The Diamond Waterfall (49 page)

Dougie called out then—he'd been drinking, “You've a regular Pal there, Nicolson. One of the best.” I saw Gib wince. I wondered then if when allocating the rooms they couldn't have done better, and determined to speak to Mother. There was one room with four who were
all
serious-minded. But Lady Director though she might be, she had no pull, and said as much.

The next evening Dougie started up when I was in there watering the plants—which I should have done that morning.

“Vroom,
vroom
—hope enough gas, gas not flowing properly yesterday. Watch, you chaps, here she comes,
watch that bend
—eyes shut—bloody hell, bloody hell—”

One of the officers said, “Steady, old chap. Language. Ladies, and all that.”

But Gib snapped at him, “Stop that
row/
Stop your din, can't you, Durnford?”

“Sorry, very sorry indeed. Couldn't be sorrier.” Dougie looked around the room. I was embarrassed and turned away. But he went on and on. “Really sorry, old chap—have to practice, you know, got to keep on form,
tiptop form.”

“Cut it out, can't you?”

“Said I'm sorry, haven't I? Awfully sorry …”

The fourth officer, an Artillery captain who seldom spoke unless spoken to, said now:

“Anyone mind if I play the old gramophone? A couple of new records— double-sided.”

Gib was shaking but said nothing more. Dougie spluttered, blustered a little, and then was silent. The gramophone was hurriedly wound. Fay Compton's clear seductive voice sang,
“Take off a little bit, and nothing more.”
Protesting as the song ended,
“But I
can't
take off
any more.”

I slipped from the room.

Later that evening Father came in with me to see them. He went around once or twice a week, often with me but sometimes with Sylvia also. I suppose as he was owner of The Towers it was a good idea. … But Mother, when she made her rounds, did them as if on impulse and as though they were fun. With him it was always stiff. I knew everyone was glad when it was over.

Tonight he passed around the room. I stood beside him.

“Durnford, isn't it?” (Their names were written in large letters at the end of each bed.) “Well, Durnford, doing all right, eh? Foot getting on?”

But it was his
wrist
(and his nerves, his emotions) damaged. His wrist that worried him. Would he be able to handle a wheel with the skill needed?

“Yes—well—not bad, sir.”

To the Artillery captain: “Food all right? Lady Firth organizing decent meals?”

“Fine, sir. Grand. Jolly well-chosen menus …” The voice died away.

“Lots of gramophone records, I see. Plenty of music hath charms, eh?” “Yes, sir. Thanks awfully, sir.”

And then to Gib,
“Well
Gib, any news of my daughter? The little upset in the autumn, she took it pretty hard, of course, but there's always a next time. They're worked
much
too hard. … In my opinion, she'd done her bit and shouldn't have gone out again—”

Gib frowned. “No letter, sir. Nothing for over a fortnight.”

Soon the nurse would come in and settle them. And I would think then of Gib, lying still in the semidarkness, listening to the breathing of the others and watching the night-light flicker.

In bed at night I would picture how I'd make him better again—his old self once more. In my mind I would stroke him—always thin in his uniform. Arms and poor wounded shoulder, then, daring, down the leg. And all over his dear face hundreds and hundreds of kisses, healing kisses. Around his lips, never settling on them. Like birds' wings, they brushed, and flew on. In my mind he became calm. He smiled. I made him well—ready to marry Alice. “I love you,” I breathed into the darkness, alone in my room. “
I love you, Gib.”

No sign of spring. Even well wrapped up, the patients could not sit outside. But there was crutch practice and, on St. David's Day, a crutch race. Gib's shoulder was much better. He had begun to have electrical massage, which would last for the next six weeks.

One morning he said to me (I had been collecting letters for the morning mail), “Come out, Teddy Bear.”

I didn't like being called that. I pulled a face, but he went on, “I want to get
out
of the grounds. I'm not meant to go unaccompanied because of the wretched foot. You'll come?”

As we set out he didn't talk much, but I didn't mind. I was alone with him. I thought, My hands, my kisses are healing him.

Just near the stone bridge leaving the village, he blurted out suddenly:

“Look, Teddy Bear—I know I'm being rotten. Behaving badly. I shouldn't, you know, but I—poor Durnford. He's got a right, he's mortally afraid. That liquid-fire stuff Jerry used—he escaped, but his pals … Often when he's drunk, when he's being a racing car, he bursts suddenly into flames —then it's all over, and he gibbers and cries.”

I was silent, appalled. He went on:

“I can't seem to get a grip on myself. You'd think it was only a matter of willpower. I mean, damn it—Teddy,
damn
it, if someone—I was brought up, you know, I hadn't cried since the time my—mother died and Alice … Now if I'm not careful, I blub—at anything. Sentimental gramophone records. Poetry. And angry, that's the worst. Useless prickly anger—all the time …”

I said, “You've written to Alice about all this?”

“No. I can't talk of it to anyone.”

“You just told
me.”

“That's different, isn't it?”

“Why?” I had the bit between my teeth.

“Oh, Teddy Bear. It's
different ”
He didn't appear to want to explain. I was exasperated suddenly.

“Don't Teddy Bear me,” I said petulantly, “I don't
like
it.” Although I knew I shouldn't, I went on, “It's babyish, makes me
feel
babyish.”

“I'm sorry, Teddy.”

“I'm almost seventeen. Old enough—to be married. In a year to join up. I could be a Junior VAD
now.
And you call me after a toy—”

He said, dangerously edgy, “I said I'm sorry, didn't I? Leave it, blast it,
leave it!”

His voice trembled. And my lips, mouth trembled. He said, angrily still, “And now I've made you cry! It was to be such a good, fine outing.”

I couldn't speak, because although I felt he was being unjust, I knew he
could not help it. And if I spoke, mightn't I say the fatal words?
I love you, I love you.

He was walking a little ahead of me—I'd been keeping back purposely because of his foot. I noticed he was limping heavily. I thought we should turn back, I worried also about his shoulder, wondering if it hurt from the weight of his coat. Still looking ahead, he said, again in a burst:

“I can't—don't want to marry Alice.” I knew it was to me he spoke, because he stopped then and turned around. He stared at me as if to gauge my reaction.

I said, like the Pal, the Chum I was, “Well, that's all right. There isn't any law about that sort of thing.” I felt sick. I should have said (as later, so much later, I should have also spoken differently) “What's gone wrong, what's the matter? Would it help at all to talk about it?”

There was a clump of birch trees. He leaned back heavily against the silvery bark, keeping his right shoulder clear. “Dear God, but I'm tired.”

“We ought anyway to be going back.” I stood foursquare opposite him. There was an awkward silence. Then he said:

“I meant that, just now. About Alice. And I'm horribly ashamed. I don't know anything—except that suddenly these last few weeks, I just thought—
I can't do it.
It suddenly isn't at all what I want to do. I don't want anybody else, it's … Oh, Teddy, if I
knew
what I meant, I'd say it.”

I saw that he was near to tears. I thought then, All I have to do is throw my arms about him,
now,
and all will be well. I said, “Tell me. Anything. It doesn't matter if it makes no sense.”

He spoke, through tears:

“It was a different person, who was to marry Alice. I don't know where that person's gone—and don't care. That's what's so damnable.
I don't care at all.
And yet—the nightmares I've had. I feel—God knows. Oh dear God …”

He leaned back, still against the tree, not looking at me, while the tears streamed down his face. The air was growing cold and I shivered with fear and emotion. I thought, I cannot bear this, and even as I thought I stepped forward and flung my arms about him. I spoke into the folds of his coat. I was, after all, only living my dream—I
would
make him well. I murmured, “Don't weep, don't weep. Everything will be all right!”

“Ah, I mean it,” he said. “I can't marry her.” His body felt as stiff and unyielding as the tree. His tears more painful to me than any I might shed. Arms still about him, my head lifted, I covered his face with kisses. Small feathery kisses—just as I had dreamed. My lips, damp from his tears, saltily wet his forehead. I whispered in his ear, “All right. Really. It will be
all right.”

Gradually he relaxed. I remained with my arms about him until, after a few moments that seemed hours, he pulled his head gently away, and buried
it in my shoulder. Rested there without speaking. When we separated he said only, his voice a little rough, as if the tears still lingered, “Thank you.” Then: “I might have known where Fd find a real friend.”

I said, heartily enough, “That's what Chums are for, isn't it?” Then I told him that we ought really to be getting back, at once, or we might be late for luncheon.

“I wish they wouldn't serve parsnips so often,” he said, trying to laugh, sounding false. “Even in schooldays I never could … They taste like stubbed-out cigarettes.”

“It's the Lady Director again. She's in charge of the menus, remember?”

“Teddy, forgive me. God, I've—”

I said hurriedly, “Tease only. Mother's hopeless about it. She has too much else to do. And the food situation anyway. The difficulties … There's been a very good crop of parsnips this winter and so …”

“Of course.”

The next day, as I was crossing the main hall, he came out of the library. He walked straight over to me. “Teddy, it's empty in there for once. And—I wanted to speak to you.” He looked very firm, very much in control. He was in full uniform, Sam Browne gleaming. “I've been looking for you.”

“Well, I was out on errands. Sick civilians. We can't be paying attention to sick
soldiers
all the time.”

I was tired, trembling with it.

“How well you put us in our places, Theodora. Truly you must have been a gift from the gods—”

“I was, I
am,”
I said over my shoulder, going before him into the library. Inside was a long narrow table spread with the latest magazines and reviews. Nervously, I picked up the
Spectator.
He came around to the other side of the table and, taking it from me, placed it exactly where it was before. Then, as we stood and faced each other:

“Kiss me,” he said.

I wanted to move, but could not.

He said again, “Kiss me.”

I said then, saucily, finding a voice, tossing my head, “It's for you surely to kiss
me!”
I paused and added, “Gentlemen kiss ladies—even when it's a joke. Even when …” My voice died away. I saw the expression on his face.

“Kiss me, I said—
please,
Teddy. Like yesterday, like—any way—but
kiss
me.”

So I leaned forward across the narrow table. He took both my hands in his. I brushed his cheeks with my lips. His skin, unlike yesterday, was warm and dry. But then at once, as soon as I had done, he searched for my lips with his. He kissed me for a long while. And I, I kissed him. Then it was over. He stood back, my hands still clasped in his.

My heart was drumming furiously. I said, “Really, you shouldn't. You shouldn't.”

He said, “I love you, I think.”

But I could only keep saying, “You shouldn't, Gib, you
shouldn't”
“Shouldn't love you?” He was frowning now.

“No, silly billy. Shouldn't do—that.” So foolish was I that I couldn't even say “kiss.” “Shouldn't … because of Alice.”

“Please. Not now, not just at this moment. I—you see, I mean to write to her. I've been thinking about it—for weeks.”

“But not about—” My voice shook. “Not what you just said to me.”

“No.” He was very emphatic. “No. I've been, you see—” He shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn't able to explain yesterday. Why should I do better today?”

I said, “I don't think I understand anything. And I think, too, we ought to be getting back.”

“Teddy—when you cried yesterday, I wanted terribly to kiss you. Because I'd made you cry and never meant to. But I couldn't. I
could not
And then
you—”

Of course, I had thrown my arms about him, comforted him, had not thought. Now I did not know what to do with this answer, to prayers I scarcely realized I'd prayed.

I said almost rudely, “Come on. I know it's parsnips today because I've seen them go in the vat. You'll miss them if you're not on time.”

“Teddy—”

“Gib,
come on—”

And so I left him, pushing him almost into the common room where the officers, those who were allowed up, sat for the half hour before luncheon. A kind of remnant of gracious living: those fit enough to drink sherry or madeira did so.

I rushed away when I'd left him, up to my room. I wept, stabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief. I had, I supposed, my heart's desire. But I felt only bewildered. Frightened, too.