Time passed. Willie, hoping for promotion and lacking encouragement from Felicity, continually postponed a decision about leaving the Army. But his duties grew more irksome, and his desire to be in London whenever he wished increased. The regiment had lost its place in his mind, if not in his heart. He seldom thought of it. His first thoughts were of Felicity, his second of racing, so that he lived in two worlds and, together, they sufficed to fill his time. The regiment interfered with both. So that when he received yet another disappointment with regard to promotion, and when Felicity, to console him, said that captain was a more romantic rank than major, he decided to take the plunge and, not without many final searchings of heart, sent in his papers and became his own master for the first time in his life.
He went into partnership with a friend, and set up a small training-stable under National Hunt rules, partly in order to have something to answer when people asked him what he was doing, for in those days young Englishmen were ashamed to admit that they were doing nothing, and partly in order that when he went racing he might feel that he was attending to business and not wasting his time.
Felicity was sorry when he left the Army, although she had not tried to influence him in either direction. She had been brought up in the military tradition, and although she had moved into another sphere, she retained her respect and affection for the Army. Her opinions were not influenced in any way by the people who surrounded her.
Willie met Felicity by chance one day when she was with a tall young man, whose good looks were of a kind that he found particularly irritating. In the first place they were undeniable, and in the second place the young man, although his appearance and his clothes were unconventional, was not effeminate. His hair was long, and he wore a red sweater instead of a waistcoat, but there was something in his bearing that commanded respect. Felicity introduced them and said that her friend had just come back from Spain, and was returning there shortly.
‘Have you been fighting in the civil war?’ asked Willie.
‘One mustn’t say so, but as a matter of fact I have,’ the other answered.
Willie looked at him with envy. Here was a man, ten years younger than himself, perhaps, who had already taken part in war, and was continuing to do so. He surprised his friends at the club that evening by informing them that he was going off to Spain to take part in the fighting.
‘On which side, Willie?’ somebody asked him.
‘Oh, I don’t much mind about that,’ he said.
‘Well, you see,’ it was explained to him, ‘either you have to join up with the Reds, burn down the churches and rape the nuns, or else you have to fight for Hitler and Mussolini and probably take your orders from a German officer.’
‘Is it as bad as that?’ he asked.
‘Worse, old boy. You’re committing a legal offence by going there at all. Of course you’d assume a false name, but if you were caught, you being an officer on the reserve, you’d probably be cashiered. There would be headlines in the papers, and, oh golly, what a disgrace for the dear old regiment!’
Everybody knew Willie’s weakness, and the theme was too good to be dropped.
‘It wouldn’t look well in the papers, I must say. “Cavalry Captain caught in Convent,” “British officer in crack regiment wins Order of Lenin,” “Captain Maryngton embraced by Hitler.” It would break the poor old Colonel’s heart.’
Willie thought such jokes were not amusing, but they sufficed to destroy any intention he might have had of going to Spain. For the first time it was impressed upon him that it was far more difficult for a regular soldier than for a civilian to take part in a war.
Apart from the feeling of frustration that never altogether left him, these were not unhappy years for Willie. He was always occupied. His training-stable had ups and downs, and although over a long period the downs predominated, the ups were numerous and frequent enough to make life agreeable. He loved his club. He played all games of chance and enjoyed them, and the place where he had found so warm a welcome when he came back from India seemed likely to become his home for life.
What was lacking in this very masculine existence was provided by Felicity. His devotion to her never faltered, and she provided for him all that he demanded in the region of beauty and romance. She made no demands upon him. It was he who had always to arrange their meetings, and they were not as frequent as he would have liked. Often he felt that she was treating him badly, but he had only to be with her for five minutes to forget his grievance. Sometimes weeks or even months passed without their being alone together for a moment, and she seemed to be unaware of the fact. Sometimes she seemed to welcome and give back all his passion, at others she hardly allowed him to touch her hand. When he asked her to explain, or to give any reason for such strange alterations in her behaviour, she would say that she was sorry, she knew herself to be very tiresome, but he must take her as she was.
Willie went on living in Jermyn Street, where Felicity never visited him. It was one of her own unwritten laws. Nor did he invite her. There were still matters that he could not discuss with her, and favours that he could not ask. But despite the restrictions set upon their love-making, she made him happy. Her companionship was an unending pleasure, intensified by the thrill of desire. Sometimes, in the summer, they would take picnics into the country, spreading a cloth in some green, secluded spot and sleeping afterwards under the trees. Sometimes they would go to the coast and bathe in the sea. Best of all, he thought, were the autumn and winter evenings when, having spent the day in the open air, hunting or racing, he would return to London and go to the club, where he would remain until the hall-porter came and murmured to him, confidentially, that there was a lady waiting for him outside. Then they would perhaps, if it were not too late, have something to eat and drink before going to the theatre, and afterwards they would have supper either alone or with Horry, and Horry would usually bring a fourth. It was not always Miriam, and when there was a change Willie and Felicity would enjoy, afterwards, criticising the new favourite and speculating on Horry’s degree of intimacy with her. Horry was earning a large salary now, his services were always in demand and he could pick and choose his parts. He had taken his flat in Bloomsbury, of which Willie approved, because it lay in the opposite direction to Chelsea, and there could therefore never be any occasion for Horry to drive Felicity home. She, on the other hand, after all these years, was still looking for a flat, and still sharing rooms with a friend, which Willie deplored, because it disposed of any argument that he could use for crossing the threshold. It was a strange love affair, but Willie was beginning to become reconciled to it, as he was beginning to become reconciled to his existence. It seemed to be his fate, he sometimes thought, to be a soldier who never went to war, and a lover who never lay with his mistress.