, and knowing that it hadn't killed off all the trivial, frivolous, fun things people
used to do
before it all began. Like “I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby”, and dancing in the moonlight, and wearing a new dress, and shrieking with laughter about that dreadful Moira Burridge. Nothing mattering too much, and yet terribly important all at the same time. I'm really grateful. I can't think of anyone else who could have brought it all back, made it real again, so sweetly.’

He reached out and took her hand in his. ‘When I get back to England — whenever — shall we see each other?’

‘Of course. You must come and visit me in Cornwall. I have a dream of a house, so close to the sea. You can come for summer holidays. By yourself, or with some luscious lady friend. In the fullness of time, you can bring your wife and children, and we'll all go bucket-and-spading together.’