Читать книгу Household Ghosts: A James Kennaway Omnibus - James Kennaway - Страница 15

SEVEN

NOW THE TOWN was small, but the county was smaller. The news of the dancing class soon circulated and seasoned officers blushed like cadets when they were asked if they had learnt their Pas-de-Basques yet. Underneath the layer of sunburn even Sandy Macmillan grew a little warm, but if the officers were teased, the county notwithstanding was thoroughly glad. It was a sign for the better. The officers from Campbell Barracks had not made themselves popular over the preceding year or two, with their drinking and their springy dancing. Even those people in the county who did not consider themselves to be purists were a little sick of them. At the Hunt Ball, not that there is much of a Hunt, people had grown accustomed, in an angry sort of way, to seeing the officers form up in front of the band so that the rest of the dancers were edged down to the bottom of the set. They clapped their hands and joked with the drummer, and they hooched and swung their women.

Everybody knew that Jock Sinclair encouraged them: as acting Colonel he was at the root of the trouble, for this is an old axiom: that a Mess takes on the complexion of its Colonel. It was therefore with warm hearts that the county welcomed a man who was instantly recognisable as a gentleman – Barrow Boy.

At first people were curious to meet him; then they were anxious; then, after a month, they were desperate. The county began to talk of nothing else and everybody wished they could peep over the sixteen-foot wall. Rumours abounded. All sorts of innocent tweed-coated men were recognised as the mysterious Colonel. Jimmy Cairns’s aunt in Crieff set the Victorian terraces alight with her news items straight from the Adjutant’s mother’s mouth. A young farmer who had something to do with one of the Territorial outfits in the neighbourhood swore that Barrow was the White Rabbit himself. Barrow had blown up the heavy water plant in wherever-it-was; he had been one of Winston’s special boys. Barrow had made the officers run round the barracks before breakfast. Barrow had been doing far rougher things to the idle than any young Alexander. Barrow had been in Colditz. Barrow had said that if any officer held his knife like a pen he would be posted to another regiment. Barrow was the talk of both town and county.

‘He’s a small man. You never see him in uniform this side of the wall. My dear, he has a look of Lawrence of Arabia.’

‘Lawrence of where?’

‘Nonsense … his eyes are much larger.’

‘He’s coming to dinner on Thursday,’ proudly: that was said with pride.

‘Really?’ and that said with chagrin.

‘Well probably. You must recall him. Tom knew him before the war. You must remember him.’

‘My dear, I was a child then.’

In the county the talk is well up to standard. And the county often meets, even when the roads are bad. There were cocktail parties in houses which once had known stronger drinks and fuller servants’ quarters, but here as ever gossip, like a leaf, whirled round and round, then with a spiral movement and on the hot breath of a matron, it was lifted upwards to unlikely heights.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Jock said, when he heard or overheard such a conversation, and he clenched his fists and screwed up his face. But he never got further than that: instead he cracked that joke of his about red tabs and tits, which usually went down very well. He did not like to hear much talk of the Colonel; he said all the talk at the parties was childish; people going on as if the boy were Monty himself. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ he said.

‘He’s English, you know.’

‘Nonsense. He’s a connection of the jute Maclarens.’

‘Dundee?’

‘Originally.’

‘Really? He has money?’

‘I don’t know how much now.’

The ladies talked about him most at the cocktail parties, but in the swells’ club in the town and after dinner in some of the houses that still ran to dinner parties (proper style) his name came up again. The men treated it with a little more reserve.

‘Was he with the First Battalion?’

‘Can’t have been. Billy would have met him.’

‘He was S.A.S., wasn’t he?’

Then the older voice. ‘Only thing I know about him is he’s got a pair of Purdeys, and they say he can shoot with them: that’s more than that tyke Sinclair can do, at all events.’

A ‘hear, hear,’ a finishing of the glass, a moment or two spent in clearing away the dishes for the foreign girl, and it is time to join the ladies.

But the Colonel did not go to the dinner on the Thursday or on the Friday or to supper on the Sunday. He had to stack his invitations horizontally on his shelf, but he still replied to them all in his own neat hand. Each time he refused, and he gave as his reason pressure of work.

When at last, a month later, he invited the whole neighbourhood to a regimental cocktail party it was no surprise to anyone that there was hardly a refusal. The county had decided to come to the Colonel. And the drink had better be good.

And the drink was good. Whatever may be said about that Battalion’s fighting record or social performance no one but a Plymouth Sister could deny the quality of the drinks at one of the regimental parties. There were all sorts of drinks, and there were a great many of them. The officers saw that the stewards circulated amongst the guests swiftly and for a long time. It was impossible to hold an empty glass, and, perhaps consequently, it was impossible to believe that the party was not a howling success. Simpson and some of the other better-known young men were like perfect ushers at a wedding. They welcomed people as soon as they arrived in the ante-room, and they offered plates of savouries and silver boxes of cigarettes to two hundred guests. At the beginning – he’d had one for the road – Jock was pink in the eyes with social affability and he was holding guests male or female by the elbow, pretending to be listening to what they had to say. But often he glanced through the door to the hall where Barrow was greeting the guests.

Barrow made a point of shaking everybody’s hand. He had the dazed and silvery look of the bride’s father, and as he shook hands he said a word or two; then, as the guest replied, his eyes wandered to the next guest in the long queue. Everybody looked at him as if he were a waxwork that could talk, and although some of the sharper females dared a personal question, nobody was any the wiser at the completion of the ceremony.

The ante-room itself was very pleasant. Some of the worst armchairs and wicker tables had been moved out for the occasion. The tartan and the tweeds toned with the panelling of the walls and the wood toned well with the whisky. The chandeliers and the tumblers sparkled and the Mess servants made friends with some of the grand ladies which, after all, is always a sign of a good party.

The same grand ladies, when they were not making friends with the Mess servants or keeping Sandy Macmillan at a safe distance, concentrated on the Colonel. Some waited in their corners until he came to them while others, a little older and a little keener, moved through the throng to meet him. They all had a shot at penetrating his defences. Only one person had anything like a success, and she wished she had not spoken.

‘You ought to have had a girl friend to keep you company when you greeted us in the hall.’

A slight smile: ‘Yes? My Adjutant offered to help.’

‘We’ve got lots of presentable girls you know: you’d be surprised.’

‘Really?’

‘We’ll get you a wife.’

‘As a matter of fact I have had one of those.’

‘Oh. Oh, really?’ The girl put her weight back on one heel.

But it only added to the mystery of the man.

Even Morag had a try at opening the oyster. She was in her smartest cherry hat – one with a snout to it – and she wore a black tailored coat and court shoes. The Colonel found her alone, and he recognised her again, immediately. She refused a cigarette from his little silver case; it was one of those old-fashioned cases with a curve in it to fit closely to chest or hip. Morag was standing alone, not because she did not know anybody there, but because she liked to stand alone when she was not enjoying herself. Several officers had come to make conversation to her, but she frightened them away. Simpson tried valiantly.

‘What a smart hat!’

‘This thing?’

‘It’s awfully smart.’

‘Och, I picked it up in the sales for one-and-nine.’ Morag did not smile. Her common sense was almost militant.

‘How clever of you,’ Simpson replied pleasantly, but the answer was as sharp as before.

‘Not very. It’s just common sense. If you get up early enough you get the bargains.’

‘I think I’d be frightened to death. All those women fighting for the best bargain.’

‘Oh yes.’ She looked at him as if she thought him stupid, and he offered her some snacks, but she had no time for them.

‘Too fattening?’ Simpson suggested with a smile, and she replied, ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

After that he was stuck with her for a little time and they talked about some of the other people near them. Then she said, ‘You’d better go and give them their sardines,’ and not with grace, but with relief, he took his opportunity.

But she was more forthcoming with the Colonel, who did not make the mistake of flattering her.

‘D’you enjoy things like this?’ she asked him, and before he had time to reply she said, ‘Neither do I,’ and he smiled.

‘They serve a purpose, I suppose.’

‘Colonel Barrow, I don’t fancy it’s the time or place …’ she said, and she hesitated. Barrow’s mouth tightened a little, and he looked at her severely. But nothing could stop Morag when she wanted to say something. She was as firm as the regimental Douglas Jackson.

‘Whatever Father’s said, don’t think I don’t see how difficult it must be for you …’ But there was no getting closer to the Colonel. He leant back on his heel, and looked round the room. She only saw the side of his face when he replied, ‘How kind of you to say so. You mustn’t worry.’

‘I wanted to say that.’

‘I’m grateful to you. Now, have you met …’ But as the Colonel looked round for a spare subaltern, Jock shouldered his way closer. He flicked his head at Barrow.

‘Aye. You’ve met Morag?’

The Colonel looked nervous. ‘Oh yes. Delighted.’ He waved his glass and nodded. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’ He picked his way through the crowd rather as if he were frightened of it. Two or three groups opened like a flower to let the queen bee land, but he hovered and moved on again, farther round the room. His face was the face of anxiety. But that again only endeared him to the ladies.

Sometimes, and all of a sudden, they felt that it was only right that he should be called Boy. In spite of the grey hair, he looked like a child at a party; looked as if he had lost his way. And that, to regimental women, is something very attractive: their own husbands are always so vehement in protesting that they know where they are going. When Jock saw one of these take him by the hand and draw him into a group, it sickened him.

‘Well, Father?’ He had said nothing to Morag.

‘A-huh. Well, you seemed to be talking with him very seriously.’

‘I was just warning him what a bear you are.’

‘Aye. What did you say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Well you looked bloody pleased about it. He’s no the Brigadier you know; he’s just another colonel.’

Morag looked angry. The muscle in her cheek moved and she looked down at her feet.

‘I meant no harm,’ she said. ‘For goodness sake.’

‘Look at them now: look at them. You know these are the same women that made such a bloody fuss over me in forty-five. But I couldn’t cope with them. You wouldn’t remember. I was bloody rude to them.’

‘I’m sure,’ she replied, tightly.

Because some of the best-behaved subalterns and their blonde partners asked him politely, if persistently like little children, the Colonel allowed them to dance in the main hall, and the pipers were duly organised. Most of the grown-ups left about then which, as things turned out, was a blessing for Barrow; but the rest of them really settled down to enjoy themselves. In the billiards room, one or two of the wives were all blouse and colour by now, and Dusty Millar was very drunk, but Jock and some of the others came through in a group, abreast, towards the dancing. Morag stayed until the pipers arrived. They both knew her and smiled politely, but in spite of Douglas Jackson’s grip on her arm, she stayed no longer.

The Colonel disappeared into the ante-room once again, when the dancing began. But later, as the noise in the hall increased, he grew more and more nervy and two or three times he ignored altogether remarks put to him by his guests. The noise from the hall grew in gusts and it was soon clear that the style of dancing was diverging very far from the lines laid down by the Pipe-Major at the early morning classes. Seeing the Colonel’s face, nobody in the ante-room could think of anything else and the whole Mess seemed to be shaking.

Suddenly Barrow could stand it no longer. It was as if he had known all along that the party was building up to this. He detached himself from the group by the fire and walked out of the room: then he checked himself. When he saw the scene in the hall he grew pale with anger, and the liquor circled even faster in his glass. There were two sets dancing the eightsome. The first was lively, but their behaviour was excusable at the end of such a party. That could not be said for the second. Jock, Douglas Jackson, Rattray, and a fourth who was a local farmer, were the men in the set, and they were hoping that the Colonel would come to watch. Three or four times Jimmy Cairns, dancing in the other set, had implored them to dance less noisily. But he had done so in vain.

Barrow’s lip twitched and he rubbed his thumb against the tips of his fingers. The whole floor was shaking, and the glass in the front door was rattling as the dancers leapt about the room swinging, swaying and shouting. When they saw the Colonel the noise increased, and a moment later Rattray inadvertently let go of the partner he was swinging vigorously so that she spun like a top across the floor, lost her balance, and fell. She fell at Barrow’s feet.

Corporal Fraser and the other piper stopped playing and the dance came suddenly to an end. The Colonel reached forward to help the girl and she shook her hair from her face. She was too uncertain of the look in Barrow’s eyes to say anything at all and Jock was the first to speak.

‘Are you all right, lassie?’

But it was Barrow who spoke next. His voice was low and clear.

‘Mr Rattray. I believe you owe this young lady an apology.’

‘Oh hell …’ she began. She was a student from St Andrews, this girl, and she knew all the words, but when she looked at the Colonel again her vocabulary failed her, and her voice died away. The Colonel stood very tensely. The gin in his glass was shaking so violently now that it splashed, and when Jock observed that a little of it had spilt he looked at the Colonel’s face, and he smiled a half-triumphant smile.

‘Have a drink, boy, have a drink,’ he said cordially; then he half turned towards the others. ‘Unless you’d like to join us. I’m sure Douglas here’ll stand out.’

Barrow’s voice was a pitch or two higher than usual.

‘Piper: this will be the last reel.’

‘Sir.’

The Colonel stood and watched as the pipers played again. He took a gulp of his drink to empty the shaking glass. The dance began quietly, to Jimmy Cairns’s great relief, and the girls soon adapted themselves to the style of it. They held their heads high and their backs arched: they placed their hands firmly with the palms downwards before them when it came to a swing. Barrow’s shoulders dropped an inch with relief.

But when it was Jock’s turn in the centre he let his bloodshot eyes rest on the Colonel by the door. For the first circle he behaved himself: he set to his partner and to the third lady, and he completed the figure of eight with reserved precision coming near to perfection. Then when they circled again he sprang off the ground, flung his hands high in the air and let out a scream to crack rock. The others followed his lead. The noise rose, the floor started to shake again, and the glass in the door rattled louder than before.

The Colonel’s voice rose above it all; and he was collected no longer.

‘Sinclair! Sinclair! Stop the dancing. D’you hear me, Piper? Stop at once!’

He looked sick. Hearing the commotion people emerged from the cloakrooms and the ante-room to witness a scene such as the Mess had not known in forty years. But Jock had never looked so foursquare. He stood in the middle of the dancers and there was still the suspicion of a smile lurking behind the bland expression of his face. Embarrassed by the silence, one or two people in a mumbling sort of way endeavoured to interrupt, but the Colonel snapped at them to keep silent. One of the girls who had spoken blushed with indignation.

Jock’s voice was low when he spoke.

‘You called me, Colonel?’

‘I did. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow. I’ll … Pipers, we’ve had enough of this. Quite enough.’ Barrow fidgeted as he spoke, and although Jock was just a few yards in front of him, he was shouting. Then there was quiet. The dancers moved, and the pipers marched smartly out of the frozen world. Corporal Fraser looked upset, almost guilty, as if he had seen those things which a good piper should not see.

Now, for the first time the Colonel looked around him and he looked afraid and bewildered as if he had awoken from a dream and found himself at his own trial. He sighed heavily, and stretched his fingers.

Jock stared at him quite steadily, with victorious calm. He did not quite have the audacity to say, ‘Are you going to rap me over the knuckles, Colonel?’ but he thought of doing so. Instead, he grinned openly at the dancers around him.

Barrow now turned to the guests. ‘The party’s over. It’s late. It’s very late. I’m sorry it should end like this.’

Jimmy came to the rescue. ‘It’s time we all had something to eat …’ he said with a friendly smile, but Douglas Jackson was not smiling. He had not moved, and he stood on the floor with one foot planted before the other, and his hands on his hips, in a Highlander’s pose.

‘We were just beginning to enjoy ourselves, Colonel.’ It might have been a reasonable enough thing to have said, but Jackson had once before spoken out too boldly.

The Colonel checked himself, and everybody waited again. Jock was now grinning openly. Slowly the Colonel turned his head.

‘Who said that?’ And he knew perfectly well.

‘I did.’

‘Adjutant!’

Jimmy was trying to steady everybody. He nodded and moved up to the Colonel.

‘Not now,’ he whispered, but the Colonel braced his head back.

‘Do as you’re told. Take his name. Take that officer’s name.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Jimmy said. Of course he knew the name, so he did not move and two or three people in the room began to giggle. Jackson, for all his impudence, was looking very white himself now and he stared at the Colonel unblinkingly. The onlookers were fascinated by the scene, and apart from the two women who giggled, they were petrified by it. In the hall, they stood quite still. But in the doorway through to the ante-room people were shoving and craning their necks to see better. Just in the same way that speeches are passed back in a crowd too large, a commentary of the scene was passed as far as the billiards room and the dining-room where some of the servants stood, their heads on one side, to hear more clearly.

But it was all over. The Colonel turned quickly away and walked towards the cloakroom, while some of the others went up to talk to Jock and Jackson. Jock laughed and shook his head, but Jackson was still very white. As some of his cronies congratulated him he stuck out his chin a little further.

‘I was in my rights,’ he said, then he swore a little, but he did not relax enough to smile. In a moment when they were still standing about the hall the Colonel reappeared again, with his coat and bonnet on. He stopped by the front door, and putting on his gloves, he lifted his head and said:

‘Good-night, all.’

One or two replied ‘good-night’, but the door had not closed behind him when the laughter began to ring round the room. Jimmy was sweating now: he was suddenly angry, and he tried to shout them down, but Jock was leading the laughter, and they paid no attention to him. They laughed all the louder when Jimmy grabbed his bonnet and ran out after the Colonel.