Stratton's War (27 page)
Authors: Laura Wilson
‘Probably thought he’d let you off early - you’ve got a week’s leave, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m going to Hampshire to stay with my mother-in-law, but he’d forgotten about it - I had to remind him.’
‘Well . . .’ F-J pushed his chair back, signalling that their interview was at an end. ‘I imagine it was purely a routine matter - someone they’ve picked up - but thank you for letting me know.’
‘Yes, sir . . . Your buttons, sir.’
‘Buttons . . . ?’ F-J looked disconcerted and glanced down.
Diana blushed. ‘Not there, sir. Your shirt.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Dear me . . .’ Tidying himself, F-J accompanied her to the door. ‘All things considered,’ he said, ‘I think it’s as well you’re going away for a few days. Your husband has leave as well, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘It’ll be good for you to spend some time together.’ He smiled and patted her on the arm. ‘Get to know each other again. You’re off now, are you?’
‘I’m having supper with Mrs Mountstewart first, sir.’
‘Mrs . . . ?’
‘From the Right Club, sir.’
‘Excellent. Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
Diana rushed down the stairs, relieved to be away from F-J’s scrutiny. How awful! For F-J, as well. He must have been horribly embarrassed, she thought, or he’d never have forgotten who Mrs Mountstewart was. She’d never known him to forget anyone’s name, ever.
The policeman’s visit was clearly quite unimportant, and she’d obviously turned up at completely the wrong time. She must learn to tell the difference between things that needed reporting and things that didn’t matter. But, she thought angrily, how am I supposed to know what’s normal? Nothing was normal any more, especially in her life . . . Get to know each other again . . . Remembering F-J’s words, Diana groaned inwardly. I never really knew Guy in the first place, she thought. And I don’t know myself, either, not anymore: that’s the problem. How could she look Guy in the face after what had happened with Claude? And as for Evie . . . Sheer hell. And she had no-one to blame but herself.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Diana watched her mother-in-law surreptitiously, using her book as cover. Evie, she noted with a twinge of remorse, had aged in the past few months. Her skin was dry and weather-beaten, knotted veins stood out on the backs of her hands, her neck was crêpey and her face set into hard, permanent lines. Not that you could see any of this very well in the gloom of the vast drawing room, with its stained glass windows covered by blackout shutters and the solitary gasolier that hung under the vaulted ceiling at the centre of four pillars of polished granite. Perhaps, thought Diana, it was better that one couldn’t see too clearly - the October weather, which was desiccating Evie, seemed to be having the opposite effect on the house: there were warped boards and strange patches of damp all over the place.
She looked across at Guy, who was absorbed in squinting at some sort of manual about tanks. He’d gained some weight since he’d been away, which had surprised her. His face, as well as being quite a lot pinker, was definitely plumper, and there was a fleshy little roll of neck above the back of his collar. In an effort to tilt the balance away from the slight - in truth, considerably more than slight - revulsion she felt about these things, Diana made herself remember how well he’d looked in his uniform when he’d arrived. Looked at objectively, with his thick corn-coloured hair and blue eyes, he was still handsome, and although his uniform fitted rather snugly, it suited him well . . . Sensing that Evie was watching her watching Guy (or, rather, looking in Guy’s direction, since he had now, unaccountably, turned into Claude), she switched her gaze and stared into the enormous stone fireplace.
Remembering, despite her best efforts, herself and Claude on the bed at her flat after their last lunch together, Diana hoped that Evie, whose eyes were now boring into her, couldn’t read her thoughts. She’d wanted so much to ask Claude about the woman who’d committed suicide, but she hadn’t. It’s because I’m afraid, she thought. Frightened of what the answer might be. I know he’s dangerous, yet I can’t help comparing Guy with him, and that isn’t fair. She wondered how soon she could decently make an excuse to go up to bed, but the problem was that Guy, directed by an almost indiscernible nod from Evie, would immediately follow her. She’d got out of it the previous night by pleading a headache, but since the excuse had undoubtedly been reported to Evie, and, judging by their expressions when she came down to breakfast, thoroughly discussed, it wouldn’t be prudent to use it again. She consoled herself with the thought that at least she wasn’t in danger of becoming pregnant. Overheard whisperings between two ATS girls at a hostel where she’d stayed the night after visiting a dotty old woman in Bournemouth had alerted her to the existence of something called Volpar paste, which she’d obtained from the doctor. One had to use it with a nasty rubber thing called a cap, which took ages to get into the right position. As long as they do the trick, she thought, because if Guy did succeed in making her pregnant, she’d have to come back to Hampshire for the baby, and spend the rest of the war cooped up with Evie . . . She couldn’t bear to think about it. Only five more days, she told herself. Four more days and four more nights to be got through before she was free again.
She wondered if Guy was hating it all as much as she was. Not seeing his mother, of course - he was obviously enjoying that - but being with her. He had seemed genuinely pleased to see her, and she’d been glad too, of course - although that was more from knowing that he was safe and well, than from any desire to spend time with him . . . That was merely awkward, as if they’d just been introduced at a dinner party and quickly run out of things to say to one another. Once, she thought sadly, I could have sat and chattered to him for hours . . . Evie had invited people - friends of hers, mostly - for lunch and dinner, which would help, but Diana was painfully conscious of the fact that she was avoiding being alone with Guy as much as possible.
She wondered if he’d noticed this. So far, she’d managed to have several long, solitary walks, using the excuse that she needed the fresh air, when really she just wanted to get out of the house so that she could indulge herself in thoughts of Claude. Four more days and nights . . . Diana glanced at her watch. It was only quarter past nine, but she felt that if she had to sit under Evie’s gaze for another second, she’d go mad. She got up and reached for her evening bag. Murmuring, ‘Do excuse me’, she began the long walk to the door, heels echoing on the parquet, knowing that Evie was watching her every step.
Closing the door, she let out a sigh of relief and ran down the main staircase, across the hall, through the dark morning room and the boarded-up conservatory, and out on to the terrace, where she fumbled in her bag for a cigarette.
Staring into the darkness of the garden, she reflected that Guy didn’t seem to be enjoying the bed part of things any more than he had before he went away. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to make love to her before dinner, and when she’d rebuffed him, saying that there wasn’t time, he hadn’t insisted. Perhaps, she thought, he expects me not to be interested, or he’s been having an affair, too, or slept with lots of foreign tarts or something. She marvelled for a moment at how worldly she’d become, then wondered if Guy had ever thought about somebody else while he was doing it to her. This idea wasn’t a pleasant one, but then, when the time came, would she be able to stop herself thinking about Claude? That would be dreadful. Surely, she thought, other people’s marriages can’t be like this? Maybe they were. Perhaps her parents’ marriage was like it. She shook her head, bewildered.
The door opened behind her, and there was Guy. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, diffidently.
‘Of course not.’ Her reply was automatic. For a second, she wondered what he would have done if she’d said yes, she did mind rather a lot and would he please go away. This made her feel ashamed, and she was trying to think of something friendly to say to make up for the meanness of her thought when he said, ‘Jolly dark out here.’
‘Yes.’
Guy took out his cigarette case and they smoked together in silence, while she racked her brains for a neutral topic of conversation.
‘We haven’t had much chance to chat, have we?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It sounds as if you’ve been having fun in London.’ There was a short pause, during which Diana’s mind filled with horrible thoughts: had Evie heard something? Had she told him? What was he going to say next?
‘Judging from your letters.’
‘Ohh . . .’ Thank God it was too dark for him to see her face. ‘My letters. Yes, I have been having fun.’
‘Wouldn’t have thought it was much fun filing papers all day.’
‘I’m enjoying it.’
‘Are you really?’
‘Yes.’ What’s wrong with him, Diana wondered irritably. She’d just said she was enjoying it, hadn’t she?
‘I wish you’d think about coming back here. Mummy gets awfully lonely, you know.’
‘She’s got plenty of friends.’
‘I know, but it’s not the same as if you were here, darling. And it isn’t safe in London.’
‘I’m used to it. Anyway, I can’t just walk out of my job.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’re very good at it, darling, but I’m sure they’ll be able to find another office girl.’
I can’t tell him about it, Diana thought miserably. I can’t tell him anything. ‘I want to be part of it, Guy. If I was here . . .’ She nearly said ‘stuck here’, but managed to stop herself in time. ‘I wouldn’t feel I was doing my bit.’
‘But there are lots of things to do here: the evacuees, for instance.’
‘They’ve gone home.’
‘There’ll be another lot now the raids have started. And there’s the WVS, and the Nursing Home. Mummy never complains, but I know she’s finding it terribly difficult managing on her own.’
‘She isn’t on her own. She’s got Mrs Birkett, and Ellen, and Reynolds, and—’
‘You know what I mean. Anyway,’ he added, slyly, ‘if you have a baby, you’ll have to come back.’
‘I don’t want a baby, Guy.’
‘Of course you do,’ he said, breezily.
His dismissive tone made her angry. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling.’
‘I’m not being silly. I don’t want a baby.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t. Not now, not yet.’
‘Oh, darling. I know everything’s a bit upside down because of the war, but if you had one, you’d love it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Don’t be childish, Diana. Of course you would. And Mummy would be delighted.’
‘I’m sure she would.’ Diana dropped her cigarette and ground it out with her foot. ‘But I’m not going to have one.’
‘I know you had a bad time before, darling, but I’m sure you’d manage better this time, and—’
‘Manage to keep the baby, you mean? I didn’t lose it deliberately, you know.’
Guy looked embarrassed. ‘Of course not. You’re tired, darling.’ He patted her shoulder, clumsily, in the dark. ‘I’m sure that once you’ve had a good rest, you’ll see it differently.’
‘I shan’t. But I am going up to bed. You can go and report back to Evie if you like. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about.’ She ran back indoors, slamming the conservatory door behind her so that the glass panes rattled behind their blackout blinds.
Lying in bed, staring at the imitation coffering on the ceiling, Diana thought, now I’ve really blotted my copybook. Open rebellion - they’d be discussing it now, downstairs. She could picture Evie on the sofa beside Guy, stroking his head and telling him not to worry, she’d have a quiet word and put things right . . . Oh, God, why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut?
She turned off the lamp and curled up on her side. The guilt she’d felt, both about Claude, and about the poor unwanted baby she hadn’t been sorry to lose, that had made her so sharp with Guy, was suddenly overtaken by misery. The thought that this bloody house was the closest thing she had to a home filled her with a sense of hopeless despair. Tite Street was lovely, of course, but it didn’t really count, and besides, she couldn’t stay there for ever . . . She longed for the release of sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The thought of the morning, when Evie would take her aside for a ‘little talk’, filled her with dread.
A couple of hours later, she heard footsteps in the corridor: Guy. She stared into the darkness, her body rigid beneath the bedclothes. Surely not tonight . . . ? The steps grew closer, and seemed to stop just outside the door. No, please, no . . . Diana held her breath. The steps started up again, and the sound faded as he went down the passage. Thank God . . . He must have decided to sleep on the daybed in his dressing room. She turned over and closed her eyes.
She didn’t go down to breakfast, which meant nothing until lunch because Evie did not approve of eating in bed, and in any case the bell didn’t work. She stayed in her room until half-past eleven, when Guy put his head around the door to announce that he and his mother were lunching with some people in the village - and he was sure she’d rather stay in her room and be quiet until she was feeling better.
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