First Friends (9 page)

Afterwards, the sympathy had all been for him. Even her parents—thrilled at her brilliant marriage—had been mortified by her behaviour and let him know that no blame could be attached to him. He had never been able to decide whether it had been an accident due to dangerous driving or a deliberate act.

‘He had his arm round her.'

Now, as he watched Cass and Kate grappling with the difficulties of service life, he could see, here and there, the pattern repeating itself although in different ways and for different reasons. Sometimes it seemed as if he were being giving a second chance, an opportunity to redress the balance. Perhaps his support, a word of advice, may prevent these children from making the mistakes that he had made and in so doing he could find some measure of atonement. Forgive me Father for I have sinned. And what of Caroline and young Hurley, wiped out, extinguished between one breath and the next? What could atone for that? Had she been afraid?

‘He had his arm round her.'

The General drove round to his garage, put his car away and went indoors.

I
T WAS SPRING BEFORE
Cass visited her father again. Tom was, at last, on the long awaited course and she drove the long distance from Kent—avoiding London—on a blowy March day. She glanced in the driving mirror at Charlotte who sat sucking her thumb and gazing stolidly at the passing countryside. She was such an easy child, so good-tempered and adaptable, and Cass felt a great wave of affection for her daughter, who looked so like easy, good-tempered and adaptable Tom. She loved them both dearly but, nevertheless, it was lovely to be free and independent and to be within a few miles of her father and her dearest friend. She had every intention of thoroughly enjoying her little holiday.

K
ATE WANDERED ROUND THE
garden, eagerly waiting for the telephone call from the General to tell her that Cass had arrived. She had already had a call from her mother, who had just returned to Cornwall after one of her fairly regular visits and could talk of nothing but the
Torrey Canyon
, the oil tanker that had gone aground off the Isles of Scilly spilling a hundred and twenty thousand tons of crude oil into the sea. It was all too close for comfort, she had said.

‘All the poor birds!' she kept crying. ‘All the wildlife destroyed. It's terrible!'

Kate strolled on, the twins gambolling around her. She loved the garden. It was all mainly to the front of the bungalow: a long, long lawn edged with rhododendron bushes stretching down to the road. At present the lawn was massed with daffodils and she walked on the drive which passed up the side of the lawn and round to the garage at the back of the bungalow.

In the border beneath the wooden fence primulas bloomed and the starry flowers of the forsythia shivered a little in the cold wind. Although most people welcome the spring and find the autumn a
melancholy time, Kate's experience was quite to the contrary. The great westerly gales of autumn, the blazing vibrant colours, the scent of wood fires and the silver and blue of crisp, frosty mornings seemed to make the blood sparkle in her veins and a sense of excitement, the thought of Christmas close on its heels, bubbled within her. But the spring, ah, the spring was different. Its promise was veiled in an uncertainty that was encapsulated in the vulnerability of a clump of pale early primroses in a wet hedgerow and the cruel sharp shower of hail descending suddenly out of a clear pale blue sky. The long light evenings made her restless, no longer content to huddle round the fire, yet it was too cold to be out of doors listening to the blackbird's evocative call and the thin, high, plaintive bleating of the lambs. The stillness of a spring evening was unlike the stillness of late-autumn or winter. Theirs was a stillness of fulfilment, of a deserved peace, of things drawing in and down into the quiet earth. The stillness of spring was a breathless stillness, anticipatory, waiting. There was a hopeful expectancy which might never be fulfilled: a promise of such magnitude that it must surely fail. It was this promise that encouraged the delicate blooms and tender shoots to unfurl in its gentle warmth only to be beaten down by heavy rains or withered by a late frost.

Kate turned back to the bungalow, thankful that she had the twins to save her from her melancholy. She was slowly and not always consciously coming to terms with the knowledge that Mark needed to keep his career and his family quite separate. She had been more hurt than she was prepared to admit, even to herself, that he hadn't wanted her in Gibraltar. It was necessary to reason with herself, to remember that he was not a social man, that he took his job very seriously. It was rather a desolate outlook for her but she still looked upon her role in the light of a job, as a support, and if that was what was demanded of her she must find her happiness with the twins and when Mark was at home. The trouble here was that he didn't seem to find pleasure in having the twins around and leaves had become rather stressful affairs. He was happiest when the twins were in bed or left with Mrs Hampton, and Kate, knowing that it was only for a fortnight and that he
looked upon these times as holidays, felt that he must be humoured. She had not yet let herself dwell upon the unreality of a marriage developed along these lines. The whole point was that it was different to most marriages, that there were unusual strains and requirements. When he got a shore job there would be time to adjust.

She swung round at the sound of a fanfare at the gate: there was Cass, in her little car, waving furiously. Kate broke into a run to open the five-bar gate—always kept shut because of the twins. Cass drove in and Kate, having shut the gate behind her, dashed round to the driver's door.

‘Thought I'd just pop in for two minutes,' Cass was saying as they hugged and hugged. ‘It's been such an age. Oh, look at them. Aren't they sweet!' And she was on her knees before the twins who stood, round-eyed, watching this display of emotion. ‘This one sucks his thumb just like Charlotte. Which is which?'

‘That's Giles. Oh, Cass! How marvellous to see you. But you mustn't stay. Your father and Mrs Hampton have the most unbelievable tea ready for you.' Kate went to the car and looked in through the window. On the back seat, strapped into a little chair, was Charlotte, a sturdy, serious-looking child, dark-haired and brown-eyed. She stared solemnly at Kate. ‘Goodness, Cass. She's so like Tom.'

‘Isn't she? Must get her out for a moment. She's been as good as gold. Get the kettle on, Kate. There's time for a quickie. I won't eat anything, I promise. But I'm dying for a pee and, if I know my old pa, he'll know full well that I wouldn't be able to drive straight past your door when I haven't seen you for nine months.'

‘T
HERE NOW, MY LOVER
.' Mrs Hampton put Charlotte's plastic beaker on her high-chair tray and beamed at her. ‘What about some porridge?'

She'd got into the habit of popping in every morning, once she'd seen Jack off to the big house, to get the General's breakfast, tidy up a little bit and see to it that he had some lunch organised. She knew that you couldn't trust a man to look after himself properly. The General,
who had been looked after by orderlies or by his batman for most of his life, took it all in his stride and knew how lucky he was.

Charlotte nodded and looked round as the General came in.

‘Good morning, my darling.' He dropped a kiss on Charlotte's head. ‘ 'Morning, Mrs Hampton. That daughter of mine still in bed, I suppose? Well, she didn't get back from Kate's ‘til late. Porridge? Excellent.'

‘ 'Tis lovely to see 'em together.'

‘They've been like sisters since they were children and now we've got the next generation coming along, growing up together. You're very fond of Giles and Guy, aren't you, my darling?'

‘Chiles,' repeated Charlotte. He was definitely her favourite, ‘Like Chiles.' She drank deeply from her mug.

‘ 'Tis a pity Kate's ‘usband's not ‘ome more, like Cass's Tom.' Mrs Hampton finished stirring the porridge and ladled it into two bowls. ‘ 'Tisn't natural for a young girl to be on 'er own so much. An' with two babies t'deal with, too. Real tired 'er looks sometimes.'

‘Service life, Mrs Hampton! It's very tough on these young wives, always has been. On the positive side, it can keep the romance going much longer. Lots of honeymoons.'

Mrs Hampton's answering snort was expressive and the General raised his eyebrows. She put his porridge before him and tucked Charlotte's bib more firmly round the child's neck.

‘ 'Ere you are, my lover,' she said. ‘Let ‘Ammy ‘elp you. What a lovely bowl. Now, where've all they rabbits got to? ‘Ave to eat the porridge up to find 'em, we will.'

‘Do I take it, Mrs Hampton, that you don't subscribe to that idea?'

Once it would never have occurred to the General to discuss personal matters with a domestic. Mrs Hampton, however, had never really quite fitted into that role. She had a dignity and a wisdom that had earned the General's respect from the beginning and, on one or two occasions, he had found himself seeking her advice. In her company he felt relaxed and, ludicrous though it may sound, safe. He knew that the twins and Charlotte felt it too. He watched the child's
dark eyes fixed trustingly upon her as she spooned in the porridge.

‘ 'Tisn't lots of ‘oneymoons that young mums want. ‘Tis a bit of attention, a bit of fussin' over,' she said, at last. ‘She gets like a strained look. That's right, my lover. All gone!' She wiped Charlotte's mouth.

The General looked worried. She was, after all, only voicing his own doubts. ‘May improve,' he said. ‘He's very young. There can be a lot of pressure on these young officers. It could be as simple as that.'

Mrs Hampton raised her eyebrows disbelievingly but was too polite to contradict him.

‘How about a nice egg?' she asked. ‘Go down well, would it?'

T
HE SUBMARINE BERTHED TWO
days early and Mark got a lift home with the Navigation Officer who lived at Walkhampton. He was not at all pleased to find Cass in the kitchen when he arrived and even more displeased when she stayed until just before Kate served up supper.

‘I had a letter from Dad when we were at sea,' he said when they finally sat down together to eat. ‘He's going to buy us a car. He thinks it's crazy us being stuck out here with no transport. So it is, of course. Anyway, he suggested that I catch the train to Cheltenham and then we can go and choose it together.'

‘How very generous of him,' said Kate, sipping her wine. ‘It will be marvellous but can't he just send you the money?'

‘You know Dad!' Mark grimaced. ‘Thinks I'd buy a dud, I expect. I'll have to go up. It's worth it to have a car and, after all, they're not expecting us to chip in. He's told us to keep our money for something else. I'll only be gone a couple of days. No point in you and the twins dragging up on the train. I'll be able to come back in the car.'

‘We could come,' said Kate. ‘If it's only one way. I know your mother would like to see the twins.'

‘Well, she'll have to put up with it, won't she? I'm not doing a four-hour train trip with two screaming brats.'

Kate was silent. You've been away five weeks, she thought, but even so you don't want to be with us enough to spend a few hours on a train
with us. And they're not screaming brats! She quickly drank some wine to take the edge off her hurt.

‘Anyway,' said Mark, smiling a little as he pushed his chair back, ‘you'll have Cass, won't you?'

Kate looked at him quickly and knew that he blamed her for Cass's presence when he had arrived back home and that her exclusion from the trip to Cheltenham was, in some way, a punishment. He hated anyone around when he first got in and Kate, who knew why, had been delighted that Cass had been present so that she had a genuine excuse to become used to his presence again before they made love.

‘I didn't know that you'd be in today, Mark,' she said reasonably, answering his thought rather than his question. ‘You weren't due for another two days. You must admit that it's practically unheard of for a submarine to be in early.'

He raised his eyebrows as if making note of the—unintentionally—implied criticism. ‘In that case we don't want to waste any more of this unexpected and unusually precious time, do we? Shall we go to bed?'

A few hours later, she lay beside him staring into the darkness feeling frustrated and used. There was certainly no mental communication between them. Mark withheld himself, his aspirations, his doubts, unwilling to let her into his own private self. Nor was he prepared to make any efforts to get to know her as a person, being more concerned in remaining remote and unapproachable. He seemed even more remote when he was with her than when they were apart for then she was able to imagine him differently, more open, confiding and close. His letters were very expansive for he seemed able to express himself more easily in writing. Yet when he came home it was as if he were a stranger. She tried to talk herself back into familiarity, hearing herself gabbling on and on. She would offer him food and drink, still talking. He would stand watching her, slightly amused, unhelpful, waiting while she tried to talk away the strangeness and invoke desire, longing, lust—anything that would help her through the painful act which, to her, was almost rape. After any period of celibacy she could not feel
instant passion. She needed love first: tenderness, caring, an exchange of experiences during their separation and so on into the act of love-making as a form of communication when words failed.

She never got it. Sometimes he would take her on the sitting-room floor, sometimes on the landing and sometimes in the bedroom. It hardly mattered where to him. If they were in bed, Mark would roll away and be asleep in minutes, unconcerned as to whether or not her enjoyment was as great as his.