Ross said, ‘I didn’t know about Charles Villiers.’
Tucker shuffled his feet. ‘Well, I expect he’d like to go along.’
‘Trying to save me, eh, Mike?’
Tucker faced him calmly. ‘Nice girl. But not your sort.’
Ross examined the clip of signals to avoid his eyes. ‘Four more chariots arriving in the next convoy, two as replacements. I’ll leave you to fix things with the chief tiffy.’ He thought of the girl who had just left. Not your sort. But why not? Nothing serious: she was not the kind to expect that. Merely to hold her, let everything go . . . When he looked up, Tucker was still watching him.
He said, ‘Petty Officer Mackenzie has offered to drive, sir.’
Ross stared past him at the blue sky. He had spoken to her a few times but only on the subject of certain signals, because Pryce was away. Then once, when he had been lighting his pipe and she had had her back turned while she locked the filing cabinet, she had said, ‘I was sorry, sir, so sorry about your father.’ He had sensed her determination to keep her voice neutral. ‘I know how I would have felt.’
She must have known about the signal before Turquoise had sailed. Perhaps she had agreed to suppress it, realizing the effect it would have had on him.
He had asked, ‘Did you enjoy your date with Sub-Lieutenant Napier?’ It had been a stupid remark, merely for something to say.
Her reaction had been swift. ‘Should I have asked permission, sir? Put in a request through my divisional officer?’ It had been like a shield dropping between them.
Tucker said, ‘There’s one thing, sir. I’m a bit bothered about it.’ He was being serious now, even formal.
‘Spit it out.’
‘Mr Napier’s Number Two, Nick Rice. Telegraphist, that was.’
‘Yes, what about him?’ He could sense the sudden concern, the tension in the other man. Tucker had very strong views on loyalty and how far you could take advantage of it. It was serious.
‘He came to me this morning. I told him straight, “Don’t beat around the bloody bush with me, Nick. Speak up or drink up”.’
‘And?’
‘He wants a transfer, sir. Change crews when there’s an opportunity. You’ve just told me about the replacements – well, that might be the time. There’s bound to be some new faces as well.’
Ross wished there was something to drink in the office. But if Pryce still had anything decent left, it would be under lock and key. He said, ‘I don’t understand it. They seemed to get on so well. First-class reports, nothing that might have prevented me from sending him on such an early mission.’ That, and Pryce’s pig-headedness.
Tucker considered it. Nick Rice had blurted out, ‘Look, Tommy, I’m as game as the next bloke, but the subbie nearly did for both of us. He lost his bottle completely!’ He said to Ross, ‘There’s a lack of confidence, sir. Might blow over. I’ve known it happen.’
Ross smiled. Even with me, I expect. ‘Looking round here, you’d never believe it, but this is a front-line operational force. We can’t afford any foul-ups, right?’
Tucker grinned, glad he had mentioned it. ‘Right, sir.’
As he turned to go, Ross asked, ‘Did she really offer to drive us to the estate? I wonder why.’
Tucker pressed his famous luck. ‘Probably wants to defend you against her officer. “Jane”, isn’t it?’
When Ross had taken a shower and changed into a clean shirt and slacks, Tucker was ready and waiting for him, a cardboard box held carefully under one arm.
Ross said, ‘I don’t know how you do it – the Colonel might not even touch the stuff. But thanks, all the same.’
Tucker grinned. ‘His name’s Mackenzie. Of course he’ll like it. The chief steward arranged it. The same as Captain Pryce favours.’
They walked into the evening sunshine and there was another surprise waiting for Ross. He had expected one of the usual overworked staff cars, worn-out springs and completely airless. It was anything but that. Sleek and rounded like a sports car, he recognized it as a Sunbeam Talbot. It had been an expensive rarity in England before the war and now, of course, it was unobtainable. It was cream-coloured, the bonnet covered with the inevitable layer of dust from the roads. Like part of the past, for the lucky ones anyway. It made Ross think of his father’s Bentley, which had been laid up for the duration. What would become of that, Big Andy’s pride and joy, he wondered? She might marry again and give it to her new husband. He was surprised at how bitter it made him feel.
‘Ready when you are, sir.’ She had been standing beside the car, chatting quite freely with Villiers. She took the box from Tucker, and Ross noted their quick exchange of glances. Then she opened the doors and indicated that he should get into the back. Villiers held the door for her, and then sat beside her while she took the wheel.
Over her shoulder she explained, ‘It will take about an hour, all being well, sir. The roads are good.’ In the driving mirror, Ross saw her smile at Villiers. ‘But the north-east monsoon will soon change all that!’
Past the sentry and out on to the open road, the colours and smells of this exotic country even more striking in the evening light.
Villiers said, ‘We’ll follow the road south along the sea and then head inland and get a bit of height – right, Victoria?’
She nodded, her black hair whipping out from beneath her hat. ‘Like England – you are never more than eighty miles from the sea in Ceylon!’
Ross stared at some gaunt cattle which were being driven into a field: this was an island of great beauty, and of desperate poverty, too. The others were chatting together, while she occasionally took her hand from the wheel to point out something of interest: a ruined temple, a Catholic church. A place she had come to know, but Ross, who had been told she was born in Singapore, sensed she did not think of it as home.
They were heading away from the sea now, the trees overhanging the car like a green tunnel. He watched her hand as she tightened her grip to take the next slow bend in the road. Small, and strong. Her conversation with Villiers made him feel isolated. He tried to smile. Jealous, perhaps?
She said suddenly over her shoulder, ‘My father is looking forward to your visit, sir. Whatever he says, I think he still misses being a part of things.’ She glanced at Villiers. ‘Not far now.’
‘I could sit and be driven all day!’ He ran his fingers through his fair hair. ‘It’s been a long time.’
The gates were painted white and were propped open to reveal a long, well tended driveway with flower-beds, and colourful shrubs Ross could not even begin to recognize. There was a fountain, too, where bronze cranes lifted their wings to the cascading water.
The house was impressive. Built on brick stilts to keep termites at bay, it was broad and spacious, with a veranda running from end to end. Ross saw Villiers lean forward for a better look. It was a typical colonial bungalow, and Ross suspected suddenly that it reminded him of his home.
She slowed the car, and must have recognized the expression in Villiers’ eyes. She touched his arm and said softly, ‘You must enjoy today. Do not be sad.’ Ross felt the simple words turn in his stomach like a knife.
Villiers murmured, ‘I knew you’d understand. Thank you.’
The car pulled up in front of the entrance and a servant in a white coat hurried to greet them.
She opened the door for Ross and handed him Tucker’s box. ‘There will be drinks presently. Please go inside.’
Villiers replaced his cap, shaking off the mood. ‘What a place!’
She studied him gravely. ‘Like Hollywood? That is what visitors say.’
Villiers grinned. ‘You know exactly what I mean!’
Ross said awkwardly to her, ‘Will you wait, or are you coming in, too?’
She looked through him, and then at him as if seeing him for the first time. ‘I live here, sir.’
They went up the steps and Ross, trying to recover from his embarrassment, said, ‘I don’t mean to annoy her.’<
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Villiers said casually, ‘I think you may remind her of someone, Jamie. Somebody who once brought her unhappiness.’
Irritated, Ross said, ‘Old head on young shoulders! You’ll have to teach some of it to me.’
Villiers paused to admire the broad entrance. There were many Chinese statues and carvings, some Indian ones as well, but mostly souvenirs of the Colonel’s Far East travels. He said quietly, ‘Caryl would love to see all this.’
Just like that. She was never far from his thoughts. Such things could, then, happen so quickly; in their case, had happened.
Their caps were whisked away and Ross found himself strangely glad that he had come. There was another fountain here, but as he turned to watch it the water fizzled away; at the same time, all the lights dimmed for a few seconds before picking up again. The fountain returned to life.
‘Can’t rely on anything! My generator was one of the best investments I ever made!’
Colonel Basil Mackenzie strode to greet them. Tall, craggy-faced, with a bushy white moustache and eyebrows to match, he would have been recognizable as a soldier in this or any other century. Very upright, with square shoulders in a well-fitting jacket, he was still that same man, like the pictures at Highmead School and in the various service clubs Ross had visited. Omdurman, Sebastopol, the shoulder-to-shoulder British squares at Waterloo: he would have fitted into any of them.
‘Lieutenant-Commander Ross – I shall call you Jamie, if I may. And Lieutenant Villiers. Will “Charles” suit?’
They shook hands warmly, and he took their arms. ‘Officers’ Call, or in your case, the sun is over the yardarm, correct?’
Ross handed him the box. ‘I hope you like it, sir.’
He held it up to the rejuvenated lights. ‘Islay malt, by God!’ He beamed. ‘You must be not only a man of courage and perception, but a very influential one to boot!’ He turned and called to the servant, but not before Ross had seen his eyes. Tawny, like the girl’s.
She came in now, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor of the entrance hall. She looked tired, perhaps sorry they were here. The Colonel kissed her on the forehead, and it made Ross realize how tall he was. ‘I dunno, Jamie, women in uniform!’ He smiled, the years leaving his face. ‘Still, they were well up in the line with us in Flanders.’
She said, ‘I’d like a swim, Daddy. I feel sticky.’
He nodded. ‘Show Charles the garden – and the swimming pool, of course!’
She put her hand gracefully through Villiers’ arm. ‘Come with me, sir. Perhaps it is Hollywood after all!’
The Colonel said, ‘Make a striking pair, eh?’ But his eyes were on Ross and his reaction. Then he chuckled. ‘Come into the Museum – that’s what everyone round here calls it – and tell me what you want to do about this bloody war-correspondent fellow.’ He went towards a closed door and took out a key. ‘You can tell me about England, too, while you’re at it.’
It was a large room with only a single lamp on a broad desk. Ross looked around with interest as the other man switched on more lights. Despite what he had said about its being called ‘the Museum’, Ross guessed it was a very private place, and he was surprised and touched that he had been invited to share it.
One wall was lined with books and there were several military engravings interspersed with old swords and eastern knives. Opposite the door, with its own small spotlight, was a portrait of Mackenzie himself, a likeness so good that it could have been a photograph. He was dressed in a green uniform with a white sun helmet balanced on one knee while he stared into the distance.
He heard Mackenzie filling some glasses. ‘When was that painted, sir?’
Mackenzie replied, ‘Before I stepped down. Frontier Force Rifles.’ His voice was casual, matter-of-fact, but Ross knew it was important to him. ‘The regiment spent a lot of time in Singapore and Malaya after the war, what was left of the poor little buggers. Fought like tigers in Flanders – even that couldn’t break them, but British Army cooking nearly did!’ He held out a glass. ‘Pink gin suit you?’
Ross grinned. There were no cobwebs on this old warrior.
‘After that I was supposed to leave the Indian Army and be promoted. Drink all right?’
Ross sat down, avoiding the fixed stare of a tiger-skin rug by the desk. Mackenzie went on as though to himself. ‘My wife and two sons were with me. It was expected in those days.’
He moved to the window and peered out between the blinds at the purple sunset.
‘I got to love the place. Unfortunately, my wife hated it. I sometimes think she hated the Army, too.’ He smiled, but it only made him look sad. ‘A general’s daughter at that. You never know, do you?’
Ross wondered why he was telling him all this, when they had only just met: at the same time he felt certain that it was not something the Colonel usually did. Especially here, in this room, which must be so full of memories. ‘So they went home in a trooper.’ He sounded far away. ‘The two boys have done well. One is in the Hampshires, the other in the Royal Armoured Corps.’
He said abruptly, ‘Smoke your pipe if you want to. No rules here, y’know.’ He watched as Ross pulled out his briar pipe and pouch and said, ‘We had an amah in Singapore, for the boys’ sake. She’d been a nurse, and was very good with them.’ He looked steadily at Ross. ‘An affair was something else – lots of chaps had those, a mistress perhaps to make the monotony of garrison duty tolerable. But one was never allowed to carry it any further. The honour of the regiment or something like that!’ He looked at Ross again, the same searching gaze. ‘Come over here.’ He switched on another light above another portrait. A serene, beautiful oriental face with long plaited black hair.
Mackenzie said quietly, ‘Victoria’s mother.’ He touched the gilt frame very gently. ‘Jeslene. I often sit here and look at her. She died just after we came to Ceylon.’
‘And you quit the Army, sir?’
He stroked his white moustache. ‘No choice in the matter, really. So I had a go at tea planting. Paid off, as it happens, but nowadays I have people to handle everything for me. I’m just the old soldier around here.’
‘Thank you for telling me, sir.’
Mackenzie smiled. ‘Sign of old age. If I lived in London, I’d be lying in wait in the club, ready to bore the pants off anyone stupid enough to listen to how we held Hill Sixteen!’
He expertly mixed another pink gin. Ross hesitated, then asked, ‘How did your daughter become a Wren?’
‘Hated the Army, probably. They formed a women’s volunteer unit here shortly after the outbreak of war. She wanted to do something.’ He stared into his glass. ‘For the country, she said. But, like that young man you brought with you, she has no country, not to call her own. It needs more than a passport to find that.’
Ross saw two pale shapes passing the window, and wondered if Villiers would tell her about his girl, another man’s wife, in England.
‘I’m glad she’s attached to your lot, Jamie. Some of the people at the Base – well, you know how it is.’ He did not elaborate.
‘Captain Pryce said he couldn’t manage without her.’
‘Pryce – oh, yes, he would. She’s still only a petty officer.’ He grinned broadly. ‘But then, Hitler and Napoleon started as corporals, right?’
Ross heard the girl laugh at something. Mackenzie said, ‘Don’t tell him, not yet anyway, but I used to play golf with his father in Singapore. Didn’t know him, but like everyone else there I knew the family.’ He switched off the light above the picture. ‘I worry about Victoria. When I’m gone.’ He added angrily, ‘Let’s go and get something to eat. You young chaps must be starving.’
Villiers was standing in the hall, studying the ornaments. Mackenzie put his hand on his shoulder and said quite gently, ‘You miss the old place, don’t you, son?’
Villiers looked at him, his face suddenly bare and defenceless. ‘On days like this, I do.’ He turned and stared into the shadows, almost as though his ghosts moved
there for him.
The girl came to join them, wearing a loose robe and a towel draped over her hair. ‘It was lovely!’ She glanced at Ross and at her father. ‘You should try it!’
But Ross was thinking of the portrait in the Colonel’s room. What their love had cost them, although it had endured, strengthened by adversity.
The others had gone ahead. She asked softly, ‘Did you have a good talk with my father?’
‘I could have listened to him for hours.’
‘Did he show you the portrait too?’
So casually said, but it was important. Perhaps there had been someone before him, someone who had answered the same question. Villiers might be right after all.
He said, ‘I can see where you get your looks from. She was lovely.’
She stared at him, her eyes startled, but without anger. She exclaimed, ‘You must not say that! It is not right!’
His voice was surprisingly level. ‘Someone should say it, and mean it, as I do.’
Was he just repeating what another man had told her? I could reach out and touch her, but she is as far away as Charles’s girl on the other side of the world. He thought of his father; there was never any warning. These memories would always ambush him. What’s she like, Jamie? When are we going to meet this girl of yours?
She said softly, ‘It wouldn’t work. But . . . thank you.’ She touched his face with her fingertips. ‘I wouldn’t want either of us to be hurt.’ She walked slowly away, her bare feet leaving small damp prints on the tiled floor.
Then she said without looking round, ‘I will be going back to my quarters. I’ll tell the duty officer to send transport for you.’
‘No!’ He was shocked by the sharpness of his voice. ‘I’d prefer it if you waited. I don’t like the idea of you going back on your own.’
He saw the argument and resentment fade, and she answered indifferently, ‘If you say so. If it’s what you want.’
He nodded, feeling stupid. ‘It is.’
The others looked at him as he sat down at the supper table, wondering no doubt what had happened between them.
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