The Horns of the Buffalo (7 page)

‘Sorry,' she said, her grey eyes twinkling at his discomfort, ‘but I haven't yet shed these terrible Continental habits. But it is good to see you and I am so glad that you came.'

Her warmth and ingenuous charm embraced Major and Mrs Fonthill too and the evening was launched most felicitously, with the Brigadier almost bursting with pride at the confident bearing of his only child and Mrs Griffith clearly delighted that her arrangements - made at the last moment, as she told everyone - seemed to be ‘coping'.

Later, Simon and Alice danced together, when his turn came on her card. It was a Viennese waltz, still considered rather daring, and Simon danced it none too well, his concentration not helped by the constant flow of questions from Alice about his career and future plans. It was the last dance before the interval - he had been shy about getting on to her card - and he led his companion to the punch bowl. As they sipped the wine cup, he realised that Alice was looking very, very pretty. It was not just the pleasing regularity of her features and the new slimness; it was the fact that tonight she seemed, well, virtually to be glowing. He made a sudden decision.

‘Do you know what I would like to see now more than anything in the world?' he demanded.

‘No, what?'

‘The topiary.'

‘Oh no! We would freeze out there.'

‘Nonsense. We will borrow cloaks. I want to see what it looks like in the snow.'

She looked at him, only half smiling now, her head slightly to one side. Then, quickly, she nodded.

They slipped through a corridor into the servants' hall and picked up the first pair of cloaks they saw and, so muffled, opened a door into the garden. The peacocks, lions and pyramids were looking incongruous, carapaced with two inches of now rather soggy snow. It was slushy underfoot and not at all suitable for Alice's silver dancing sandals.

‘Oh, I'm sorry,' said Simon. ‘Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all.'

‘Of course it is,' said Alice. ‘You wanted to kiss me, didn't you? Well, please do so.' And she put her arms around Simon's neck and nuzzled her icy-cold nose under his ear.

Simon kissed her. Deciding he liked it, he did so again and Alice responded with if not passion, at least enthusiasm. Simon felt unaccustomed desire rise within him.

Eventually, Alice pulled away and looked up at him with an impish grin. ‘Look,' said Simon, ‘I think I love you.'

‘No you don't,' she responded, without relaxing either the grip around his neck or the smile on her lips. ‘Don't fall into the trap, Simon. Not long ago, in this very garden, you told me that you did not love me. We've only met once since then and nothing can possibly have happened to change your mind. It's just the atmosphere.'

Seeing the crestfallen look on Simon's face, she relented. ‘But I have to tell you that I am unhappy that you are going away. I was so looking forward to getting to know you better.' She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Your letters were very welcome but they weren't
too
revealing, you know.'

Alice unwound her arms. ‘No, Simon. We are what we said we would be: good, very good friends. Maybe one day we shall mean more to each other. But I want you to know that what you said a moment ago does not mean that you are under a commitment to me. Nor does my kissing you mean that I am under a commitment to you.' She gave another quick smile. ‘Though I did enjoy it.'

‘How very kind of you to say so,' said Simon sulkily.

‘Oh, don't be such a grouch. Here, let's do it again.' This time Alice kissed
him
, so warmly that he felt his ears tingle. He held her tighter and kissed her neck and shoulders. ‘But I do love you,' he said desperately.

She gently thrust him away. ‘You see,' she said. ‘They've done it.'

‘Who's done what?'

‘Our parents. They've schemed all this.'

‘I don't think so. I am not even sure that my mother approves of you these days.'

Alice threw back her head and laughed heartily, so that her breath rose in the air like a cloud of steam. ‘I am not surprised to hear it and I think it's good news anyway.' Companionably, she sought Simon's arm under his cloak and began to steer him back to the house. ‘We must get back,' she said. ‘It's not that I don't like being here with you, nor am I worried about gossip. I don't care a fig about what people say, you know.' The old earnest look came back for a moment. ‘But it is my party and I must put myself about a little. I know you will understand.'

Glumly, Simon nodded and they stepped carefully through the slushy snow back to the house.

The rest of the evening passed miserably for him as his new-found desire twisted into jealousy as Alice carried out her dance commitments with a succession of eligible and, it seemed to Simon, ever taller young men. His mother, too, fulfilled a full dance programme, elegantly sweeping around the floor with a mixture of old and young partners. Major Fonthill spent most of the evening sitting talking to old friends and comrades from the regiment, increasingly content with his cigars and brandies. Only once did he pass a comment to Simon, as the latter smiled gloomily on his way to replenish his glass: ‘Don't worry, my boy,' he said kindly, ‘you won't be away all
that
long.'

Simon was allowed one more dance with Alice, which he managed to ruin by holding her too tightly and, twice, stepping on her foot. They exchanged hardly a word this time and Simon thought that Alice smiled too often at every couple as they swirled by. When the time came to say goodbye in the early hours, she did not kiss him, merely letting her hand rest in his perhaps a moment too long for propriety as he bowed over it.

‘Will you write?' he hissed.

‘Of course. I always have. Don't worry. Good night, Simon.'

The Major and his wife were noticeably mellow as they sat back in the coach, much warmer now as the indulgences of the evening combined with the milder air of the thaw. The Major's eyes positively twinkled as, his arm entwined with that of his wife, he addressed his son opposite. ‘Jolly good evening I think, my boy. Wouldn't you agree?'

‘Yes, Father. Quite pleasant.'

‘You didn't dance much, dear,' said Mrs Fonthill. ‘And you are not very good at it. Honestly, Simon, sometimes I despair of you. You can't ride and you can't dance. What
can
you do?'

‘Ah, Mother,' sighed Simon. ‘I wish I knew.'

The next morning Simon had just time to pen a quick message to Alice before Owen came to take him to the railway station.

 

He read it through anxiously, decided that it sounded far too stilted, but sealed and dispatched it anyway. Time was running out and there were the goodbyes to be said.

The cab rattled over the cobblestones of Southampton through dismal rain to the deep-water dockside, where Simon caught his first glimpse of the vessel that was to be his universe for the next few weeks. The SS
Devonia
seemed large enough, at least, for such a long voyage. She displaced some 8,000 tons and had been commissioned by the Horse Guards from the Anchor Line in Glasgow to transport a hotch-potch of military replacements to the Cape. She normally plied the North Atlantic route, carrying emigrants from Europe, mainly from Scotland and Ireland, to the New World, and she looked what she was: a workhorse. A succession of white deckhouses broke up and spoiled the clean lines of her iron hull. A surprisingly elegant clipper stern contrasted oddly with the bluff vertical bow and the single black funnel sat incongruously with three tall masts, square-rigged to take sail as both auxiliary power and stabilising influence.

Jenkins was already at work in the tiny cabin allocated to Simon, unpacking gear from the two trunks, one of which folded back to act as ‘officer's table and desk on campaign'.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but I'm not sure I'm goin' to like any of this,' said the little Welshman gloomily.

‘Why, what's wrong?'

‘They've put me with the men right in the front of this thing, look you, an' there's no air an' very little light down there. I've only been on a steamer once. That was round Colwyn Bay and then I was sick. I don't mind fightin' the savage Zulu, see, but this is different, isn't it?'

Simon sighed. ‘Look. For most of the time, we're going to be steaming through tropical waters that are bound to be placid. It is not as though this is a paddle steamer. This vessel is fitted with propeller screws at the stern that make it go much more quickly and we should make good time. Your duties on board are bound to be light because I shall need very little. Treat it as a pleasure cruise.'

‘Very good, sir. But it's so noisy, too. Look.' He rapped his knuckles on the bulkhead. ‘This iron clangs all the time. An' it must be so heavy. Why don't it sink?'

‘A good point. I have often wondered myself. Something to do with displacing water, I think. But you must ask one of the sailors. Don't worry. We're safe enough.'

Simon reported to the artillery major named Baxter who was the senior soldier on board, and learned that his duties during the voyage were to conduct daily arms drill for the motley collection of infantrymen sailing and also to be responsible for one of the emergency muster stations. What exactly he was supposed to do once the men were mustered seemed to be known only to the Horse Guards and the captain of the vessel.

The ship sailed on the evening tide, slipping away quietly from her berth with the minimum of fuss. Once clear of the Isle of Wight, she began butting into a channel westerly, confirming Jenkins's worst fears about seafaring and reducing the men's quarters for'ard and aft into dark holes, where low moans and the sound of retching emerged from the dim recesses of the closely positioned bunks. The
Devonia
put her head down and pushed into the foam-topped swell, sweeping spray as far aft as the bridge.

Simon's attempt at holding deck drill failed and the medical officer on board was of little use. He spent the first three days in his bunk, occasionally staggering on deck to empty his slops and then be sick again.

The weather worsened as the ship turned south into the Bay of Biscay. This time the swell took the steamer on the starboard beam and she rolled dismally, her sails reefed down and her funnel belching black smoke. Even Simon, who had enjoyed the first few days and had hungrily tackled his meals, now began to feel ill. His attempts to summon up visions of Alice, in her blue gown with her pearls matching her skin, failed to comfort him. Duties on board for the army contingent descended into unhappy anarchy, with few men able to stand on the deck, let alone carry out meaningless tasks for the sake of maintaining discipline. The artillery major had not left his bunk since the Isle of Wight had dropped astern. It was a bad introduction to the voyage south.

After the first day, Simon had seen nothing of Jenkins. The little man had disappeared completely into the black hold for'ard. It was not until the seventh day that he reappeared, just as a wan sun attempted to penetrate the clouds off the northern coast of Spain.

‘Dereliction of duty, 352,' said Simon with relish as Jenkins put a woebegone face round the cabin door.

‘Sorry, sir. I've been waitin' for this tropical stuff you told me about. There doesn't seem much of it about, does there? An' I 'aven't seen too much of this pleasure cruise business either, see. The Glasshouse at Aldershot was better'n this.' His haggard face looked up at Simon and was racked with another spasm. ‘Ooh God. I gotta go again. Sorry, sir.' And he disappeared up the companionway as fast as his strong, short legs could take him.

The belated promise of fine weather was eventually redeemed on the eighth day, when the sky cleared, the swell subsided and the sun shone. Like moles surfacing, white-faced soldiers began to appear on deck, unsteady and uncommunicative, but alive again. Simon immediately called a parade of the infantrymen and some sort of discipline was re-established. Jenkins's tan also came back and he became oversolicitous of Simon's comfort, as though to compensate for the previous week's neglect.

The army officers messed separately from the ship's officers and there was no formal opportunity therefore for fraternisation, particularly as the sailors tended to keep to themselves - as though the soldiers were just another cargo of worthless emigrants. However, Simon was able to strike up an acquaintance with the Third Mate, a Scotsman roughly his own age. This gave him the chance of asking about mustering in an emergency. Once the men were gathered together, what happened then?

The Mate smiled. ‘They should be kept at their mustering station until it becomes necessary to allocate them to a lifeboat,' he said.

‘But shouldn't we be allocated to lifeboats now and even have some drill on how to launch them?'

‘Mebbe. But it's no' as simple as that.'

‘Why isn't it?'

The Third Mate looked forward and then aft, at the blue, now friendly swell that rolled up behind the
Devonia
before slipping impassively down the length of the hull. ‘Well,' he began evasively, ‘I've not done the sums, but I should say that we don't have enough lifeboats to go round if we had to abandon the ship.'