Terri Nixon - Kitty’s War

Oli shrugged. ‘Well, I’d be happy to go over to help out if they needed me.’

Father waved his hand. ‘Storm in a teacup—be over before we know it. Not like Africa at all.’ He pointed his knife at Archie. ‘Now that was a campaign and a half. Your uncle could tell you all about that, young man.’

I saw a glint in Archie’s eyes, and realised he was hiding a flash of anger at the easy dismissal of the very real danger into which he was going, although his voice did not betray it. ‘Aye, so I understand. Uncle Jack doesn’t talk about it much though. He was at Rooiwal near the end. Was that anywhere near you?’

Father coloured, but to do him credit, he didn’t attempt to lie. ‘Well, of course I’d have liked to have joined the party,’ he said, ‘but the business was just taking off. Couldn’t go off and leave it. Too many people depending on it for a living. Do have some more wine, lad.’

Archie’s mouth twitched as he held out his glass, and I was relieved to see his anger disappear in a barely suppressed grin at Father’s discomfiture. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Conversation moved on, and since no-one was the slightest bit interested in anything I might have to say, I used the time to study Archie more closely, to examine the response to him that had taken me so completely by surprise. The familiarity was still there. It wasn’t as if he was someone else, but that I was, and along with our easy friendship I recognised the need to experience the warmth of a closer contact… Talking to him wasn’t enough any more. I wanted to know how he felt about everything, and I wanted him to care how I felt too. I realised I had stopped eating now and was staring at him, and I looked quickly at Mother, but she was busy admonishing Oli for drinking his wine too quickly. If he had this effect on my appetite I needn’t worry about fat ankles for much longer, anyway.

After dinner I sat with the others while they talked of times past and times to come, and looking at Oli’s eager expression I knew he’d meant it when he’d told Archie he’d have preferred to sign up than go to law school. Archie loosened his tie as they all began to relax, and settled back into his chair with a glass of Father’s best brandy, while I pretended to read but found my attention wandering from the page constantly, whether he was speaking or not.

He was starting to look tired; the journey from Scotland had been a long one, and he had to be up early to get the train from Liverpool to London. Yet despite his slightly edgy weariness, he had a compelling magnetism to him that drew my eyes again and again. The strong, clean features and ready smile were only part of it; his voice wrapped me in its soft-spoken tones. His hands, holding the brandy glass up to the light to peer through the amber depths, were steady and graceful, and I closed my eyes as I remembered the warmth of them pressing me to him in that brotherly hug.

Abruptly I tore my gaze away, and set my book aside. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’

‘But it’s dark,’ Mother protested.

‘There are lights, and I need some fresh air.’

‘You can’t go out alone!’

‘I’ll only be a few minutes. No need to disturb anyone to come with me.’

Without waiting for a reply, I went out into the hall and plucked my coat from the hook, and once outside I half expected to hear the light raindrops sizzle as they landed on my face. I was more tangled, in thought and emotion, than I’d ever been before, and the culprit was sitting back there in our drawing room. Not a thought cast my way, not a care in his head except what he was going into tomorrow. And who could blame him for that?

I closed my eyes again and pictured those beautiful, strong hands holding, not a brandy glass, but a gun. Then I pictured his face, contorted in fear, pain, or both, and the abrupt reality of where he was going squeezed my heart until I thought it would collapse. France, or Belgium, or farther afield; wherever he ended up might not be so far in miles, but it was another world, and it might be a world from which he never returned.

I took a few steps down the deserted street, and realised I didn’t have the strength to walk after all. Instead I found a bench and sat down, not caring about the puddles of rainwater that seeped through my coat and dress, and tried to give myself a good talking-to. It was silly to feel such panic and sorrow; Archie was volunteering for this and was proud to be doing so; he had made his own choice. But I desperately wished he would change his mind.

I remembered how my friends and I had gathered to watch some of the local lads as they marched off, and we’d cheered and thrown flowers, and thought how happy they all looked, how determined to get over there and sort things out where the governments had failed. We’d kissed as many boys as we could, telling them all how splendid they were, and waved them out of sight with a feeling of deep patriotism and satisfaction that all was happening just as it should.

But Archie… He might be well over six feet tall, he might be square of shoulder and strong in limb, but he was the calmest, most gentle man I’d ever known—the least likely to be goaded into real anger, the quickest to forgive. He shouldn’t be going out there, no matter how proud it made him. I compared him to Alistair Corwood and almost laughed aloud, but it was no laughing matter.

It occurred to me that I was missing the last hour or so I would spend in his company, and, surprised at how much that thought hurt, I stood up to go back inside, and stopped; the silhouette coming towards me, with the easy, graceful walk I still recognised after four years, moved into a pool of light and my heart tripped over itself.

‘Kitty!’ He raised a hand and came closer, his smile lit by the overhead light and shining straight at me.

I smiled back. ‘What are you doing out here? I thought you were talking to Oli and Father.’

‘I needed to get away. The two of them have managed to get into a discussion about work. Deadly boring. Shall we walk?’

‘That would be…nice.’ I was having trouble forming my words, and when Archie offered me his arm I took it, hoping he couldn’t feel the wild trembling of my hand in the crook of his elbow. He was treating me like an adult at last, and I tried to behave like one, asking polite questions he had already answered during dinner, and keeping my pace slow and measured instead of running up and down the road, yelling with delight.

‘Well, I’ve got an early start,’ he said at last, and turned homewards once more. ‘And you shouldn’t be out here alone with a man, even if it’s only me.’

Only him? But I wasn’t ready to go back.

‘Tell me a bit more about your uncle,’ I said quickly. ‘Jack, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, Jack Carlisle. Well, he’s my mother’s younger brother. We’ve not seen him in a good while but he writes now and again. He’s a diplomat now, attached to the army and still holds the rank of major, but he’s not on active service any more.’

‘Sounds exciting.’ It sounded nothing of the sort, but I just wanted him to keep talking.

‘Really?’ Archie looked at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Does he live in Scotland too?’

‘No, he’s based in London and Liverpool mostly. And he spends most of his free time at the Creswells’ place in Cheshire.’

‘Are they rich?’

‘They are. He was apparently very close to Lord Creswell. Henry. They fought together in Africa.’

‘Unlike Father,’ I dropped in, and Archie laughed.

‘I’m not going to comment on that again. Anyway, Uncle Jack promised he’d take care of the family if Henry died in the war, which, sadly, he did. So Jack’s sort of a father figure to Henry’s two children now, and rumour has it he and Lily Creswell are a bit of an item.’