Armada

by Steven Wilson

  He stopped the jeep, hopped out, and scanned the sky. Still heavily overcast, so dark it almost felt like night. There was bad weather coming in all right.

  He took the heavy iron doorknocker in his hand and drew a deep breath when the door opened. An aged butler looked him over with disinterested eyes.

  “Sir?” the old man said.

  “Lieutenant Jordan Cole,” Cole said, feeling as if he had intruded on a funeral. “To see Rebecca Blair.”

  “She is expecting you, sir?” the butler said.

  “No,” Cole said. “I’m a surprise.”

  The butler stood back, signaling Cole that he could come into the hallway. His eyes flicked at Cole’s cap. Cole quickly removed it, not sure if he should hand it over or hold on to it. The butler didn’t offer to take it and the gesture said everything; you won’t be staying long. “Wait here, sir,” the butler said. “I’ll announce you.”

  Cole nodded, running his fingertips along the edge of his cap as he waited. The argument continued to rage inside but it was less intense than before. He was here; it would be silly to bolt out the door. What if she doesn’t want to see me? He tallied up a dozen reasons, mostly imaginary, why she didn’t want to see him. He berated himself for his conduct, for not writing to her, for the anger that he felt toward her, for the terrible things that he called her, and for a wild, irrational instant he was certain that she must have known how horribly he treated her in his mind. He shook his head in disgust at his own insanity and wondered why he could do everything except save the relationship.

  “Lieutenant Cole?” a thin woman with auburn hair approached him. Rebecca’s mother; she had to be Rebecca’s mother, the resemblance was amazing. “I’m Florence Bannard. You’ve come to see Rebecca.”

  “Yes,” Cole said. He felt awkward, now more than ever, an intruder. “I should have called or something.”

  “ ‘Or something,’ Lieutenant. Carrier pigeon, perhaps?” It might have been an attempt at a joke, but Florence delivered it with just enough coolness to belay that suspicion.

  He laughed despite himself. “Okay. You’re definitely Rebecca’s mom. Mother.”

  Her demeanor remained unchanged, but Cole supposed it was more a question of British reserve than it was her mild chastisement of him. “Ringing ahead or carrier pigeon would certainly have been the polite thing to do, but I’ve noticed that you Americans are an informal people.” That damned British reserve—sometimes Cole found it intimidating. “But you’re welcome, of course.”

  “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  A moment passed. “Not at all. I’m sure Rebecca will be glad to see you. She’s in the solarium. She spends quite a bit of her time there these days. If you follow me …”

  “Ma’am,” Cole interrupted her. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather show myself to her room. I mean find my own way. I …” He tried to find a way to tell her that Rebecca might not be happy to see him and he didn’t want an audience if that was the case. His emotions were spinning about like the waterspouts he had often watched dance over the sea.

  “I shouldn’t worry, Mr. Cole,” Florence said, releasing him from his dilemma. “I know all about you and Rebecca. We’ve had a splendid time getting reacquainted recently. We talk now, mother-to-daughter, like we’ve never talked before. You have been a recurring subject. Just walk down the hall and turn left at the third door.”

  “Thank you,” Cole said, relieved.

  The solarium was large, with a few potted plants scattered about, and in the center of the room was a large settee with a lamp just behind it. Rebecca, a coverlet thrown over her lap, sat reading a book, framed by the soft light.

  Cole’s mouth went dry when he saw her. Her thick hair fell, unbound, over her shoulders. Her eyes, gliding over the pages of the book in her hand, were as gentle and kind as he remembered them. The delicate curve of her cheeks and the long slope of her neck captured his eyes and he realized with a start that he had been staring at her.

  “Hi,” he said. The word no more than a whisper.

  When she looked up her mouth parted in surprise, and for a terrible moment Cole was afraid that she would order him to leave, but she smiled and her face suddenly filled with hope. He knew that she was glad to see him. He felt his excitement growing. “Hello,” she said, surprised, her voice kind and inviting. The sound of it brought back a flood of memories for Cole.

  “I guess it’s been a long time,” he said, moving closer to her. He’d practiced this moment a dozen times on the trip to Petersfield, but everything that he meant to say evaporated. Now he simply wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her body pressed against his.

  She slipped a bookmark between the pages and laid the book on a low table. “Yes. It has. Much too long.” Her eyes shone with longing and he began to hope that there still might be a chance.

  Cole stopped, awkwardly, and then continued walking, certain somehow that it was better if he moved about. His mind raced through the countless prepared speeches, but he could think of nothing to say. He remembered their lovemaking and how passionate she was, crying out at the moment that everything, everyone was forgotten, except their pleasure. He finally stumbled onto a pitiful: “I talked to Dickie. He said that I should come and see you. He told me where you lived.”

  “Dickie’s been here a number of times,” Rebecca said, her eyes following Cole. “It’s permissible to sit, Jordan.”

  He felt her eyes sweep over him and he wished that they were somewhere alone. He was stunned at his desire for her and felt foolish because of it. “I’ve been sitting all morning. In the jeep. I mean driving up. I thought I’d stretch.”

  Her smile grew larger and she pulled her legs up under her. “Sit here,” she nodded toward the end of the settee. “I much prefer you close to me. We’ve been apart so long I can’t stand the thought of us being in the same room and yet still separated.” Rebecca noticed his cap. “William didn’t take your hat?”

  “No,” Cole said, sitting carefully on the settee. He felt the warmth where her legs had been and the sensation was comforting. “He probably thought you’d throw me out or something.” He remembered the “or something” that Florence Bannard had pinned him with. “I met your mom.”

  “You’ve met Mother, then?” Rebecca confirmed with a trace of apprehension.

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “I bet you she’s a pistol.”

  “Pistol?”

  “I mean a handful. Kind of a …”

  “Pistol,” Rebecca said, catching on. “Yes, she is. She has to be to survive Father. She and he have a very special arrangement. He remains discreet with his affairs and she treats him with a high degree of disdain.”

  Cole watched as her hand reached out to smooth a wrinkle in the coverlet and then continued over to his hand. Her skin was smooth and warm and he noticed that she was trembling as well. She intertwined her fingers into his, squeezing his hand. Her touch brought back visions of her naked body against his and he became aroused.

  “Jordan,” she said. “What have you done with yourself? I’ve missed you terribly. I cried myself to sleep and felt miserable all of the time. I couldn’t shake the thoughts of us when we were together. I have missed you so much.”

  “I kept rereading your letters,” he said. “I behaved like a jerk. I was angry and hurt and I kept thinking ‘I’ll get even with her.’ But all the time you were stuck in my mind.”

  She settled against the pillows and glanced through the row of windows bound by heavy blackout curtains. She withdrew her hand from his and began tenderly stroking his forehead, pushing his hair back. “A bit awkward, isn’t it?” she said, smiling to let him know there was nothing wrong with feeling a little at odds. “I damned you a dozen times for being a child, and at the same time I damned myself for being a fool.”

  “You’re not alone there.”

  She ran her fingers along his temple. “Every time that I wrote, I tried to be happy and behave as if nothing were wrong. I failed, I�
�m sure. Everything was wrong. You were far away and I was the cause.”

  “The war had something to do with it,” Cole joked weakly, and then was overwhelmed with regret. “I was an idiot. I wanted you. I never wanted to lose you. I tried to understand what you were doing, but I hated you for it. And then I hated myself.”

  “One would think that you had learned to be a bit easier on Jordan Cole,” she said. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and then the bridge of his nose. Suddenly their lips met and they embraced fiercely. They kissed over and over, her tears covering his face and lips, his arms trapping her body tightly against his so that they would never be apart again. Her face was pressed firmly into his shoulder, and he could feel her body shaking as she cried uncontrollably. Finally, the sobbing lessened but she did not move. He held her, his fingers drifting over her red hair.

  “Yeah,” Cole said, feeling drained. He began to talk, wanting her to know everything. It was important to him that she knew where he had been and what he had done. “When the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor and all hell broke loose I managed to talk myself into PT boats. Got shipped back to Newport for training. Rhode Island. I was down in the Mediterranean. PT boats. I wanted to be as far away from England as possible. Away from you, really. Silly, isn’t it? Same as before. I’m still the uncertain little boy. You’d think I’d learn by now.”

  “You haven’t changed, Jordan,” she said, her voice muffled in his shoulder. She turned and looked up at him, wiping the tears away with one hand. “Economy with words, I think it’s called. You were always one to use them sparingly.” She smiled. “That’s not very much of an autobiography.” She pulled back and examined him. “Look how thin you are. You haven’t been eating, have you? I suppose that’s the service, isn’t it? Why haven’t you been eating?”

  “Not much of an appetite, I guess,” he said. “I get by on lots of coffee. We have plenty of coffee, thank God.”

  “I thought you would have developed a taste for tea being so long in England.”

  “No. Nothing replaces coffee.”

  She fell back against his chest, nestling her head into his shoulder. He responded by pulling her tightly into him, caressing her neck.

  “Have you found someone else?” she asked, her voice catching.

  “No,” he said. There had been no one else. He had thrown himself into his work and dared anyone to interfere with his life, careful to keep people at bay. His walls had been certain and complete. He had made himself an island and had suffered because of it.

  “How about …” he began.

  “No,” Rebecca said quickly. “No. I was sick of Gregory and sick because of him, and sick because I had sent you away. The only man I wanted was the man I told to go. No. There has never been anyone but you.”

  She looked up and they kissed again, a deep, long, passionate kiss that tried to erase all that had happened before, and restore the promise for their love.

  “I’d give a million dollars if your mother was anyplace else,” Cole said, kissing her hair.

  “Oh,” she groaned. “Don’t torment me like that. If I start thinking about how much I want you, I shall explode. Quick, change the subject before I ravish you.”

  “I like the ravishing idea better.”

  She looked up and gave a play frown.

  “Okay,” he said. “Still working? Nursing?”

  “For a bit. Then I took ill.”

  “Ill?” Cole said, startled. “I didn’t …”

  “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. Simply exhaustion. The pressures of the job, I suppose. And the marriage.” Her voice dropped. “And here I am. If it weren’t for Dickie I should never have known what you were doing or where you were.”

  “He is kind of a busybody, isn’t he,” Cole said. “All done with what’s-his-name, huh?” he added, teasing.

  “You mean Gregory,” Rebecca said with a ghost of a smile. She was silent for a moment, and Cole could see that the memories were painful. “He has chosen to live his life, his way. I began to understand that were I to stay, I should eventually be destroyed. So I left him and came to Farley Manor.”

  “I thought you and your dad,” Cole started, trying to find a way to broach the subject. “I thought you two had a falling-out.”

  “We have,” Rebecca said. “But Father is seldom here. He has a flat in London and anyway, we are quite civilized to one another when he does visit, which is rarely. Mother and I get along splendidly when she remembers that I am no longer a child. William, you’ve met William, runs the household, although Mother thinks she does. I want for nothing, really.”

  Cole nodded, not sure of where to take the conversation. He could no longer resort to the menu of phrases that he had practiced in the jeep. Some of it was conciliatory, some caustic and unforgiving, much of it bitter and angry over the pain that she had caused him. They were well past that illusion now—past the imaginary world that Cole had carefully constructed so that he held all of the answers and could play all of the roles. His scripted world offered the most protection for him; everyone was held accountable to his standards. When he allowed the truth to surface, he realized that his pain was not of her making. It was his. She had chosen to stay with Gregory because she wanted to salvage her marriage. She and Cole shared love for a brief period but she was not certain that would sustain a relationship. Cole began to realize that she was right to be concerned about their love; they had found each other during war, and war distorted everything.

  “You said that I was a child,” Cole said, remembering. He had never forgotten those words, and whenever he felt the pain of their separation he brought them up to counter the agony of his love for her. But now they were just words—a way to carry on a conversation.

  “Yes,” she said. “And I shall regret that until the day I die. I had no reason to say it.”

  “Oh, yes you did,” Cole said in a flash of honesty. The last of the bitterness in his heart disappeared. He knew that he had been foolish to blame her. He knew that his anger had been his way of coping, of protecting himself. He also knew how much it had damaged him. “In a lot of ways I was. Maybe I still am. I only saw what I wanted. I didn’t care about anything else. I’ve had a long time to think things over. I guess I let my emotions get in the way of things. Sometimes I’m not rational.”

  “Jordan,” Rebecca teased him. “You are human after all, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, “unfortunately.”

  They both laughed and grew silent for a moment. She began to trace the outline of his jaw with her fingertips, and then slid them over his lips. He kissed them tenderly.

  “I could have done things differently,” he said. For the first time there might really be a chance to find her again. There had been time and distance, but before that there were the harmful words spoken out of spite. His words. His way to hurt her.

  “You’re being much too hard on yourself,” she said. “I often forget that some people don’t truly know themselves. I suppose that they don’t know what troubles them and they certainly can’t express that notion.”

  “You’d make a great shrink.”

  “A ‘shrink’?”

  “Psychologist. Psychiatrist. Some guy who putters around in peoples’ minds to help them understand why they hate their mother.”

  “Oh, I don’t hate Mother,” she said with a playful smile. “I just find her immensely irritating at times. You, on the other hand …” She let the observation hang.

  “Me? I’m just nuts,” he said playfully.

  “Jordan Cole,” Rebecca said. “You are a … a pistol.”

  They both laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” They were both silent until Cole said: “Do you mind if I write? Maybe drop by every once in a while for a visit?”

  Rebecca straightened and looked at him in surprise. “Jordan Cole! If you don’t I shall die. I shall just die. You’d better do more than write and ‘drop by every once in a while.’” She took his face in her hand
s and looked deeply into his eyes. “You are such a silly goose at times. I will not lose you again, do you understand? If you run away I shall come and hunt you down. You must promise to write me every day and come as often as you can.”

  He smiled wickedly. “Well, that part is up to you.”

  She kissed him passionately, running her tongue into his mouth. He responded, feeling the heat between them blossom, wanted desperately to touch her everywhere, to have her naked body against his.

  When they parted he breathed: “Wow.” He smiled at her and added. “I may write you twice a day if you keep that up. Maybe we can slip out and …”

  “I’ll have to stay close to the Manor for a bit,” she said. She gave a small shrug. “Doctor’s orders.”

  “Doctor? You said it was nothing.”

  “Nothing serious, Jordan,” she said. “I’m tired, that’s all. I’m afraid the last little while with Gregory and the work in the hospital have been a bit rough on me.”

  “You’re not kidding me, are you?” Cole said. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a nurse, dear. I know when a body is simply worn out, and I am most decidedly worn out. Don’t worry. Between Mother and William I shan’t want for a thing. In fact, if one doesn’t smother me the other will.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Besides, the faster that I get rested up, the faster that we can pop into bed.”

  “I like that idea,” he said. “Can you go for a ride or anything? I mean just to get out of the house.”

  “When you return we’ll have dinner,” she said. “If Doctor Lee permits, we can go out. If not, we set a perfectly adequate table here.”

  “With Mother?” Cole said.

  “Let’s not think about that,” Rebecca said.

  “Okay,” Cole said. He noticed dark circles under her eyes and her smile wasn’t as vibrant as he remembered. She looked tired and he was afraid that he’d stayed too long. He glanced at his watch. “Look. I’ve got to get back. I’m practically AWOL now. I want you to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself.”

  Her face brightened with a smile and she offered a mock salute. “Aye, aye, Admiral Cole.”