The English Heart

by Helena Halme

  At home in the empty flat Kaisa felt inexplicably lonely. Her heart was still pounding when she got undressed and climbed into bed. Suddenly she jumped up and went to put the chain across the front door. For a moment Kaisa listened for steps outside. It was dead quiet. She got back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. The streetlight shone through the venetian blinds and formed a familiar zigzag pattern on the walls of her bedroom. What had she done? She’d given a man – a foreigner – her telephone number and she’d let him kiss her. Now sober, Kaisa knew she wouldn’t be able to see him again. What she’d done was bad enough already. Not only had she let him think she was free, she’d also betrayed her fiancé. A cold shiver went through her body when she thought what Matti’s mother would say if she knew.

  Peter had hardly slept. The divers hadn’t finished searching under the hull of the ship until the early hours of the morning. The excitement had made him sober up pretty quickly after the party at the British Embassy. Perhaps the Duty Officer had been a little jumpy calling them back when it was probably only seagulls fighting over pieces of bread in the water. But, as the Captain had told them, any suspicious activity was to be taken very seriously during this visit. By all accounts, the Russians had a more or less free hand in Helsinki, so who knew what they might try. Peter knew he shouldn’t have had so much to drink on the first night ashore, but what could you do when you were required to attend three cocktail parties in one evening?

  He stretched his legs over the narrow bunk and smiled; someone had to do it. Who’d have thought the cuts in the Navy’s budget would have such an effect on his personal life. The first visit to Finland by the Royal Navy since the Cold War started was supposed to include three ships, but in the event only Peter’s had been sent to this small country bordering the Soviet Union. It was pathetic – and embarrassing. I bet the Russians are laughing into their samovars this morning, Peter thought. All the same, this was the closest to visiting a country behind the Iron Curtain Peter would ever get, so he was planning to make the most of it. It wasn’t that he’d not taken heed of the Captain’s talk about honey traps, but Peter believed in the old proverb, you only live once. This was the most exciting trip of his naval career so far and he was sure he’d spot a KGB agent a mile off, however beautiful she was. And he could keep his mouth shut, he was sure of that too.

  Last night Peter almost wished the Russians had planted something – one of those mini-subs they kept hearing about – under HMS Newcastle. He could see the newspaper headlines, ‘Brave Royal Navy officer Peter Williams discovers Soviet mini-sub in the Baltic’ with a picture of himself from his early Dartmouth days. Of course, it would not have been him – as a sub-lieutenant, he was one of the lowest ranking officers on board. He’d only left Dartmouth a few weeks ago, after all. And he wasn’t even a diver. But the image of him as a hero was irresistible. Something like that would have impressed the girl last night. He got up swiftly and found his mess undress jacket. The napkin was still there in the pocket, with the telephone number scrawled on it. Still legible – just. He took a long, deep drag on his cigarette and blew smoke to the side, away from his bunk.

  At noon Peter thought it would be a good time to call the girl. He had nearly an hour until he was on duty again. He walked along the gangway to the wardroom.

  ‘It’s the lover boy!’ The older officer grinned. Collins was only jealous; his a wife looked like a bulldog chewing a thistle. But Peter liked the guy – although not his wife who, at the last cocktail party in Portsmouth, had tried to flirt with him. He grinned at the lieutenant and lifted the receiver. He felt a pleasant twinge in his groin when he heard the phone ringing at the other end. She’d really been quite lovely. He thought back to the night before and knew she’d been smitten by him too. The phone kept ringing at the other end.

  ‘Your bit of foreign fluff not at home?’ Collins said.

  He dialled again, making sure he got each digit right, and pulling the long cord with him took a step out of the mess and out of earshot of the older man. He tried the number four times, but there was no answer. He was standing in the gangway, and was about to dial again, when Collins passed him a second time and gave him a knowing look. It seemed everyone on board was talking about him and the pretty Finnish girl. There was nothing for it – he’d try ringing again after his four-hour watch on the quarterdeck.

  Three

  Two days after the embassy party was a cold autumn day. The single tree outside Kaisa’s block of flats had long since lost its leaves – it stood there, desolate, trying to survive the stormy winds from the Baltic that beat its tender trunk. She sighed as she watched its struggle from the narrow window of her kitchenette.

  Living alone in a flat in Helsinki had seemed glamorous a year ago. Now the beige walls of the one-bedroomed place in Lauttasaari seemed restricting. The flat, which belonged to her boyfriend’s family, wasn’t even in Helsinki proper. There was a bus service but it took almost an hour to reach the city centre. While Tuuli could walk to Hanken, she was forced to memorise bus schedules and carefully plan her trips into the city. She was always late for lectures.

  When the phone rang she jumped.

  ‘Hello?’

  Kaisa heard the familiar voice at the other end of the line and sat down on a kitchen chair she’d placed next to the hall table. ‘No Matti, I’m not feeling any better.’

  She took the receiver away from her ear and looked at her reflection in the mirror above the table. Was this the face of a cheat? She listened to her boyfriend talk about the British ship he could see from his office window. Matti worked as a customs officer at the South Harbour. Kaisa tried to sound nonchalant. ‘You can see the English people coming and going?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, their uniforms are very smart.’

  Kaisa’s mouth felt dry. She couldn’t speak. The thought of Matti looking at the deck of the British ship and possibly seeing Peter walk along it made her feel dizzy.

  ‘You still there?’ Matti said. She could hear the irritation in his voice.

  ‘Englishmen are boring,’ Kaisa had told Matti when he’d called her the fourth time on the eve of the party. She knew he was desperately jealous of her and would have forbidden her to go if he’d been able to. Now she almost laughed at her own words to her boyfriend. Oh, what a mess she’d got herself into. Perhaps Matti had been right, perhaps she should never have gone to the embassy party.

  ‘Yes, I’m here,’ Kaisa said. It took her over ten minutes to convince him that she was still ill. Matti had phoned twice the day before, and she’d had to put on a throaty voice to stop him from coming over. Kaisa just couldn’t see him, not yet. She felt bad because she’d never lied to Matti like this before.

  When he finally let her go, and she’d replaced the avocado coloured receiver, Kaisa realised the embassy party had been the first time she’d been out without her fiancé since they got engaged. And that hadn’t really been going out either – not in the way her friend from university would call going out. When Kaisa first met Tuuli, on the first day of term in the autumn of last year, her friend had been surprised to see the ring on the finger of her left hand.

  ‘But you’re the same age as me!’ Tuuli had said. Of course, Kaisa was fairly used to that kind of reaction – not many girls got engaged at the age of sixteen – so she just laughed.

  Now sitting in the hall, next to the silent telephone, Kaisa looked at the invitation from the British Embassy. She traced the gold lettering with her fingertips and turned it over and gazed at the smudged lipstick on the back. His name and address. For two days Kaisa had sat in her flat waiting for the Englishman’s phone call. Like a fool, she’d made only short calls to her friend and tried to get her boyfriend off the line as quickly as possible. She was supposed to be studying before her university lectures restarted on Monday, but all she could think about was Peter. Kaisa was furious with herself. Matti had been right; she should never have agreed to go to the cocktail party. Luckily he didn’t know what
a fool she’d been, so completely taken in by a foreign sailor. Thank goodness all he’d got out of her was a quick, stolen kiss.

  She dialled Tuuli’s number.

  ‘No call?’

  Kaisa tried to listen to the tone of her friend’s voice. Was Tuuli getting bored with her talking about Peter?

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Forget about the Englishman. It was a bit of fun, that’s all.’

  Of course, Tuuli was right. Kaisa changed the subject. ‘Are you going to see your guy again?’ Her Finnish sailor had gone back to his barracks at Santahamina, a few miles down the coast of the Gulf of Bothnia.

  ‘I don’t know. He was a bit too – correct. You know what I mean?’

  Kaisa said she did, but didn’t really understand. Matti, her fiancé, was very ‘correct’. Peter wasn’t at all like that, although he was serving in the armed forces. He didn’t seem to take anything seriously, he was always laughing. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t called; perhaps Kaisa was a great big joke too? Or was it some kind of a game? Was he one of those boys who liked to conquer and then chuck you as soon as they’ve won you over? But they hadn’t done anything; all he’d had was a hasty kiss. It didn’t matter now, Kaisa told herself. Why was she here waiting for a call from some foreign stranger when she was engaged to be married anyway? It wasn’t right. That was another thing: sooner or later she’d have to come clean to her boyfriend. First she needed to get over her own embarrassment. Matti’s questions about the party, the embassy, the foreign officers, the food and the drink could wait.

  ‘You must have it bad, old chap,’ Collins slapped Peter on the shoulder as he passed. He’d lost count of how many times over the last two days he’d tried to dial the number the girl had given him. He’d called it all day yesterday and now on a Saturday it still kept ringing and ringing at the other end. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea!’ Collins shouted and, turning around, cupped his pretend breasts and pursed his lips in a mock kiss. There was dirty laughter all around him. Peter wanted to tell him to ‘Fuck off!’ but he was senior to him, so he just laughed half-heartedly. After about ten rings he replaced the receiver on the wall and sat down on an empty sofa in the officers’ mess. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. A young steward was clearing away the tea dishes from a table littered with half-filled cups of milky tea and cake crumbs. Peter gazed at the paper napkin under the table, trying to see if he’d missed something in the numbers.

  ‘Still no answer?’ Nick, the other sub-lieutenant onboard, was sitting opposite him, reading a magazine. Peter and Nick had graduated from Dartmouth at the same time, but it was really only during the last few weeks on the ship that they’d become firm friends. Peter waited until the steward, balancing a tray full of cups and saucers, left them.

  ‘I don’t get it – why would she give me a wrong number?’

  ‘To shut you up?’ Nick grinned at him.

  Peter didn’t look at his friend. He sighed and, leaning back against the hard edge of the wardroom sofa, flicked the now tattered piece of napkin onto the table. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and lit one. Blowing the smoke upwards, he wondered why he was so keen to get in touch with this girl anyway. They were going to sail tomorrow, so there’d be no time to really get to know her, to have her. Still, there was something about her, something different. The way she reacted when he touched her. The hidden passion under that cool exterior. He wanted to know how she looked with the dress pulled down her shoulders, onto her waist. She’d worn no bra and he’d clearly seen the outline of her breasts. God, he mustn’t think about it now. He looked over to his friend, who was studying the napkin.

  Nick turned it this way and that. ‘That last number – is it a seven?’

  Peter nodded; he could recount the number by heart now, ‘245 527’.

  ‘Have you tried it as a one? You know, Europeans put that little slash across a seven and this hasn’t got one, so…’

  Kaisa decided to make some bread rolls. She looked out of the window of her kitchenette. It was snowing; first fall of the year. Light flecks dropped slowly to the asphalt below and melted as they landed. She turned away from the cold scene and started mixing flour with water and yeast. The loud ringing of the phone filled the flat with its urgency. Not Matti again, please, Kaisa prayed, and picked up the receiver with her floured hands.

  Peter sounded elated when he heard Kaisa’s voice.

  ‘You’re late,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Now there was a serious tinge to his tone.

  ‘Exactly 24 hours late.’ Kaisa was surprised by her own tone of voice; she hadn’t realised how angry she was.

  Peter started talking fast. Kaisa balanced the receiver between her neck and shoulder and listened. Even when he was being serious she could hear the smile in his voice. He’d rung the wrong number. The digit ‘one’ that she’d written in lipstick on his napkin looked like a seven, he explained. A mate had told him Europeans write numbers differently.

  ‘I see.’

  Could Kaisa believe this foreign sailor? Everyone knew foreigners, and sailors in particular, had loose morals. She thought about her fiancé. How could she tell Matti she’d met up with the Englishman twice? If they didn’t do anything and met up just as friends, was it still wrong? If she didn’t kiss him again, would that be alright? Kaisa knew Matti would be so angry; he might even leave her. Was she really prepared for that? Then there was the flat, owned by his aunt, not to mention Matti’s mother. How would she be able to face her?

  ‘Please, please come and meet me!’ Kaisa could hear Peter’s sincerity in his words. She closed her eyes and thought about the kiss.

  ‘But it’s impossible,’ she whispered. Kaisa sat down and held tightly onto the receiver now, not caring about the dough sticking to the plastic. She’d have to clean it up later; besides, what did it matter anyway?

  There was another short pause. Kaisa held her breath. Was he giving up on her?

  Peter looked along the gangway. Involuntarily he crossed his fingers and waited. He could hear her faint breathing down the line. ‘If I phone again in half an hour, you’ll think about it?’ he said.

  Four

  Peter was ten minutes late. Kaisa had been early as usual; she was a Finn, always on or before time for a rendezvous. But as soon as she saw him walking towards her, wearing a dark navy mac, she forgave him his lateness. He didn’t know Helsinki after all. His hair was darker than she remembered, as were his eyes. When he spotted her, he opened his arms, scooped Kaisa up inside his coat and quickly let go of her again. She looked around; it wasn’t something people in Finland did on the street, in public. Besides some of her boyfriend’s family might see her. Kaisa could just imagine what would happen if his aunt spotted her with a dark-haired man. The old bat would know he was foreign straightaway, with his features and the way he dressed; a summer mac in October! Luckily it was a cold, windy evening and very few people had braved the outdoors.

  ‘So,’ Peter said. They were standing opposite each other, ‘You’re here.’ His dark eyes were again boring into Kaisa.

  She looked down at her boots and said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad,’ he said and took her hand.

  They walked, arm in arm along the deserted North Esplanade. Their steps matched easily, it was as if they’d done this for years and years; sauntered together like this along the streets of Helsinki, looking into shop windows with their bright and inviting lights. But everywhere was shut; it was well past six o’clock. Kaisa suddenly realised she hadn’t given a thought to where they should go.

  As if he’d read her mind, Peter said, ‘Shall we go and have a drink?’

  Kaisa looked up at him.

  ‘A pub, perhaps?’ he said.

  She took him to the only place she knew none of her boyfriend’s family would go, Kaarle XII. ‘Kalle’, as the students called the place, was popular with young drinkers – there was a disco on Thursday nights, when it was difficult to ge
t in. Matti hated new music; he only liked the old-fashioned dances, such as tango, Finnish humppa or the waltz. Kaisa knew he’d never set foot in a bar like Kalle. For a Saturday night, it wasn’t too full; they found a table in the corner and Kaisa went to get two beers from the counter. When she handed the bottle and glass to Peter, he glanced behind him, where a group of guys were whistling and pointing in their direction.

  ‘Sailors from my ship,’ Peter said and poured beer into his glass. He laughed; it seemed to be another joke.

  Peter put his hand over Kaisa’s and smiled. She felt inexplicably happy; here she was sitting opposite a foreign sailor, a man she’d met only once before. He was good-looking – in an obvious way, which usually would make Kaisa mistrustful. Yet she didn’t want to shift her position even slightly in case he let go of her hand. She smiled at him and he pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  ‘I’m really happy you’re here.’

  The noise from the other tables and the music grew louder; they couldn’t hear each other. One of the sailors came over to the table and, looking at Kaisa, said, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to the lovely lady, Sir?’

  Kaisa couldn’t understand what Peter replied, but he finished his beer quickly and said, ‘Could we go somewhere else?’