Читать книгу The Linden Walk - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 14

‘That wouldn’t be coffee?’ Ewart Pryce raised an eyebrow to the percolator that slurped lazily on the stove.

‘It would. Real grounds. Got a quarter of a pound, yesterday. Things are looking up. Time for a cup?’ Anna lifted her cheek for her husband’s kiss.

‘Please. Not many in the surgery this morning, and only three visits. So what’s news?’

‘Not so good. Two bad bits in the paper. National Service increased from a year to eighteen months and the King and Queen aren’t going to Australia. Seems the King isn’t very well. Any idea what the matter is?’

‘Haven’t a clue, darling. Buckingham Palace haven’t consulted me.’ His eyes lit on the envelope and the large, old-fashioned writing in black ink. Always black ink. ‘Your mother …?’

‘Mama has decided to come to the wedding, but must decline my offer of a bed. She will be staying at Denniston House, she says, and has written to tell Tatiana. Ewart, why can’t she stay with us? Tatty is going to be busy enough without two house guests – even if they are family. Igor won’t be any trouble, but Mama will complain. She always does.’

‘She’s an old lady, darling, and she misses Russia.’

‘So do I. So does Igor, but we don’t go on and on about it. To me, Russia is a long way away and a long time away. My daughter is as English as they come, and as for myself – well, I’m happy being the wife of a country doctor, even if Mama thinks I’ve lowered myself into the middle classes.’

‘The old get bewildered, Anna. She lost her husband and a son in the uprising.’

‘Yes, thirty years ago, but she’s still in mourning. She likes being unhappy, but I’m glad she’ll be there to see her granddaughter married. Karl will look after them when Bill and Tatty leave for their honeymoon, and I’ll keep an eye on things – tactfully, of course. And I’ve got to fly, or I’ll miss the bus. Going to Creesby for a final fitting and to pick up my wedding hat.’

‘You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you, darling?’

‘I am. And if Tatty’s half as happy as I am with my middle-class marriage, she can consider herself lucky. Heavens! Is that the time! See you, Doctor dear!’

With a banging of doors she was gone, and Ewart smiled fondly, whispering, ‘And I love you too, Anastasia Aleksandrina Pryce,’ then poured himself another cup of coffee.

‘Letter from Lyn?’ Julia asked. ‘Everything all right at her end?’

‘Complications, actually,’ Drew frowned. ‘Her folks are arriving on the fifteenth of December.’

‘So what’s complicated about that?’

‘Nothing at all. She’s looking forward to seeing her mother – and her father. Be interesting, that, since she hasn’t seen him since she was a schoolgirl. Trouble is though, what with one thing and another I won’t be seeing Lyn till Tatty’s wedding. Seems she’s swapping her shifts around so she can get time off for that. Not a lot of good, this long-distance courting.’

‘So why must it always be Lyn who comes here? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you to shift yourself and go to her place? And if it’s going to use up too many petrol coupons, get yourself on the train, for heaven’s sake, like Lyn does.’

‘I’d thought about that a couple of times but decided against it. After all, Lyn lives in a little village. There’d be sure to be talk.’

‘Andrew Sutton, I don’t believe it! Girls don’t need chaperoning, now! And why are you suddenly so holier-than-thou? I’m sure Lyn wouldn’t mind losing her reputation – even if nothing happened.’

‘Now it’s my turn not to believe it! Are you suggesting a dirty weekend or something, and you a priest’s wife!’

‘Drew! I’m beginning to lose patience with you. Dirty weekend, indeed! You make it sound sordid, and it shouldn’t be. Not between you and Lyn. And did I suggest you sleep together? I merely said that you should go and see her once in a while. Why should Lyn do all the running about?’

‘I think she comes here because that’s the way she wants it.’

‘You’re sure? Has she said so?’

‘N-no. Not in so many words, but wouldn’t she ask me if she wanted me there?’

‘She’s your fiancée, Drew. Does she have to ask you?’

‘I suppose not, but – oh, hell, Mother, I don’t know. Sometimes, I just don’t know!’

He got to his feet, walking to the window, hands in pockets and Julia knew, from the set stiffness of his shoulders, that now was the time to ask.

‘Don’t know what? That everything isn’t as it should be, that you made a mistake? Is that what you’re trying to say, Drew?’

‘Of course I haven’t made a mistake. I want to marry Lyn. But does she think the same way? And I ask that because I know something isn’t quite right. She’s gone on the defensive, kind of. It’s as if she’s all at once shy with me. It was better between us when I used to take her out, in Liverpool. When Daisy was on leave, I mean, and the two of us got on just fine.

‘Lyn was fun, then. She laughed a lot and we did mad things; ate fish and chips out of newspaper and went to Charlie’s, on the Pierhead, for a mug of tea and a cheese sandwich. Wads, we called them.’

‘Yes, Drew, but that was before Kitty. If what I heard is to be believed, Lyn was in love with you even then; had hopes that someday, things between you might develop, sort of.’

‘I’ve asked her to marry me. Surely that’s development enough? But I don’t think she’s as sure of her feelings, now. Oh, outwardly things are fine between us, but there’s a wariness in her eyes. I can see it.’

‘Look, Drew – I’ve got letters to post. Walk with me, to the village?’

Out of the house, Julia thought, it might be better. Outside, neither of them would be able to show anger, annoyance.

‘Okay. Could do with a breath of fresh air.’

‘Then shall we go through Brattocks and down the lane, the long way round? Might be as well, if we did. Get things into the open, sort of. And I know you need to talk to me – talk to someone, Drew – though heaven only knows why it can’t be to Lyn. You were always easy in her company. What’s gone wrong?’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Mind if I make a suggestion? Could it be that suddenly Lyn is worried that she can’t follow Kitty? Have you and Lyn been lovers?’

‘No, we haven’t.’ He closed the door behind them with an unnecessary bang. ‘Once, we might have been but not now, it seems.’

Not since the night, outside Wrens’ quarters, that Lyn had told him she loved him, wanted him. Offered it, actually, though nothing happened because he hadn’t been quite sure. Of himself, that was. It was as if he’d known, even then, that he was waiting for Kitty. But he couldn’t say that. Not to his mother. Not to anyone. There were things you just didn’t talk about, and that was one of them.

‘Once? Before that night you met up with Kitty? You were very sure, about her.’

‘Very sure. She knocked me for six. I’d loved her all my life, and I hadn’t known it. We spent the night together and it was so easy, so right. Are you shocked?’

‘Shocked? And what makes you think that only you and Kitty knew about love? I loved like that, once. When Andrew and I were apart, all I could think of was soft, sinful double beds. And I would have, even before we were married, but Andrew counted to ten for both of us! I know what it’s like to love desperately in wartime, so don’t think I’m uptight about you and Kitty. I was young, too, don’t forget.’

‘Then you married Nathan, Mother?’

‘Yes. I married him because I loved him. Differently, I’ll grant you, and the only mistake I made was not doing it sooner. I can talk about Andrew now with affection, and Nathan accepts that. Does Kitty have to come between you and Lyn, Drew, because it seems she is!’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned, she isn’t. But there was a war on when Kitty and I were together. No tomorrows, remember …’

‘I remember. God Himself knows I remember, but if you can’t convince Lyn that it’s her you are marrying, then things aren’t going to get any better. You’ve got to be sure – both of you.’

‘I’m sure, Mother, but I know Lyn isn’t. Not entirely. She wanted the wedding changed from June to April. I don’t think she wants to carry white orchids, either. She said that June seemed to her to be a remembering month; that it was in June Kitty and I should have been married and another June when Kitty was killed. And it’s every June that Jack Catchpole puts a bouquet on her grave. Can you blame Lyn for getting the jitters?’

‘No, I can’t,’ Julia said softly. ‘But I blame you, Drew, for letting her have doubts. Don’t you think it’s about time you sorted things between you?’

‘So what do you suggest I do?’

‘Do? You get yourself over to Wales this next weekend, show willing for once. Lyn can’t come to you, so you must go to her! And I don’t mean you should both leap into bed. Far from it. It seems Lyn is unsure enough, without you making it worse. Just be with her, Drew. Talk to her, because she sure as anything wants to talk to you! Be nice to her and if you’ve got to, eat fish and chips out of newspaper!’

‘You’re right. You usually are, dearest. But in what way do you think Lyn is unsure? Might help a bit, if I knew.’

‘I’d bet anything you like that she’s unsure about herself; unsure because she’s a virgin, still, and she’s afraid you’ll compare her to Kitty.’

‘Oh, no. I can’t accept that! Lyn was always very blasé; completely sure of herself.’

‘Well, for what my opinion is worth, she isn’t so sure about things now. Lyn is a woman in love and she’s afraid of losing you. I think she fell in love with you the first time you met and nothing has changed, I’m pretty sure of it.’

She dropped the letters in the pillar box, then turned for home.

‘My, but it’s cold. One good thing about late November is that there are very few people about. No one stops you for a chat! Let’s go to the kitchen, and sweetheart a pot of tea out of Tilda?’

And Drew smiled and said, ‘Y’know, for someone who isn’t a mother, you’ve made a pretty good job of being mine. And I’ll go to Llangollen this weekend – surprise her.’

‘Yes, and get something sorted out, eh? Clear the air, why don’t you?’

‘Clear the air,’ Drew nodded, though how, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Play things by ear, should he? Alone together in that little house, things just might be different. He would have to go carefully, for all that, because he didn’t want to lose Lyn; would never forgive himself if he said the wrong thing and got his ring thrown back at him for his pains.

Dear Lyn, who had always loved him.

Drew stowed away his bag, then laid the flowers carefully on top of it, thankful he was on the last leg of his journey. Change at Manchester, change at Chester for Wrexham; bus from there to Lyn’s place. And she had done it every weekend she could get away, bless the girl.

But he was bearing gifts. Tom had given him a young pheasant, plucked and ready for roasting. Alice had sent a new-baked loaf and Tilda had scraped enough rations together to make a baking of cherry scones and wrapped four in greaseproof paper, with her love. And Willis had sent chrysanthemum blooms because he feared frost, soon, and those he couldn’t dig up and plant again in the shelter of the greenhouse, he had cut for folk deserving of them.

‘There’s ten tawnies for your intended, Sir Andrew. Match that hair of hers,’ Sidney Willis had chuckled. ‘Sent with compliments. And mind you don’t knock their heads off between here and there. Very top-heavy those big blooms are.’

Tawny, to match her hair. Lyn was very beautiful; had the green eyes and porcelain skin of a true redhead. And in summer her face freckled – on her cheekbones and across her nose.

He had thought often, lately, about her body and how it would be. Her naked body, that was. He had never seen her anything but well covered. At first in thick black stockings and shirt and collar and tie; latterly in civilian clothes, true, but only in his imaginings had he seen her naked, in bed, in his arms.

The conductor of the green bus interrupted his thoughts, asking where to, and a return or a single, was it? And Drew handed him the correct money and was told that in five minutes he would be at Croesy-Dwfr, which he knew to be the crossroads near the hamlet in which Lyn lived. Only a few more minutes and she would open the door and say, ‘Hullo, sailor!’ like she used to and he would wonder how he could ever have thought things weren’t right between them.

But she didn’t say it. She just stood there, eyes wide, and whispered, ‘Drew? What is it? Why have you come?’ then stood aside to let him in.

‘Come, idiot? To see my girl!’ He laid bag and flowers on the floor. ‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

‘Of course you do!’ Laughing, she was in his arms, eyes closed, lips parted. ‘It was just that I didn’t expect you – didn’t think I’d see you for ages.’ Her cheeks pinked, her eyes shone. ‘Oh, Drew cariad, there’s lovely to see you!’ she laughed breathlessly when they had kissed and kissed again. ‘And how did you know I’d just put the kettle on?’

And Drew was all at once certain that given a little time together sitting close in the firelight and kissing sometimes, and laughing too, things would be as they had once been when he kissed her a passionate goodnight on the stone steps of Hellas House – and she had told him she loved him.

‘Flowers,’ he said, giving her the chrysanthemums. ‘From Willis.’

And Lyn thanked him and told him to take off his jacket and get himself to the fire, for a warm. Then went in search of a vase.

They shared a tin of tomato soup and a tin of baked beans for supper, eked out with thick slices of the Keeper’s Cottage loaf.

‘There’s no one bakes bread like Daisy’s Mum,’ Lyn said.

‘You are speaking, if I may say so, to the converted. We used to smell baking day from the other end of Brattocks, then swoop on Keeper’s for bread and honey. Like a swarm of locusts, we must have been.’

‘We? The Clan?’

‘Yes, but I’m not here to talk about when we were kids, darling. I came because I wanted to see you and to talk about you and me.’

‘Like …?’

‘Like – we-e-ll, the wedding, for one thing.’ Dammit, she was icing up again. ‘And for another, I want to know what happened to the girl I asked to marry me. There now, Lyn, I’ve said it. I’m looking, I suppose, for the Wren who was good at passionate goodnights.’

‘That Wren was demobbed ages ago. The war’s over, Drew, and I’m going to wash the supper things.’

She got to her feet but he caught her wrist and held it tightly.

‘No! The washing up can wait. Sit down – please?’

‘Very well.’ She positioned herself awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, so he was obliged to lay an arm around her and pull her closer. ‘But it seems to me, Drew, you’re making a drama out of nothing.’

‘I don’t think I am.’ He could feel the tenseness in her shoulders, see the defiant tilt of her chin. ‘Something’s upsetting you, something isn’t quite right between us and I want to know what it is. I’ve a right to know.’

‘So what do you want to hear?’

‘That you haven’t changed your mind, that you still want to marry me.’

‘You know I do! Oh, hell, Drew …’

She let go a sigh and closed her eyes and he knew she was fighting tears.

‘Don’t get upset, Lyn? Please don’t cry? Just tell me what it is and I’ll understand.’

‘You want to know? You really want to know, Drew Sutton?’ She pushed him away from her, then faced him defiantly, cheeks flushed. ‘I’m jealous of Kitty, I suppose. And I know I’m being stupid, but that’s what it really boils down to. I’ve never been with a man before and I’m going to mess up our wedding night because I don’t know how to do it!’

‘Most brides don’t know, either,’ he said gently.

‘Oh? Daisy knew, didn’t she? And Kitty knew.’

‘Yes, and I thought Lyn Carmichael was pretty curious, too. What happened to the passionate redhead? You were eager enough, then.’

‘I know. We were pretty good together, once. I thought you felt as I felt and I wanted you Drew, and to hell with what might happen. I didn’t care if I got pregnant, that’s how much I wanted you. But you patted my behind and steered me towards the Wrennery door. After I’d said I loved you like some silly little bitch, you didn’t want me.’

‘I’m truly sorry I hurt you, Lyn, but why have you changed?’

‘Because that night, it would have been all right between us. Neither of us would have known what we were doing. I knew you were a virgin, too, and that the first time might have been a bit of a fumble, but we’d have understood. It’s different, now. For me, it is.’

‘I’m sorry you feel like that. Don’t you think it’s about time we put all this behind us and started out afresh – like we both felt the night you said you’d marry me? And does it matter when our wedding night is? Do you want us to be lovers before April? I don’t care, Lyn, about all that virginity lark. There’s been a war on and people are more broadminded about things like that. I thought you were a very modern woman; that you’d understand.’

‘Oh, yes? Lyn Carmichael should know all about sex before marriage, is that it? Auntie Blod stood by whilst the father of her unborn child married her twin sister! Carrying on should be bred in me, should it?’

‘Oh, God, Lyn!’ He threw up his hands despairingly, then brought them down with a slap on his knees. ‘You told me just as soon as you found out that Auntie Blod was your real mother and it didn’t make one blind bit of difference then, and it doesn’t now. I liked your mother – your Auntie Blod – the minute I met her and I still like her. I’m looking forward to seeing her – and meeting your father, of course.’

‘Me, too. Years since I saw him, but he seems to have aged very gracefully, if snaps are to be believed.’ She grasped the get-out. Talk about anything, Lyn, but the fact that Kitty and Drew were good together, once. ‘I had a letter this morning; written the day before they left. They should be well on their way, now. It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas for me. My parents married at last, and staying with me. One of their cases, I believe, is packed full of unrationed food.’

‘So will they go back to Kenya? Well, the wedding is in April – will it be worth two journeys?’

‘I don’t know what is happening, Drew. I only know that in less than three weeks, they’ll be here.’

‘Would you all like to come to Rowangarth for Christmas? The mothers are going to have a lot to talk about.’

‘Sorry, Drew. New Year, maybe? It’s just that I think that Mam would like Christmas here – with her husband. She’s so happy, now. I should be mad at my father for getting her pregnant then marrying her sister, but I can’t be. And anyway, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Auntie Blod didn’t tell him till it was too late. But I really am going to wash the supper dishes, and tidy the kitchen. It’s a routine I’ve got into, so you’d best give me a hand.’

‘Okay. But only if you kiss me.’

He held out his hands, drawing her to her feet, gathering her to him, holding her close. Then he kissed her long and hard and felt her body relax against his.

‘Don’t, Drew,’ she said huskily, pulling her head away.

‘Why not? I like kissing you. You’re very good at it, when you put your mind to it.’ He kissed her again, all at once wanting her. ‘Leave the dishes, Lyn? Let’s go upstairs?’

‘No, Drew. Remember the night we got engaged – it was me put the words into your mouth, wasn’t it? And now you think I want to sleep with you because I reminded you I’m still a virgin and not sure how it would be between us, on our first night? Well, you’re wrong, and if you came all the way here just for that, then you’d better pack your bags and take your flowers and your bloody pheasant with you, and shove off. Sorry, sailor, but that’s the way it is, so stop patronizing me if you know what’s good for you!’

She ran across the room and he heard the urgent pounding of her feet on the stairs and the angry closing of the upstairs door. And worse than that, he heard the unmistakable slamming home of a door bolt.

‘So what do you do now, Drew?’ he asked of the empty room that for all that seemed full of her anger. Coming here hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Or had it, and was it he who had loused things up? Didn’t Lyn have every right to say no to him? After all, he’d done just that to her, once. Maybe it would be all right in the morning – honours even, sort of? Maybe tomorrow they could kiss and make up and things would start to come right between them? He hoped so, because if it didn’t …

But best leave it. Tomorrow was another day, wasn’t it? Yet surely tomorrow never came? They had said that, in the war. Tomorrow was a word they tried not to use.

But the war was over; over, but not forgotten it would seem, so best put the whole stupid mess behind him and get himself off to bed. He knew where the little spare room was, had slept there in the war, when once he and Lyn had hitched from the Pierhead to the crossroads that led to Auntie Blod’s place. No problem, there. Pity he couldn’t turn the clock back to that long ago weekend.

But time couldn’t be turned back, and anyway did he really want to? Did he want to wipe out the months spent with Kitty and their urgent and unashamed loving?

Of course he didn’t. Kitty had happened and he would never forget her. It would be wrong of him to try. And the hurt he felt when the letter came, telling him, was behind him now. Kitty was sleeping away time in the churchyard at All Souls; sleeping beside Gran. Kitty was gone, except for the small, secret corner of his heart that would always belong to her. And he was going to marry Lyn. In April.

He put the guard over the fire, then walked to the stair bottom, turning out the lamp, making his way carefully to the little back room. There was no light beneath Lyn’s door. She had shut him out completely; no use knocking.

He lay, hands behind head, for a long time, fighting sleep, willing her to come to him, wanting to lie close to her, soothe her doubts, kiss her fears away, take her gently and with love. But when the downstairs clock chimed once, he knew that tomorrow had come and there would be no opening of the door, no one whispering, ‘Drew? Are you awake …?’

‘So, Drew – how did it go? Got things sorted?’ Julia asked. ‘We can talk, now. Nathan won’t be back from Evensong till eight, at least. No one will interrupt us. And if you don’t want to tell me,’ she added hastily, ‘I shall understand, of course.’

‘There’s nothing to tell, Mother. Lyn was pleased to see me when I got there and I tried to get her to tell me what was bothering her; because I knew something was, I told her. And it all came out, eventually. What it boils down to is that she’s jealous of Kitty – of Kitty’s memory, I mean. And that she and I were lovers. That’s what I think hurts Lyn most. I tried to sort things; tried to get her to talk, but –’

‘But you made a mess of it?’

‘I’ll never earn a living in the Diplomatic Corps, that’s for sure. I asked her to go to bed with me and that was it! Door slammed in my face. I waited a bit; didn’t know what to do. Was hoping she would come to me, but no such luck. Anyway, things were better in the morning. I thought she had got over whatever it was, even though she didn’t seem to want to look me in the eye.

‘So I said, “Doesn’t a man get a decent good-morning from his girl, then?” and she smiled, and kissed me and said she was sorry. What for, mind, I had the sense not to ask. It was a decent day. I walked with her to the hotel, then went back to the cottage. She had left the pheasant doing slowly in the oven and instructions about basting it and to take it out if I thought it was overcooking. She was back at four. I’d peeled the potatoes and sprouts and put apples in to bake.’

‘Good for you. Didn’t know you had it in you,’ Julia grinned.

‘Mother! I did six years in the Navy, below decks. We all had to muck in, especially on the Maggie where everyone had to help out. But we had a good meal and I washed up and Lyn dried, then we listened to the wireless. There was dance music on, but we didn’t dance.’

‘Why not?’ Julia demanded sharply.

‘No room.’

‘Drew! You don’t need a ballroom! Dancing, when people are in love, is holding each other, even if you’ve only got a hearthrug to dance on. Better, that way. Andrew and I often danced without music, without moving, even. Very romantic …’

‘Mother! You don’t have to tell me how to romance a girl! Of course I wanted to hold her; we danced a lot together, once. But I was scared she’d slam down the blinds again, so I behaved myself. I kissed her goodnight, and this morning she was working ten till four, same as yesterday, so I left her at the hotel and got the first bus out. Not what you’d call a successful weekend, but at least I know now what’s bothering her.’

‘And you know how best to deal with it? Given it some thought, have you then?’

‘I have, but it isn’t going to be a lot of good, is it, when we aren’t going to see each other till Tatty’s wedding. She’s looking forward to it. Says her folks will have arrived by then and she won’t mind leaving them on their own for a couple of days. They’ll probably enjoy it, she said.’

‘So, until the wedding, you’re going to have to write to her a lot, tell her how much you love her. Pity she isn’t on the phone. She should be, you know, alone in an isolated cottage. Can’t you try doing something about it?’

‘She’s on the waiting list, Mother. Unless something happened like she was pregnant and there alone, she’s got to wait, like other people.’

‘When are we going to meet her parents?’ Julia changed tack abruptly because she knew she might explode if they didn’t talk about something else. ‘And what does Lyn call her mother – is it Auntie Blod, still?’

‘Most times it is. But I think when she sees them together and finally realizes they are married, churched, Lyn called it, she’ll call her Mum, eventually. Churched, eh? Lyn’s got a wicked sense of humour, you know. She’s fun to be with, apart from being very – well, very attractive.’

‘She’s a lovely young woman and you’re not half-bad, yourself. You’ll have beautiful children, Drew.’

‘Ha! Children, you said. The way we’re going on, they’ll be immaculately conceived!’

‘That wasn’t funny. You’re going to have to learn to be patient with Lyn. I like her; have always liked her, and I won’t be best pleased if you lose her through being stupid.’

‘I won’t lose her, Mother. I love her too much.’

‘Then keep on telling her. Write lines and lines of it in every letter. And I’m sorry, son, for going on.’ She ruffled his hair like she did when he was a boy. ‘You see, I care for you both so much and I know you’ll be happy together. I’m even having lovely little daydreams about a granddaughter with hair the colour of Lyn’s. Stupid old woman, aren’t I?’

‘Stupid? Not you, dearest. And old – never! And I’ll be patient with Lyn, don’t worry.’

He would be, he thought later when he was in bed and thinking about the weekend, and Lyn. And about not seeing her until Tatty’s wedding. And about telling her he loved her, because he did. He loved her a lot, even though he hadn’t told her so.

And that wasn’t on. Not asking a girl to go to bed with you and you not ever having said ‘I love you’. It wasn’t an accident, either. He wanted to say it, but every time he tried, the words wouldn’t come. It should be easy to say, just as he was thinking it, now.

I love you, Lyn Carmichael. I love you, love you, love you …

Then why hadn’t he told her so?