And Sir Innes wasn’t talking about Suzie, or Guy – or about Toby Dymock for that matter – any more than he could help. In his study, as usual over glasses of malt whisky, his interest was all in Ozzie Ozzard’s recent diversion to Majorca and the Italian submarine activity off Barcelona. Ozzard had in fact filled in a few details on this, so Chalk was able to elaborate to some extent; but not all that much, and when their conversation flagged he tried a change of subject: ‘Did Dymock bring his rod with him, last weekend?’
Sir Innes glanced at him. ‘Did he – bring his rod? Oh – yes… But we didn’t fish…’ A moment later he was talking about Spain again. And Chalk didn’t see Suzie until she came down a few minutes before the dinner gong. She apologized… ‘Sugar and I went much too far. Stupid of me – she isn’t as fit as she ought to be. And as I’d already worked her rather hard I had to let her take her time, coming back.’
‘I gather you’ve heard from Guy?’
She glanced at her mother: a look of surprise, he thought. Or surmise: what other beans might she have spilled… But she confirmed it casually enough: ‘Yes – a few days ago. Seems longer – not since last weekend.’
‘You’ll have him here in a fortnight, anyway.’
‘We’re so looking forward to it.’ Eve Cameron-Green was wearing the blue, shimmery dress that she’d worn the first night he’d been there, and a diamond-and-sapphire bracelet on her wrist, and Suzie was in green with the gold chain she often wore. Her mother added, with that same high laugh: ‘And to have him – and Diana – actually dropping in on us out of the sky—’
‘We’ve cut the paddock, by the way.’
‘And there’s a bit of spade-work needed.’ Sir Innes came in on his cue. ‘If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, Chalk. Otherwise there’s next weekend too, of course – and I dare say your friend Dymock may be here to lend a hand.’
‘He doesn’t think he will be, now.’ Suzie told her father, ‘Some sort of inspection that Saturday, he said.’
Chalk asked her – noticing her mother’s alarm and Sir Innes’ surprise – ‘You’ve heard from him recently, have you?’
She’d coloured slightly: but shrugging, stuck with it now… ‘Only a note – came this morning. To let us know it’s unlikely he can come. Sorry, Mama, I’d forgotten, should’ve—’
The dinner-gong boomed. Suzie’s mother was complaining as its reverberations died away, ‘– as long as we eventually get to hear such things. So Cook can be told, at least…’ She sighed, with a glance at Chalk. ‘I think I mentioned to you how secretive this girl can be!’
‘Forgetful, not secretive.’ Suzie asked him, ‘What’s a DESA inspection, anyway?’
‘You probably mean DSEA. Stands for Davis Submerged Escape Apparatus. It’s the escape system we’re supposed to use – well, in extremis. Consists of a face-mask, oxygen bottle, and a breathing-bag here on one’s chest. You strap it on and then float up, breathing oxygen. If that’s the inspection they’re due for at the weekend, it’ll be because a team’s coming up for it from Blockhouse – our submarine headquarters at Gosport – and they’d want to be back by first thing Monday. Makes sense, therefore – except that we could check it all ourselves and they could save the rail fares.’
Sir Innes said – easing his wife’s chair in, and moving round to his own – ‘But I’d guess it must be of the utmost importance – that of all things!’
‘I’m only saying we could do it ourselves. It’s a matter of counting the sets – there’s one for every man on board, plus a few spares – making sure none of them’s defective, and checking the mechanics of the escape chambers. Two of them, one more or less at each end of the boat. How it works is two men get in – into each chamber, or whichever you’re using – you flood the chamber up until the pressure inside and out is equalized, then they open the hatch and climb out, float up to the surface. In the submarine there’s gearing to wind the hatch shut again, and the chamber’s drained down for the next pair to get in. And so on, until you’re all out.’
‘You make it sound easy.’
‘D’you think so, Innes?’ His wife stared at him wide-eyed. ‘I think it sounds absolutely terrifying!’
‘Well – certainly would be to us, but—’
Suzie broke in: ‘Have you ever had to do it?’
‘Not in earnest. Very much hope I never do have to. But we have a practice tank at Gosport with an escape chamber in its base and fifteen feet of water above it. That’s very little, compared to the sort of depths one might be at in a real-life emergency, but at least we learn how to go through the motions… What I was going to say just now, though – changing the subject entirely – I was hoping earlier that you might have had the paddock cut in time for Toby Dymock to do the levelling last weekend. Sir Innes mentioned that he didn’t fish, and I thought perhaps my luck was in!’
‘I think—’ Sir Innes paused with a soup-spoon halfway up – ‘we only cut it on Monday – or Tuesday, was it?’
‘Monday.’ Suzie smiled. ‘Hard cheese, Rufus.’
‘So what did you do – play tennis all weekend?’
He had them all startled, with that question. But Suzie told him evenly enough. ‘We did play quite a bit. I wanted to win a set – for a change – and he wouldn’t let me. I call that thoroughly unsporting, don’t you?’ She saw him still watching her, waiting for more, and she finished, ‘Rest of the time we just – you know, wandered around. He didn’t see much of the place the time before, did he?’
* * *
‘Rufus?’
He leant on his spade. She had all the dogs with her – Bertie the Labrador and both terriers. Saturday morning: he was filling in all the holes that he could find in the recently cut paddock, using earth which he was having to fetch by wheelbarrow from a mound behind the barn. Luckily there weren’t all that many holes. He was working bare-chested, and had borrowed a pair of old khaki trousers from Sir Innes.
Suzie commented, glancing at his bare torso, ‘Muscleman himself…’ She quoted a current advertisement: ‘You too can have a body like mine… Rufus, you and Toby have known each other donkey’s years, haven’t you?’
He agreed: ‘Since we were boys. Cadets, aged thirteen.’
‘So tell me what you really think of him? I mean honestly, in your heart of hearts?’
‘I’m not sure I’ve got one of them.’
‘Rufus – seriously?’
‘Well – we’ve known each other all this time – thirteen, fourteen years, roughly – so wouldn’t the fact I brought him here in response to your mother’s invitation have already told you what I thought of him?’
Thought – not think.
‘Didn’t need to ask, really, did I?’
‘But—’
He’d hesitated, jabbing one-handed at the stubble. Imagining Guy looking at him at this moment and urging him Go on, tell her – she’s asked for it, she said she wants it honestly…
‘But what, Rufus?’
‘I’d thought of him as perhaps hitting it off with your sister. Patricia’s a few years older than you and she’s been away at Varsity, had more experience generally than you have. I think – frankly, Suzie – that you’re too young and inexperienced to let yourself become at all seriously involved—’
‘I wasn’t asking you about me!’
‘Hang on. Seriously involved with anyone that much older than you are. But with Toby Dymock, of all people… It’s him I’m talking about, not you. He’s had a lot of experience, with girls.’
‘So what’s wrong with that?’
‘Only that he has a way of – moving on to pastures new, you might say. In other words letting them down – having I suppose bolstered his own ego. You’ve asked me to be honest, Suzie. He and I have been friends for a long time, but if I had a young sister I’d certainly warn her.’
‘So—’ a shrug – ‘I’ve been warned.’
‘You asked for my opinion – heart of hearts, etcetera – didn’t you? And
as I said, I thought he and Patricia might – take to each other. It never occurred to me for a moment that he might pick on you. I’m kicking myself for that, believe me.’
She thought about it. Then: ‘Rufus, I know that what you’ve said you mean absolutely for the best. But—’
‘The truth as I see it, is what I’ve told you.’ He corrected himself: ‘The truth as I know it.’
‘But you’re Guy’s brother, aren’t you.’
‘Oh, yes. And as concerned for you as he is. Knowing how he feels about you, and – Suzie, let me tell you something else. Just between you and me – please forget it after you’ve let it sink in. Simply that I understand, entirely, Guy’s feelings for you. I didn’t know he had such good taste – or luck, for that matter.’
She’d stooped to the dog again. ‘Asking me to forget that, Rufus, is asking a bit much.’ Glancing up shyly. ‘Thanks.’
‘So remember this too – that I’m warning you you’d be wasting yourself, on Toby Dymock. And I’d bet on it ending in tears – yours, not his, and I don’t want that for you.’
‘I don’t happen to agree with you, that’s all. I do accept that you believe what you’re telling me, mean it for the best and all that, but – Rufus, no matter how he may have behaved with other girls or women in the past—’
‘This is different?’
‘Yes.’ A few seconds’ silence, staring at him… ‘Yes, it is!’
‘You wouldn’t accept that he might have told every one of them exactly that?’
‘No, I wouldn’t. Or I don’t care – because this time it’s true… I’ll tell you something, Rufus – I’ve had three long letters from him this week…’
* * *
He’d been in two minds about spending the next weekend at Glendarragh – even if he found he could make it, which was by no means certain. Dymock might or might not be there: if he was coming, there’d be two ways of looking at it – one, to be present oneself as a reminder to Suzie of Guy’s existence, and to cramp Dymock’s style at least to some extent; or two, to stay away, primarily because there was no pleasure in witnessing Dymock’s pursuit of her, and as a by-blow making sure her parents knew how he felt.
Eve Cameron-Green pointed out that Patricia would be home – for the first time in months – Alastair would not be and Toby probably would not be: for Patricia’s sake as well as Suzie’s wouldn’t he please make a point of coming?
This conversation took place over some meal: it might have been lunch on the Sunday. Chalk had explained that it would have to depend to a large extent on whether the Ozzards wanted to be away on either of the two coming weekends. He didn’t want to take the next one off if it would spoil his chances of being here when Diana flew in with Guy. That was something he could not miss, and in anticipation of not being able to come for the 23rd–25th he’d finished the hole-filling, put up a pole for a wind-sock – which Suzie had said she’d make, sewing an old sheet into tubular shape – and whitewashed the fence-posts along the paddock’s southern boundary. He was going to send Diana a sketch-map; the white posts would provide simple orientation for her, he hoped. The important thing was that it was done, would be ready for the 30th even if he couldn’t get up here between now and then.
‘Disappointing for Pat if you can’t. Specially as Alastair won’t be here.’
He nodded to Sir Innes. ‘My skipper doesn’t want the shop left untended, you see. And he and his wife have old friends in Edinburgh whom they’ve sworn to visit. I’m putting in a strong plea to be free for the 30th – which is the vital weekend, obviously – so if they do want to shoot off to Edinburgh – d’you see?’
‘But you’ll come if that side of it’s all right, will you?’
Lady Eve put in, ‘Of course he will!’
‘Well – I can’t be absolutely certain, I’m afraid.’ Meeting those ice-blue eyes, he thought he saw the dawn of understanding. It was important that they should understand – how he felt about what was happening, and that he was committed to the Diana-and-Guy weekend but not necessarily beyond that. He asked her, ‘Can we leave it that I’ll let you know before the middle of the week?’
* * *
As it turned out, on that weekend, 23rd–25th July, the Ozzards went to their friends in Edinburgh and Chalk stayed to ‘mind the shop’. Not that there was much to ‘mind’ as yet; but Ozzard declared that he believed in starting as he meant to go on, and although Threat was still no more than a steel carcass there should be one responsible officer within call – of Barlows’, or Submarine Headquarters, or the Admiralty – at all times. Chalk, as it happened, agreed with him.
Diana telephoned on that Saturday, from London. She’d had his letter with the sketch of Glendarragh and the proposed landing-ground, and she told him she thought she’d get her Fox Moth down on it, all right.
‘You think. What happens if you can’t?’
‘I will. Don’t worry. Well, if the weather closed down or something boring like that I’d put down at Glasgow, I suppose… But Rufus – if I fly up that valley – sorry, glen – up the middle of it from the southeast, the house’ll be smack in front of me, won’t it?’
‘Yes. You’ll come in over a small wood, then see it. Or you’d see it from higher up before that, I suppose. But coming over the trees – as you say, it’ll be dead ahead of you. Grey, rather grim-looking. And my white fence-posts will be off to the right. I’ll be there with my fingers crossed – I expect the rest of the house-party will be too. They’re all tremendously interested – as well as keen to meet the intrepid birdwoman… Have you spoken to Guy lately?’
‘Yes. I’ll be picking him up at Worcester. Fairly convenient for us both. He sounded very chirpy, I thought.’
‘Well, who wouldn’t be?’
She laughed. It was an extremely sexy laugh, and she knew what it did to him. He asked her quietly, ‘Do that again?’
‘Now you be good, Rufus. Until the 30th, anyway…’
‘Diana – darling—’
‘No – I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean—’
‘But I do. Someone asked me the other day why didn’t we get married right away, and while I was trotting out the good, sound reasons I was thinking for God’s sake why don’t we? Diana—’
‘We’ll talk about it, when I’m there… Is everything all right with you, Rufus? Is the Rolls going well?’
‘Never better – either of us. But I’m longing to – see you… What sort of time, on the 30th?’
‘Between late afternoon and sunset. Depends mostly on the weather. Wind, particularly. But we’ll be there before dark, no matter what.’
‘You’d better be. They’re giving a party to celebrate your visit. Eightsome Reels, and all that!’
‘Dressy?’
‘We’ll be in white ties, I imagine.’
‘Now, the man tells me…’
Hanging up the receiver of Mrs Blair’s telephone, his smile faded. With an awareness of something wrong, some element at variance with the cheerful tone of that conversation. In his mind, though, not in hers, something he hadn’t been able to talk to her about.
Guy. Guy at this moment being ‘very chirpy’. And all the rest of this jollity over his and Diana’s coming. And among those waiting – Toby bloody Dymock, who’d be there only because he, Rufus Chalk, had caused him to be.
* * *
In Barlows’ yard on the Sunday afternoon he met Andrew Buchanan, wearing golfing clothes and in the company of Jacko Pargeter, who was about to show him through Trumpeter. A Sunday was, of course, the best day for it.
Dymock, Pargeter told Chalk, had gone up to Glendarragh yesterday – Saturday – afternoon.
‘Some girl up there, I suspect.’
‘You’re right, sir, there is. He’s in pursuit of my young brother’s girlfriend.’
‘Is he now!’ Pargeter laughed. ‘Want me to stop his leave? Don’t think I could, on those grounds. A case of may the best man win – right, Andrew?’
Buchanan seemed to take the question seriously.
‘Not entirely. Question is who decides which is the best man. Judgement in that area tends to be subjective, doesn’t it? And the female of the species can be the worst judge of all.’
Chalk agreed. ‘I think you’ve put your finger on it.’
‘Not that it gets one anywhere… I had your note, by the way. But you shouldn’t have bothered – just for a couple of drinks, in rather a dull crowd, at that.’
‘Well, I enjoyed it. Is your wife still away?’
‘Oh God, yes. She’s not tired enough of London yet to consider moving back up here. But she’s coming with me to Gothenburg next week – business and pleasure.’
‘Speaking of which—’ Pargeter butted in ‘– we’d better get a move on, if we’re going to manage eighteen holes after this.’ His spaniel’s eyes rose to survey the lowering, dark-grey clouds. ‘May not, at that… By the way, Chalk – it was your bright idea for this fellow to come out on our acceptance trials. Darned good idea, too. We’d have thought of it sooner or later, of course, but—’
‘Might not have, too.’ Buchanan nodded to him. ‘Grateful to you. Have you heard yet whether you’ll be coming?’
‘I’m afraid it’s unlikely.’
He heard Pargeter explaining as they moved away that as a matter of routine there’d be a test-dive in the Gareloch first, but that as far as the boat’s first venture to sea was concerned – the official acceptance trials – literally hundreds of people were clamouring to go out in her, and the lists had already closed. It was as good a way as any of letting him know he’d missed the bus, Chalk supposed – putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it as he looked after them. That was Mike Searle, Trumpeter’s torpedo officer, meeting them at the gangplank. Pargeter was standing aside for Buchanan to cross it first: then the civilian was teetering over it. Submarine planks took a bit of getting used to. But he’d made it, all right. Then Pargeter. Searle saluted each of them as he stepped on board.
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