Coming Home (82 page)

And Judith knew that she was right. Because much the same thing had happened the evening Billy Fawcett gave such a fright to poor Ellie in the cinema, and Judith had taken control and swept everybody off to the police station to lodge complaints. And afterwards, she had never felt so strong or so positive, and Billy Fawcett had been exorcised for ever.

Aunt Biddy. The very idea of getting away from Edward, and Nancherrow and all of them, just for a little while, was enormously tempting. Just for long enough to get everything in proportion, to deal with heartbreak, and get her life back on the rails again. Aunt Biddy did not know Edward. Aunt Biddy would ask no questions, simply be delighted to have a bit of company, and the excuse for a cocktail party or two.

But the complications of departure were too numerous to be dealt with. ‘How can I just go? How can I leave? Without any sort of excuse? It would be
too
ill mannered.’

‘Well, the first thing to do is to go downstairs to the Colonel's study, and telephone Mrs Somerville. Have you got her number? Good. So you ring her up and ask her if she'd mind if you turned up this evening. You can make some excuse or other if she asks to know why. You can drive in your little car. It shouldn't take you more than four hours, and with a bit of luck there won't be too much traffic.’

‘Supposing she isn't there? Or she doesn't want me?’

‘She'll want you. You were going to visit her anyway, it's just a question of arriving a bit early. And then we'll make
her
the reason for your going. We'll tell a lie. Say she's unwell, all alone, got 'flu, needs nursing, broken her leg. We'll say she rang you; a call for help, and it sounded so urgent you just got straight into your car, and went.’

‘I'm useless at telling lies. Everybody will know I'm telling a lie.’

‘You don't need to tell the lie. I will. The Colonel won't be back until dinner time this evening. He and Mr Mudge have gone to see some cattle out St Just way. And Edward and Athena and Loveday and the others won't come up from the cliffs for another hour or so yet.’

‘So, you mean…I won't have to say goodbye…’

‘You don't need to see any of them again, not until you're strong enough, and ready.’

‘I will come back, though. I'll come back before I go to Singapore. I'll have to say goodbye to the Colonel and Diana.’

‘Of course. And that'll be something for us all to look forward to. But right now, it's expecting too much of you, just to carry on after what's happened. And, as well, I think it's asking too much of Edward.’

‘It's a sort of catalyst, isn't it?’

‘I've no idea what a catalyst is. I only know you can't be anybody but yourself. At the end of the day, you're stuck with that.’

‘You sound like Miss Catto.’

‘I could do worse.’

Judith smiled. She said, ‘And what about you, Mary? You're part of the family too, but I don't think of you as being absorbed by them, or ever losing your own identity.’

‘I'm different. I work for them. This is my job.’

‘But you could never leave them.’

Mary laughed. ‘Is that what you think? You think I'm going to stay forever, growing older and less useful. Doing a bit of ironing, waiting for Athena to start a string of babies, dealing with another generation of sleepless nights, and strings of nappies, and potty-training? And then having a stroke or something, becoming senile. A burden. Having to be cared for. Is that how you see my future?’

Judith felt a bit embarrassed because, in a shameful way, it was. The devoted servant, the old retainer, sitting shawled in a chair, knitting garments that nobody would ever want to wear, being brought cups of tea, and privately moaned about because she was such a nuisance. She said, ‘I just can't imagine you being anywhere else except Nancherrow.’

‘Well, you're wrong. When I'm sixty, I shall retire and go and live in a cottage on my brother's farm up Falmouth way. It belongs to me. I saved up my money, and I bought it from him, for two hundred and fifty pounds. So I shall be independent. And that's how I shall end my days.’

‘Oh, Mary, good for you. But what they'll all do without you I can't imagine.’

‘They'll manage. Nobody's indispensable.’

‘Do they know about your plans?’

‘The Colonel does. When I bought the cottage, I told him then. Took him into my confidence. He came and looked at the cottage, and paid for me to have a survey done.’

‘And Mrs Carey-Lewis?’

Mary laughed and shook her head. ‘I don't suppose, for a single moment, that the Colonel has told her. He protects her, you see. From everything. Like a child. Now…’ Once more Mary became practical. ‘We're wasting time. Sitting here gabbing isn't going to get the baby bathed. If you're going to go, then we must get moving…’

‘Will you help me pack?’

‘Ring your auntie first,’ said Mary. ‘No point in putting the cart before the horse.’

Diana awoke. She had slept the afternoon away. She knew this, even as she opened her eyes, because the sun had dropped in the sky, and its beams now slanted down through her western window. Beside her, Pekoe still slumbered. She yawned and stretched, and settled back again on her pillows and thought how perfect it would be if sleep could not only restore one but iron out all anxieties in the same process, so that one could wake with a totally clear and untroubled mind, as smooth and empty as a beach, washed and ironed by the outgoing tide.

But that was not to be. She awoke, and all her pressing anxieties at once crowded about her and raised their heads again. They had simply been waiting for her. Aunt Lavinia, recovered but still so frail. And a war waiting to pounce. When, nobody knew. Two weeks' time, perhaps. A week. Even days. The endless wireless bulletins, and the newspapers, and the headlines that grew graver by the hour. Edgar's expression of anguish tore at her heart. He tried to hide it from her, but did not always succeed.

And the young ones. Jeremy, her stalwart, the strong pillar of so many years. But now on embarkation leave, committed to the Royal Navy, already on his way. He was the first to go, but as soon as war was declared, all the others would be in the front line of the call-up. Her precious Edward to fly those dreadfully dangerous aeroplanes — quite dangerous enough without having some German firing bullets at you at the same time. And his friend Gus, who was already an officer in the Gordon Highlanders. They would never return to the dreaming spires of that lovely city, with nothing to do but absorb knowledge and enjoy themselves. As for Rupert, he of course was a regular soldier, but the added complication there was that he and Athena wanted to get married, and he would be sent off to some inhospitable desert with his horse, and get shot at, and Athena would be left on her own for years and years, wasting her youth. All of them, the
jeunesse d'or,
wasting the precious years that would never come again.

And little Loveday. Seventeen and in love for the first time, without any hope of starting any sort of relationship with the object of her girlish dreams. Diana could not imagine what would happen to Loveday. Dumped down in the middle of another terrible war, it was impossible to imagine how Loveday would react. But then, she had always been totally unpredictable.

She stirred and turned her head to look at her little gold bedside clock. It was half past four. She longed for tea, but hadn't the heart to ring her bell and summon Mrs Nettlebed to come trudging up the back stairs on her swollen feet. As well, Diana was bored. Perhaps she would get up…If she could summon the energy, she would get up, have a bath, get dressed, go downstairs. Jeremy had told her to stay where she was, but he couldn't imagine the boredom…

Someone knocked on the panel of her door.

‘Who is it?’

The handle turned and the door opened a crack. ‘It's me. Judith. Are you awake?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I'm not disturbing you?’

‘Not a bit. I was just thinking how bored I was. I need somebody to talk to.’

Judith came in, shut the door behind her and crossed the room to sit on the edge of Diana's bed. She looked very neat and tidy in a white blouse with a frilled collar, and a blue-and-white-striped cotton skirt. Her hair was smooth and newly brushed and she had cinched her slender waist with a scarlet leather belt.

‘How are you feeling now?’ Judith asked.

‘Oh, better. Just lazy.’

‘Did you sleep?’

‘All afternoon.’ Diana frowned. ‘Why aren't you down at the cove with all the others?’

‘I had a bit of a headache. Edward went down by himself.’

‘It's the heat. How's Aunt Lavinia?’

‘She was wonderful. Full of chat. Amazing, really, considering what she's been through.’

‘Do you think she'll ever be able to do all the lovely things she did before?’

‘Of course.’ Judith hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Diana, I've got something to tell you. To explain. I've got to go away. Now.’

Astonishment. ‘Go away? But, darling, why?’

‘It's a bit complicated. It's just that I was having tea with Mary, and there was a telephone call…’

‘I didn't hear it…’

‘You were asleep, I expect. It's my Aunt Biddy. Biddy Somerville. She's had the most horrible dose of 'flu, and of course Uncle Bob and Ned are both away at sea, and she's on her own, and she hasn't got anybody living in now, just a daily lady who comes up on her bicycle from Bovey Tracey. Anyway, it's a sort of cry for help, and she said would I be able to go and keep an eye on her. Her doctor says she shouldn't be alone.’

‘But, my darling, how perfectly frightful. Poor woman. Would you like to ask her to come here and be with us?’

‘Oh, you are sweet, but I don't think she could make the journey. I think I must go to her. I was going anyway, later on. So it doesn't make that much difference if I go now.’

‘What a good girl you are.’ Judith smiled. And it occurred to Diana then, that she was looking most dreadfully tired. Her lovely eyes were sunken and the bright lipstick only accentuated the pallor of her cheeks. Poor child, she had been suffering from a headache, but just for an instant Diana wondered what had caused her indisposition. She should ask, she knew, show motherly concern, but in her present state she didn't feel strong enough to deal with any more confidences, any more problems. As well, there was always the possibility that it had something to do with Edward, and for that reason alone, it was much better that she knew nothing. Besides, at the end of the day, much as she loved Judith, Judith was not her child, and for the time being Diana had quite enough on her plate, endeavouring to cope with all the uncertainty of what was going to happen to her own children. So, ‘Of course you must go if you're needed so badly. How will you get there?’

‘I'll take my car.’

‘You will drive carefully, won't you?’

‘Of course.’

‘When are you setting off?’

‘Right now. Mary helped me pack a suitcase. Just one or two things. I don't suppose I shall be there for very long. But I will come back, if I may, because I want to see you all again before I sail for Singapore.’

‘But of course you'll come back.’

‘And you'll explain to the Colonel for me?’

‘I forgot. You won't have
seen
him. And the others. How horrid to go without saying goodbye to all the others. Can't you just nip down to the cove for a moment before driving away?’

‘There's no time. You must say goodbye to them for me.’

‘I'll do that, but I know they'll all be
terribly
upset.’

‘I…I'm sorry about this. It's sweet of you to understand.’

‘Oh, darling, not your fault.’ Judith stood, and moved to stoop and kiss Diana's cheek.

She said, ‘It's only for a little while.’

‘In that case we won't say goodbye. Just
au revoir.
’

‘Au revoir.’

‘Good journey.’ Judith smiled, and turned and went to the door. But as she was leaving, Diana called her back. ‘Judith!’

‘What is it?’

‘Is Mary around?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell her Pekoe needs to go out into the garden for a wee-wee. And ask her to be a saint and bring me a cup of tea.’

Judith closed the door behind her, and went down the passage to the nursery. Mary was waiting for her, sitting on the window-seat and looking down into the garden. When Judith said her name, she turned her head, and pulled herself to her feet.