Camomile Lawn

by Mary Wesley

  ‘How prickly you are.’

  ‘Am I still to get my comforts?’

  ‘Oh, that!’

  ‘I may claim them soon. I am hoping to get to Finland.’

  ‘Hector says that’s all collapsing.’

  ‘There will be other campaigns.’

  ‘I wish you joy of them—’ She looked at him with fear.

  ‘Well, you’ve got what you wanted.’ Oliver made no effort to lower his voice. He turned away, caught Walter by the arm, ‘Come on, old sod, let’s go and get drunk.’

  Hector raised eyebrows, murmuring, ‘He seems half-way to his goal,’ and, holding Calypso’s arm, steered her away. ‘Come and meet some of my friends from the House. Then we must go, if we are to catch our train.’

  ‘Even you were young once,’ Calypso said brightly, thus setting the tone of their future relations. ‘I’ll keep my word if you’ll keep yours,’ she whispered up at his darkening face.

  ‘How fond she is of him.’ The wife of a junior minister tried to open a conversation with Helena, who was watching.

  ‘Fond? Oh yes, fond.’ Helena, who had drunk more champagne than she should, let the conversation abort.

  Later that evening Polly steered the twins to the York Minster in Soho, where they found Oliver and Walter sunk in alcoholic gloom, and amazed them by leading them on to the Gargoyle, a haunt Oliver had heard of but never visited, where Polly appeared to be quite well known. Amused by their dazed expressions she said: ‘I have not been letting the grass grow. I work for half the literati in London in my dump.’ Oliver grew sober as she pointed out Cyril Connolly, Philip Toynbee, Erica Mann, Robert Newton, Brian Howard and various other figures of the older generation.

  ‘My bosses know them, I don’t,’ she tried to console Oliver. ‘When’s your train?’

  ‘Midnight, Paddington.’

  ‘Walter, too. We’ll put you on it. The twins are staying until tomorrow.’

  ‘She’s quite a girl, your sister,’ Oliver gasped when he and Walter had struggled on to the train, pushing their way into an overcrowded carriage.

  ‘Not stupid,’ agreed Walter.

  ‘Very pretty, really—pity old Sophy couldn’t make it.’

  ‘That’s the most uncomfortable wedding I’ve ever been to.’ Sarah climbed into bed with George that night. ‘I’ve never seen so many unhappy faces. Oh, my poor Oliver.’

  ‘Lucky escape, if you ask me.’

  ‘Perhaps. I wonder what’s going on in the night train to Inverness.’

  ‘Night of the long knives, by the bride’s looks.’

  But George was wrong. Hector had whisked Calypso off to the Savoy, where her joy at finding a telephone by the lavatory seat had set the tone for an enjoyable wedding night.

  ‘I did appreciate that,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t tell you how I was dreading it.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ Hector was pleased. ‘Would you like some oysters?’

  ‘In the middle of the night?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Build up our strength for your Highlands? I’m dreading them, too.’

  ‘Wait till you see them.’

  ‘All right, I will. They’d better be good.’

  ‘You are driving too fast again.’ Helena, sitting ancient in the bucket seat, turned her head to look at Hamish, watching his mouth tighten with annoyance as he obediently reduced speed. ‘You are very like your mother.’

  ‘Oh, am I? I’m glad to hear it. I thought I took after my father.’

  ‘You do, but you often have your mother’s expression.’ Helena undid her safety belt, letting it wind back, to Hamish’s alarm.

  ‘You really should wear that belt, Great-aunt. She must have been very beautiful.’

  ‘Not if you drive at a reasonable speed. Of course she was beautiful. She still is. Much improved since her stroke.’

  ‘What could you mean?’

  ‘Calypso’s face was too regular, both sides were the same. Since her stroke she looks human, lopsided. I don’t suppose it’s changed her character.’

  ‘She seems to have made a good recovery except for her face. She drags a foot sometimes. How well did you know her when she was young?’

  ‘My dear, I was just an onlooker. She and the others came every summer. All the men were in love with her; she took it as a matter of course, as far as one could see.’

  ‘How far was that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Helena turned to watch the landscape flashing past. ‘She never made any bones about what she wanted.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She got it, too. Money, a good time, nice houses, clothes, jewels, yes, she got what she wanted.’

  ‘Did she want me?’

  ‘Of course she did.’ In her eighties Helena’s voice was better than it had been in her forties. ‘Of course she wanted you,’ she repeated. Was he not part of the bargain? ‘I don’t believe she wanted more than you. She had a bad time when you were born.’

  ‘So she always says.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t your fault, my dear. She would insist on staying in London. Air raids and childbirth are not compatible, but you don’t want to hear about the war.’

  ‘Why did she have me in London?’

  ‘She loathed Scotland, that was a flaw in her marriage. Your father wanted her to have you in Edinburgh.’

  ‘He adored Scotland. I do, too.’

  ‘He took her up there on their honeymoon. She found it cold. How she complained when she got back! The train got stuck in a snowdrift.’

  ‘I expect they had a sleeper.’ Hamish tried to visualize Calypso young and beautiful in a sleeper with his father. ‘I suppose they had sleepers in the war?’

  ‘Oh yes. Paddington to Penzance. Euston to Inverness. We had them when we could get them. Your father, being an M.P., had priority.’

  ‘My mother must have liked that.’ Hamish drove faster.

  Helena resigned herself, closing her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it made up for the cold.’

  ‘So you don’t think I was conceived in a sleeping car?’

  ‘Not until much later, my dear. At this speed we shall arrive early.’

  ‘We can have a drink or two.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I don’t take after my father in that.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you did.’

  ‘Do you think he got drunk in the sleeper?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Helena, who had often wondered the same thing.

  Ten

  GETTING NO NEARER FINLAND than a brief interview in London, Oliver went to his parents’ house for a bath. The house was empty; in the bitter cold the water either turned off or frozen. After wandering round the empty rooms he telephoned Calypso, writing her name in the dust as he waited.

  ‘I am in London for the night. Any chance of seeing you?’

  ‘We are going out, you just caught us. Hector’s already on the doorstep, we are due at a party.’ She sounded breathless.

  ‘Can’t I come too?’

  ‘It’s not your sort of party, so sorry. Another time give us some notice. There are so many parties. London’s great fun.’

  ‘My camp isn’t.’

  ‘I suppose not. Why don’t you try Polly? Coming, Hector, coming.’ She rang off.

  Oliver walked through the snow to Polly’s and rang the bell, stamping his feet in their heavy boots.

  The door flew open.

  ‘Oliver!’

  ‘Sophy, what are you doing here? I thought you were at school.’

  ‘I’ve got a week off because I’ve had German measles. Polly’s out with the twins. Come in, don’t let the ice indoors.’

  ‘You’ve grown. D’you think I could have a bath?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Anything to drink?’

  ‘There’s some gin in the kitchen. I was just going to have my supper. The twins are up for the night.’

  ‘I’ll take you out to supper when I’ve ha
d a bath.’ The child looked peaky. Helping himself to gin, Oliver tried to remember what his mother had told him. Something had happened to Sophy. What?

  ‘Any news of the Erstweilers?’

  ‘Uncle Richard is trying to get them out. I had a letter from Monika. It was censored. Isn’t it stupid?’ Sophy flushed.

  ‘The whole bloody war is stupid.’ Oliver swallowed his gin. ‘Boring, too. Polly shouldn’t leave you alone in the house, there might be an air raid.’

  ‘I’m all right. I’m used to being alone. There have been no raids.’

  ‘There will be.’ Oliver had a bath and emerged feeling better.

  ‘Where shall we have dinner?’ The child looked a waif with her black silky hair unbecomingly cut, eyes wary.

  ‘Anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the Savoy. I’d like a good dinner.’

  ‘I’ve never been anywhere in London.’

  He took her to the Savoy. ‘My father used to give me lunch here at half term. Why didn’t you go back to Cornwall?’

  ‘Aunt Helena said it was too far for such a short time.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Not really.’ Sophy looked evasive.

  ‘Do you like school?’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Not like Cornwall?’

  ‘Not a bit. What’s it like being a soldier?’

  Oliver tried to tell her, watching her eat, gradually relax after drinking a glass of wine.

  ‘You weren’t at Calypso’s wedding.’

  ‘Aunt Helena didn’t want me to miss school.’

  ‘I see. Going back to Cornwall for the holidays?’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps Uncle Richard will have got the Erstweilers out by then. She said they are hoping in their letter.’

  Oliver refilled her glass. ‘Drink up.’

  ‘Won’t I get tipsy?’

  ‘I’ll look after you.’

  Sophy drank. ‘I don’t like it much but it makes me feel warm.’ She pressed her flat chest then, leaning towards Oliver, she whispered: ‘I ran the Terror Run.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s wired off now but I ran it the day before they put the wire along it to prevent the Germans invading.’

  ‘Oh, the Terror Run. I’d forgotten. Seems a long time ago. What was the other thing going to be? Something idiotic. We drew lots, a killing, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘but you cancelled it.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Sophy? You look funny. Seen something in the woodshed? Did the Terror Run frighten you?’

  ‘Fear lent me wings. I met, I mean I saw, I—’ Sophy stared at Oliver, who stared back, thinking, She’s going to be lovely one day with those eyes. What did she see that day? ‘Yes?’ he said.

  Sophy drew a deep breath. ‘I met the Rector, he was very kind and took me home.’ She rearranged the knife and fork by her plate. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, looking across the restaurant. ‘There’s Calypso.’

  There indeed was Calypso, dining with a man in naval uniform, not Hector. By the look of their table, they had reached the brandy stage. They had been there some time.

  ‘Bloody, bloody bitch—“London’s great fun”. How long have you known she was there, Sophy?’

  ‘I saw her when we came in. I’m not a bloody bitch.’

  ‘I meant Calypso, not you. Waiter, my bill, please.’ She did see something in the woodshed and she’s not going to tell me, Oliver thought as, choked with jealousy of the unknown naval man, he paid his bill and led Sophy out past Calypso who, deep in talk, had not seen them. ‘Comforts for you, old chap?’ He addressed the stranger, who looked startled, as he pushed Sophy on ahead. Calypso laughed. In the Strand the cold bit deep. Oliver took Sophy by the hand. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

  All her life whenever there was a full moon Sophy remembered walking the empty streets, her hand in Oliver’s greatcoat pocket, their feet crunching the snow, a full moon casting black shadows from tall buildings, the frozen air painful to breathe, walking in silence all the way to St Paul’s, where they stood looking up at the dome and listened to the starlings fighting for roosting places on the cathedral, whistling, high-pitched, aggressive.

  How long had they stood there? Long enough for Oliver to regain his composure, long enough for Sophy to get thoroughly chilled, long enough for a solitary policeman to get interested and pace slowly towards them.

  ‘Monika said the police were not the Gestapo when they came to fetch Max and her. I hope they get out soon.’ She shivered in the snow.

  ‘Sophy, you are freezing, why didn’t you say.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Her hand at least had been warm, held in his pocket. That, too, she would remember.

  ‘The Erstweilers will be released. Come on, I must get you back to Polly. We never left a note, she will think you have vanished.’

  ‘She’s out with David and Paul.’

  ‘They may be back by now.’ In later years Oliver was to wonder why the whistle of starlings always gave him a sensation of sexual jealousy. He quite forgot St Paul’s by the light of the moon before the bombing.

  The twins and Polly had been dining more modestly at the Royal Court. Polly had pointed out Augustus John at the bar. They looked older, more confident, more alike than ever in uniform. Oliver wondered whether he had chosen the wrong service.

  ‘How’s it going, Oliver?’ Polly, too, had aged. Her face had thinned so that her eyes seemed larger, her lashes longer, mouth wider.

  ‘It’s going nowhere. I’ve been trying to get in on the Finnish war but they say it’s nearly over. I’m bloody bored and cold in my camp. You look fine.’

  ‘I’m busy. I think I’m doing something useful.’

  ‘Secret?’

  ‘Not so that you’d notice. Well, it is really.’

  The twins laughed, watching her.

  ‘We saw Calypso,’ said Oliver to test them.

  ‘We’ve rather gone off her.’ David glanced at his brother for confirmation. ‘She’s become grand and social, not too keen on old friends—has other fish to fry.’

  ‘She was dining with one tonight.’ Oliver was still angry. ‘She said she was going out with Hector when I telephoned.’

  ‘He’s in the House most nights, she can’t be expected to sit at home alone.’ Polly came to Calypso’s defence.

  ‘No need for her to lie.’

  ‘Well, that’s Calypso. She will be free another time. Try again, you may have better luck.’

  ‘She’s no Penelope.’ David exchanged a glance with Polly. ‘We went to her house last time we were up. Have you been there?’

  ‘No.’ Oliver noticed the change in the twins’ attitude. ‘You two used to sit there drooling. She loved it.’

  ‘You did too. She liked you better than us.’

  ‘Or Walter,’ Polly remarked. Then, noticing Oliver’s expression: ‘She’s married, got money, a lovely house, she entertains, is the wife of Hector Grant, she isn’t one of us any more.’

  ‘Is she happy?’

  ‘I think so. Next time you get leave give her notice. The twins did.’

  ‘How did you get on?’ Oliver looked from Paul to David. ‘Was she glad to see you?’

  ‘I suspect she prefers officers.’ David was ironic.

  ‘You’ll get commissions. Tell me about yourselves.’ Oliver suddenly wanted to drop the subject. ‘Where are you stationed? What are you doing?’

  ‘We are near Cambridge at the moment. We are escorting Sophy back to school tomorrow. We tried to get into bombers but they are training us for fighters. We could have been together in bombers, we thought in our innocence.’

  ‘How long before you are trained?’

  ‘Another month, less.’

  ‘And I am kicking my heels square bashing. God!’

  ‘Walter’s full of grumbles, too. They won’t have him in submarines. He says the Navy are sadists, that he’ll spend the war being sick.’ Polly yawned. ‘I’ve got to work t
omorrow. I’m off to bed. If I’m gone in the morning before you wake don’t worry, come again whenever you like. There’s plenty of room. I’m in Mum and Dad’s room, the twins have got the spare room, you can have Walter’s. Sophy’s in mine. Goodnight.’

  Oliver looked after her. ‘It’s not only Calypso who’s changed.’

  ‘We all have,’ the twins said. ‘Who would have thought a year ago we’d all be sitting round a kitchen table in fancy dress, the camomile lawn days over?’

  ‘You know I still can’t tell you two apart, can you, Sophy?’

  ‘No.’ Sophy grinned. ‘Nor can Polly.’

  ‘Nor the R.A.F. It’s like school. Perhaps the war will make some distinction.’

  Sophy looked at the twins across the table, troubled. ‘Wound.’ She spoke in her clear voice. ‘Or kill.’

  The twins looked at her. ‘You never know,’ they cried cheerfully. ‘Anything left to drink?’

  ‘There’s someone at the front door.’ Oliver stood up. ‘Who, at this hour?’

  ‘Go and see. Don’t wake Polly, she really works very hard.’

  Oliver opened the front door, peering out. ‘Good Lord, Uncle Richard! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for shelter.’ Richard limped indoors. ‘Got lost in the bloody blackout, difficult to see the numbers, what do they want a blackout for with a full moon, I ask you?’

  Oliver shut the door. ‘We are in the kitchen. Polly’s gone to bed.’

  ‘Went to your house, found it shut up, nobody there. What happened to your maid?’

  ‘Joined the Wrens.’

  ‘Women in uniform, I ask you.’

  ‘Lots are. Why are you here, Uncle? Come down and have a drink or something. The twins are here and Sophy.’

  ‘What’s she doing here? Run away from school? No, don’t tell me, half term.’

  ‘German measles, actually.’ Oliver led his uncle down to the kitchen. The twins stood up politely.

  ‘Hullo, hullo, not conchies, then? Nice to see you. What’s this about measles?’

  ‘German.’ Sophy pecked his cheek. ‘Why are you in London? Aunt Helena never said—’

  ‘Germans, child. Well, they say they are Austrian but it’s all the same thing. Enemy aliens, I ask you, it’s ridiculous. Quiet respectable violinist, law-abiding. I told them. Cut your bloody red tape, I said, and let them out, costing the taxpayer a packet. The Rector and I will take care of them. What’s this? Gin? Oh, all right, if it’s all you’ve got. Been at the Home Office all the afternoon, absolutely bloody people, positive Huns in their methods, wound in red tape, can’t tell a simple violinist who can play the organ and wouldn’t hurt a fly—they’ve called up Tompkins, by the way, so we need him—from an enemy agent. Any more gin? Thanks. Not taking your last, I hope? Well, I got nowhere at the Home Office, didn’t do my leg any good, they passed me from one buffoon to another. Why aren’t they in the forces, I asked them. They didn’t like that, I can tell you. Go and lose a leg as I did, I told them. In the last war we didn’t sit on our bums in the Home Office, we fought. I saw six of the buggers. I ask you. Got nowhere, absolutely bloody nowhere. What are you all laughing at?’