First Friends (35 page)

Summer was over. In her little cottage next to the church Mrs Hampton put away her blue linen suit in a plastic container and her straw hat into a paper bag. She stood on a chair to place the hat on top of the wardrobe and to bring down the brown felt, also in a paper bag. Climbing down, she pushed the chair back against the wall and, drawing out the hat, gave it a brush with her sleeve. Her winter coat, the blue tweed, was already hanging on the wardrobe door ready to be worn for the service tomorrow, for the nights were beginning to draw in and the mornings were cool. She picked up her stubby brown shoes and carried them downstairs to the warm kitchen to give them a polish. She would have to be early in the morning if she wanted her favourite seat.

H
ARVEST
F
ESTIVAL AND THE
pews were packed to overflowing. Presently the Rector would deliver his well-known Harvest Festival sermon which always contained a jibe at those in the congregation who attended church only on its high-days and holidays and ignored it for the rest of the year.

Every nook and cranny was crammed with the fruits of the field. Flowers in tall vases glowed against the old grey granite, pyramids of apples and sacks of potatoes gave forth a pungent, earthy smell and bowls of brown eggs—no white ones, too much like supermarket eggs—jostled with sheaves of corn for a position by the font.

Jane Maxwell, wedged in beside Mrs Hampton, was unaware of
the significance of the blue tweed and brown felt. Oblivious to her surroundings, she sat quiet and contained, staring sightlessly at the prayer book on the ledge before her.

Cass, across the aisle, craned hither and thither, nodding and waving to friends and acquaintances. Nothing escaped her eye. She noticed Hammy's felt and tweed with amusement and Jane Maxwell's frozen tranquillity with puzzled sympathy. Something seemed wrong there and a touch of guilt assailed her. She'd neglected Jane, hadn't really seen her to talk to since that barbecue back in the summer. Alan had seemed to be finding the transition from Chiefs' Mess to Wardroom easier than was Jane. He was a trifle stiff, his clothes too new and smart, his hair too short, but he had coped very well and had managed not to call Tom ‘Sir' too often. Poor Jane had suffered dreadfully. She looked ill at ease in the clothes Alan had chosen for her, she hated the dry white wine Cass gave her and had nothing to say to the Wivenhoes' friends who were frighteningly self-assured, had very loud voices and consumed vast quantities of alcohol. She had withdrawn into herself, avoiding Alan's angry looks and feeling sick inside at the thought of the row they would have when they got home.

‘Well, that was a marvellous evening, I must say, with you standing there like a waxwork. God knows what they thought of you. Can't you make some sort of effort?'

‘I can't help it, Alan, I just seem to freeze up. I do try, honest I do, but they all seem so affected, you know, the way they speak? And, well . . . so noisy.'

‘Who the hell d'you think you are to be judging people? What makes you think you're so much better than everybody else?'

‘I don't, Alan, you know I don't. I just feel different. I don't feel we belong.'

‘Oh yes we do. Or at least
I
do. Get that straight, OK? I'm as good as Commander Tom Bloody Wivenhoe any day of the week.'

‘You know I didn't mean that . . . '

‘What did you mean then? You're jealous because I've moved on a
bit. If you'd only join in and have a couple of drinks instead of standing there like a po-faced bloody Sunday School teacher . . . '

Now, on this Harvest Festival morning, recalling this phrase, Jane grimaced involuntarily.

Cass, seeing the spasm cross her face, felt her fears confirmed. She would invite the Maxwells round for drinks next time Tom was home. Or maybe supper—it would be less formal. Meanwhile, though, she would ask Jane over for coffee. Perhaps she'd get Kate to come too. Kate had been at the barbecue and had tried to draw Jane out and make her relax. Hammy caught her eye and smiled at her, nodding knowingly towards Gemma. Cass nodded and smiled back in total complicity.

Only Gemma and Saul were with Cass this Sunday morning. Gemma sat beside her, very aware of herself and deliciously conscious of her new cord skirt, the colour of crushed raspberries, and also of the fact that her hair was long enough to be twisted into a knot for the first time. She was enjoying the feel of the cool air on her exposed ears, the weight of the coil of hair and even the feel of the pins scraping her scalp. Saul leafed through the hymn book, checking out the hymns and humming the tunes under his breath. Oliver had stayed at home with a friend that he had invited for the weekend whilst Charlotte had offered to cook the lunch. She had just had her long heavy brown hair cut short. Without telling anyone, she had gone with Lucy Cobbett on the bus to Plymouth and returned looking like an old English sheep dog. Though she declared herself delighted with the result she seemed reluctant to show herself publicly. Usually she enjoyed church.

Cassandra smiled to herself at the recollection: Charlotte defiant and a little scared, and herself, determined not to play the heavy mother, pretending to be unmoved. Girls of Charlotte's age did all sorts of things and it was sometimes wise to turn a blind eye. Tom would be furious. Charlotte's thick brown hair was her one beauty but it wouldn't be just the loss of it that would upset him. The truth was that Charlotte no longer looked like a little schoolgirl of nearly fifteen.
Now, in her jeans and oversize sweatshirts, the new haircut emphasised the fact that Charlotte was leaving childhood behind her and Tom would find that very difficult to come to terms with.

Cass craned again to discover the whereabouts of her flower arrangement and glimpsed it hidden away behind the font as usual. Oh well, she gave a mental shrug, it was no more than it deserved. She was not clever with her hands but she liked to keep her end up in the village, to show willing and join in. She felt that she had a responsibility to the community. As she turned back towards the altar her glance tangled with that of a man sitting with William in the Manor pew and she experienced an odd but very familiar sensation: that of recognition between two total strangers. An almost tangible crackle passed between the two of them and Cass turned away feeling even more vitally alive than before. The stranger's glance proved that she was still attractive even if she was thirty-five and had four children.

Cass chuckled inwardly and thought briefly of Tom, a Commander now, who was at that moment manoeuvring his nuclear submarine with great delicacy in the cold depths of the North Atlantic whilst under attack from a Dutch frigate. This was only a NATO exercise, however, and presently Tom and his submarine would slide away to ‘sink,' in due course, a US aircraft carrier. Since his promotion he'd become a little more staid, more inclined to want quiet weekends at home instead of the parties and the social round that he had once enjoyed so much. He still liked to see his friends but less often and in small informal intimate gatherings and Cass was very glad now that they had settled at the Rectory and she had gradually developed her own circle of friends and entertainments.

She made a show of finding the first hymn for Gemma, pointing out something to Saul, giving the impression of the devoted mother with her children. She felt, like a current of warm air, the stranger's eyes upon her and turned her head slightly to give him the benefit of her beautiful, grave profile. She wondered who he was. She didn't remember him from any of Abby's parties and he looked rather older than William, or even Tom, well into his forties, grey-haired
but very distinguished-looking. There was a well-kept, smooth, expensive look to him and his glance had been keen: both measuring and exciting.

Her gaze rested once more on Jane and she felt a twinge of pity. How awful to be Jane, plain, thin and mousy. She'd never even notice an attractive man, although Alan was rather nice, if formal and over-polite. He was nervous and rather over-awed, poor lamb, thought Cass, casting her mind back to the barbecue. Might be fun to loosen him up a bit, get him a bit tiddly. He probably didn't get much fun with Jane. It was difficult to imagine them in bed together and they had no children.

Cass smiled complacently as she glanced down at her own voluptuous curves and then at the two proofs of her fertility. The choir entered and she rose gracefully to her feet, every inch of her aware of the stranger standing across from her. The boys and men filed into their stalls and the Rector announced the first hymn. The organ swelled and Cass's rich contralto poured forth. We plough the fields and scatter. She did not need her hymn-book; she knew the words by heart but her heart was not in it.

I wonder who he is? Thank Heaven I put on my new Jaeger . . . all good things about us are sent by Heaven above . . .

Mrs Hampton, that little wren of a woman, chirped happily, her heart full of love and peace. How she loved the big festivals of the Christian year, with the old church looking so beautiful and all the dear children. She remembered how the General had loved the early Communion service, always in his place winter and summer alike, and how often she had knelt beside him at the altar rail to take the Sacrament. She was aware of his presence very often. She was aware, too, of Jane's unhappiness. In her opinion Jane didn't belong in that new box of a house with a pocket handkerchief-sized garden on the estate at the edge of the village. She'd known Jane all her life and remembered the old cottage where Jane had been brought up, always over-run with dogs and cats it was, as well as Jane's elder brothers and sisters, and chickens scratching in the garden. Not that Jane could have
lived in the cottage even if she'd wanted to. When her father, who'd been cow-man up at Home Farm, had died her mum had moved down near Plymouth to one of Jane's married sisters and Mr Hope-Latymer, young Mr William's father, had sold the cottage. Jane had bettered herself and didn't seem to be getting much happiness from it.

Life seemed much more complicated these days and she felt sorry for these young people who strived for more and more and then never seemed satisfied when they'd got it. She and Jack had been so happy and John was doing so well out in Hong Kong and earning so much that he could afford to help out his old Mum and Dad in so many ways. Yes, she was one of the lucky ones . . . Her voice soared up. So thank the Lord, yes, thank the Lord . . .

Jane's eyes were fixed on the white pages of her hymn-book but her lips barely moved and her voice was little more than a whisper.

C
ASS WAS TALKING TO
the Rector's wife when William emerged from the church porch into the warm September sunshine. She had strategically placed herself by an old stone tablet which assured passers-by that Edith May Trehearne, beloved of Henry Charles, rested in peace and had done so for the last ninety-five years. By stopping at this point where the paths diverged, Cass ensured that everyone leaving the church must pass her sooner or later. In the case of William it seemed very much the latter to the impatient Cass. The Rector's wife was not an easy person to keep engaged in animated conversation.

Gemma, still preoccupied in self-admiration, remained at her mother's side, whilst Saul had wandered off to exchange insults with an erstwhile school chum who sang in the choir. Saul, who had started at Mount House the year before, and was, therefore, now ineligible for this dubious honour, nevertheless enjoyed poking fun at his old friends who still suffered the humours of the somewhat eccentric choirmaster.

When William and his companion finally arrived within her orbit Cass's casual greeting was masterly; indeed she seemed reluctant to let Mrs Tanner go. At length, however, Mrs Tanner was allowed to
hurry away to her lunch, giving thanks, as she often did, that she had escaped from the large draughty Rectory to her warm, modern, manageable house.

Cass turned to the men with a charming, if slightly rueful, smile.