Coming Home (157 page)

Back in the hall again, Judith dialled Nancherrow.

‘Hello.’

‘Diana, it's Judith.’

‘Darling!’

‘Sorry to ring so late.’

‘What's it about?’

Once more, explanations. From time to time, Diana made little painful cries of horror, but apart from that, she was very good and neither asked questions nor interrupted.

‘…so I'm going to London tomorrow. If it's all right with you, I'll stay at the Mews, and hopefully bring Gus back with me on Thursday.’

‘My dinner party! My coming-home party!’

‘I know. I'm sorry. I can't make it.’

‘Darling, I can't bear it! We're planning such a festive meal.’

‘I'm really sorry.’

‘Oh, bother. Why do these things always happen at the wrong time?’

This was unanswerable, so Judith said, ‘What about Loveday?’

A long silence, and then Diana sighed audibly. ‘Yes. I see.’

‘Loveday doesn't want Gus to come to Cornwall. She doesn't want to see him. She told me so.’

‘Oh dear, it's all so difficult.’

‘I don't think you should tell her about Gus. If he comes to The Dower House, I don't think she should know. There's no reason for her to be told.’

‘But she's bound to find out sooner or later.’

‘Yes, but not immediately. From what Rupert said, it doesn't sound as though Gus is in any state to cope with emotional confrontations.’

‘I hate secrets.’

‘I do too. But just for a day or two, until we see how things work out. You go ahead with your dinner party, and tell Loveday that I've had to go away. And tell the Colonel and Jeremy Wells not to say anything either. If Gus comes back with me, and stays here for a bit, of course Loveday will have to know. But, immediately, I think we should all keep our mouths shut.’

For a long moment, Diana was silent. Judith held her breath. But when Diana spoke again, all she said was, ‘Yes. Of course. You're right, of course.’

‘I'm sorry about spoiling your party.’

‘I think darling Jeremy will be sorry too.’

He had been given his old, familiar bedroom, and found his own way upstairs, lugging the battered green naval-issue suitcase. It was so long since he had been at Nancherrow that he didn't immediately unpack, but dumped the suitcase on the luggage rack at the foot of the bed and went to open the window and gazed out, with some satisfaction, at the long-remembered prospect. It was nearly midday. From time to time the fitful sun gleamed out from behind the clouds. There was a string of washing waving on the line, and the doves strutted on the cobbles or clustered on the platform of their dovecote, cooing away to themselves, and presumably complaining about the cold. It was a moment to be relished. From time to time, he had to remind himself that the war was over, and he was really back in Cornwall for good. This was one of them; and he knew that, with a bit of luck, he was never again going to be long separated from this magical place that always felt like his second home. And he felt enormously grateful that he had been allowed to live, had not been killed, and so was able to return.

Presently he closed the window and turned to deal with his suitcase, but as he did so, heard swift footsteps in the passage outside, and the voice of his hostess.

‘Jeremy!’ She flung open the door and was there, wearing sensible grey flannel trousers and a huge pale-blue mohair sweater, yet still managing to look fragile and intensely feminine. ‘Darling! Sorry I wasn't there to greet you; on the telephone as usual. How are you?’ She kissed him lovingly, and then settled herself on his bed, clearly having long chats in mind. ‘Did you have a good drive?’ as though he had come for a hundred miles instead of just from Truro. ‘Goodness, how lovely to see you again. And you look wonderful. Mediterranean tan. Darling, do I spy a grey hair at your temple?’

A bit embarrassed, Jeremy put up a hand to touch this lowering evidence of advancing age. ‘Yes, I think you do.’

‘Don't worry. I think it's rather distinguished. And look at me. Silver as a sixpence. Now, listen, I've got so much to tell you I don't know where to start. Most important, you know Judith's home?’

‘Yes, I know. My father told me. And he told me about her parents dying, and Jess coming back.’

‘Poor little thing, she's had such a ghastly time, but really so brave. I hate to call her sensible, because it's such a
deadening
word, but I never knew anybody with so much good sense. Besides being so frightfully pretty. And the most heavenly figure. But Judith isn't the absolutely vital thing I have to talk about…Jeremy, you remember Gus Callender? He stayed here, that last summer.’

‘But of course. Loveday's love. The guy who was killed in Singapore.’

‘Darling, he wasn't killed. He survived. Prisoner of war. Burma Railways. Too horrific. Judith met him in Colombo on his way home. She told him that Loveday was married, and of course he was dreadfully upset. And then, as soon as she got back here, she told Loveday about Gus being alive, and Loveday told Edgar and me.’

All that Jeremy could think of to say was, ‘Good heavens.’

‘I know. It's all a bit tricky, isn't it? Anyway, he went back to Scotland, and sort of
disappeared
. Judith wrote to him — I think she was a bit worried about him and felt responsible — but he never replied. And
then
, yesterday, Athena's Rupert was in London, and he found Gus there. Mouldering around the streets and looking like a down-and-out. Too depressing. But he persuaded Gus to come out to lunch with him, and Gus told him that he'd had a perfectly horrid nervous breakdown and had been in a sort of loony-bin, and his old mum and dad had died while he was in prison, and all the family wealth had disappeared…a total tale of woe. Rupert was dreadfully upset. He tried to get Gus to go home to Gloucestershire with him, but Gus wouldn't budge.’

‘Where's he living?’

‘Some sordid flat, in a horrid bit that nobody ever goes to.’

‘So what's happened?’

‘Oh dear, this is taking such a long time, isn't it, but it is rather important. What's happened is that Judith has gone to London today to see if she can do anything to help. Maybe bring him back to The Dower House.’

‘What about Loveday?’

‘Loveday has told us all that she doesn't want to see Gus. I think she feels a bit ashamed. Not that she has a thing to be ashamed about. But one does see…’ Her voice trailed away. She looked hopefully at Jeremy. ‘You see, don't you, Jeremy darling?’

He sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose I do.’

‘It's all a bit depressing, because this evening I'd planned a lovely coming-home party for
you
, and Nettlebed had plucked pheasants, and Mrs Nettlebed was going to make a plum fool, and Edgar was blissful, down in the cellar choosing a wine. But then Judith rang last night to tell me she was off to London, and Loveday phoned to say that Walter couldn't make it either, so we've decided to forget about it for the time being. It's too disappointing.’

‘Don't worry,’ Jeremy assured her bravely. ‘It was sweet of you even to think of it.’

‘Well. I suppose. Another time.’ She was silent for a moment, and then looked at her tiny gold watch. ‘I must go. I promised Edgar I'd telephone the grain merchant about the hen food. It hasn't come, and the poor loves are starving.’ She got to her feet. ‘Lunch at one all right?’

‘Perfect.’

She went to the door, and then, with her hand on the knob, turned back to him.

‘Jeremy, if Gus
does
come back with Judith, we're not saying anything to Loveday. Just to begin with. Till we see how he is.’

Jeremy understood. ‘Right.’

She shook her head, her expression much distressed. ‘I hate conspiracies, don't you?’ But before he could reply to this, she was gone.

She left him with his unpacking still not done, and his mind in something of a turmoil, because this new, peace-time life seemed to be beset by problems, decisions to be made, and matters — which had hung fire for far too long — to be finally clarified.

Only a few formalities remained before he left the RNVR for good, with an excellent chit from the Surgeon Captain, and a small gratuity from a grateful country. But he had returned home to find his old father deep in gloom. A Labour Government was now in office, and talk was all of a projected National Health Service which was going to change the whole face of medical care, and render out-of-date the old tradition of family doctoring. This, Jeremy felt, could be nothing but a good thing, but realised that his father was too elderly, to deal with the upheaval that it would entail.

So, instead of returning to practise in Truro, perhaps this was the moment to change? A new location, and a new partnership; young men, and modern methods. A colleague in the Navy had already approached him about this, with an idea that Jeremy found intensely attractive. He could not commit himself, however, until he had spoken to Judith.

She was his last and most pressing quandary. He longed, above all, to see her again, and at the same time, dreaded a confrontation that might end forever his long-cherished dreams. Over the years since that night they had spent together in London, he had constantly thought of her. From the mid-Atlantic, from Liverpool, Gibraltar and Malta, started letters that were never finished. He had, time after time, run out of words, lost his nerve, crumpled up the halting pages and thrown them in the gash-bin. Telling himself, what's the use? Telling himself that by now he would be forgotten, she would have found someone else.

She wasn't married. He knew that much. But Diana's revelations about Gus Callender filled him with disquiet. The implications, for Loveday, of Gus's return were perfectly understandable, but now Judith, it seemed, was deeply involved as well. The fact that she had opted out of Diana's coming-home party, and gone flying off to London to be with Gus, did not bode well for Jeremy Wells. But then, Gus had been Edward's friend, and Edward had been the great love of Judith's life. Perhaps that had something to do with it. Or perhaps her compassion had turned to a deeper emotion. Love. He didn't know. He had not known anything for far too long.

Suddenly he wanted, more than anything else in the world, a drink. A pink gin. Unpacking could wait until later. He went through to the bathroom and washed his hands and put a comb through his hair, and then went out of the room and downstairs in search of liquid cheer.

Judith took a last look around, to be sure that she had forgotten nothing. Bed stripped, breakfast cup and saucer washed and rinsed and left on the draining-board to dry. Refrigerator switched off, windows closed and locked. She picked up her small overnight bag, went down the narrow stairs, out through the front door, and slammed it firmly shut behind her.

It was nine o'clock in the morning and still only half light. The sky was dark and overcast, and during the night there had been quite a sharp frost. In the Mews, lights still burnt inside the little houses, spilling squares of yellow onto the icy cobbles. No flowers in tubs and window-boxes, but someone had bought a Christmas tree and propped it up against the wall by their front door. Perhaps, today, it would be brought indoors, to be decorated and strung with fairy lights.

She heaved her bag into the boot of Biddy's car and got in behind the wheel. The car didn't like being left out over-night in the cold, and it took two or three coughing attempts before the engine started, but it finally chuntered into life, exuding clouds of exhaust. She switched on the side lights and drove down the length of the Mews, and out through the archway at the far end.