He found himself thinking of that book he had found the other day in the library. Not a child’s book, that translation of the Rubaiyat, with its references to wine and love and all-powerful destiny; a man’s probably, left behind in sudden departure and no doubt much regretted. It was not new to him: he had first come across a copy years ago, at home, and read it with interest but little understanding. Reading those lines again, however, they rushed back like old, familiar music, pulsing with meaning and fresh significance, doing their best to defy the sense of guilt. What they could not defy, indeed what they underlined was the fleeting passage of time, brief moments of beauty lost forever in death and decay.
Was that why he dreamed of the war?
‘What is it?’ Georgina murmured. ‘What else is bothering you?’
Liam shook his head, reluctant to upset her further; but again she pressed him until he quoted the one line that kept repeating itself, over and over in his mind like a haunting refrain.
‘One moment in annihilation’s waste, one moment of the well of life to taste...’
‘And it makes me think of you, and a place on the Somme that doesn’t even exist any more. It’s just a name – Pozières – that’s all it is, a name, and a shifting wasteland of grit and ashes. It used to be a village on a hill...’ He closed his eyes. ‘I dreamed about it again last night...’
She did not speak, but hid her face against his chest, while Liam stroked her hair and the smoothness of her back. ‘Annihilation’s waste,’ he repeated, ‘that’s what it was. A waste land. Nothing. Pounded to oblivion, with men beneath it. And every time another shell landed...’ He shuddered, unable to give voice to that vision of burial and disinterment, the shifting shell-holes and mind-shattering noise, the dust and ashes blowing in the wind.
With suddenly trembling fingers he reached for his cigarettes and lit one, drawing smoke deep into his lungs, releasing it slowly as tension disseminated throughout his body. He continued to stroke her hair, finding consolation in its warmth and softness, and something of healing in her tears.
‘But you, my love,’ he murmured with bleak simplicity, ‘are like that well of life to me. You’ve given me so much, restored me, made me whole again – and I love you so much, it hurts.’
Back at the hospital that night, Georgina spent a long time staring into the darkness, her cheeks wet with tears, her heart aching for him. His memories and regrets bit deep, and it seemed painfully ironic that he should have come to awareness so suddenly, and through loving her.
What he needed was time to assimilate these things, but time was something they had so little of. That was her one, lingering regret, although unlike Liam she had been aware of it all along. That sense of time running out had pressed her most dreadfully, contributing – she could see it now – to the urgency of physical need. That, she did not regret – it seemed to have been essential to them both – and in thinking about it, Georgina had no sense of guilt, only grief that it could not go on forever.
On the Thursday, which was her day off, Liam telephoned to say that he could not get a pass to come up to town, and without one he would have to report back by half-past four. Although he wanted to break the rules and take the risk for an hour of her company, Georgina felt bound to dissuade him. Anxiety had dogged all day, inexplicable and without apparent foundation, yet very real. It was with some difficulty that she persuaded him to stay where he was, and let her come to him.
Saying little, they went out for a walk, each terribly aware of the other, wanting so much more than the chaste kiss of greeting and the respectably linked arms that propriety demanded. More than ever did Georgina realize that they would have to find a meeting place, somewhere within easy reach of both Lewisham and Wandsworth, sufficiently anonymous for them both. It was the last day of October and they had, perhaps, a few more weeks in which to be together; it seemed very important not to waste them.
It was beautiful across the Common, very cold and still, with a faint blue haze of woodsmoke drifting through the trees. On the way back, they sat for a while by the old windmill, watching an elderly gardener raking up leaves, savouring between them an air of sharp nostalgia, of the last days of autumn, with winter waiting on the threshold. The trees were bare and the sky had a strange, translucent beauty; everything seemed clear and poised and not quite real. Georgina felt it echoed in herself, in a heightened awareness of the falling dusk, her own stillness and Liam’s quiet presence. Catching his glance and a slow, intimate smile, her eyes lingered on the lines of his face, the sweep of heavy lashes, the firm chin and well-shaped mouth; and within came a stirring that was at once both deeply sexual and deeply grieving. Knowing his strength, she had a sense, too, of his fragility, and that exquisite, momentary happiness that he had talked about, moving on to realms unknown, horizons unseen.
It hovered on the edge of agony, that blend of spirit and sensuality; and the moment of awareness seemed like a threshold, a pause between day and night, autumn and winter, perfect past and uncertain future. But as the shadows lengthened and uncertainty took hold, a sudden, violent shiver dispelled it. Liam took her hand and caressed it, and he was warm and vital and full of concern.
‘You’re cold,’ he said gently, ‘and I think we should go...’
She had to return to the flat for her uniform, and as she came up the stairs she was astonished to see the door standing open and her father’s servant coming out with what looked like an empty trunk. Too astonished to speak, she simply nodded and gave a feeble smile as he passed and said her father was inside.
Pausing, she had a frantic moment. Imagining the scene had she been in bed with Liam when her father made his unannounced arrival, her breath caught, then she wondered whether the place was truly tidy, whether Liam had left anything behind to raise awkward questions. Still puzzled by the fact that her father was back today, instead of next Monday, as yesterday’s letter had indicated, she stepped across the threshold.
They both uttered their surprise together, but neither laughed. After a brief embrace, Robert commented again on her arrival at such a time, and Georgina was forced to give a somewhat convoluted account of her day, including the fact that she had been to Wandsworth to see Liam.
‘And how is he?’
With the uneasy feeling that her father could see right through her, she tried to appear nonchalant. ‘Well, he seems quite well, but I suppose the doctor must think otherwise, or he wouldn’t still be there.’
‘And what about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you home for the night, or going back to the hospital?’
Because she was rostered for an early duty the following morning, she had intended to return that evening; but something about her father’s eyes – something in his whole demeanour — prompted her to say that she could stay if he wanted her to do so.
His glance, as it rested on her, softened into gratitude. ‘Yes, Georgie, I’d like you to stay.’ He pressed her arm, became suddenly brisk, pouring drinks for the two of them even while she removed her coat and hat and went into her bedroom to check swiftly that all was well. An empty match-box in the waste-paper basket seemed the most damning evidence and she snatched at it, thrusting it deep into her pocket. Nothing else was out of place.
Accepting a glass of sherry, Georgina took a seat beside the freshly lit fire; when Robert’s servant had left them, she said: ‘And what brings you home so early, Daddy? Your letter said Monday.’
She was part prepared for something unpleasant, but oddly enough, she never thought of Robin. When her father said that he had been injured, it was a great shock.
‘How? I mean, how badly is he injured?’
‘Leg wound – I don’t know any more than that.’ Robert sank most of his brandy in one gulp, splashed some more into the glass and came to stand before the fire. ‘Some bloody place on the Somme – I forget the name of it. A raid on enemy lines, apparently — company commander bought it, with another officer and a couple of men.’
‘Including Robin.’ She
felt sick, thinking of the mud, already notorious on the battlefields, all that ghastliness infecting an open wound. Much would depend on how rapidly he had received attention, how close they were to a field hospital. Even so, he would be lucky to escape without the complications of gangrene. Too familiar with the results of that, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘When did you find out? Where is he?’
‘Still in Boulogne, I think, and I gather he’ll be there for a while. I imagine they’ll send him to one of the Yorkshire hospitals, but I don’t know. I’ll try to establish what’s happening, tomorrow. I got the message yesterday morning, and managed to get a letter off to Louisa straight away – then sent most of the day trying to organize my affairs so that I could come home. However, I’d planned to take Letty down to White Leigh on Friday...’ His voice tailed away, his eyes staring, unfocused, on the fire.
‘How is she?’
‘Oh, you know – arthritis playing her up again, but otherwise all right. William seems set on drinking himself to death, though – and God knows what’s happening to the estate. That’s why I wanted to go down. But he’s lost interest, Georgie, lost interest completely. And as for Dublin...’ On a great sigh of weariness and despair, he lowered himself into the chair facing her.
Looking at him, at his hair which was now almost white, and the deep lines of sadness in his face, she was struck by sudden guilt. Since Liam’s return, she had given Ireland barely a passing thought. With a sigh to match his, she said, ‘I am sorry – it’s all such a terrible mess, isn’t it? Everywhere you look. What’s happening to the world, I often wonder...’
Robert shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Georgie, and that’s the truth. I can’t see any hope at all – that’s the tragedy. As you say, Ireland’s in a shocking mess and I can’t see it getting better – and the world’s in a worse state, but what can any of us do? We’re just a bunch of old men,’ he rumbled grimly, ‘trying to rein in a team that’s bolted. We’re old and feeble, and all the young men – all the ones who might have saved us – they’re all dying. Every last, decent one...’
He was bitter and despairing, and it showed in his face. Hurt by her father’s pain, unable to offer any consolation, Georgina looked away.
For a while they both stared into the fire, occupied by miseries collective and individual. She was thinking about Robin when her father expressed the dismal hope that the injury might act as a catalyst.
‘How do you mean, catalyst? I don’t understand.’
He sighed. ‘I mean that I hope it will act on this ridiculous situation – drag Liam out of his self-imposed exile, put him on better terms with his mother.’
That stabbed to the heart. For a moment Georgina sat very still, torn between two very distinct loyalties. The matter of Liam and his mother had weighed on Robert for years, and Georgina had promised – an age ago, it seemed – to act as conciliator. Although she had done little to persuade Liam, if her father were looking for catalysts, then he need search no more.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any further with him, have you?’
The choice of phrase, she felt, was unfortunate. While she bit her lip, wondering what to tell him and how to explain it, the heat of guilt grew in her breast and spread to her face.
On a deep breath, struggling for equanimity, she said: ‘I think I told you in the beginning that it would be a long process, and that you’d have to be patient – but yes, I think the message has finally gone home.’
Robert stared at her, his blue eyes suddenly bright and full of wondering hope. ‘Good God Almighty,’ he murmured, ‘how on earth did you manage that?’
That too was a phrase that jarred; and tiredness made her sharper than she intended. ‘I didn’t manage anything,’ she retorted. ‘I told you he would come to it in his own good time – and that’s more or less what happened.’
Irritated by her father’s scrutiny, she went to pour them both another drink.
‘Well? Aren’t you going to expand? I’d like to know what he said!’
‘At the time,’ she declared crisply, ‘he didn’t say very much at all.’ Needing to think, playing for time, she handed Robert his glass and took hers over to the window. It was dark outside, and for a minute she watched the feeble lights of passing traffic, wondering how much she should tell him, balancing loyalty to Liam against her father’s need, which at the moment was great.
‘He brought me home one afternoon last week — my last day off. We’d been up to town and I was tired – not feeling very well. So he brought me home in a taxi and came up with me to make sure that I was all right.’ She frowned and rubbed her forehead. ‘It was as he was leaving – your bedroom door was standing open, and he saw that portrait of Louisa by your bed. He went in to look at it – I didn’t try to stop him – and he saw the other photographs, too. He seemed most upset.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know – it’s difficult to explain. It just seemed to bring things home to him, that’s all. We didn’t talk about it then. Today, when I saw him, I had the impression he was viewing things differently.’
Turning, looking back at her father, Georgina said: ‘He had already come round to the idea of seeing his mother again, and was talking about the possibility of getting some leave — although that still seems doubtful. But you see, what he couldn’t accept – what he didn’t want to accept – was the fact that you were his father. He has accepted that now. I don’t know what he thought before, but until he saw that photograph beside your bed, I don’t think he ever understood how much you loved Louisa...’
Robert glanced away, cleared his throat, made quite a play of searching for his cigars. A moment later, from behind a fragrant cloud of blue smoke, he said huskily: ‘I’d dearly love to see the boy. All these years, Georgie, and we’ve never had the chance to talk...
‘Do you think we might get together?’ he asked, his uncertainty catching at her heart. ‘Do you think he would agree?’
In that moment, she had a sense of something being over. Those precious weeks, which circumstance had decreed should be theirs alone, would never be repeated. The demands of family, halted until now, were about to press forward over Liam’s horizon. If only for Robin’s sake, he would allow himself to be drawn back into the family circle, which of late appeared to include her father; and she, Georgina, would have to relinquish him.
Shaking her head, blinking away tears, she said with difficulty: ‘I never asked him that. But I’m sure you’ll see him sooner or later. It’s inevitable, really...’
Twenty-seven
Liam was in the library the next morning, not reading, but gazing absent-mindedly from the window and thinking about Georgina, when a messenger came looking for him.
‘For God’s sake smarten yourself up,’ he hissed, ‘you’ve got a visitor – a full bloody colonel from the War Office. What the hell have you been up to?’
He felt the blood rush hot into his face and then drain slowly, leaving a clammy chill in its wake. For several seconds, while his mind worked overtime, calculating and discarding facts and suppositions, he could not move. His companion from the ward nudged him, none too gently, and thrust a comb into his hand.
‘Here – rake that thatch of yours. And do up a few bloody buttons!’ He twitched at Liam’s jacket, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he was following me down the stairs...’
An icy calm settled over Liam. The Colonel was supposed to be in Ireland, and whatever had brought him back and prompted this visit, it was hardly likely to be good news. And he had seen Georgina yesterday – thank God, not at the flat, but still...
Feeling like a man awaiting execution, he smoothed his hair, straightened his tie and slowly fastened his jacket. Vaguely aware of other men in the room, browsing along shelves, quietly reading, Liam took comfort in the thought that he could hardly be hauled over the coals in here; if the Colonel wanted to reduce him to the level of a naughty child, he would have to choose a different venue.
It was a strange feeling. There was apprehension and a certain amount of dread, an involuntary knotting in the pit of his stomach, residue of the hate with which he had lived for so long; but there was, too, a sense of recognition. The last few days had opened Liam to so much, and he was aware now of things in himself that had their origins with this man and no other. It was fleeting, but it quelled the antagonism, leaving part of his mind free to register other things.
The past three years had left their mark. Robert Duncannon looked very different from the man Liam recalled. Hair that had been iron grey was now turned to silver, and he was noticeably thinner. But if the uniform and that loss of weight made him seem taller, it also struck Liam that he had lost his air of invincibility. Despite the marks of rank, he was a man like any other, not an ogre, not an enemy, but a human being as fallible as himself.
From his position against the window, Liam watched him stand for a moment, scanning every face; then he turned and their eyes met. Almost against himself, Liam came to attention, as did the man at his side; but then a slight smile softened those stern features, and the Colonel approached to extend a hand in friendly greeting.
‘Liam – how are you? It’s been a long time.’
As they shook hands, from a corner of his eye Liam was aware of a startled glance before his companion ducked away. Robert Duncannon seemed not to notice, but continued to clasp his son’s hand for a long moment. Had his life depended on it, Liam could not have spoken, and, like any good soldier, left it to his senior officer to suggest that they sit down and talk.
Even in those first seconds, although there was tension between them, it was apparent that there was no antagonism on his father’s side, and with Georgina at the forefront of his mind, Liam released a slow breath of relief. For a while, too, it seemed the visit was no more than a social one, an impulse long delayed by circumstance and pressure of work. It was almost credible. They talked of this and that, the weather, the war, Liam’s state of health, nurses in general and Georgina’s working hours in particular. As the coiled spring in Liam unwound, and he began to respond more naturally, his father gradually brought the conversation round to family and the real reason for his visit.
Liam's Story Page 49