Tears of Autumn, The (6 page)

Rosemary suddenly reached up and pulled him down on to her.

Clothes went in all directions and he barely made it before he was fusing with her body in a violent, energetic thrusting that had her hanging on to him with her legs as if she was out with the hounds.

When at last he rolled off her she was up in a flash, kissing him and ruffling his hair, and giggling like a schoolgirl as she slipped out of the rest of her clothes, trailing them on the floor, and disappeared into the bathroom.

He heard the shower running as she hummed a tune.

Biff Banks felt as if
he’d
been biffed.

He lay looking up at the ceiling, at the pattern of light dappling the cornices. What a wonderful thing marriage was, and how lucky he was. Rosemary was beautiful, talented and incredibly sensuous. What more could a man ask for? The sound of the shower ceased.

She came back into the room with only a white towel wrapped around her, shaking her hair free from the cap she had been wearing.

‘God, that was terrific. It’s so hot.’

With that she went out on to the terrace. Biff, dressed only in his striped dressing-gown, took his cigarettes out to the table. Rosemary was leaning over the balustrade looking out across the bay.

He frowned. ‘Darling – you’re not dressed,’ he warned.

She turned. Laughed.

‘You’re such a fuddy duddy.’

With that she let the towel fall, and popped into the chair beside him, took one of his cigarettes and crossed her legs.

‘Light me up, please, darling.’

Biff’s jaw dropped.

‘My God, woman.’

He looked wildly around, but realized with relief that where they were, it would be difficult for her to be seen. He looked back at her again, at her small breasts dazzling in the bright light, at the golden freckles that wound down her arms and legs and at her painted toes. It was both erotic and surreal, as if one of the ornamental figures had come alive. She giggled and prompted:

‘The light, darling?’

He flicked open his lighter top and at the second attempt applied the flame to the end of the cigarette. She took a long pull, sat back and breathed out smoke, making rings.

He shook his head in disbelief.

‘Where, oh where, did you learn to do that?’

She put her other arm across her chest to hold the elbow of the arm with the cigarette, pushing up her breasts.

‘Where else? School.’

He shook his head.

‘What am I going to do with you?’

He knew as soon as he said it that was a mistake.

She looked back at him from under her half-closed, long eyelashes.

‘I hope you’ll think of something.’

So he did. But she had to wait until that night.

Everybody seemed to be looking at him.

Then he realized that the high sheriff had said something about him, and they had all turned – clapping. He had not the slightest idea what had been said, but he got an inkling of what it might have been when the woman, still clapping, said in his ear,

‘Did the Queen put it on you herself?’

She obviously meant the DFC he’d won in 1942. The fact that she thought the Queen had been the monarch then, he was quite resigned to. The appalling lack of knowledge about the history of their country and its geography, he had got used to many years ago. God only knew what they taught in schools these days.

He just said ‘Yes,’ and dipped his head in acknowledgement to the high sheriff.

The speech continued, was all about the wonderful people in the county – far more than the present incumbent had ever realized – who volunteered to do unpaid work in the community to help people of all ages, in health and sickness, to make their lives
better. It was his opinion that the county would be a far poorer place without them.

There was an enthusiastic response from the audience, and Biff receded thankfully into the background again. He didn’t like any allusion to the medal. He knew so many men more worthy, who had never made it to Buck House, or to the end for that matter, to see the final victory. Their resting places were unknown: they had died so that the nice young woman to his left could be so ignorant of the history of the country, if the country so wished.

Biff couldn’t help wonder whether without their sacrifice, she might have been better educated – in German history.

German history.…

They’d been there for two days, doing nothing in particular, just taking the sun on the hotel’s pontoons at the foot of the cliff, swimming in the clear blue-green water, looking at the seabed with its colourful fish and plants, and generally resting after their journey.

On the third day they decided to go to Pompeii, to the Roman ruins and the continuing excavations.

The hotel had arranged taxis as several people were going.

When they gathered in the entrance hall there was a gentleman wearing an old-fashioned canvas jacket and waistcoat with spats on his shoes, striped trousers, and sporting a monocle, and several elderly ladies without escorts – widows of the Great War no doubt. About eight other people – couples – were there also, some they had seen around the hotel, had even become on nodding terms with at breakfast.

One couple was standing to one side.

Rosemary smiled at the woman who smiled back. Biff didn’t really want to join up with anybody, especially as they looked English. The man was wearing a double-breasted dark-blue blazer, with short, high lapels, and six brass buttons down the front, done up.

His cravat was in a dark maroon that complimented his rather racy pink shirt. Grey flannels completed his kit.

Biff felt a little scruffy. Because of the possibility of its being a
hot day he wore his blue shirt with its wide collar outside his rather crumpled summer jacket, and with his white cricket bags as trousers.

The girl, though, he had to admit, was a stunner, dressed in a light summer frock, rather like Rosemary’s, but it seemed to be in a very
risqué
material: he fancied he caught sight of the outline of her legs when she stepped into a ray of sunlight.

He pulled Rosemary gently away towards the reception desk.

‘I need to ask about the passports.’

She was puzzled.

‘Why? They’ll give them back when they’re ready.’

‘You don’t want to get involved, do you?’ he hissed. ‘They could be as boring as hell. He looks like some flash chap from the City who wants to tell us how much he earned last year.’

Rosemary shook her head.

‘No, she looks really nice to me – and he is obviously an outdoor type. You’re just being miserable.’

He knew she was right.

The man in the old-fashioned kit suddenly clapped his hands and called out:

‘Is everybody here for the Pompeii excursion? Please put your hand up if you are.’

Rosemary, holding her arm in the air looked around. All seemed to be going, including the young, good-looking blond fellow with the dark-haired girl who appeared to be such a ‘sport’.

The elderly man continued:

‘Do you mind if I speak mostly in English? Everybody seems to be able to understand, and it will save me saying things over and over again. Of course, if anybody needs clarification on any point, I do speak French, German and …’ he shrugged and rolled his eyes, ‘Italian.’ The ladies laughed at his joke.

‘Now, the taxis are waiting outside. Let us all get aboard – yes!’

Everyone milled around the door and then walked to the cars
lined up in the drive. Biff and Rosemary made for the one furthest away.

Settled into the back, they waited to see whom they would be sharing with, but everybody seemed to find room elsewhere, and in the end they set off with just the two of them on the hourlong journey.

The sight of the city frozen in time by the eruption of Vesuvius was nothing short of breathtaking.

As the group moved from one building to the next in the huge excavation, they listened in rapture to their guide.

Rosemary was particularly taken with the house of the Vettii, especially the fresco in the entrance of Priapus, weighing his manliness on scales against a bag of gold and, in another room, a sculpture of the same god, with a huge phallus that had once been a fountain.

The elderly ladies seemed to be whispering a lot, and Rosemary and the other young English woman, though not standing together, seemed to be communicating across the group by half-suppressed giggles and glances.

Biff felt acutely embarrassed; it would never have been allowed at home.

Luncheon was laid out at a nearby restaurant. As Biff and Rosemary shuffled into the dining-room with its view down to the sea, they found that they were going to be sharing a table with the other young couple.

For a second they all hesitated, then Rosemary held out her hand to the woman.

‘I’m Rosemary.’

The woman took it, and said in beautiful English:

‘And I’m Anna.’

She was the same height as Rosemary, but she had dark wavy hair, with lighter threads running through, falling in soft waves to her neck and curling over her forehead. Her face was symmetrical, her nose small; her dark-brown eyes, surrounded by long lashes, were bright with intelligence and humour and under
eyebrows that had been only gently plucked. Her mouth was generous and full with just a hint of lipstick.

‘This is my husband.’

The man was a couple of inches taller than Biff, but slimmer. His face, topped by a shock of blond hair brushed straight back with a parting on one side, was narrower but healthy-looking – like that of somebody who was always out of doors; it was a very patrician-looking face. He had a firm jaw with a dimple, and a strong nose, and his eyebrows and lashes were darker than his hair. His eyes were an intense pale blue. He gave a very slight bow and the faintest of a click of the heels.

‘Good morning, my name is Julius von Riegner,’ he grinned, ‘but they call me Konrad after my grandfather.’ He held out his hand.

Biff was flabbergasted. They were
Germans
. His mouth wouldn’t work for a moment, then he managed a strained: ‘How do you do.’

He reluctantly took the offered hand, and shook it – just the once, saying: ‘And I’m Jack Banks, but they call me Biff. Rosemary is my wife.’

Von Riegner lifted the back of Rosemary’s hand to his mouth, and touched it, briefly with his lips, but Biff settled for shaking Anna’s hand, finding it long and elegant. The diamond ring was substantial and spoke of great wealth.

‘Biff?’ The German inclined his head. ‘What does that mean? I haven’t heard the name before.’

He spoke with only a very slight accent, had obviously, like his wife, had an expensive education.

Biff shrugged, and mimed an upper cut, despite the man’s obvious command of the language.

‘It’s from my boxing days.’

Although Konrad had obviously understood, Anna spoke in German, explaining.

Her husband looked at her and said something back, then turned to Biff and Rosemary:

‘Pardon us, my wife is a – how do you say it – a linguist, and she also makes it her job to make sure I’ve fully understood. She needs to be in control you see,’ he added with a mischievous grin. She hit him playfully on the arm and said to them in perfect English:

‘I’m sorry, but my new husband is still trying to be the boss – he really should know better and leave that sort of thing behind on his boat.’

Her accent was flawless.

Rosemary giggled. ‘I’m having problems too, with mine.’ This was news to Biff. ‘Have you been married long?’

Anna rolled her eyes.

‘On our honeymoon, no less.’

Chuckling Rosemary answered: ‘I thought so; we are too.’

‘Really.’

The girls had obviously taken an instant liking to each other. Rosemary’s blonde hair, pulled back that morning in a ponytail ready for the day’s activities, bobbed up and down as she rattled on to Anna; the two women were soon in a conversation about their weddings as they sat down at the table. The men followed suit, and studied the menus.

Because they were obviously getting on so well, and Konrad seemed a decent enough fellow despite being German, Biff tried to think of something to say to break the silence between them. Manners demanded it.

‘Boat? You are a sailor, then?’

Konrad looked guarded momentarily, but then said: ‘Yes, but not on the sea at the moment.’

‘Oh.’ Biff didn’t know what to make of that. Perhaps they had to wait for cargoes to come along or something; he knew nothing of the operations of the mercantile marine.

‘And you Biff, what do you do?’

For a fleeting second Biff wondered whether he should reveal that he was a pilot, Konrad being German, then he thought; hang it, he wasn’t giving away a state secret.

‘I’m in the Royal Air Force: a pilot.’

Konrad’s eyes widened. For a moment he looked stunned, then he chuckled apologetically. Biff frowned.

‘What’s funny?’

‘I have not been as honest with you as you have with me. Please forgive me. I’m an officer in the
Kriegsmarine
– our navy, although at the moment I have a shore appointment, looking after a dotty old admiral.’

They both paused, taking in the fact that they were in the same business, defenders of their countries, in a time of international uncertainty.

Biff realized that Konrad was as uncomfortable as he was; it had been so unexpected. He couldn’t help but smile.

‘And we are both on honeymoon. What else do we have in common?’

Konrad nodded at the girls. ‘They are both beautiful, and we are handsome – are we not?’

He threw his arms wide.

Laughing, Biff agreed.

‘Are you enjoying Italy?’

It was Anna, looking directly at him with those incredible eyes.

‘Of course; it’s very beautiful, and the people are so friendly.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve always wanted to come here,’ she shot a mischievous glance at Konrad, ‘but my husband wanted to go to boring old Switzerland –
again
.’

Konrad protested. ‘Come now, my dear, you’ve always enjoyed Lucerne and Geneva.’

Those beautiful eyes flashed. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it. I wanted to go somewhere completely different for my honeymoon, and I’ve heard so much about Naples, and Sorrento and the Amalfi coast.’

Rosemary broke in enthusiastically.

‘Me too. It’s such a romantic place.’

Anna agreed. ‘When you look out on that bay,’ she waved at
the window, ‘and see Vesuvius, it’s amazing to think that the Romans saw exactly the same scene as they went about their daily business.’

Rosemary nodded vigorously, her ponytail shaking about her neck.

The girls started off again.

Biff shook his head. ‘You both speak excellent English.’

Konrad smiled. ‘Thank you. It was required at my academy; you couldn’t get out of it even if you wanted to – and I didn’t. I’ve always admired the English. After all, you are fellow Saxons, are you not?’

Biff could see that Konrad was having a little go at him, in good fun.

‘Yes, but not Prussians, thank God. Where are you from?’

Konrad winced.

‘
Touché
. I’m from Erlangen – it’s in Bavaria, but my wife is from Berlin. That’s where I met her. She’s not really German, though; she can trace her ancestry back to the Huguenots.’ He gave her a gentle prod in the side. ‘You’re really French, aren’t you, my love?’

Anna stopped talking for a second at this interruption, to look at him in mock disdain.

‘Your family are all peasants – despite the von!’

He roared with laughter.

They were interrupted by the waiter, who took their orders, then enquired about what to drink?

Local wine was a natural choice, and mineral water – ‘
senza gaz
.’ Biff struggled with his few words, but Anna rattled something off in Italian and the waiter replied. In a rare slip in her command of English she nodded.

‘
Ja
, that will be fine.’

Because they had only heard her speak in perfect English up to then, the ‘
Ja
’ came as a shock, and reminded Biff at least, to be careful what he said. They were so normal – just like themselves. Could they be carefully planted spies?

Then he asked himself with embarrassment who did he think he was? Someone bearing high military secrets that the German Government had sent their top team to intercept?

He must have been grinning because Konrad said: ‘Penny for them?’

Startled, Biff flustered. ‘Oh, sorry, I was thinking of something that happened at a restaurant back home. Please, how rude of me. Now, what are you planning for the rest of your stay? When do you go back to Germany?’

Konrad waved his hand elegantly in the air.

‘We have plans to go to Capri – of course – and then a drive up the coast. Mostly we play tennis, drink and enjoy the sun. It’s going to get cold when we return to Germany.’

The thought of autumn didn’t worry Biff. ‘I like the colours of the trees. It’s a beautiful time of the year.’

Anna leaned across.

‘A time of mists and mellow fruitfulness.’

Rosemary was astounded. ‘You know Keats?’

‘Of course. I have a degree from Heidelberg Umversity in English studies, which includes literature.’

Konrad drawled: ‘That’s all very well, Biff old sport, but it’s going to get bloody cold. Winter’s coming, is it not?’

Anna winced at the put-on frightful stage accent of her husband.

‘Oh God, Konrad, shut up, you fool, you sound like a character from a Noël Coward play.’

‘Oh.’ He appealed to Biff for support. ‘You see what I’ve married? She is an ogress.’

He got a thump for his troubles.

Maybe it was the wine, but as the meal progressed they got more and more noisy and animated, talking of sport, art, music – anything but current affairs.

When eventually the time came to board the fleet of taxis back to the hotel, they made sure they were in the same one: Biff in the front, with Konrad in the back, a girl on either side.

Somebody started singing ‘
O Sole Mio
’. After they had murdered it, at least as might be judged from the look in the taxi driver’s eyes, Anna started up with ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary, It’s a long way to go …’

For a moment Biff was stunned, but Konrad, breaking off from joining in with the girls explained: ‘We all know this song from the Tommies in the war. It’s very good.’

So Biff sang as well. When they had finished Konrad all on his own started singing softly, a haunting refrain.