He was filling his pipe. Glancing at me, the long, bony fingers still working at it… ‘I had two good lines of argument with Guy. One was that it was as clear as day the Republicans were going to lose that war, so he’d be joining the losing side, and once the thing crumbled – well, if he was still alive, conditions in a Spanish prisoner-of-war camp mightn’t be all that salubrious. And in any case, what did he imagine he’d be fighting for? Fighting Fascists – German or Italian – fine, I was already of the opinion – not original, but sustainable in argument – that the only good ones were dead ones. But that was peripheral, in a sense, just as it was that the side he’d be joining was supported by international communism; the two sides were really no more than rival colours of totalitarianism, two different varieties of knife at the free world’s throat. And remember, when the war – our war – did start, the Russians and the Germans were hand in glove, might well have remained so if Hitler hadn’t ratted on the deal. What I’m saying though – was saying to Guy – it was a Spanish fight, being conducted in Spain, the roots of it entirely Spanish, and both sides had already committed the most foul atrocities – which wouldn’t have been much of an encouragement to go there, I’d have thought – so (a) how did you choose this side or that, and (b) how could either be worth an Englishman’s life?’
He’d paused, to put a match to the pipe. Then, breathing smoke: ‘Another line of argument was one I’d thought of when they’d told me before that he was having thoughts of Spain. I pointed out that we had a war of our own coming damn soon: why risk life and limb in someone else’s – especially as ours would be a struggle for survival, a time for all hands to the pumps.’
Attending to his pipe again… ‘It was a pointless debate, and I knew it. Had to try, though. I’d have given a fortune – if I’d had one – to have been able to talk him out of it, but– he’d made his mind up, he was going anyway. When or if our war did start he’d come back like a shot, and by then he’d have learnt a thing or two about soldiering, so he’d be a lot more use than if he’d sat at home and waited for it.’
‘He did go, did he?’
A nod, through a cloud of smoke… ‘And I drove up to Glendarragh the following Saturday not to stay but to talk to Sir Innes and explain my position. I’d spoken to him over the wire, telling him I’d like to have a heart to heart, and when I arrived the rest of the family weren’t in sight. Out, or just keeping their heads down – I don’t know… We talked in his study, and I told him that Guy was in Paris by that time, signing on. It was news to him, and seemed to upset him quite genuinely. He had a lot of time for Guy, I knew for a fact he thought highly of him. And when Guy had been expressing his regrets that he couldn’t stay, saying goodbye to each of them in turn – including Suzie, with no detectable hard feelings, no recriminations of any sort – which I must say impressed me, when I heard it from Sir Innes – he hadn’t mentioned Spain at all, and of course the embarrassment of the Suzie-Dymock romance was a good enough reason for him to disappear for a while. None of them had suspected his intentions. Not even Patricia. He’d let her and Suzie believe that he was going to our sister Betty, to be with her when her child was born, and they were content to swallow that.’
‘Rather extraordinary, that none of them should have guessed – Suzie particularly, who’d known of his plans earlier?’
‘But what difference if they had?’ He shrugged. ‘They may have. Head in sand may have suited some of them. Lady C-G, for one… Can’t really say – memory’s not all that clear. But I don’t think so. Until I told them – told Sir Innes, that is. After which I said the rest of my piece – roughly that while I retained warm feelings for them all and blamed no-one for anything, I wasn’t going to be able to spend as much time up there as I had been doing. Dymock would obviously be there whenever he could make it, and I found little pleasure in having to stand by and watch his antics with Suzie. I’d spend the anniversary weekend with them, if I was still welcome – which it seemed I was – Diana was coming then, and it was Sir Innes’ and Eve C-G’s anniversary that we’d be celebrating, after all. And after that – well, Dymock would be leaving pretty well at once, in Trumpeter. Trials scheduled for Wednesday 25th, back in the yard for any minor adjustments, but that weekend would certainly be their last on the Clyde. And with him gone – well, I didn’t actually say to Sir Innes that they’d probably never see the bugger again, I only thought that was how it might turn out. Couldn’t envisage the leopard changing its spots.’
Chalk added, ‘Meanwhile Sir Innes was an understanding, thoughtful sort of man, and Patricia had disliked Dymock even before this turn of events, of course. She was fond of Guy too. Alastair I didn’t think had taken to Dymock either… Lady C-G on the other hand – I deduced this largely from Sir Innes’ not including her in his comments, although he did talk about Suzie’s, Patricia’s and his own feelings – I think his wife took the view that Suzie might be on to a good thing with Dymock and would have been wasting her time with Guy.’ He wagged his head. ‘A certain shrewdness about that woman. It had occurred to me before that I’d felt less genuine warmth from her than from any of the others. An eye to the main chance, you might say… Anyway – at least for the time being, best thing I could do was stay away. Having had this talk with Sir Innes, cleared the air between us rather than prevaricate and have to make excuses all the time.’
He’d paused. ‘Am I making sense to you?’
‘Very much so.’
‘Amazing. You deserve some more beer. If you still like it?’
‘If you’d tell me where to find it – you’re doing all the work around here—’
‘No – thank you, but it’s easier for me.’
‘All right. But one question, while it’s in my mind – was Dymock at Glendarragh when you went up to see Sir Innes?’
‘I don’t think he could have been… It was the Saturday after the party, and in Trumpeter's state of near-completion he could hardly have absented himself again so soon. He must have been making certain arrangements for the weekend after that – as I learnt later. But here, look…’
The rough diary he’d reconstructed in a notebook with all later dates stemming from the one we’d established as a fixed point of departure – 26 June, the Windsors’ wedding day. On one page as he flipped them over I read Zoe and husband in Gothenburg, and I was surprised that he’d bothered to note it down. But he wasn’t showing me that, he’d riffled on to a double page headed Weekend 30 July–1 August. ‘Dress rehearsal hoolie’. Under that heading he’d made the notes of what he’d called snapshots, the numbered entries culminating with Guy’s decision on Spain.
Long, knobbly-knuckled fingers flicked pages over to the heading Saturday 7 August, under which he’d noted Visited Glendarragh for talk with Sir Innes.
‘So from here, the next weekend would have been—’ fiddling more pages over – ‘14 and 15 August. I’ve jotted down here that I stayed in Dunbarton. And here I’ve noted Dymock, Suzie, Milngavie, etc. Call from Sir Innes early hours 15th.’
He nodded, pushed himself up. ‘Take a bit of telling, that bit. I’ll get our beer first.’
* * *
It had turned out that the Munroes could only have Suzie for the Friday night of that weekend – Friday the 13th as it was, ominously – instead of Friday and Saturday as Dymock had suggested. He was remaining in the background, all arrangements being made by Suzie in concert with Jean Munroe. Jean was thrilled that she was coming, and even more so with the invitation to the Cameron-Greens’ anniversary dinner and dance at the end of the month. She and Suzie had been friends at school, but Glendarragh was socially- speaking several cuts above Milngavie: it was an invitation in respect of which Jean’s father would unquestionably finance the provision of a new frock.
Dymock had grudgingly accepted that he could not collect Suzie from the Munroes and take her out to dinner. At the Glendarragh hoolie he’d talked airily of doing so, but it was obviously out of the question. It was agreed, though
– with Suzie’s parents – that he’d collect her in Milngavie after lunch on the Saturday, show her over his submarine during the afternoon and then drive her back to Glendarragh.
‘We might stop for supper somewhere along the way. If you’ve no objection? Then it won’t matter if we’re late – no need to keep food hot, or anything. It’s a longish drive, after all, and she’ll be hungry – so will I.’
Suzie agreed – looking at her mother – ‘It would be rather fun.’
‘Where would you stop?’ Sir Innes suggested, ‘Callander? Or – tell you what – Lochearnhead, the hotel there. Bang on your route!’
‘That might do.’ Dymock had agreed. ‘Certainly convenient…’ Then a new thought: ‘Tell you what – there’s a small fishing hotel at the other end of Loch Earn – village called St Fillans, isn’t it?’
‘May well be.’ Lady C-G was amused. ‘But what they’d give you to eat, heaven knows!’
‘A freshly killed salmon, for sure.’ Her husband cocked an eyebrow at Dymock. ‘Bit off your route though, isn’t it? Up to you, but I’d have thought Lochearnhead would be a great deal handier.’
‘It would.’ Dymock nodded. ‘But as it happens I’ve an ulterior motive. Years ago I spent a few days there with my father – 1920, summer holidays, and it was the first time he’d fished since he lost his leg. Didn’t want to do it too publicly, so he picked on what was then a rather remote place and only took me along. In fact he didn’t need any help. We fished mostly from a boat, but even from the bank after a few casts he found he could manage very well. It’s one of my—’ he’d glanced at Suzie – ‘rather special boyhood memories. All the time I’ve been up here I’ve been meaning to go and have a look at the place.’
‘I’ve love to go there.’ Suzie queried, ‘Can’t be so very far off our route – Loch Earn’s less than ten miles long, surely?’
‘I should think it is. Quite a bit less, possibly.’
‘That’s it, then.’ Dymock smiled at Suzie. ‘If you’ll chance it. Certainly won’t be ritzy!’
‘Who wants the Ritz?’
‘Well – ‘Lady C-G smiled at her husband – ‘as only one small voice speaking in this wilderness—’
Sir Innes told Dymock, ‘Tricked me into taking her to London two or three months ago—’
‘Six months ago at least!’
‘Not long enough for my bank account to have recovered, anyway.’ He asked Suzie, ‘You’ll go down by train from Tyndrum, will you?’
‘If someone’ll take me that far.’
‘I will. That’s no effort.’ He thought about it, and added ‘Make it Crianlarich, if you like. I’ll go on into Killin, see what’s his name.’
‘Well, that’ll be marvellous!’
‘The Munroes will meet your train, will they?’
* * *
Chalk knew nothing of Suzie’s visit to Barlows’ – or of the Munroes’ existence, even. For all he knew Suzie would be at home with her family, as usual, and the only thought he gave it was to wonder whether Dymock might have gone up to them this weekend. It was fairly likely, because the following one would be the last before Trumpeter’s acceptance trials – which were scheduled for the 25th. It wasn’t likely that any of them, let alone the first lieutenant, would be taking time off then.
Maybe not this weekend either. If it had been Threat completing, he knew for sure he wouldn’t. Not even to spend a last night with Diana.
(Diana, and nights with her – one past and one in the near future – would have been occupying his thoughts quite a bit, at this time.)
He didn’t see Suzie or Dymock in the yard that Saturday afternoon because he’d gone into Glasgow for a haircut and to find a farewell present for Diana; and if he had known she was coming he’d have stayed clear of the yard anyway. Nat Eason saw them though, and told him on the Monday morning, ‘Your chum had one of his popsies down the boat Saturday. Didn’t get a close look myself, but Wally Bristol did and he reckoned she wasn’t hardly out of her rompers. “Bet she was later,” I told him…’
Chalk had known about it by that time anyway: he’d been heavily caught up in it, in fact. He’d let Eason finish his story because he hadn’t wanted to have to waste time and effort explaining the background – how he’d been woken by a telephone call in the middle of the night – well after midnight on the Saturday, therefore Sunday morning – Mrs Blair taking it down in her hall, fairly growling with anger, and having then to climb the stairs, vast in a pink wool dressing-gown and her hair in curlers, to wake him. While his own first thought at her bark of ‘Telephone for ye! This time o’night, Lord’s sake!’ had been why on earth she’d be ’phoning at such an hour. It was Zoe that he was picturing – because she’d telephoned a few times in recent days – on one occasion when Diana had been trying to get through to him from Deauville – and late as this was, Zoe was not a woman to hold back, once the spirits moved her… Then a very different guess – which rocked him, sent his brain spinning – Diana. Accident… From halfway down the steep, narrow stairs he’d called back to Mrs Blair, ‘Man, or woman?’
‘Huh?’
Wouldn’t mean anything anyway: doctor, nurse…
The telephone was fixed to the wall, its receiver dangling. ‘Chalk. Who’s—’
‘Ah, Chalk.’ Gruff male voice. ‘Innes Cameron-Green here. Sorry to roust you out of bed.’
‘What’s up?’
He wanted to know whether Chalk had any idea where Suzie might be, where Dymock might have taken her. ‘Should have brought her home well before midnight, you see – hours ago. It’s now—’ a pause – ‘past two-thirty, no sign of ’em and no word. I am sorry to wake you, Chalk—’
‘That’s all right. But where would he have been bringing her home from?’
‘Well – St Fillans.’ His tone suggested that Chalk should have known this. ‘That’s where he told us they’d stop for a meal.’
‘Small village at the eastern end of Loch Earn?’
‘Fishing hotel there – they were going to have a meal on their way back here. I’ve telephoned –woke them up – but the manager chap says they’ve had no such people dining there tonight. Last night. Place is full up with fishermen, he said, people who go there year after year, any strangers would have stuck out like sore thumbs – or words to that effect. I’m trying to stay calm about this, Chalk, but—’
‘Where would they have been before – I mean en route back to Glendarragh from where?’
‘As far as I know, from Barlows’ yard.’
‘Barlows’ – really? But why, what—’
‘Early this afternoon he was supposed to have been showing her over his submarine. Yesterday afternoon, as it is now. Obviously you didn’t run into them.’
‘No.’
‘Would you have? Might you, if they’d been there?’
‘No. I was in Glasgow… I suppose they drove down here from Glendarragh – this morning?’
‘No, no… A pause. Then: ‘I’m sorry. Keep forgetting, you didn’t know.’ There was a shake in his voice, Chalk realized. ‘No – Suzie’s been with friends – a former school friend and her people – at Milngavie. Dymock was to fetch her from there after lunch – and he did, I’ve spoken to the girl’s father, they left at about two-thirty – with the intention – well, as I said—’
‘Showing her over Trumpeter. And then up to St Fillans… The obvious guess is he may have had some trouble with his car?’
‘Breakdown or an accident. Yes. But I’ve spoken to the police, all the obvious places around that area and along the route they should have taken, and – nothing. They’ve all promised to keep an eye out, and to telephone me here if they have any news.’
‘There are some fairly remote places he could have broken down at, aren’t there.’ Chalk was thinking aloud. ‘Miles away from a telephone or garage. He’d have a shot at fixing it himself – but I doubt he’d be any great shakes at that… Still, they could be on your doorstep any moment – he’d get
it mended eventually – with help from some other motorist perhaps. May be well on his way. I’d try not to worry, if I were you, sir. Meanwhile – question is what I can do… He’d have been getting to St Fillans through Comrie, wouldn’t he?’
‘According to my map – no other way. And I’ve talked to the police there. I doubt there’s anything you can do – thanks all the same. I only wondered whether you’d any idea what his intentions might have been when he set out.’
‘None at all. As I said, I didn’t even know Suzie was coming down.’
But there had to be something he could do…
Fully awake now, telling himself they’d have broken down, somewhere where there was no mechanical assistance – at this time of night anyway – and no telephone. It was Suzie’s welfare and comfort he was thinking about: Dymock didn’t matter a damn…’
‘Sir Innes – I can’t just go back to bed on this. One possibility is – well, making for St Fillans from this direction you’d take the right fork out of Dunblane then bear left at Braco on to the road for Comrie: that’s the route you’ve had in mind, talking to the police?’
‘Of course.’
‘But he might have gone up through Strathyre – can’t be much further that way – and turned right at Lochearnhead. Up to that point it’s a better road and one he knows well by this time. Then to get from Lochearnhead to St Fillans, the road along the north side of the loch’s distinctly primitive – was when I last saw it – and along the south bank it’s no more than a track. So he’d have taken the upper one. Logically… Anyway, I’ll start out as soon as I’ve got some clothes on. Luckily there’s petrol in the tank, filled it on my way out of Glasgow this afternoon.’
‘Mean you’re going now?’
‘Yes. I’ll take that route, and – I suppose come on up to you then – for breakfast. But I hope they’ll be with you long before that.’
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