‘Why?’ Sali asked.
Joey could feel Sali’s and Julia’s eyes on him and remembered that both of Sali’s brothers were lieutenants. ‘Because all officers are stuck-up nincompoops who can’t think for themselves.’
Lloyd didn’t comment until the meal was over and Sali and Julia had left for the drawing room. ‘Have they offered you a commission?’ He handed Joey a cigar and his lighter.
‘Yes.’
‘And you turned it down because lieutenants have short life-spans on the Western Front.’
Joey lit his cigar, puffed on it and returned Lloyd’s lighter. ‘Who have you been talking to?’
‘Soldiers on leave.’ Lloyd poured two brandies, picked up the bottle and carried it and the glasses down the table to where Joey was sitting. He took the empty chair next to his brother. ‘What is it really like over there?’
‘Do you remember those sermons the miserable old Jesuit who was in Tonypandy before Father Kelly used to preach when we were kids?’
‘On hell and the torments the devil had lined up for sinners? I remember them,’ Lloyd said shortly.
‘I wish the Front was as good.’
‘You have to be joking.’
‘I wish I was. We’re dug into trenches opposite the enemy, who are, incidentally, as bloody uncomfortable and miserable as us. If we’re lucky and it’s cold enough, the mud’s frozen. If it’s not, it’s knee-deep, and if there’s no frost at all, it’s waist- or chest-deep, and cold and slimy. It gets into everything. Rations, clothes, whatever you eat or drink is nine-tenths mud. Ten per cent of the time we’re scared witless and it’s so damn noisy from the shelling and bombing you can’t hear yourself think. Any one of the brass can order us out to attack Fritz’s machine-gun posts whenever they choose to, with nothing more than our rifles and bayonets, and then half of us die. If we’re not shot to pieces, we’re strung out and hung on barbed wire, or drown in shell holes. The other ninety per cent of the time we are freezing cold, tired, hungry and bored. There’s no shelter to speak of and nothing to do except talk to the person next to you and listen to him tell you about his home or talk about yours, and after ten minutes of that conversation all you want to do is desert except …’
‘Except?’ Lloyd prompted.
Joey took a mouthful of brandy. ‘On my first morning in France, I was ordered to form part of a firing squad. I tried to argue my way out of it. An old sergeant who’d fought in the Boer War warned me that if I didn’t obey orders it would be my turn next.’ Joey topped up his brandy glass with an unsteady hand.
‘What happened?’ Lloyd asked softly.
‘What do you think? We were marched into a courtyard. A young boy was tied to a post against a wall. He was dressed in civilian clothes, blindfolded and had a piece of white cloth pinned over his heart. We were told to fire at it and we did. Some of our rifles were loaded with ball, some with blanks. I could tell from the recoil that mine was a blank but that didn’t make me feel any better. Afterwards one of the boy’s mates went crazy. It turned out they were both sixteen-year-old volunteers.’
‘What happened to his friend?’
‘He was sent back home.’ Joey finished the brandy in his glass and Lloyd handed him the bottle. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘I don’t,’ Lloyd said grimly.
‘It is a capitalist war, it’s not our fight and you’d be right except for one thing. I volunteered for all the wrong reasons but that doesn’t alter the fact that now it’s my fight too. I’m a sergeant; I’m responsible for the men under my command. Some are too old, some too young, I’ve a few cowards and a couple of out-and-out rogues who’d sell their grandmother for a tanner but the one thing they’d never do is let anyone else in the platoon down. And while I’m their sergeant, they’re the reason I fight. Because I want to keep them alive as much as I want to stay alive.’
‘And you have to go back there?’
‘I signed up for the duration.’
‘Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not sorry you signed your life away?’
‘I am, and I’m not, for all the reasons that I’ve just said. And because the worst things of all, apart from the bloody awful waste of life, are the idiots who lead us.’
‘And that includes your lieutenant?’
‘He’s a public school kid. Still wet behind the ears.’ Joey fell silent for a moment, ‘He’s the fourth my platoon has had since we were posted to the front. As you said, the lieutenants have the shortest life span, first over the top, the first ones to stick their heads above the parapet, but don’t tell Sali or Julia that. They’ll only worry about Geraint and Gareth all the more.’
‘Sali couldn’t worry any more than she already does, and that goes for you as well as Gareth and Geraint. I’m not sure about Julia.’
‘She married Geraint, She must be concerned about him.’
‘Julia told Sali he only married her for her money.’
‘Then why did she marry him if she knows that’s his only reason for marrying her?’ Joey asked in exasperation.
‘Apparently she doesn’t get on with her stepmother.’
‘Edward Larch’s wife,’ Joey mused.
‘We’re all sorry about what happened to Rhian, Joey.’
‘Have you seen her?’ Joey asked eagerly. ‘Is she happy?’
‘I haven’t seen her, but Sali writes to her. She’s asked her to visit us at Easter. She invited her for Christmas, we got a parcel of toys for the children, and chocolates for us, but we didn’t see her.’
‘She’s still with Edward Larch.’ It wasn’t really a question.
‘The gossips have them living together. Whether that’s true or not, I couldn’t tell you, but they have rooms in the same building and she’s managing a shop for him.’
‘She is sleeping in his bed,’ Joey said soberly. ‘She told me she was before I left.’
‘Joey –’
‘There’s nothing more to be said, Lloyd.’
The door opened, Sali looked in and saw the half-empty brandy bottle. ‘Now I know why you didn’t join us in the drawing room for coffee. Joey must be tired, Lloyd. Don’t keep him up all night talking.’
‘I won’t. And I won’t be far behind you.’
‘Goodnight, Lloyd, Joey.’ Julia walked across the hall behind Sali.
‘Goodnight, Julia,’ Joey called after her.
‘I’ll check the children.’ Sali walked in, kissed Lloyd and went to Joey. ‘You will take care of yourself. There are a lot of people who love you.’
‘I know.’ He kissed her. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘Sali’s right, you look dead on your feet,’ Lloyd said when Sali shut the door on them. ‘You’d better go to bed.’
‘After one more of these.’ Joey held up the bottle.
‘A small one,’ Lloyd conceded. ‘Want me to wake you in the morning?’
‘Please. It may take a rocket after what I’ve been sleeping through since I reached France,’ Joey replied.
Joey had a small brandy with Lloyd, and a slightly larger one after Lloyd went upstairs. He poured himself a third and woke, hours later. The fire had burned down low and the brandy was still untouched in his glass.
He picked up the glass, left the dining room and walked into the drawing room. Someone had opened the drapes ready for the morning, and the garden was bathed in the most amazing bluish-white, translucent light. Snow was still falling; enormous, cloud-shaped flakes like the illustrations in a child’s picture book. He pulled a chair up to the French window and stared at the scene. He tried to imprint it on his mind, so he could dwell on it in detail, in a different and, he didn’t doubt, harsher future. The room and his chair were luxurious after the privations of the trenches, the brandy burned his throat and warmed his stomach, and the magnificent view of falling snow that already blanketed the ground and skeletal tree branches was calm, quiet and peaceful after the madness of the Front.
Time lost all
meaning as he sat watching and thinking how strange it was to go from mud, mayhem and slaughter to this still corner of the world. He poured himself another brandy from the drinks tray, unlocked the French door and stepped outside.
‘Aren’t you cold?’
Julia was behind him, wrapped in an embroidered burgundy robe.
‘It’s odd, but it’s not cold out here. Come and see.’ He offered her his hand. She took it and stood alongside him, her thin slippers sinking deep into the snow on the step.
‘You’re right, it’s not cold.’
‘You can’t sleep either?’ he asked.
‘I bought a house today. I’m sure it’s a bad decision. You?’
‘I have such a short time it seems a waste to spend it sleeping; I can do that in the trenches. Even when snow falls there, it’s nowhere near as beautiful, and the couple of falls we’ve had this month turned to black slush as soon as they hit the ground.’
‘You’re right, it is beautiful. But then I’ve always loved snow. One minute everything is withered, winter bleak, and suddenly it looks like a fairy has shaken out a pristine white eiderdown and covered all the ugliness. Sorry,’ she apologized, realizing she was straying into the realms of childhood make-believe. ‘I’m getting carried away.’
‘I know what you mean.’ He leaned against the doorway. ‘I used to love the snow when I was a kid. I can remember waking Victor and Lloyd one morning at five to go sledging on the mountain. They wouldn’t come with me, so I went by myself. What I like most about it is the purity. As you said, all the ugliness has been covered over.’
‘I’d love to go for a walk.’
‘Me too,’ he smiled.
‘It’s three in the morning and neither of us is dressed for it.’
‘Sali and Lloyd used to keep gumboots and coats in the cupboard off the hall.’
‘They still do.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’
By the time she’d struggled into the boots and Sali’s old raincoat, Joey was in the middle of the frozen rose garden. He held out his arms when she walked towards him. She slipped and fell into them.
‘Listen.’ He held his finger to his lips and she listened hard. ‘Do you hear it?’
‘What?’ she whispered.
‘Absolute silence.’ And then he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty
Julia floated slowly into awareness the next morning. From the first moment of consciousness, she knew that something wonderful had happened. That she was happier than she had ever been before and her entire life had changed for the better. She savoured the sensation until it was replaced with memories of the passion she had experienced in the small hours. Only then did she open her eyes. The curtains had been drawn, the room filled with the blinding reflected light of the snow and on the pillow next to her, in the impression where a head had lain, was an envelope. She sat up and opened it.
Dear Julia,
I can’t explain what happened between us last night. It would be easy for me to blame the brandy, the beauty of the snow-filled night, the moonlight, or the thought of going back to the Front and possible obliteration, but none of those things are responsible.
Despite the brandy, I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing; the snow, the moonlight and the night were beautiful, but I’ve lived through other equally beautiful nights without experiencing anything like the one we shared and despite the horrors of the Front, I’m egotistical enough to think I’ll survive to see an end to this war.
I told you that I dislike Geraint and I do, but I have long passed the stage of wanting to hurt him as he indirectly hurt me, and there is no reason for you to know any more of what lies between us. It is over and forgotten because we both have more pressing problems like staying alive to occupy our minds.
Perhaps a desire to live every moment of life to the full would be closest to the truth of last night. Facing death does something to a man. It drives some insane, others to drink, a few into the arms of any woman who can be bought, but most of all it concentrates the mind. You were kind, intelligent and compassionate when I needed someone with all three qualities in abundance and to spare. And all I can say is thank you from my heart for a few hours that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
You don’t need me to tell you that it can never be repeated. And not just because you are a married woman. It was one of those wonderful moments that will never bear scrutiny. Hopefully, you will transform Geraint into a man who deserves a woman like you, and I love Rhian. And even though she no longer wants me I will never love anyone the way I love her. Even if you were free I respect you too much to offer the poor dregs that are all I have left after loving her.
I will stay in Tonypandy with my brother Victor tonight, and leave for the Front from there so I won’t see you again until my next leave – if then. I don’t think Geraint is fit to wipe your shoes but I wish you every happiness with him, if that is what you want and if – the biggest ‘if’ of all – you do succeed in humanizing him. But then, after the way you made me feel last night, I believe you could do anything you set your mind to.
Thank you again for a wonderful memory. You are a very special woman.
Joey
Julia smiled as she slid down in the bed. The maid knocked and brought in a tray of tea.
‘Is it still snowing, Gwen?’
‘No, Mrs Watkin Jones, it stopped in the night. Shall I layout your suit again for you today?’
‘No, Gwen.’ Julia’s smile broadened. ‘Mrs Evans said something about going to Tonypandy with her husband, brother-in-law, Harry and Bella. So I think I’ll stay here and help Mrs Williams with the baby.’
‘Yes, Mrs Watkin Jones. You want your blue housedress?’
‘Please, Gwen. And as I have some letters to write, I won’t bother with breakfast so tell the others not to wait for me.’
‘Shall I bring up some toast for you?’
‘Yes, please, just one slice.’ After the maid left the room, Julia slipped out of bed and put on her robe. She opened the drawer in her desk and flicked through the selection of postcards she kept to write notes to friends and acquaintances. One was of a single red rose. She turned it over and wrote on the back:
Thank you for your letter and last night. You are so right in everything you said. I wish you health, wealth, happiness and a future full of love.
Julia
After addressing it to Joey, she took her teacup and stood in front of the window. Joey was standing to attention on the snow-covered lawn, acting as a target for Harry’s snowballs. She waved to both of them. Harry lobbed a snowball and it fell short of her window, but she didn’t see it.
She was too busy looking at Joey who was smiling back at her.
Cedric watched Edward draw an arrow and scribble a sentence in the margin of the document he was studying. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘A minor addition,’ Edward replied. ‘Llan House and the furniture –’
‘Are to be transferred to your children immediately, not on your death, and that is exactly what that document states.’
‘It doesn’t make any provision for the furniture if they decide to sell the house.’
‘They may want to sell that too.’
‘If they do, all well and good. But it suddenly occurred to me that Julia and Gerald might want to divide the furniture between them. Most of it is mediocre and not worth a great deal but there are one or two good pieces. I’m not saying that could cause trouble, but I’d like a clause inserted to the effect that Julia has first choice, Gerald second and so forth.’
‘And if they argue as children sometimes do?’ Cedric asked.
‘The choice has to be made in the presence of the executors.’
‘Two representatives from this firm, and if they keep the house and furniture and their children decide to sell it, hopefully sixty years from now.’
‘When I will be a hundred and ten?’ Edward raised his eyebrows.
‘
And we’ll both be retired with nothing better to do than while away our days in the gentlemen-only bar of the White Hart, testing and assessing their malt whiskies.’ Cedric shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair.
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Edward commented dryly. ‘In the meantime, to return to this document, at the first sign of an argument between Julia and Gerald, the executors will send the whole lot to auction, where the children can bid if they want to.’
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’ Cedric rose to his feet. ‘Is that the only change you want to make?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure that clause you inserted about Mabel inheriting nothing if she tries to contest the will, is legally sound.’
‘Hopefully it will frighten her enough to back down. Because the income from five thousand pounds’ worth of investments is all that I’m prepared to give her and if she won’t settle for that and be grateful, I’ll come back to haunt her.’ Edward handed the papers to Cedric.
‘The haunting clause might make for interesting reading but, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave it out. I’ll have Miss Arnold type these up.’ Cedric held up the papers. ‘Mr Rowan and his curate are calling in this afternoon to discuss the Thomas bequest. They can witness the papers.’
‘Thank you, Cedric,’ Edward said sincerely.
‘I’m sorry for what I said about Rhian. I should never have –’
‘I’ve accepted your apology.’ Not wanting to discuss the matter, Edward cut Cedric short.
‘And I’m grateful to you for allowing me to buy the practice in instalments.’
‘It will give me a reasonable income to squander in my retirement,’ Edward said lightly.
‘But I still think you’re mad to leave next door and the bulk of your estate to that slip of a girl.’
‘That slip of a girl will be my wife, just as soon as I retire and divorce Mabel. Come,’ Edward shouted at a knock at the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt your meeting, Mr Larch.’
‘I was just leaving.’ Cedric showed Miss Arnold the papers. ‘For immediate typing. I will leave them on your desk and I want them ready by two-thirty this afternoon when Mr Rowan arrives.’
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