Chalk slid his lighter back into its pocket, drew smoke deeply into his lungs. He smoked too much, he knew. Not as much as most men did, but still too much – certainly for one who prided himself on keeping fit. Those three were moving towards the fore hatch: Buchanan turning to look back at the four-inch gun mounting and upwards at the loom of the conning-tower behind it. Trumpeter motionless, with the scummy water lapping round her: as if – Chalk thought, breathing smoke – she was only biding her time, waiting for release. The three figures had disappeared into her fore hatch now, and he was imagining her as she’d be in just a few weeks’ time – ploughing the clean, deep water under her own power, pitching rhythmically across the long, green swells… Then diving – the loud, pluming escape of air from ballast tanks, her long forepart nosing into foam of her own creation and the dark sea rising to embrace her. Gradual disappearance then of hull, casing, gun, conning-tower, the standards that housed her periscopes.
Just sea, then, the rolling green, unbroken.
But the list had closed. And Pargeter was the one and only man who could have overridden that, added one more name. He’d chosen not to – and probably quite rightly: for obvious reasons there did have to be a limit.
Chapter 7
Snapshots – from Chalk’s visual recollections. Animation and dialogue added under licence.
The paddock: with its boundary of whitened fence-posts, Suzie’s wind-sock hanging vertically like washing out to dry, stables and byres and one end of the gaunt, grey house and a stack of chimneys just visible (though out of focus) in the background. Closer to the imaginary camera, a group of men and women with their eyes mostly on the treetops and the soft evening sky above them. This group comprising Rufus Chalk, Suzie, her brother Alastair and sister Patricia, Sir Innes and Lady Cameron-Green, and Toby Dymock. At a slight distance from them, butler MacKenzie has house-maid Janet Forest and stable-boy William with him. Cook, MacKenzie has told Lady Cameron-Green, has declared herself unable either to leave her kitchen or to dispense with the assistance of Lily Cross, the kitchen-maid. But at a greater distance – and in that weaker focus – a group of estate workers and a few women – their wives, presumably – with seven or eight children tumbling around.
Cigarette and pipe-smoke rise and drift in the windless evening air. Sir Innes has left the house-party group and is on his way over to the farm-workers. He’s using a stick, on account of sciatica in one knee.
Chalk mutters, putting his lighter to Patricia’s cigarette and then to his own, ‘Any second now. Unless of course she didn’t like the look of the place.’
‘Or of us.’ Patricia smiles up at him sideways. She’s blonde, with good cheekbones – not unlike Zoe Buchanan’s shape of face – and really quite a bit like Dietrich – if you look for the resemblance. Or want it… She’s quiet – has none of Suzie’s ebullience – and is noticeably more intelligent than her parents. (Chalk recognizes that his estimate of her intelligence may be prejudiced by the fact that she obviously isn’t impressed by Dymock: although this is something of a two-edged sword, in relation to the Dymock-Suzie business.)
‘Might she have thought it was the wrong place?’
Diana, Pat means. Ten minutes ago the Fox Moth swooped down over the house – rousing most of this lot out of it and stampeding the sheep grazing on its north side – then banked away and vanished southward. Diana would be circling to get into position for her approach from the southeast, Chalk assumed; but he’s thinking now that it must be a very large circle she’s making. Suzie comes up with the obvious explanation, calling to her sister ‘She’ll be having a good dekko round – for Guy to see what the glen looks like from up there. Don’t you think? Oh golly, I do hope she’ll take me up!’
The Fox Moth comes into sight at that moment – suddenly, as out of nowhere, its undercarriage clearing the trees by what looks like only a few feet. She’s throttled back, and the machine’s slightly nose-up as it drops towards that end of the paddock, close to the line of the fence. Suzie still gabbling with excitement and clutching at Patricia’s arm. There’s cheering, too, and the estate workers are waving their caps. The ’plane bounces once – twice – as its wheels touch, then it’s trundling across the field towards them with the throttle open and noisy. Suzie’s rushing towards it, Dymock trotting after her: it’s passed them, so they’re virtually chasing it now from astern. Patricia shaking her head: ‘What a jerk…’
Another one, Chalk notes, who says exactly what she’s thinking. In Americanese, too, learnt no doubt at Girton. She’s definitely attractive, with a good figure, pleasant manner and a lively sense of humour; while accepting that she’s too old for Guy, he can’t help thinking how splendid it would be if he did fall for her. Teach Suzie a lesson…
It’s not on the cards, unfortunately. He’s on his way to meet the Moth as Diana brakes and stops it; she’s switched off, waves to him from the open pilot’s cockpit, while in front of her the evening sun’s flashing on the canopy over the passenger cabin as Guy slides it back. Diana’s pulled off her helmet, Guy’s climbing down, is on the ground – initially somewhat wobbly on his feet – as Rufus reaches him and hugs him. Smiling up at Diana… ‘Guy, old chap, this is marvellous!’ With a shrewd suspicion that it’s going to be bloody awful before long – but with his eyes on Diana, and helping her down while Guy hurries to meet Suzie.
‘Rufus – sweet of you, but actually I’m not crippled!’
‘Never mind.’ In close-up, as she turns in his arms. ‘Even if you were you’d be the most beautiful thing on earth. Darling, you’re lovely—’
‘Put me down?’
‘Yes.’ Kissing her again. ‘I will…’
‘What’s that?’ Pointing at the lifeless wind-sock, as he releases her. ‘Flag of surrender?’
‘Rufus, introduce us!’
Suzie must have greeted Guy somewhat perfunctorily. He’s staring after her, looking surprised and disappointed. The rest of the party’s clustering round now, and Suzie’s decided not to wait for an introduction. ‘Diana – I’m Suzie Cameron-Green. Please, please will you take me up?’
‘Of course. Not just now, mind you—’
‘Diana.’ Rufus takes her arm – and the leather helmet out of her other hand – turns her to face their host and hostess. ‘This is Diana Villiers, my fiancée. Lady Cameron-Green, Sir Innes.’ Then – ‘Diana – Patricia, and this is Alastair. And – over there – Toby Dymock. Guy, you haven’t met Toby—’
‘Hello, Toby.’
They’re together, where Guy met Suzie a moment ago and she left him. Dymock puts his hand out: ‘Heard a lot about you. Known Rufus heaven knows how long.’
‘Oh. You’re the submariner he mentioned.’ Guy isn’t taking much interest in Dymock, though: much more in Suzie, at whom he’s gazing anxiously over Eve Cameron-Green’s head while exchanging greetings with her and with Sir Innes. Innes telling him ‘First rate to have you back with us, Guy. First rate!’ Suzie’s talking to Diana again; Alastair calls ‘Hey – you chaps – lend a hand here, get this contraption into the byre?’
‘Contraption?’ Diana glares at him. ‘What do you mean, contraption?’ Eve Cameron-Green takes her arm. ‘Come on into the house, my dear. Leave it to them, they can stable your machine. You must be dying for a hot bath – and a drink first?’
‘What a brilliant idea!’
‘Petrol’s in the byre too. Cans and cans of it.’ Sir Innes, meeting her smile, touches his moustache. ‘Came yesterday – enormous lorry.’
‘That is a relief…’
‘I expect you’re famished, too.’ Lady C-G is more or less towing her away. ‘A tray in your room might be the best thing. Dinner’s at eight-fifteen, you see, and our other guests have been asked for nine-thirty.’ Diana’s looking back at Rufus as if she doesn’t want to leave him, and Guy has an arm round Suzie, telling her, ‘I’ll leave it to them – I’m excused, I brought it all the way from Worcester.’ Leave it to Dymock and Alastair, he means: especially
as they’re being joined now by MacKenzie and young William. ‘Suzie, it’s been an absolute age…’ Patricia asks Rufus, nodding towards the house, ‘Coming?’
* * *
The rest of the snaps, half a dozen of them, would have been taken – with a flash, of course, that explosive equipment photographers often used – in the staircase hall, which is spacious, panelled in age-darkened oak and has been cleared of furniture for the dancing – eight or ten couples in the frame at this moment, jiggling around to Yes, My Darling Daughter.
The gramophone’s on the half-landing, tended mostly by Alastair and his sisters, Alastair assisted some of the time by his girlfriend Midge Campbell: but they’re dancing now. Midge lives near Oban in Argyll; she’s tall, red-haired, pale-skinned with a lot of freckles. Suzie’s looking after the gramophone at this stage, and Guy’s sitting on the top stair with his long legs pointing down towards the kaleidoscopic swirl of heads, kilts, multicoloured frocks.
Diana in silver, looking radiant. Dancing this one with Toby Dymock. Dymock murmuring into her ear, ‘Thank heaven the reels are over. This is what I call dancing.’
‘Well – I suppose it is. Of a sort… Haven’t you been rather monopolizing Suzie, by the way?’
‘D’you think I have?’
‘She’s supposed to be Guy’s girl, you know.’
That smile… ‘Not doing much about it, is he?’
* * *
On the half-landing, Guy demands of Suzie, ‘What’s he got that I haven’t – apart from a rather oily manner?’
‘Who?’
‘You know darned well. Chap you dance with all the time. Name’s – what, Dymock?’
‘His name’s Toby, there’s nothing oily about his manner, and I have not danced with him all the time.’
‘Hardly with me at all.’
‘One does have to mix, Guy. Being family, especially. Besides, you’re going to be here how long – six weeks? Eight?’
‘Nothing to do with it. As you know perfectly well. I’ve been longing for tonight, counting the damn days!’
‘You ought to be down there dancing too. Look at Diana, there, she’s not clutching Rufus all the time!’
‘He’s doing a line with Pat, if you ask me. Having told me in his last letter he was hoping she’d get off with this friend of his – the oily one… Well, here’s what – I’ll mix like mad, once I’m getting fair do’s from you.’
‘What d’you mean by “fair do’s”?’
‘Say every other dance. In between – one dance in every two – you mix too – but really mix!’
‘That’s ridiculous—’
Alastair tells them – having caught some of this while coming up the stairs – ‘Take her down and give us all an eyeful, old man. I’ll relieve you of that chore, Suzie.’
‘About time, too.’ She points at a pile of records. ‘Those are the ones we’ve played.’
* * *
Patricia and her mother, who have been upstairs, stop on their way down to chat to Alastair. After about half an hour he’s still stuck with the gramophone duty. His mother asks him, ‘Couldn’t someone else do that for a bit? Don’t you want to dance at all?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He looks at Patricia. ‘Any volunteers?’
‘All right. I don’t mind.’ She leans on the balustrade. ‘Not for ever, though. If I’m still here in ten minutes, say – send someone else up, will you?’
‘That chap, perhaps.’ Alastair points at the black, shiny head close to Suzie’s. ‘Two oiseaux with one pierre – one, keep the music going; two, give her a rest from him.’
‘Suzie is perfectly capable of giving herself a rest.’ Eve C-G shows annoyance. ‘From him, or anyone else.’
‘Guy, d’you mean? She’s doing that, all right!’
‘I meant no such thing, Alastair. I’m only saying let her decide who she dances with or doesn’t.’
‘You wouldn’t say that, Mama—’ Patricia slides an arm round her mother, squeezes her to show affection – ‘if it was someone you disapproved of.’
‘Someone of whom she disapproved, you mean.’ Alastair shakes his head. ‘Snakes alive, what’s Cambridge for?’
‘That’s a more pertinent question than you realize.’ Patricia asks her brother, ‘You disapprove, do you?’
‘I think she’s being unfair to Guy, that’s all. I’ve nothing against Toby otherwise.’ He shrugs. ‘Well – nothing much.’
‘He’s a smooth operator, that one. And cleverer than you probably realize. Must be, to have fooled Rufus for years. Ask me, Guy doesn’t have to worry, he won’t be in Suzie’s sight, by Christmas.’
‘Who won’t?’
‘Toby, of course!’
Alastair winked at his mother. ‘Got him in your sights, Pat?’
‘Does the Army teach you always to say the most irritatingly stupid thing?’
‘On target, was I?’
‘No, you were not. In fact he’s the last—’
‘Well, I’ll accept that. Some of us – the more acute observers – have been rather interested in your carryings-on with Rufus.’
* * *
Sir Innes, reappearing after taking himself off to recover from the reels when they finished an hour ago, has been listening to the late news.
‘This so-called Royal Commission on Palestine – Peel’s thing – they’ve recommended partition.’ He’s telling his wife this: she’d thought he was going to ask her to dance. ‘They’re proposing an Arab state and a Jewish one, and a continuing British mandate for Jerusalem and Bethlehem. I suppose because those are the places they’d most likely fight over. But it’ll please no-one at all – especially not the Zionists. And we’d need corridors to the sea – which’d be devilish hard to police. Well, the whole thing would!’
‘It’s miles over my head, Innes.’
‘The simple truth of it is that partition as a political solution tends to raise more problems than it solves. What time’s supper?’
‘Oh, about midnight. Half-past, perhaps. Only ham-and-eggs and fruit salad. Why, are you hungry?’ She doesn’t give him time to answer. ‘Innes, Suzie’s dancing practically all the time with Toby. Making it so obvious.’
‘Have a word with her, then. If you think it matters. I’d have thought it was up to Guy.’
* * *
Guy hands Rufus one of the two glasses of whisky he’s been out to fetch. ‘Betty sent her love, by the way. She’s about ready to foal – as you know, I suppose… Must say I’m rather looking forward to being an uncle.’
‘So am I. Here’s to her and it.’ He puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Damn good to see you, Guy.’
‘Me too. I mean – to see you.’ The grin fades. ‘Can’t say I’m frightfully taken with your fellow submariner, though. Never leaves Suzie alone for a minute. And he could just about be her uncle!’
‘Well – not quite. But it’s my fault he’s here, and I’m more sorry than I can say.’ Another gulp of whisky… ‘If I’d had the least notion he’d chase after Suzie, I wouldn’t have dreamt of introducing him. Lady C-G asked me if I had any chums who’d help to jolly things along, and he was a natural choice because (a) he’s here and (b) he and I’ve been friends a long time and I’ve never had reason to – you know, think twice about him. I did think he might be about right for Patricia – whom he’ll have met last weekend, when I wasn’t here – but that doesn’t seem to have worked.’
‘She can’t stand him. I like her, always have done.’
‘Betty thinks a lot of her, too.’
Smothering a yawn… ‘Sorry. Been a long day. Is Dymock going to be around for long?’
‘No. That’s one mercy. His submarine’s being built in the same yard as Threat, and she’s just about completing. Final acceptance trials in not much more than three weeks.’
‘Pushes off then, does he?’
‘Does indeed. To join whichever flotilla Trumpeter’s sent to. That’s the boat’s name – Trumpeter. Portland’s
about the most likely, the 6th Flotilla.’
‘Wouldn’t be a bad distance, either… But Rufus – Suzie’s changed, you know?’
‘If you say so. I’ve only known her a few weeks.’
‘Believe me. Six months ago she wouldn’t have given that fellow the time of day.’
* * *
That old Black Magic…
Dymock’s voice in Suzie’s ear as they dance – this being some time after the late supper – ‘Come and see over Trumpeter soon?’
‘Is the paint dry?’
‘Bone dry. So any time, as far as I’m concerned. Weekends are best, of course. Even if I can’t get leave I could take a few hours off, come and fetch you. Or if you came down under your own steam I could meet you and drive you back.’
‘Don’t know, honestly. There are – complications… But – suppose I asked Rufus to leave his car here, you could take him back in yours and Guy could bring me down to the submarine – and bring me back here—’
‘Leaving Rufus without transport. Which he needs, for getting between his digs and the yard. He mightn’t be much in favour of the idea in any case – old Rufus can be a bit of a stuffed shirt, you know. In any case I don’t want a whole crowd with us – do you?’
She hums, – has me in its spell…
‘Better idea. We’ve some friends who live down in that area – a place called Milngavie, spelt M-I-L-N-G-A-V-I-E.’
‘Pronounced Milngye?’
She nods: her forehead’s in contact with his jaw, but not intentionally and she pulls her head back. ‘If I invited myself to stay with them – I was at school with their daughter, Jean, she’s been here once or twice – gosh, I could ask her for the great anniversary hoolie, couldn’t I… Anyway – if I stayed say two nights with them, and on the day in between—’
‘I’d show you over the boat, then take you out to dinner.’
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