The Chestnut Tree

by Charlotte Bingham

  She played a Ravel waltz instead, and the two of them became so involved in the haunting piece that neither of them noticed Richards leaving the room and reappearing at the door with a small crowd of people behind him.

  ‘Bravo, Miss Gore-Stewart.’ A tall, tanned man led the general applause a few seconds after Meggie had finished. ‘Quite beautifully played.’

  ‘David,’ Elinor said, almost reprovingly, as she opened her eyes and saw her surprise visitor. ‘David, I had almost given you up for dead.’

  Meggie rose from the piano stool.

  ‘Forgive me, both of you,’ David Kinnersley said, his smile at its most charming, the apologetic look in his eyes directed at Meggie. ‘Bit of an emergency.’

  ‘I didn’t even notice,’ Meggie lied, while eyeing the oddly dressed figures still standing behind him. ‘Emergency, was it?’

  ‘Quite correct, Meggie darling,’ Elinor said, now on her feet and going towards her guests, her hands outstretched. ‘An emergency all right. I should have said earlier, really, but I thought if I mentioned it I should only bring bad luck. Now then, David, where are your manners? Introduce us to your friends, please.’

  ‘Of course.’

  David stood aside at the door and ushered in the three people still hidden in the half-light. Once they were in the drawing room it was all both Meggie and her grandmother could do to contain their amusement and not burst out laughing.

  ‘And what particular order are the sisters from?’ Elinor asked as she found herself staring at three really rather broad-shouldered nuns. ‘The order of the Holy Sporting Saints?’

  ‘They are from the order of Thank the Lord we’re safely out of there, Elinor – and they don’t speak a word of English.’

  David turned and said something in German to the three nuns who then smiled shyly at their hostess, taking off their large winged headpieces to reveal three very male haircuts.

  At first Meggie tried not to stare at them, afraid of having a fit of giggles at the incongruous sight they made.

  ‘I am sure our guests are hungry, David, after their journey,’ Elinor said, nodding to Richards. ‘Perhaps if you would like to ask them to follow Richards down to the kitchen he will give them dinner and wine. They must be ravenous.’

  The sisters of Thank the Lord we’re safely out of there obviously could not wait to disappear below stairs. Having made their bows, Richards shooed them before him as if they were chickens being taken to the laying barn.

  ‘I really don’t know how you do it, David,’ Elinor Gore-Stewart said, pouring him a large whisky. ‘But you always do come up with something, bless you.’

  ‘I know, my ingenuity is terrifying, isn’t it?’ David took the proffered drink and lit a cigarette. ‘We were nearly becalmed off the German coast on the way back, which wasn’t really very good news since my passengers were convinced that, prior to arrival at Bexham, someone, probably someone who had already been arrested, had informed the authorities. So you can imagine. Three very tall, very frightened nunny wunnies.’

  ‘Who can blame them? And as for you—’

  David looked at Meggie.

  ‘Truth to tell I think I am still rigid with fright.’ He pulled on his cigarette and laughed. ‘It was being becalmed that was the worst thing. When one’s moving, when you’re under sail, you know you’re in with a chance, but just sitting there like a – well, like a sitting duck, well, you know. I swear I shall never go duck shooting again, not even when this show is over, really I won’t.’

  He laughed again, but shortly, and shook his head as if mystified at the change that he already saw in himself.

  ‘You’re a hero, Davey. Isn’t he, Grandmother? Whatever he says, he is a hero.’

  ‘Hear, hear, Meggie darling.’ Elinor took both their hands and led them over to the sofa, sitting them down on either side of her like children.

  ‘I’m afraid that will be the last jolly for some little while, Mrs Gore-Stewart.’ David sat back against the sofa, stretching out his long legs. ‘It’s getting a bit très chaud over there. A mite too très chaud pour comfort. From the looks of what was going on in das Vaterland I should say we could expect a rather large and very unfriendly landing party here in the not too distant.’

  ‘Pas devant, Davey, pas devant,’ Elinor scolded teasingly with a nod to Meggie on her other side. ‘We don’t want the child having bad dreams.’

  ‘Silly, isn’t it?’ Meggie said, ignoring them both. ‘Only when was it? Only this morning it was like a game – my friend Judy Melton and I having to pretend to be bomb victims. It was a bit like, well, a garden party in Sloane Square, really. And yet now here we are only a few hours later and of a sudden, it’s certainly no garden party, it’s really rather real.’

  ‘I’m afraid we really are going to have to go to war, alas and alack. And the country’s not even halfway prepared. Not even a quarter prepared. We are just not ready.’

  ‘Don’t you think so? What – even with all these rehearsals? And drills?’

  ‘My dear child, you can rehearse until kingdom come, but if you ain’t got the ships, the planes and the guns – you ain’t got a fighting chance.’

  ‘Stop sounding so doomy and gloomy, David, or I shan’t give you any more champagne,’ Elinor scolded him, as she refilled their glasses. ‘And can you really not make any more trips? What a wonderfully great big pity. I had a call only last night—’

  ‘If I had a destroyer of my own, perhaps. Or a battleship, Madame Gran. Can you afford to buy me a dear little battleship of my own?’

  ‘That bad, is it, Davey?’

  As he failed to answer the three of them fell silent, Elinor wondering what at her advanced age she could possibly do this time round, now that her rescue service was being foreclosed, David wondering whether like his father before him he too was about to lose his life fighting for his country, and Meggie simply wondering what it was going to be like; wondering what was going to fall from the skies, what was going to cross their shores, what was going to happen to everyone if the Nazis decided to invade immediately. It suddenly seemed unimaginable that the scene outside Peter Jones would shortly become reality, real blood, real broken bones, no laughter as Dobsie did up pretend wounds; just sirens and terror.

  ‘Enough of this,’ David exclaimed, jumping up to his feet and clapping his hands together once. ‘Let’s all go out dancing. And drinking. Much more to the point.’

  ‘What will happen to your nuns?’ Meggie wondered some time later, as the three of them sat at their table in the Savoy, David Kinnersley just managing to keep his chin from touching the tablecloth with the aid of two clenched fists.

  ‘Not my nuns. So how should I know?’

  ‘It has been known for people to bundle ’em off without declaring their presence to the authorities – to some safe house in the countryside where they just disappear,’ Elinor explained, quietly. ‘They will have their use, believe me.’

  Meggie stared past her grandmother into the ever darkening future. If the men were all called to arms, which they would be, then there was going to be much that needed to be done at home – not just keeping the home fires burning.

  ‘Do you know something, Marguerita mine?’ David wondered, as he finally located his missing glass of whisky. ‘The waltz you were playing – when us lot arrived this evening. You know when Ravel wrote that? On the eve of the last time Europe was at war, strange that, wouldn’t you say?’

  David eyed Meggie, and having drained the last drop of whisky from his glass, fell promptly asleep, his head on the table, his hands either side of his head. And so what he did not see, but Elinor did see, was the look in Meggie’s eyes as she watched him, eyes closed, fast asleep.

  ‘He has a right to be tired – and tight.’ Madame Gran smiled and called for the bill. Nothing much had changed, alas.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Excellent turn-out,’ Sir Arthur Melton observed to the Reverend Hodson, when the vicar eventually joined the rest o
f the party gathered on the lawns of the manor. ‘You don’t get that sort of a congregation ’cept at Easter and Christmas. Good show, I’d say.’

  ‘One would rather have a full church in celebration than in dread, Sir Arthur,’ the vicar replied with a shake of his bald head. ‘I am afraid the fear of war drives us to God far quicker than the sense of our own iniquity.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ Sir Arthur grunted, nodding in Hugh Tate’s direction as he saw him arriving with his family. ‘Good show all the same. Though pity about your sermon.’

  ‘You didn’t approve of what I had to say, Sir Arthur?’

  ‘Might have done if I could have understood it, Vicar. ’Scuse me, new guests to greet.’

  Sir Arthur took himself off to welcome the Eastcotts who had just arrived hard on the heels of the Tates. While Lionel was engaged in conversation with his host Maude surveyed the crowd to see to whom she would most like to talk, rather than to whom she ought to talk.

  Spying what looked like most of the Tates gathered on the opposite side of the still perfectly manicured lawns she made them her target, quite naturally encouraged by the fact that she had just seen Judy Melton join them. Maude hurried across, desperately hoping that she would be in time to learn what she could, as quickly as she could.

  By the time she had joined the Tate family and engaged them in party chatter she had noted with increased interest that, far from John being the focus of Judy’s attention, it was Walter, the middle son, who was obviously engaging her interest. Her discovery not only intrigued Maude, it also pleased her. She had always nursed a hope that her own Mathilda might catch the eye of the eldest Tate boy, a match that Maude considered would be quite definitely more suitable.

  Nice though the Tates undoubtedly were, they were not as patrician as the Meltons. Hugh Tate might be both well educated and affluent, and be dividing his existence between his large flat in Wilbraham Place and his seaside house in Bexham, but he was still, none the less, New Bexham rather than Old Bexham.

  The Meltons were the oldest family in Bexham. They were le tout Bexham, as Lady Melton’s manner so often implied. Given all this, poor Walter Tate had precious little chance of winning the hand of Judy Melton, whereas either he or his elder brother would be more than welcome to take on young Mathilda.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Mrs Eastcott?’ Hugh Tate wondered with a smile, taking another gin sling from a passing waiter. ‘That was really rather a tragic sounding sigh.’

  ‘Forgive me, Captain Tate. My mind was dwelling on the international situation. They say we shall be at war any time now.’

  ‘I have no doubt about it, Mrs Eastcott. And if not, we bloomin’ well should be, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘You know, I’m glad to hear you say that, Captain Tate. So many people seem so bent on appeasement you wonder what we fought the last war for.’

  Seeing his father drawn into conversation, Walter took the opportunity of taking Judy to one side in order to speak to her more privately.

  ‘I need to talk to your father, Judy. When do you think would be a good time?’ He cleared his throat and glanced across the lawn to Sir Arthur Melton, nerves setting in at just the sight of the upright figure.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Judy hiccuped, laughed suddenly and then hiccuped again. ‘Sorry. Nerves. No time like the present, I suppose.’

  Judy gave another small hiccup, and laughed again as a Tiger Moth droned over, high above them. Walter looked up at the biplane and shrugged lightly.

  ‘No. And I don’t suppose there ever will be again.’

  Summoned back to speak to Sir Arthur later that afternoon, Walter first walked Judy to the top of Point Hill, their favourite part of that particular stretch of downland. It was a very hot afternoon, but the heat was happily mitigated by the cool breeze that blew in from the sea, making the temperature at the top of the local beauty spot tolerable. Together they sat on the pile of large flat stones that marked the highest point, looking at the wonder of the Sussex landscape that spread out below them all the way to the estuary, until finally it met the sea.

  Neither of them had any desire to speak their thoughts as their eyes finally strayed to, and stayed on, the stretch of water that separated England from the Continent.

  Nor did they feel the need to talk about Walter’s forthcoming interview with Judy’s father. Instead they talked about things that hardly mattered, all the time trying to block the big things that did matter from their minds. Finally, when they could delay the moment no longer, they walked back down the hillside with Judy’s long-haired sheep-dog running happily in front of them, knowing that in less than an hour’s time their joint fate might well have been decided.

  Walter stood in the small hallway outside Sir Arthur’s study door, waiting for the dreaded summons. He stared out into the courtyard garden that lay beyond the latticed windows, unable to focus on the roses, as he tried to prepare himself for the interview to come. He knew there was bound to be resistance to his proposal because the Meltons did not consider the Tates good enough. His family was not Old Bexham. Apart from anything else Walter’s father worked for his living, and Walter’s mother was an American which although perfectly acceptable was nevertheless not Old Bexham.

  Hugh had told Walter just to ‘be himself’. Advice that other people always seemed to give so readily, advice which might be quite easy to follow if you knew who the real you really was. Walter was quite certain that he did not know who he was, or anyone else for that matter, he just knew that he loved Judy. Realising yet again what a mountain he had to climb, even as the study door opened and the tall upright figure of Sir Arthur stood in front of him, Walter almost aborted his mission and fled.

  As Walter’s ordeal at the hands of his prospective father-in-law began, Judy was trying her best to make conversation with her mother. She had never found her mother easy to talk to at the best of times, but now, quite obviously suspecting the worst as far as Walter Tate was concerned, Lady Melton had clammed up to the point of turning herself into a Trappist monk. Sitting herself in an armchair by the window she stared out at the view, forcing Judy to sit on an inadequate footstool on the other side of the French windows.

  To make matters even more difficult Lady Melton had decided to read rather than listen, picking up her novel and pointedly opening it as soon as Judy tried to engage her in a discussion about Walter. Her only contribution to the conversation was to observe that she had no idea what Judy could possibly see in the young man. He simply was not their ‘sort’, regardless of how his family had improved themselves.

  ‘Walter’s father was in the Navy.’

  ‘Walter Tate’s father was a captain. Your father is an admiral.’

  ‘Once upon a time he must have been a captain. When he married you he was a captain.’

  ‘Your father retired as an admiral, while Captain Tate remained a captain.’

  ‘He was decorated. He won a medal.’

  ‘Your father was awarded the VC. That is not a medal, Judy, it is a piece of history.’

  ‘Walter’s father was awarded the George Medal for gallantry.’

  ‘Do not be impertinent, Judy.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be, Mummy, really I don’t. All right, the Tates may not be an old family—’

  ‘I should say not.’

  ‘But they happen to be one of the nicest sets of people I have ever met.’

  ‘You are very young, Judy. And you have a lot to learn, particularly about people such as the Tates. Now if you don’t mind I’ve just reached an interesting bit, at long last.’

  Lady Melton returned to her reading, but Judy could not let the subject drop.

  ‘What do you mean exactly, Mummy? People like the Tates. What do you mean by that, exactly?’

  ‘Counter jumpers, Judy. The sort of people who try continually to improve themselves through marriage. I won’t have it. We can’t have it. Really, we can’t.’

  For a second Judy almost lost her temper wi
th her mother, who she knew was taking up a position which ill suited her. It was a little known fact in Bexham that Lady Melton was the daughter of parents who were solidly middle class, and although none the worse for that, they would have been considered a good deal farther down the social scale than Walter’s own parents, her father having been a district bank manager and her mother from good solid yeoman stock. Indeed, Judy had heard it rumoured that her own father’s parents had done everything in their power to stop their son from marrying her.

  ‘Supposing Daddy agrees to my marrying Walter, what then?’

  ‘You don’t even know that’s what your young man is seeing your father about. It could be naval matters. He could be seeking his advice for all you know.’

  ‘But supposing Daddy does agree. Will you still object?’

  ‘Your father is well aware of my feelings on the subject, Judy. So much so that there is absolutely no chance of his giving his consent. If that is indeed what is going on in the study, if that is what is being discussed, which I very much doubt.’

  ‘Mummy—’

  That is quite enough. I am trying to read. If you don’t mind.’

  Her mother glanced briefly at Judy over the top of her book, keeping her place with one long finger, before returning to the adventures of The Heiress.

  Eventually Walter found Judy anxiously pacing the garden, but before he even spoke Judy knew that what he had to say was not going to be good news.

  ‘We have to wait, Judy. That’s the long and the short of it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Wait for what, Walter?’

  ‘To get married, of course.’

  ‘You asked him, Walter?’ she exclaimed, trying to ignore the more relevant part of Walter’s statement. ‘That’s what you were doing? You were actually asking my father if you could marry me?’

  ‘What did you think I was doing, muddlehead?’ Walter smiled at her and took her hand. ‘Discussing the weather?’

  ‘You might have been discussing naval things for all I know. You might have been picking his brains about what to do to get on in the Navy.’