Tall Poppies (22 page)

Richard wheeled himself across. ‘Hello Dents, old man, I'm glad you made it. Who's the lovely lady with you?'

‘I have three lovely ladies with me, two of whom you already know.' He introduced Bernice as the sister of a fellow student, who was at a loose end.

Bernice looked annoyed by being put in her place a second time, and fluttered her eyelashes at Richard. ‘Are you related to Livia by any chance?'

Richard's eyes swept over Bernice and he offered Denton a fleeting grin. ‘Not by chance, by design. I just happen to be her husband. Has Livia told you our news yet, Dents?'

Denton's delicious green eyes settled on her, an enquiry uppermost in his expression.

Up until now she'd avoided discussing the coming baby with anyone, because it brought back the shame of its conception – an act so quick and furtive, that had been forced on her without thought of the consequence. It was as if that grubby moment was ground into her changing body as well as her mind. She'd told Richard she'd love the child. She would try. But the nearer she got to the birth, the more she doubted herself. The baby was somehow anonymous  . . . as if it had taken root in her womb like a tenacious weed, without really being part of her. She couldn't imagine it as a child.

‘I'm going to become a father by Christmas,' Richard said, making the infant his creation, making the lie part of them. Only he wouldn't be here to be a father to it, would he, she thought, with an unexpected itch of resentment.

Shock exploded in Denton's eyes and he gazed at the alien, hardly discernible swelling under her dress. ‘Congratulations, Livia  . . . Richard.'

‘I'm surprised your father didn't tell you.'

‘I haven't seen him yet. We came here straight from London. Besides which, he would have taken your privacy into consideration and left it up to you.'

He sounded stiff and formal, withdrawn into his hurt.

Bernice dropped into the conversation, ‘So, you're in the pudding club, Livia. Lord, how utterly dreary. I never want children.' She lit a cigarette and a cloud of acrid smoke drifted into the middle of the sudden silence. It caught in Richard's throat and he began to cough, his breath a harsh, painful rattle.

Denton said irritably, ‘Do get rid of that gasper, Bernie  . . . or go off and smoke it elsewhere.'

‘Sorry  . . . I didn't realize,' Shrugging, Bernice wandered off towards the group of men Richard had just left.

Denton let Esmé go and bent to Richard, holding a handkerchief against his mouth and gently patting his back as he struggled to regain his breath. ‘I'll go and ring my father, though he's probably on his way.'

Richard shook his head violently. ‘Will be  . . . all right  . . . soon.'

Livia took charge. ‘Take him into the study, Denton  . . . I'll fetch him something to drink. Chad, go and find Mr Beamish and tell him he's needed in the study. He'll know what to do.'

‘Bring some brandy in milk. If he sips it, it will help him to relax.'

They got him quickly away and were joined by Beamish who took over. ‘Breathe in through your nose and hold it. One  . . . two  . . . three. Gradually release it  . . . one  . . . two  . . . three. Good. Again  . . .' Richard's coughing became less frenzied as he concentrated on his breathing and took control of it.

Beamish's eyes came up to hers. ‘You can't do much to help, Mrs Sangster. He'll be all right. It might be best if you go and attend to your guests and the children. I'll take him upstairs and give his back a bit of a thumping to help get the loose phlegm up. It's not something the captain would like you to see. Come if you like, Doctor. I'd appreciate your help.'

Livia nodded, and left the men to it.

Bernice had a glass of champagne in her hand when Livia went down. ‘Look, I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I seem to have a habit of putting my foot in it. I've embarrassed Denton in front of his friends, haven't I?'

‘Oh, I don't imagine so. Denton is a very self-possessed type of man, and most of the people here are Richard's friends. Have you known him long?'

The woman looked amused. ‘Not long. My brother invited him to a party one weekend, about six months ago. We started going out together. We have an understanding, but we're keeping it a secret until he's been accepted into the Royal College of Surgeons. He's been pushed through because of his war service.'

Livia didn't want to know what that understanding was, though Bernice had made it clear that she expected to have a ring on her finger before too long. She was relieved when Bernice asked, ‘What's wrong with your husband?'

‘He was injured during the war.' And that was all she would tell her. The details were Richard's business.

‘A pity. He's a good-looking chap.' Bernice drained her champagne then looked around her. ‘Have you got a piano?'

‘Just inside the French window.'

‘Great. Will you mind if I get this party going?'

‘I'll be relieved. I'm not very good at this sort of socializing.' She stopped, suddenly struck by the thought that Richard seemed to have organized his own farewell party. Thrusting the chilling thought from her mind with a faint shudder, she opened the instrument.

Bernice took her place at the piano and began to sing,
‘You have loved lots of girls in the sweet long ago  . . .'
By the time she started on the chorus, ‘
I wonder who's kissing her now
 . . .', Richard's friends had drifted over. They joined in the next chorus with great gusto. That was followed by ‘For me and my Girl' and ‘Roses of Picardy'.

Bernice sang in tune, her voice loud and husky rather than sweet, and without a shred of nerves in evidence.

More guests arrived from the village, including Andrew and Helen Elliot and the reverend and his wife.

Richard came out into the garden again, a smile on his face, and nodded to Chad. Chad applied himself to the gramophone with great enthusiasm, while, Richard spun out into the middle and manoeuvred his wheelchair round and round in a circle, calling out, ‘Come on, Bernice. Shake your tail with me.'

She swung into his orbit, clicking her fingers in time to the music and shaking her hips.

Denton chuckled, ‘She'll dislocate herself if she's not careful.'

Beamish shook his head gloomily, though he was laughing along with everyone else. ‘I don't know what's come over him lately. The daft bugger will make himself dizzy.'

The party suddenly took off, and a little while later, Livia found herself dancing a slow waltz with Denton.

‘Richard's animated tonight,' he said.

‘Yes, he is. It's nice to see him enjoying himself. He must get bored.'

‘Believe it or not, Richard was never much of a gadabout, and he always managed to behave himself, even when he was tipsy. He had plenty of friends at school. He's got one of those personalities that attracts people, and he hasn't got a mean bone in his body.'

‘He never complains about his condition or gets angry, but he tires easily. I don't know what he'd do without Beamish  . . . or what I'd do, come to that.'

‘The man is extremely competent and Richard is lucky to have him. And he's lucky to have you, Livia. He told me he'd never felt happier. He's pleased about the baby. I hope all goes well for you.'

‘Yes, he is  . . . we both are. I imagine all will be well, since babies are born every day. Your father is making sure I do all the right things to prepare for the birth.'

He danced her back to her husband and handed her over. She kissed Richard's forehead. ‘I'm going to take the children up to bed and settle them down now. I won't be long.'

‘Good, we don't want them too tired. We're all going on a picnic tomorrow.'

The party continued for the next couple of hours, after which people began to say goodnight and drift off. Bernice was cajoled into playing the piano again and there was another sing-song. Livia tried to stifle her yawn.

Richard kissed her knuckles. ‘Go on up to bed if you're tired, angel. I want to yarn with the lads for a while. I'll be up later.'

She said her goodnights to everyone, and left.

In the hall she found Denton waiting for her. He drew her into his arms and kissed her willing mouth until she thought she'd run out of breath. She thought she ought to protest, so murmured against his mouth, ‘Denton, stop.'

He did, saying, ‘You owed me that one, woman. Sleep well, my love.'

The music stopped five minutes later and she heard Denton's car drive away. There was the chink of glasses and the sound of muted male voices, with the occasional outburst of laughter ringing above it. They would be swapping stories about the war, she supposed, and wondered where Richard's companions would sleep. Should she get up and arrange something? No, she thought, Beamish was one of them. He could make the arrangements.

She fell asleep before she could argue herself out of bed to perform the task.

Richard woke early. He'd taken a dose of Andrews liver salts before he'd gone to bed, shuddering at its tart taste. Even so, he had a filthy headache.

‘It serves you right,' Beamish said. ‘You know damned well you shouldn't drink to excess, especially beer. You'll be peeing all day.'

‘No I won't. It wasn't drink that gave me a headache  . . . it was the other stuff. It packed quite a kick, and I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest.'

‘I know. You had your wheelchair standing on end.'

What happened to my men, Beamish?'

‘Phipps offered to drive them home. Five of them took him up on it. Phipps was cross-eyed, so they either got home safely, or they ended up in a hedge between here and Birmingham.'

‘Birmingham  . . . who lives in Birmingham?'

‘Nobody, but that's where Phipps said he was going. A couple of wiser chaps took the milk train to London. Odd that, since one of them lives in Bristol, which is in the other direction. It could be something to do with the company. Miss Bernice caught the same train.'

‘She was a cracker, wasn't she? Good old Dents.' Richard laughed. ‘Did I make an arse of myself?'

‘Your lady will forgive you if you did. Here, drink your coffee, Sir. You'll soon feel better. Doctor Elliot the younger is coming over and you're going on a picnic this afternoon.'

Richard groaned silently. ‘Not too far, I hope.'

‘We can stay in the grounds. There's that clearing near the stream, where the oak tree is. You can admire the bluebells while I act like a butler.'

‘I used to go there with my mother when I was young. Old Bugg hung a knotted rope from a branch and I used to climb up it. Mother called it the magic tree, and she told me stories about the elves and fairies who lived in its branches, while she painted flowers.'

‘I would like to have met her. Mrs Sangster said she was a lovely lady.'

‘Yes  . . . she was. I'm sorry I missed her, but at least she didn't see me looking like this. She was proud of me, you know. Her little hero, she used to call me when I was small.' Richard put the reminiscences away where they belonged, in the past. He and Livia had agreed that they were only going to live for the day.

‘Shall I prepare a pick-me-up?'

‘Not today, Beamish. I feel strong, and the oxygen will suffice.' He didn't tell Beamish that it was a bit of an effort to breathe, and his heart was pounding along with his head. Beamish would insist on him staying in bed, and he was sick of seeing the inside of four walls, especially on such a nice day. ‘Have the day off. Take Florence into town so she can spend some of your hoarded cash. I don't feel like being babysat today. Besides, Dents will be there if I need him.'

The feeling of strength accompanied Richard to the picnic.

Denton played hide and seek with the children. Livia stayed by Richard's side. She was wearing a summery flowered dress. He touched her hand. ‘You're enchanting, like a freshly picked bunch of flowers. I adore you, my Livia.'

She looked as though she were about to cry. ‘Oh  . . . Richard,' she said, and her glance flickered towards Denton, who was stalking through the long grass on his hands and knees. The dog gave Chad's position away, and Esmé's giggle signalled hers. Livia laughed when Denton pounced on them, and Esmé went leaping off across the grassy tufts like a grasshopper.

‘Go and play games with the children,' he urged.

‘Denton isn't a child.'

‘He is when he allows himself to be. Have I told you how much I love you today?'

‘Don't change the subject. Someone should be with you.'

‘Last night is catching up with me. I'm going to have forty winks. Go away and play.'

She plumped up his cushion, kissed him and said, ‘I love you too.' Then she was gone.

For a while Richard watched the game as the sun moved around the sky, pushing the shadows before it. The dragonflies skimmed across the pond, wings flashing with iridescence. He loved his home and would rather be here than anywhere else on earth. He felt well, and there was a huge sense of euphoria about him – like the buzz he got from the cocaine he indulged in now and again.

The day took on a diffused edge, as though he was gazing at it through smoked glass. Richard saw a movement by the pond. There was a man standing there  . . . more than one. He recognized them without their gas masks as the fallen from his regiment. He stood, his pain gone, and made his way down the slope towards the pond to greet them.

He stopped to kiss Livia on the cheek as he passed her. ‘I love you,' he whispered against her ear, ‘but we always knew I'd leave you.'

He looked back when he reached his men. Livia, her hand against the cheek he'd kissed, was gazing back at the crumpled figure seated under the oak tree. She called out to him, her voice coming from far away, slightly panicky. ‘
Richard
 . . .'