Night Sky (6 page)

Julie thought that class probably had a lot to do with it, but it was best not to say so. Instead she nodded and said, ‘Well, maybe I’m wrong, maybe that didn’t make any difference. But the fact is he doesn’t love me, Mother.’

‘But you can’t be sure of that! Perhaps he just never
told
you … Anyway, love can grow. Take it from me.’

Julie thought: Oh God, how do I make her understand? She said gently, ‘Mother, please believe me when I tell you this. He doesn’t love me.’

He had come to the house for tea a couple of times and Mother had gone to a lot of trouble, making cakes and sandwiches and laying everything out properly. But though he had been polite enough, she had sensed a mocking edge to his comments when he thanked her for the tea or admired the china or enquired about her mother’s health. Now Julie could see that he must have thought it all rather quaint, the tea parties with the lace doilies, and Mother’s refined manner, and the polite conversation.

If I’m right, Julie thought, then I’d rather die than let him know I’m in trouble.

Mrs Lescaux cleared her throat again. ‘You must try once more, try to
tell
him at least. He might well ask you to marry him. How can you be certain he won’t?’

‘Oh, I’m certain, please believe me.’

‘I’ve a good mind to tell him myself. Or his commanding officer. He’ll probably be
ordered
to marry you.’

Julie felt a surge of anger. ‘Mother, if you so much as
think
about doing such a thing I shall never speak to you again!’

‘Well! That’s a fine way to speak to your own mother! There’s a daughter’s loyalty for you!’ She started sobbing again. ‘And after the way you’ve treated
me
! Bringing such shame on me, such shame!’

‘Oh Mother, please don’t start all over again. I told you, I’ll go away. No-one will ever know.’

‘Go away! On what? Where will you go?’ Mother shouted angrily.

It was a good question. ‘I’m not sure yet. But it would be the best thing, Mum. At least that way no-one will know, and … And you can make up some story about me getting a job somewhere else …’

Mrs Lescaux dabbed at her eyes again and shook her head. ‘Well, if there’s no other way … But—’ She threw her head back, looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes in a gesture of suffering. ‘But … goodness knows where the money’s to come from. It’ll cost, mark my words. I can’t send you to Aunt Beryl’s, I just couldn’t face that. That means a boarding house – dreadfully expensive. And you wouldn’t be able to find work, not in your condition!’

‘I could go to Brittany.’

‘What—?’

‘Well, it’s out of the way, isn’t it? And Dad’s people would probably take me in. For a while at least.’

‘No—!’ Mrs Lescaux looked horrified. ‘You’ve never met them. You don’t understand. They’re not like us. They’re …’ She sighed with exasperation. ‘They’re … farmworkers … fishermen, that sort of thing …’

Julie remembered her loving kindly father and thought that, surely, his family couldn’t be so different from him. He’d come to Plymouth on a French frigate before the Great War and met Mother at a tea dance in the town. Later he had returned and they had married. He’d worked at the fish market, eventually rising to foreman and wearing a suit that always looked uncomfortable on him. To please Mother, he’d never spoken French or talked about his family – at least within earshot.

With Julie it was different. At bedtime he spoke to her in French, telling her stories about the mythical sea creatures of Breton legend; talking about his family, his childhood and Brittany itself. Sometimes he even spoke Breton, the strange harsh language which was his native tongue.

He had been a good father and she had loved him with all her heart.

‘No,’ her mother said decisively, ‘you can’t go there. They wouldn’t be very understanding, you know! You must go somewhere else. You could be back four or five weeks after the – event. They might even give you your job back.’ She sniffed again. ‘Oh, what a muddle, what a muddle!’

Julie frowned. ‘Mother, I don’t think I could come back. You see – there’d be the baby.’

‘What are you talking about? You won’t even see it. It’ll be taken away straight after the – after the
event
.’

‘But I’m not sure …’ A vivid picture came into Julie’s mind, of a tiny baby lying in her arms. The baby was looking uncertain and frightened; it was crying and reaching out for her, for
her
. She hated the thought of someone taking it away and sending it to a strange, anonymous place that she’d never be allowed to see or to know about, a place where – God forbid – it might not be loved. She said, ‘Suppose I wanted to keep the baby …’

Mrs Lescaux snorted. ‘Don’t be so silly! It’s out of the question! All the girls who – who have this problem have their babies adopted. It’s quite normal.’

Julie shook her head. ‘But I think I might want to keep the baby very much. I’d never forgive myself if I gave it away.’

‘Now I’ve heard everything! How selfish can you get! First you get yourself into trouble, then you want to ruin
my
life as well as your own! Really! You young people just don’t
care
!’

‘Please don’t shout, Mother.’

‘I’m not shouting!’ Mrs Lescaux closed her eyes and blew her nose again. Then she said, more quietly, ‘The only way to keep the baby is to marry, don’t you understand that!’

Julie felt sick. They were going in circles, nowhere, in circles.

‘At least
try
to see him once more. Do just that for me, just that one thing. Is that too much to ask?’

‘But I won’t tell him. I won’t tell him.’

Mrs Lescaux shook her head in exasperation. ‘All right, all right. But at least see if he still cares for you. Please, I’m asking you this one thing.
Please
.’

Julie stared angrily at her hands. She hated the thought of trying to see him again. It would be humiliating and shaming and it wouldn’t help, she knew it wouldn’t. Anyway, what excuse could she find for visiting him? She would rather die than just turn up and ask to see him; he would think that she still liked him, that she was still prepared to go off in the car with him … The thought made her shudder. ‘Mother, I can’t just go and see him, not like that, he’ll think I have no pride.’

‘Well, you didn’t, did you—’ Mrs Lescaux bit her lip.

Julie stared at her mother and the tears came again. She had cried so much she didn’t think she could manage any more. But the tears came nevertheless, rolling effortlessly down her cheeks. She suddenly thought: I can’t face any more.

She was tired of crying, tired of arguing. Her head throbbed and her throat ached. All she wanted to do was sleep. She would do anything for that, and for the privacy of her own room.

Wearily she said, ‘All right, Mother, you win. I’ll try to see him tomorrow.’

The bus lurched into bottom gear and began to climb slowly up the hill behind Millbay Docks. It was only a mile or two to the Naval Dockyard, a journey which would take fifteen minutes at the most. Julie felt a rising panic. She had found only the flimsiest of excuses for going to see Bill and she had the unpleasant feeling that he would see straight through it.

But it was the only pretext she had and it would have to do.

Back in the early summer Bill had taken her to a party aboard a small sailing boat moored in a creek near the dockyard. Late in the evening a few people started to sing sea ballads and everyone stopped to listen. Some of the ballads were mournful, about the cruelty of the sea and the separation of lovers. Julie had been rather taken by them. The evening had been still and utterly peaceful and, though the lights of Plymouth were brightly reflected in the calm water, the city seemed very far away. Julie had looked out beyond Drake’s Island to where the water was dark and cold, and she’d thought how romantic it all was. The sea, so vast and cruel, which asked so much of the noble men who sailed on it … And the songs, they were so lovely, so sad, with their tales of brave sailors who withstood so much only to drown in the icy water.

Afterwards she told Bill how much she’d loved the songs. Two days later he thrust a book in her hand. It was a pocket edition of
Naval Songs and Ballads
. It was the only present he’d ever given her.

And now she was taking it back.

It was the only excuse she could find for seeing him again.

He would think it strange that she was returning a gift, but she was going to pretend it had been a loan. Then she could thank him for letting her keep it for so long and apologise for not returning it sooner. He wouldn’t be fooled for a moment, of course – he had told her it was a gift at the time – but it was the best she could do. And when they met it would at least give her something to talk about.

If
they met. He might not be there at all. With a bit of luck he would be out for the day, driving up on to the moors with his new girlfriend for a quiet Sunday lunch.

One thing at least, she hadn’t dressed up for him. If he
was
there she didn’t want him to think she had spent a lot of time over her appearance. There were no white gloves today, nor a hat. She was wearing a plain blue summer frock with an off-white linen coat. Her long dark hair was drawn back from her face by two combs, but otherwise it was loose and unpinned. It looked as if she were going out on an errand, and that was exactly the impression she wanted to make.

The bus trundled past the main gates of the dockyard and came to a noisy halt in the next street. Julie got out and walked towards the gates of HMS Drake, the shore establishment attached to the dockyard. She was dreading the next part. She would have to ask for him at the gate and admit that no, she wasn’t expected, and the men on the gate would look at her knowingly, and smile at each other. She thought: Still more humiliation. It never ends.

She approached the gatehouse and saw that there were three sentries on duty. As she came towards them they turned to stare at her and two of them exchanged glances. She thought: Oh God, this is going to be even worse than I thought.

Suddenly there was a burst of noise.

Julie jumped with fright and spun round. It was the roar of a car engine. The car itself, a vivid blue Austin 7, rattled past and ground to a halt beside the sentries. A young man was leaning out of the window waving a pass in his hand.

Julie stood stock still and tried to regain her breath. She was shaking with fright.

The young man was looking back at her with a rueful expression. Then his head disappeared into the car and the door was flung open. He leapt out and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I came round the corner rather fast, I’m afraid.’ He grinned at her, then looked serious again. ‘I say, you’re really shaken. I’m so sorry. What an idiot I am.’

Julie shook her head. ‘I’m fine. It was rather a shock, that’s all.’

‘You’re sure you’re all right then?’ He peered at her solicitously and put a hand on her elbow.

‘Yes, really.’

‘Well … if you’re sure.’ He glanced at the sentries. ‘Are you being looked after? I mean, can I find anyone for you?’

‘No, no, I …’ Julie paused and looked carefully at the young man. He was vaguely familiar and she realised she must have met him before at some time. He was dressed in a large shapeless sweater and baggy rust-coloured trousers, and on his head was an old black cap speckled with paint. He looked rather roguish, like a pirate.

He was smiling at her; there was no doubt he was very charming, but Julie wondered if it wasn’t laid on. Bill had been charming too, but that had meant nothing, nothing at all.

He was waiting for an answer and she said, ‘I was hoping to see a friend, but I think I’ve missed him …’ It sounded weak and she trailed off.

‘Oh, it’s impossible to find anyone on a Sunday. But if you want me to ask …?’

She took another look at him. He was watching her intently, waiting for her reply, his eyes friendly and enquiring. Maybe she’d been wrong: maybe he was everything he seemed, and wasn’t the sort to make fun of her. She decided to trust him after all: it would be a lot less embarrassing if he asked about Bill rather than the sentries.

She said, ‘Well, perhaps you could ask if Bill Crozier is around.’ She looked down, a little flustered, then remembered the book and fumbled in her handbag. ‘I wanted to return something he lent me.’ She held the book up as if it were a trophy.

‘No problem.’ He smiled and she noticed the eyes again. ‘Look, why don’t you hop in the car and we’ll go and ask in the wardroom. Someone there might know.’

She nodded and after he had spoken to the sentries they got into the car and drove slowly into the establishment. He laughed. ‘We’re not allowed to drive fast in here, so you’re safe!’

She smiled politely and looked out of the window at the barrack-like buildings.

He negotiated the car round a sharp corner and she could feel him looking at her. He said, ‘Didn’t you come to that party on my boat? The one where we had the singsong?’

She looked at him blankly. ‘Oh, was it your boat? I didn’t know.’

‘Yes,
Dancer
’s her name.’ He laughed again. ‘Oh, and my name’s Richard Ashley. We were probably introduced, but there were so many people there …’

‘I’m Juliette Lescaux.’

‘Of course!’ He lifted both hands off the wheel in an expansive gesture. ‘I remember the French name now.
Are
you French in fact?’

Julie thought: God, he knows my name. Perhaps I’m infamous already. Perhaps Bill has been talking about me … She glanced across at the young man but his expression hadn’t changed, it was still interested and amused. No, she thought, I’m being stupid: he really did remember my name because it’s French.

She said, ‘Half. I’m half French. My father came from Brittany.’

‘Ah, what a fantastic place to come from. I sailed over there last year and had the most wonderful time. The locals were so amazed to see old
Dancer
and me all alone that they couldn’t do enough for us.’

Julie looked at him curiously. ‘You sailed the boat alone?’

‘Oh yes, always do if I can. Nothing to compare with it.’