The High Calling

by Gilbert, Morris

  He got out and walked around the car to open her door. Veronica stepped out, and he took her in his arms again. It was late and there was little chance that anyone would see, so she allowed it and kissed him fervently. Then she stepped back and said, “Good night, Charlie.”

  “We’ll talk about this again.”

  He got into his car then and drove off as Veronica entered the house. Neither of them had seen the man who had witnessed everything. The chauffeur, Joseph, had been coming in late from a date and had been on his way to his quarters when the car had pulled up. Moving into the shadows, he had watched the two as they talked and finally watched as they kissed. Then when they had embraced again just before the man left, Joseph noted the license number.

  He had never liked Veronica, but he was intensely loyal to the family—especially to Parker. He muttered a curse under his breath. “You ain’t a proper wife, you ain’t, and I’m gonna do somethin’ about it!”

  At once he turned and went to his room. He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote a note, being careful to write in plain block letters. He added the license plate of the car and then folded the sheet and put it in an envelope. He determined to get the note to Parker the following day.

  “That oughta fix her,” he muttered, a grim smile shaping his lips. He undressed and went to bed, and the last thing he thought of was how happy he would be if the sorry woman got her comeuppance.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I Shouldn’t Have Come Here”

  Kat stood holding the receiver of the telephone to her ear, pressing against it so hard that it hurt. The caller was Lord Braden, and she had been caught off-guard to hear his voice on the other end of the line. Even though she had spent some time with him and found him to be very easy to be around, the mere idea of speaking with a baron on the phone made her nervous.

  “As my wife mentioned the other day, Parker won’t be able to come,” he was saying, “but Paul and Heather have been asking for you to come back. Demanding, I should say.”

  Relief washed through Kat. As secretly attracted as she was to Parker, she was determined not to spend any time alone with him. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the twins.”

  “Good. I’ll send Joseph to pick you up at the mission tomorrow. Shall we say five o’clock?”

  “That will be fine.”

  “Splendid! The children will be so excited. We’ll look forward to seeing you then.”

  “Yes. It will be nice. Good-bye, Lord Braden.”

  Replacing the phone, Kat turned slowly and saw that Meredith had paused from the task of filing her nails to watch her. She had told Meredith at a weak moment that she did not feel quite safe around Parker, and then, of course, the whole story had come out about his proposal in America three years earlier. She had also promised Meredith she would take all precautions to keep out of situations that would throw her alone together with Parker.

  “That was Lord Braden confirming our dinner plans for tomorrow. He and his wife and the twins will be there, but not Parker.”

  Meredith studied her carefully, a smile suddenly coming to her lips. “You’re playing it safe, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Oh, I think it’s a good idea. You really shouldn’t be around Parker. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “There’s nothing to that,” Kat said stiffly. She started across the room, but Meredith asked, “What about Brodie?”

  Kat turned. “What do you mean ‘What about Brodie?’”

  “I think he’s been in love with you for a long time from what you tell me.”

  “No. We’re just friends.”

  “Really? I think you might be wrong. He keeps coming around.”

  “We’re from the same part of Georgia. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “He’s a very attractive man.”

  “He has enough bad habits for a squadron, Meredith. He’s not even a Christian, and he would give a wife nothing but trouble.”

  “That wouldn’t stop some women, a good-looking chap like that.”

  “You have such a romantic streak. You’re always seeing romances that simply don’t exist. I’ve got to go get ready for work.”

  ****

  The next day, Parker stood at the window staring at the note that was before him. Watch out for your wife, it said. She’s seeing other men. One of them drives a car with the license number ANV483.

  As Parker read the note, his hands were not steady. There was no way of tracing it, and he was not sure that he wanted to. Who would send a note like this? He had no idea, and he wanted desperately not to believe it. Still he stared at the license number and wondered if he should have it traced. He had no idea how such things could be done, but he had a friend at Scotland Yard who would be glad to find out for him.

  He looked out the window and watched as a flight of bombers took off from the field. They were headed for Germany to destroy Hitler’s munitions factories. Part of him demanded action, and he had the impulse to trace the number. But another part of him resisted. What if he learned the man’s name? What if he knew him? What would he do then? He remembered a young man, Gerald Barnett, who had been a member of his squadron. Before the man was shot down over France in the early part of the war, he had said once to Parker, “I don’t want to know bad things. There’s enough bad things that happen to us without going and digging up more.”

  As he stared out the window, Parker tried to remember Barnett’s face but found that his memory was fuzzy. It was that way with other men he had flown with. While they were alive their faces were sharp and clear, but after they died, the memory seemed to fade so that he could not hold on to them.

  “Maybe Barnett was right,” Parker murmured. Turning back to the desk, he sat down and tried to study the records of the replacements who would be coming in to his squadron. He had not lost a man in over a month, but the way the Jerries were stepping up their attacks, he knew he would before long. Finding it impossible to concentrate, he put the papers back into the folder. He did not move for a long time and just sat, elbows on the desk, leaning forward against the palms of his hands, hands over his eyes. He tried to blot out the note and the license number, but he knew that the number had inscribed itself on his memory and that he would probably remember it forty years from now, if he lived that long.

  He was aware of muffled voices outside his office, and from time to time a flight of planes took off or landed. Automatically he identified them as Hurricanes, Spitfires, or Wellingtons, but this was all second nature. His mind would not leave what the note had implied. He had been unhappy in his marriage for some time and was well aware that Veronica was equally unhappy. He had fancied himself in love with her when they had married, and he had thought they were happy at first, enjoying the physical side of their relationship for a few months, but that had quickly faded with the stress of everyday life during wartime. Less and less often did he seek Veronica’s arms at night, and he became aware that this was actually a relief to her. They performed as a happy couple publicly, and Veronica, being an accomplished actress, pulled it off better than he himself did. Parker was painfully aware that his parents were disappointed in Veronica, although they never said so.

  Wearily Parker dropped his hands and sat up straight in the chair. He opened the drawer, found a schedule, and studied it for a moment. I’ll go home tonight and have it out with Veronica, he decided.

  The decision brought no peace of mind. On the contrary, he dreaded it much more than risking his life in an airplane. But perhaps the note was all a lie. He could not imagine who would invent such a fabrication. He tore the note into shreds and dropped the pieces into the wastebasket. Then putting on his hat, he left his office, his jaw set.

  “I’ll be back in the morning, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir. Going home, are you, sir?”

  “Yes. Just for the night. If anything comes up, call me there.”

  “Yes, sir.
Looks like the Jerries have quieted down a little.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  Parker left the station and drove slowly toward home, oddly aware of the greenness of the grass and the brilliance of the flowers. Everywhere were riotous bursts of reds, blues, and yellows so bright they almost hurt his eyes. Every house he passed seemed to have a small flower garden, some only three or four feet square. Somehow people had an instinct to bring a little beauty into life amidst all the horrors of war that lurked just over the Channel and sometimes flew overhead to drop its deadly load upon the peaceful land beneath.

  When he pulled up in front of Benleigh, a heaviness rested on him. I wish I hadn’t come. The thought came unexpectedly but very strongly—so strongly that he almost turned and drove back to the station. But it was too late, for the door had opened, and his mother was waving to him and calling his name. Sighing, he got out of the car and went up the steps. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Parker, I’m so glad to see you. Can you stay the night?”

  “Yes. I’ll have to get back fairly early in the morning, though.”

  His mother held on to his arm as if she were afraid he would run off and leave her. Parker had noticed the tendency of both his parents to touch him more often than they used to, as if finding out if he were real solid flesh and not some phantom.

  “Where’s Veronica?” he asked as soon as they were inside the house.

  “Oh, she’s gone into London.”

  Parker waited for his mother to explain why Veronica was gone, but he saw that she was nervous and fidgeting. She probably doesn’t know. “Well, where are the children?”

  “They’re playing out at the pond with your father. He bought them a little boat. They’ve gone crazy over it. I expect they’re in mud up to their eyes by now.”

  “I think I’ll put on some comfortable clothes. Maybe I can splash around a bit myself.”

  Lady Grace put her hand up and touched Parker’s cheek. “That would be good,” she said. “I’ll come out and watch you. Oh, you did know that we’re having Katherine Winslow to supper tonight?”

  “She did mention something, but I’d forgotten the day.”

  “Joseph is picking her up at five.”

  “Let me see what I can change into.” Parker went to his room, where he changed into old clothes and then left the house. When he got to the pond, he called out, “What’s going on here?” Immediately Paul and Heather ran to him, their legs muddy to the knees. The mud was even in their hair, but despite that, he caught them up into his arms, mud and all, and spun them around. “You two are filthy.”

  Heather was squealing with delight. “Daddy, come see the boat!”

  “Yeth, ith my boat!” Paul shouted.

  Parker carried the children over, and their argument continued as he set them down. “Hello, Father.”

  “Son, it’s good to see you. We weren’t expecting you.” Gregory had a considerable amount of mud on himself. He looked down at his white shirt and shrugged. “Well, it’s washable, I suppose. I’ll tell you what. They’ve about worn me out, son. Why don’t you take over?”

  “Yes. Why don’t you go on inside?”

  “I believe I will.”

  “Now, who’s the captain of this boat?” Parker asked the twins.

  “I am!” both Paul and Heather shouted at the same time. They both waded into the water up to their shins to show him how they propelled the boat around the pond.

  Parker laughed. “Now I think it’s my turn to be the captain.” He took off his shoes and socks and waded in with them. “And if you argue with me, I’ll stuff mud up your nose.”

  Heather squealed with delight. “Yes, mud in the nose!” She reached down and got a handful of mud and handed it up toward Parker.

  Laughing, he said, “No. No mud in the nose. Let’s see about this boat now. . . .”

  ****

  When Kat arrived she got out of the car and thanked Joseph for picking her up.

  “You’re welcome, miss. Whenever you’re ready I’ll take you back to your flat.”

  “That will be fine. I expect I’ll stay at least until the twins are in bed.”

  “No problem at all, miss.”

  Kat walked up the steps, but before she could ring the bell, Millie, the young maid, opened the door. She was smiling brightly and said, “Hello, Miss Winslow. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Where is the family, Millie?”

  “Mr. Braden is in the library reading to the—”

  “Mr. Braden—as in Mr. Parker Braden?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “I didn’t expect him to be here tonight.”

  “Neither did we, miss. And Lord and Lady Braden are getting ready for dinner. It’ll be served very soon.”

  “Thank you, Millie.” Kat walked down the wide hallway and followed the high-pitched voices to the library. Parker was on his hands and knees with both Paul and Heather on his back. Heather was in front and was leaning forward, holding two handfuls of Parker’s hair. Paul was busy slapping his father, yelling, “Gittyup!” at the top of his lungs.

  “Have I interrupted a rodeo?” she asked loudly so they could hear her over the noise.

  The twins at once scrambled off Parker’s back and came over to greet her.

  “Did you bring us presents?” Paul asked brightly.

  “Yes, I did,” she said, holding out the bag. “But they’re not from me.”

  “Who they from?” Heather asked as she snatched the package.

  “From your father.”

  Parker got to his feet, making a face as he did. “I’m too old to be doing a thing like this.”

  He doesn’t look like an old man, Kat thought. Fatigue did show on his features, but his skin was smooth, and his eyes, though somewhat troubled, were bright.

  “I’m glad you could come,” he said.

  “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “I decided to take a little holiday. Here, stop pulling at that elephant! You’ll tear his ruddy trunk off, Paul!”

  As Parker had assumed, the two were arguing over the two stuffed toys. But Parker settled it at once by playing a game with them, giving the winner first choice.

  Finally Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper, came and hauled the children off to wash up for dinner.

  Kat watched them go and then shook her head. “I wish I had their energy.”

  “So do I. They never run down.”

  “How have you been, Parker?”

  “Very well, considering.”

  “I worry about you.”

  Parker turned and asked quietly, “Do you really?”

  “Of course I do!”

  “That’s good to know. I’ve had to give up worrying about myself. There’s no point in it.”

  The two stood there talking quietly, and finally she said, “Tell me the truth, Parker. How do you keep from being terrified every time you go up?”

  “Oh, I suppose you get used to anything. I’ve had men in the front-line trenches say that the first few times a bullet came anywhere close to them they tried to dig a hole. But after a month under fire, they walked around with bullets whipping everywhere. It’s a psychological necessity, I suppose. You can’t go around stiff with fear all the time. Couldn’t fly an airplane that way.” He cocked his head to one side and said, “You know there’s a poem I had to memorize when I was a schoolboy. I think Byron wrote it. For some reason I say it to myself.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know the name of it, but it’s fairly short:

  “So we’ll go no more a-roving

  So late into the night,

  Though the heart be still as loving,

  And the moon be still as bright.

  “For the sword outwears its sheath,

  And the soul wears out the breast,

  And the heart must pause to breathe,

  And love itself have rest.

  “Though the night was made for loving,
<
br />   And the day returns too soon,

  Yet we’ll go no more a-roving

  By the light of the moon.

  “I don’t know why I like that, but I do.”

  “It’s a sad poem.”

  “It’s a poem about loss. We lose pretty much everything, don’t we? There’s always the last trip to the country. The last kiss. The last meal. And death, of course, is inevitable.”

  Kat studied him carefully. “You’re tired,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “We’re all tired. It’s an occupational hazard for all military men.”

  A tiny warning sounded in Kat. She had vowed to keep herself separate from this man, but she couldn’t help the way she felt about him. “God will keep you safe.”

  “That’s the only hope I have, or any of us, for that matter,” Parker said simply. “I don’t know why one man dies and another lives. God is sovereign, and I’m rather glad it’s in His hands. It makes me feel good to know that. He may choose to take me tomorrow, or He may choose to let me live to be an old man. But whichever, it’s God’s will. That’s what I’m embracing.”

  “That’s wonderful, Parker. Do many of your men feel like that?”

  “Not too many. Most of them are rather wild young fellows. They never seem to give a thought for tomorrow and certainly not for eternity. I think they’ve blocked it out of their minds.”

  At that moment Edith Braden came in. “Parker, it’s good to see you!”

  “Aunt Edith, it’s good to see you too,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.

  “It’s nice to see you again too, Katherine. Come. Dinner’s on the table. Let’s all make utter gluttons of ourselves.”

  The three went into the dining room, and Kat immediately noticed that Parker’s wife was not there. Lady Grace made a quick statement that Veronica had an engagement in London, and Kat noticed that Parker looked uncomfortable as his mother said this.

  The meal was excellent, and Parker’s aunt was at the top of her form. She had a quick wit and a way of drawing others into her stories. Before long Edith had them all laughing at tales of her struggles with publishers. After they had dessert they moved to the drawing room, where the twins greedily clamored for attention. Finally Kat looked at her watch and exclaimed, “Goodness, I must go!”