Acts of Mutiny (26 page)

‘Marriage, my dear Mrs Kendrick, you may tell your friend, was ordained for mutual society. You will remember the words of the ceremony, I expect. When there is some separation, regrettable, unavoidable – as in a long,
ahem
, sea voyage – we must not be surprised if the
ah
temporarily sought gift of continence proves somewhat of a struggle. The man … The man you say is in Australia?’

Penny nodded. ‘In Adelaide I believe. Or was it Melbourne.’

‘The man will have his work. He can distract his impulses, throw his whole attention into his … Do you know what nature of work …?’

‘She didn’t specify.’

‘Never mind. While on the other hand you … While she … While we … are here with nothing to engage in but idleness after all, with no means
of channelling
our energies, do you see? The whole function of marriage, no matter for the particular faith, is
channelling.
You find it the world over. Anthropologically …’

‘You would not believe,’ she said to Cheryl, ‘the things men say when they think they have some sort of opportunity. And he’s a reverend.’

‘Of course I’d believe it, darling. The people who wouldn’t believe it are other men.’

‘Then it would be pointless, I suppose, to make a complaint to somebody.’

‘Completely. He’s already tried it with me. And Joan Tanner. He’s completely desperate, but more or less harmless. I should have warned you. But then you’ve been so preoccupied …’

‘Harmless! That includes touching, I suppose.’

She did not want to confide in Cheryl. She longed to share the decision with Robert. She felt her body becoming once again delicious and uncomfortable. All around her the loveless stalked, damaging her sensibility. The younger marrieds, trivial, pretentious; the dowager voyagers, prosaic duennas; Mary’s face, sneering almost, in its mask of sacrifice; the Church, satyric. Now her own English clothes, suddenly quite, quite wrong. Everyone knew.

Penny Kendrick had become a subject of gossip and a laughing stock.

Penny imagined the talking-to she would get from Mrs Madeley, the look of blank incomprehension from Dilys Finch-Clark, the stunned joint coldness from Clodagh and Russell Coote, the wounded features of the Piyadasas. Michael Canning, the colonial civil servant with the glint in his eye, would shake his head, having seen it all before. The Tropics, the Tropics.

If she were to act, she would lose everything: husband, children, place, home. It would be catastrophic. How would she survive? Where should she go? She would be damned. The family would be blown apart.

Then, horror of horrors, she nearly bumped into Robert and his cabin-mate Mr Dearborn as they came out of the Verandah.

Robert said, ‘Good morning.’

Joe raised his straw hat.

She was completely caught out, and swayed off balance, her heart thumping. Joe helped her off the rail. ‘The ship,’ she said. ‘The movement. Thank you.’ She moved on quickly before them, and hid just inside the dance space, whose glass side-screens were now permanently removed and made fast in a stack to the rear wall. In full view of those inside, she waited for Robert and Joe to come past. From her bag she extracted lighter and cigarette case and pretended to be struggling with them away from the breeze. By chance Joe stopped to light his pipe, flashing at the lever with his thumb, she could hear the click. Robert’s back was three feet away from her. With her own pressed to the wall next to the fold of the screens, she looked around at the assortment of people, the ping-pong players, the children, the coffee drinkers. She held her own cigarette very still, smiling, folding the skirts of her dress unconsciously around her legs with her free hand like a six-year-old.

‘Because they lock them all up.’ Joe too drew on his smoke at last. ‘Didn’t you know that? They lock ’em all away’ The two men moved on along the deck. Robert slipped his own silver lighter into his pocket. She watched him; but she had not heard his voice.

Then it was over. Russell and Clodagh and some other couple, Perry, was that their name, were coming towards her – nice, vacant, unknown people. She must chatter her way through another afternoon.

Much later she was free again. It may have been the same day. The sun was well past its height. The worst thing was that she had never felt like this about Hugh. There! A terrible admission! She recalled the change in Hugh’s eyes whenever he began to … She had never liked that. She shut the thought of it away. ‘Penny!’

She turned. It was the boy Pom again. He seemed to want to latch on to her at the most inconvenient times. He reminded her of Christopher in some ways. And in others he made her shudder.

‘Yes, Pom. What can I do for you?’

‘I saw something.’

‘Oh. What’s that. Have you all found another squid? More sharks?’ She could not resist the scornful edge to her voice.

‘Worse than that.’

‘Oh. Worse than that? What could it be, I wonder?’

‘It’s something I can’t tell about. Not to an ordinary woman. But then a man … I thought you’d be the only one … No. It’s a sea monster. From space. It’s from another planet. You’d most likely be frightened.’ He turned nonchalantly, knowing even. ‘It has seven eyes and nine arms. Horns. No. It’s a cyclops. With a conger eel for a body.’ He laughed. But she had to admit he looked shaken, and pale beneath his freckled tan.

She laughed too. ‘Oh, is that all?’ Unkind. ‘Look, Pom. I’d like to talk to you, but I’m not feeling too well. Would you mind? I’m sorry.’

He looked aggrieved. ‘I should tell Mr Chaunteyman. He’d know about it. I try to talk to him. I tried before. But I thought only you—’

‘I’ll talk to you later, but just now I have … a headache. Do you see? I’ll talk to you about it later. Promise.’

‘All right.’ He faded off.

She made her way back round to where they set out the trays of gherkins and olives with the jugs of iced tea. She poured the tea and immediately dropped it; then stood quite motionless while one of the stewards cleared up the mess.

So she waited in one of the wide spaces where the side-screens had been, looking out over the horizontal pattern of exquisite blue fracture lines the ocean had become, heated and glazed. How terrible she felt. He might stroll by again as he had done before. She was ready for him now. She thought what if these, her travelling companions, were the last people on earth? And none of them knew. Her heart leaped suddenly: then she would be free to love Robert Kettle. That was a terrible wish. How had such a thought entered her head? Mrs Piyadasa came with a fold of unnaturally-coloured postcards showing views of Ceylon.

‘I thought you might like to look at these.’

‘We should have another chat.’ Cheryl made her sit down at the open tables behind the Verandah bar. ‘You are a little struggle.’ But she said that to her stomach, as she eased herself into the cane chair. ‘Come on, Penny’

Penny allowed herself to be persuaded, though refused a cocktail.

Cheryl began. ‘The great thing about being betwixt and between like this – you know, neither one place nor the other …’

The noise from the swimming-pool was irritating. The children splashed and shrieked. A few of Barnwell’s aircrew were there. She could perhaps gather up her courage and tell Cheryl after all.

‘The great thing is that no one is watching. Not really. A few stuffy old pussies, in the main lounge, but who cares about them.’ She made a gesture with her left hand. ‘And no one from home.’ She placed her pussyfoot cocktail glass on the cane table. ‘I’m not sure you’ve twigged. Off the leash.’

Penny sighed.

‘Have you been to bed with him, then, Penny? Is that why you’re looking such a … Was he unreasonable? Has he behaved badly?’

Penny felt her mouth fall open. ‘Heavens. No. Nothing like that.’

‘It’s not what I thought then. Apologies, darling. It’s that I thought I had to … do something. I couldn’t go on letting you … No offence.’

Penny shook her head.

‘Then have you seen the doc? Is it something physically wrong? Do you think you rather ought to? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt out. You know me. That’s my way. No offence, Penny, darling.’

‘None taken. But you were right. It is him. And no. Of course I haven’t been to bed with him. And I don’t intend to, thank you very much.’

And she left.

Finally: ‘Penny, dear. Do you think we could have a word?’ It was Mrs Madeley.

‘Stella. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.’

‘I’ve been wondering whether I shouldn’t warn you, dear.’

‘Warn me?’

‘I’ve plucked up the courage at last.’

‘Warn me?’

‘About that young man Mr Kettle.’

‘What?’

‘There has been some talk, dear. People have noticed – I don’t know whether you’d be aware of it yourself – but some people … They’re quite convinced he’s rather, you know, smitten. I wouldn’t mention it, dear, but I rather had the impression you weren’t quite aware how far he … Do tell me if it’s none of my business.’ She poised herself on one mule sandal in an attempt at archness.

Penny regained her composure. ‘I’m sure I’m quite all right, thank you, Stella. I appreciate your concern. But I can assure you there’s nothing at all to worry about. Nothing to worry about at all.’

‘If I could make a suggestion about dress, dear. It could be that—’

Penny cut her short. ‘I really think there’s no need, Stella. I don’t actually care two hoots about clothes. But I thought just for once I’d dress to please myself. I’ve probably got it quite wrong, but do you know it really doesn’t trouble me. It is a kind of holiday, really, isn’t it? And one can wear what one likes. Until dinner. It really doesn’t trouble me one bit. And I’m sure it doesn’t trouble Mr Kettle at all. In the slightest. I’m just sorry it troubles you.’

‘Oh no, dear. I was just worried for you.’

‘There’s absolutely no need.’ She smiled and pressed on forward. She took the pince-nez from her bag. Holding it defiantly on her nose, she leaned over to watch the flying fish. How thrilling they were.

As she passed the purser’s desk, it never occurred to her that there might be incoming mail for her. To her shame there was a letter from Hugh. She opened it with a curious mixture of feelings: anger, anxiety, even a twinge of hope.

The letter was extraordinary because of its omissions. He hardly mentioned her. Or the boys. It was full of his doings and descriptions – subject to official secrecy restrictions. It contained lists, a small map, and what virtually amounted to instructions for her life in Adelaide. He had settled in. He was obviously in his element, had bought a new car. He was exploring and had met some people. Very well, it was newsy, affectionate even; it carried on from when they had last breakfasted together. And that was it. Their separation had failed to register with him. It was not, though it ended with the word, a love letter, but he was ‘looking forward very much to her arrival’.

There had been three earlier letters from him, before she set sail on the
Armorica.
None of those had struck her like this one. Not that they had been much different. But there had been so many details to organise. She had not noticed. Hugh had never been much of a letter writer; and before this they had not needed to correspond for years, obviously – they had never been apart. She knew he was no Shakespeare. But … It struck her that before she would not have expected anything better.

That was true, yes. She read the letter again. That would account for some of the feelings it had provoked. There was something else though, something between the lines …

She happened also to notice a pile of mail waiting for Colombo. On the top was a letter addressed to Mr Hugh Kendrick. Betwixt and between, she thought, scornfully. No one watching you. Is that it, Cheryl? Someone has decided it is necessary to write to my husband. The sight of that other letter galvanised her. She stole it. On her way out, she contrived to throw it over the side, unopened.

But back in her cabin, she made herself be scrupulously fair. She tried to give Hugh the benefit of the doubt. He had fought a war for her. She felt guilty. Although a man may not be able to articulate his feelings, he may still have them. He may still be a very fine soul of a person. One looked for decency. Nothing grand, it could show up in small ways. Just to be decent in a bad world is heroic in its way, never mind war or blazes of glory. To be gentle. If she could still find in her husband that small heroism she required, she would do her duty.

She read his letter once more. Her mind blanked. The time was hastening by. Outside, through the porthole, the Indian Ocean dreamed on, its days summers, its nights trances. Her powers were stolen under a spell. She placed her hand on the steel rim of the window and felt the drive of the engines.

Hugh was a good-enough husband. He went about his business. She brought up the children. They talked. But not about his job, of course. Most of his work was covered by secrecy laws. That was understood between them.

Then the Test Ban Moratorium had come, which in her usual way she had not trusted enough to pay much attention to, on the wireless, or in the papers. Just before Hugh went out? Or was it after? No, she had not been concentrating. Always followed blindly, some distance behind; she would never let all that enter her head.