Diana watched her mother-in-law surreptitiously, using her book as cover. Evie, she noted with a twinge of remorse, had aged in the past few months. Her skin was dry and weather-beaten, knotted veins stood out on the backs of her hands, her neck was crêpey and her face set into hard, permanent lines. Not that you could see any of this very well in the gloom of the vast drawing room, with its stained glass windows covered by blackout shutters and the solitary gasolier that hung under the vaulted ceiling at the centre of four pillars of polished granite. Perhaps, thought Diana, it was better that one couldn’t see too clearly – the October weather, which was desiccating Evie, seemed to be having the opposite effect on the house: there were warped boards and strange patches of damp all over the place.
She looked across at Guy, who was absorbed in squinting at some sort of manual about tanks. He’d gained some weight since he’d been away, which had surprised her. His face, as well as being quite a lot pinker, was definitely plumper, and there was a fleshy little roll of neck above the back of his collar. In an effort to tilt the balance away from the slight – in truth, considerably more than slight – revulsion she felt about these things, Diana made herself remember how well he’d looked in his uniform when he’d arrived. Looked at objectively, with his thick corn-coloured hair and blue eyes, he was still handsome, and although his uniform fitted rather snugly, it suited him well … Sensing that Evie was watching her watching Guy (or, rather, looking in Guy’s direction, since he had now, unaccountably, turned into Claude), she switched her gaze and stared into the enormous stone fireplace.
Remembering, despite her best efforts, herself and Claude on the bed at her flat after their last lunch together, Diana hoped
that Evie, whose eyes were now boring into her, couldn’t read her thoughts. She’d wanted so much to ask Claude about the woman who’d committed suicide, but she hadn’t. It’s because I’m afraid, she thought. Frightened of what the answer might be. I know he’s dangerous, yet I can’t help comparing Guy with him, and that isn’t fair. She wondered how soon she could decently make an excuse to go up to bed, but the problem was that Guy, directed by an almost indiscernible nod from Evie, would immediately follow her. She’d got out of it the previous night by pleading a headache, but since the excuse had undoubtedly been reported to Evie, and, judging by their expressions when she came down to breakfast, thoroughly discussed, it wouldn’t be prudent to use it again. She consoled herself with the thought that at least she wasn’t in danger of becoming pregnant. Overheard whisperings between two ATS girls at a hostel where she’d stayed the night after visiting a dotty old woman in Bournemouth had alerted her to the existence of something called Volpar paste, which she’d obtained from the doctor. One had to use it with a nasty rubber thing called a cap, which took ages to get into the right position. As long as they do the trick, she thought, because if Guy did succeed in making her pregnant, she’d have to come back to Hampshire for the baby, and spend the rest of the war cooped up with Evie … She couldn’t bear to think about it. Only five more days, she told herself. Four more days and four more nights to be got through before she was free again.
She wondered if Guy was hating it all as much as she was. Not seeing his mother, of course – he was obviously enjoying that – but being with her. He had seemed genuinely pleased to see her, and she’d been glad too, of course – although that was more from knowing that he was safe and well, than from any desire to spend time with him … That was merely awkward, as if they’d just been introduced at a dinner party and quickly run out of things to say to one another. Once, she thought sadly, I could have sat and chattered to him for hours … Evie had invited people – friends of hers, mostly – for lunch and dinner, which would help, but Diana was painfully conscious of the fact that she was avoiding being alone with Guy as much as possible.
She wondered if he’d noticed this. So far, she’d managed to have several long, solitary walks, using the excuse that she needed the fresh air, when really she just wanted to get out of the house so that
she could indulge herself in thoughts of Claude. Four more days and nights … Diana glanced at her watch. It was only quarter past nine, but she felt that if she had to sit under Evie’s gaze for another second, she’d go mad. She got up and reached for her evening bag. Murmuring, ‘Do excuse me’, she began the long walk to the door, heels echoing on the parquet, knowing that Evie was watching her every step.
Closing the door, she let out a sigh of relief and ran down the main staircase, across the hall, through the dark morning room and the boarded-up conservatory, and out on to the terrace, where she fumbled in her bag for a cigarette.
Staring into the darkness of the garden, she reflected that Guy didn’t seem to be enjoying the bed part of things any more than he had before he went away. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to make love to her before dinner, and when she’d rebuffed him, saying that there wasn’t time, he hadn’t insisted. Perhaps, she thought, he expects me not to be interested, or he’s been having an affair, too, or slept with lots of foreign tarts or something. She marvelled for a moment at how worldly she’d become, then wondered if Guy had ever thought about somebody else while he was doing it to her. This idea wasn’t a pleasant one, but then, when the time came, would she be able to stop herself thinking about Claude? That would be dreadful. Surely, she thought, other people’s marriages can’t be like this? Maybe they were. Perhaps her parents’ marriage was like it. She shook her head, bewildered.
The door opened behind her, and there was Guy. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, diffidently.
‘Of course not.’ Her reply was automatic. For a second, she wondered what he would have done if she’d said yes, she did mind rather a lot and would he please go away. This made her feel ashamed, and she was trying to think of something friendly to say to make up for the meanness of her thought when he said, ‘Jolly dark out here.’
‘Yes.’
Guy took out his cigarette case and they smoked together in silence, while she racked her brains for a neutral topic of conversation.
‘We haven’t had much chance to chat, have we?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It sounds as if you’ve been having fun in London.’ There was a short pause, during which Diana’s mind filled with horrible thoughts: had Evie heard something? Had she told him? What was he going to say next?
‘Judging from your letters.’
‘Ohh …’ Thank God it was too dark for him to see her face. ‘My letters. Yes, I have been having fun.’
‘Wouldn’t have thought it was much fun filing papers all day.’
‘I’m enjoying it.’
‘Are you really?’
‘Yes.’ What’s wrong with him, Diana wondered irritably. She’d just said she was enjoying it, hadn’t she?
‘I wish you’d think about coming back here. Mummy gets awfully lonely, you know.’
‘She’s got plenty of friends.’
‘I know, but it’s not the same as if you were here, darling. And it isn’t safe in London.’
‘I’m used to it. Anyway, I can’t just walk out of my job.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’re very good at it, darling, but I’m sure they’ll be able to find another office girl.’
I can’t tell him about it, Diana thought miserably. I can’t tell him anything. ‘I want to be part of it, Guy. If I was here …’ She nearly said ‘stuck here‘, but managed to stop herself in time. ‘I wouldn’t feel I was doing my bit.’
‘But there are lots of things to do here: the evacuees, for instance.’
‘They’ve gone home.’
‘There’ll be another lot now the raids have started. And there’s the WVS, and the Nursing Home. Mummy never complains, but I know she’s finding it terribly difficult managing on her own.’
‘She isn’t on her own. She’s got Mrs Birkett, and Ellen, and Reynolds, and—’
‘You know what I mean. Anyway,’ he added, slyly, ‘if you have a baby, you’ll have to come back.’
‘I don’t want a baby, Guy.’
‘Of course you do,’ he said, breezily.
His dismissive tone made her angry. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling.’
‘I’m not being silly. I don’t want a baby.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t. Not now, not yet.’
‘Oh, darling. I know everything’s a bit upside down because of the war, but if you had one, you’d love it.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Don’t be childish, Diana. Of course you would. And Mummy would be delighted.’
‘I’m sure she would.’ Diana dropped her cigarette and ground it out with her foot. ‘But I’m not going to have one.’
‘I know you had a bad time before, darling, but I’m sure you’d manage better this time, and—’
‘Manage to keep the baby, you mean? I didn’t lose it deliberately, you know.’
Guy looked embarrassed. ‘Of course not. You’re tired, darling.’ He patted her shoulder, clumsily, in the dark. ‘I’m sure that once you’ve had a good rest, you’ll see it differently.’
‘I shan’t. But I am going up to bed. You can go and report back to Evie if you like. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about.’ She ran back indoors, slamming the conservatory door behind her so that the glass panes rattled behind their blackout blinds.
Lying in bed, staring at the imitation coffering on the ceiling, Diana thought, now I’ve really blotted my copybook. Open rebellion – they’d be discussing it now, downstairs. She could picture Evie on the sofa beside Guy, stroking his head and telling him not to worry, she’d have a quiet word and put things right … Oh, God, why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut?
She turned off the lamp and curled up on her side. The guilt she’d felt, both about Claude, and about the poor unwanted baby she hadn’t been sorry to lose, that had made her so sharp with Guy, was suddenly overtaken by misery. The thought that this bloody house was the closest thing she had to a home filled her with a sense of hopeless despair. Tite Street was lovely, of course, but it didn’t really count, and besides, she couldn’t stay there for ever … She longed for the release of sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The thought of the morning, when Evie would take her aside for a ‘little talk’, filled her with dread.
A couple of hours later, she heard footsteps in the corridor: Guy. She stared into the darkness, her body rigid beneath the bedclothes. Surely not tonight … ? The steps grew closer, and seemed to stop
just outside the door. No, please, no … Diana held her breath. The steps started up again, and the sound faded as he went down the passage. Thank God … He must have decided to sleep on the daybed in his dressing room. She turned over and closed her eyes.
She didn’t go down to breakfast, which meant nothing until lunch because Evie did not approve of eating in bed, and in any case the bell didn’t work. She stayed in her room until half-past eleven, when Guy put his head around the door to announce that he and his mother were lunching with some people in the village – and he was sure she’d rather stay in her room and be quiet until she was feeling better.
She watched from her window until the trap had taken them out of sight, then dressed and crept down the staircase, keeping an ear out for Mrs Birkett and Ellen, and fled into the garden. After a couple of hours’ aimless walking, she found herself standing beside the lake where, two years ago, her beloved dachshund had drowned. She wept, knowing that the tears were for herself rather than poor little Clarence, and disliking herself for it.
Trudging back to the house, she told herself not to be ridiculous. Far worse things happened to people, especially at the moment – husbands killed overseas, wives killed at home, people and their children being wounded and crippled, their homes and possessions destroyed. What did she have to cry about?
Lunch had been left for her in the dining room – ham, a few pieces of tired lettuce, half a tomato and a slice of beetroot which had bled over everything else on the plate. Even Mrs Birkett, the cook, seemed to hate her, she thought. She forced some of it down and secreted the bits she hadn’t managed to eat inside her handkerchief. It would be ruined, but that couldn’t be helped. Angry that she was being treated like a schoolgirl – and aware that she was behaving like one – she went up to her bedroom and stayed there, lying on her bed and trying to read, but mostly staring up at the ceiling, until four o’clock.
During tea, which was taken in the drawing room, Guy and Evie maintained an exaggerated politeness towards her but talked mainly to each other, discussing the people they’d lunched with, whom she’d never met. After about half an hour of this, Guy, at a nod from Evie, stood up and said he hoped they’d excuse him, but he needed to speak to Reynolds about the garden. Diana rose from
the sofa to follow him, saying, ‘I think I’ll just go and—Ouch!’ Evie’s hand shot out and caught hold of her wrist. She tried to jerk away, but Evie, still seated in her armchair, had a surprisingly strong grip. ‘I think it’s time we had a chat, don’t you?’ Behind her, Diana heard a quiet click as the door closed. ‘Please let go, Evie. You’re hurting me.’
Her mother-in-law stared at her for a moment before releasing her. ‘Sit down.’ Defeated, Diana did so, rubbing her arm.
‘I have a lot of friends in London,’ Evie said, ‘And I have heard certain rumours. I didn’t give them much credence – people will talk about anything, especially nowadays, and you know that I have always tried to see the best in you.’ She gave Diana a small, poisonous smile. ‘I thought it was probably some stupid infatuation – after all, you’re still young, and you haven’t had a mother to advise you, but I had hoped that by now, as a married woman of twenty-four, you would be mature enough to know better. I was sure it would blow over in time – these things always do – and as the man in question has a reputation as a philanderer, I comforted myself with the thought that you could not possibly be so idiotic as to fall in love with him. I was determined to say nothing, but what Guy told me last night about your coldness towards him puts the matter in a rather different light. I have not, of course, mentioned this sordid business to him – after all, he has quite enough to do with fighting this war, and it’s hardly the time to start worrying him over trifles. Especially when …’ Evie lowered her eyes. When he might not come back, Diana thought, with such an uprush of guilt that she felt as if she were about to be sick. ‘However,’ Evie continued, ‘I see that it has gone further than I thought. Surely, Diana, you want to make Guy happy?’
Unable to speak, Diana stared at her shoes.
‘Perhaps you don’t think he deserves happiness?’
There was only one answer to this, and Diana gave it. ‘Of course I do.’
‘A child would make him happy, Diana. A son. And that is your duty, just as Guy’s duty is to fight for his country. You know that, don’t you?’
Diana nodded.
‘Do you? I want an answer.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, let’s have no more of this nonsense. If you give me your promise – your solemn promise – that you won’t see this man again, we will say no more about it. Otherwise I will have to tell Guy, and that would hurt him more than anything, to know that while he has been risking his life for his country, his wife has been making a fool of herself over some … some roué. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes,’ said Diana. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. I know that what happened before – losing the baby – must have been upsetting for you, but that’s no reason not to try again. I take it you haven’t compromised yourself with this man.’ Evie stopped, waiting for a response. When none came, she said, ‘You know what I am talking about.’
‘No,’ lied Diana, ‘I haven’t.’
‘I love my son,’ said Evie. ‘I cannot protect him in battle, but I will do everything in my power to protect him at home. Do you understand that?’ Diana stared at her – the mouth was smiling, but the eyes were alight with a terrifying fervour that made her heart thump painfully in her chest.
‘Do I have your word that you won’t see this man again?’
‘Yes.’ It came out in a whisper.
‘In that case, we’ll say no more about it. Now, I imagine you’d like some time by yourself. Perhaps you should go for a walk. Mr Reynolds has taken Guy to see the greenhouses, so you might prefer to avoid that part of the garden.’
Once outside, Diana leant against the conservatory wall and lit a cigarette with shaking hands. By the time she’d finished it, the memory of the fanaticism in Evie’s eyes had receded a bit, and she began to berate herself for being feeble and not standing up to her instead of meekly agreeing not to see Claude again. What else could she have done, though? That look on Evie’s face … Diana shivered. She hadn’t been imagining it: Evie would do anything to protect Guy, she thought, deliberately shying away from considering what ‘anything’ might involve. Fancy a grown man allowing his mother to fight his battles for him! But, she thought, that wasn’t entirely fair, because Guy didn’t know anything about Claude. And of course she didn’t want to hurt him, but …
Guy did want a child, she knew, but he undoubtedly wanted one more because Evie desired a grandson. Supposing it was a girl,
anyway? Then she’d have to have another, and if that wasn’t a boy, either … Except that she hadn’t actually agreed to have a baby, had she? Evie had simply taken that as read. But the thought of never seeing Claude again, never kissing him, never …
It was the only thing, she admitted to herself, that had kept her going this week, imagining herself reunited with him in London, and now that had been taken away, there was nothing … In a few short weeks, Claude seemed to have become the foundation stone of her life; now she’d have to learn to manage without him. Resign herself. Life could – and would – go on, and there was her work. Well, she’d keep her promise, but that was all. Pregnancy was unthinkable.
For an insane moment, she imagined herself asking Guy for a divorce, but that was unthinkable, too. In four days’ time he’d be back with his regiment, bound for God knows where. She couldn’t do it. In any case, he’d undoubtedly refuse, and if by some miracle he agreed, what would F-J think? He might be forced to dismiss her, or, failing that, demote her. And how would Claude react? He’d said he loved her, but there was Lally’s story about the woman who’d killed herself – she had thought Claude was in love with her, hadn’t she? And as for Evie … I will do everything in my power to protect him at home.
Flinging away her cigarette, she ran down the terrace steps and across the lawn, scrambling down and then up the steep sides of the ha-ha, her breath coming in tearful gasps as she stumbled over the tussocky grass of the field beyond, watched by a dozen pairs of melancholy bovine eyes. Once in the woods, she sat down at the base of a big tree and pulled out her handkerchief to blow her nose, only to discover that it was full of leftover bits of ham from lunch and blotched pink from the beetroot. For some reason, the sight of this made her cry even harder than before, and, engulfed by a tide of self-pity and unconstrained by thoughts of other people’s problems, she howled with misery.
At quarter to seven, she realised she ought to go back to the house and dress for dinner. Leaning against the rough bark, surrounded by the earthy, comforting smell of leaf mould, she suddenly wondered why she should. She wanted to stay put and fall asleep like one of the babes in the wood, but people didn’t do things like that in real life. Besides, there was bound to be a Home Guard Patrol
later, and she’d probably be mistaken for a German parachutist and shot. I wouldn’t care, she thought. At least, if she were dead, she’d be released from this pretence, from Guy and Evie’s wishes, from her longing for Claude. She struggled wearily to her feet and walked back to the edge of the trees. The cows had gone for milking, and the house, standing at the top of its slope of lawn, its gables and turrets dark against the weak evening sun, looked forbidding and hostile, like a prison. ‘What am I going to do?’ she said, aloud.
Diana stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Somehow, she’d managed to get earth all down the front of her dress, under her fingernails, and in her hair. She looked as if she’d been rolling in it. Her eyes were pink-rimmed and swollen, and her nose red. Splashing her face, she wondered if there might be enough hot water for a bath. For the sake of her dignity – what was left of it – she did not want to go down to dinner looking like a ragamuffin.
A great deal of banging and groaning from the plumbing produced three inches of warm water and a lot of condensation. Diana bathed quickly and returned to her bedroom to change her clothes. She put on her favourite evening dress, re-did her hair and covered her face with a thick layer of powder. It occurred to her, as she was blotting her lipstick, that she would need to replace her ruined handkerchief. Opening the drawer where the maid, Ellen, had unpacked her underwear, she took a clean one from the embroidered case her mother had given her for her seventeenth birthday. As she was about to close the drawer, it struck her that its contents did not look quite as she had left them. There’d been no reason for Ellen to go through her things – there was no laundry to come back, and no mending to be done, so …
Kneeling in front of the chest of drawers, she scooped out brassieres, stockings and knickers and threw them onto the floor. Petticoats and camisoles followed until the drawer was empty. Diana stared at the lining. The tube of Volpar paste and the round box containing her cap, which she’d carefully hidden beneath her underclothes, had disappeared.