Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘Look, Larry,’ says Rex. ‘If you want to drop a hint to Kitty, I should just do it. I don’t see what harm it can do.’

‘Really?’

Larry works away on his thunderous sky.

‘What about you, Rex? Don’t you ever wish you had a girl?’

‘Oh,’ says Rex, ‘I’m not very good at that sort of thing.’

Louisa Cavendish receives orders assigning her to new duties in central London, effective from the start of September. This has the effect of concentrating her mind.

‘I’m taking the afternoon off,’ she announces.

She touches up her lipstick, brushes out her corn-coloured hair, tightens her belt, and heads for the private quarters of the big house.

‘George,’ she says, finding the lord of the manor in the kitchen as usual, ‘it’s a warm day, and you should be outside. It’s no good to be indoors all the time.’

George Holland looks at her in surprise.

‘You sound like my mother,’ he says.

‘Did you like your mother?’

‘I adored her.’

‘Come on, then. Out for a walk.’

Not knowing how to refuse, George rises and follows.

‘I know we’ve met,’ he says politely, as they make their way through the outer courtyard, ‘but I seem to have forgotten your name.’

‘I expect I never told you. I’m Louisa Cavendish. Same family as the Devonshires. I’m a friend of Kitty’s.’

‘Oh, very well, then.’

‘Why don’t you take your glasses off?’

‘I shouldn’t be able to see very much if I did,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t bump into things. Here, take my hand.’

She removes his glasses and he takes her hand. They walk out past the chapel. Louisa does not want to be seen by the camp.

‘I expect you could do this walk with your eyes shut,’ she says. ‘We’ll go up onto Edenfield Hill.’

She turns him towards the cart track that runs up the flank of the Downs.

‘It’s strange without my glasses,’ he says. ‘The world feels very different.’

‘Different good or different bad?’

‘Less alarming, somehow.’ He turns to her with a shy smile. ‘Rather a good idea of yours.’

‘And what do I look like?’ says Louisa.

‘Somewhat indefinite,’ says George.

‘Describe what you see.’

He stares at her.

‘White face. Eyes. Mouth.’

‘Ten out of ten so far.’

‘Sorry. I’m being dim.’

‘What impression does my face make?’

‘Rather impressive. Rather fine.’

‘Okay. That’ll do.’

They walk on to the top of the hill. A steady warm wind is blowing in off the sea, bringing with it flocks of gulls with their harsh cries.

‘Can you see the view with your glasses off?’ she asks him.

‘Not exactly. I get the feeling of it, though.’

‘What feeling?’

‘Spacious,’ he says. ‘Roomy.’

‘Liberating?’

‘Yes. That’s the one.’

‘You see, I was right,’ says Louisa. ‘You should get out more.’

They walk a little way along the ridge.

‘Don’t you hate the war?’ says Louisa.

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think I do.’

‘Having to give up your house. Having all those ghastly huts in your park. Having all the servants leave.’

‘Yes,’ he says with a sigh. ‘It was all so different in my father’s day.’ Then he adds after a moment’s thought, ‘But I’m not the man my father was, of course.’

‘He was a great man, I hear.’

‘He was a giant,’ says George. ‘He made his fortune from nothing, you know. People think it was luck, that he stumbled on this little pill that everyone wanted, and that was that. But it wasn’t luck at all. My father was the sort of man who could make the world do his bidding.’

‘I’m not sure I’d like to have a giant for a father,’ says Louisa.

‘No,’ says George. ‘He did rather frighten me.’

He comes to a stop and peers at Louisa in his half-blind way. Then all at once his face crumples. To her dismay she realises he’s about to cry. Without his glasses his face looks soft and helpless.

‘I’ve never said that before,’ he says.

‘What you need is a hug,’ says Louisa.

He comes awkwardly into her arms and lets her embrace him. Then pressing his face to her shoulder he begins to sob. She strokes his back gently, not speaking, letting him cry himself out like a child.

He takes out a handkerchief at last, and dries his eyes and blows his nose.

‘You’ve been left alone too much, haven’t you?’ she says.

The conference room was built as a ballroom for the great London house, in the days when it belonged to the Duke of Buccleuch. Now, its tall windows bandaged with tape and blinded by blackout curtains, it exists in the perpetual gloom of underpowered electric lights. Here the commanding officers of the Canadian forces in southern England have gathered for a briefing by the chief of Combined Operations. Mountbatten, flanked by his service heads, wears the uniform of a vice-admiral of the fleet.

‘Gentlemen,’ he announces. ‘We have been given the go-ahead. Your boys, weather permitting, will see action this summer after all. Naturally I can’t give you a precise date today. But my message to you is: stand by!’

This is met with murmurs of approbation.

‘The relaunched operation goes under the code name of Jubilee. Detailed orders for each sector are now being drawn up. My staff will issue them within a matter of days.’

He then invites questions. General Ham Roberts speaks first.

‘Is there any concern, sir,’ he says, ‘that the element of surprise has been lost?’

‘Because of Rutter, you mean?’ says Mountbatten, nodding encouragingly.

‘Yes, sir. The Germans can hardly have failed to notice something was afoot last time.’

‘You’re perfectly right,’ says Mountbatten. ‘So what are the Germans thinking? They’re thinking that we couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to lay on the same operation again.’

He pauses, and looks at the assembled commanders with his infectious boyish smile.

‘So that’s precisely what we’re going to do!’

The last half of the drive back takes place in silence. The brigadier evidently has much on his mind. Kitty concentrates on her route, watching the road for the potholes caused by the endless convoys of heavy army vehicles. For much of the way she has the road to herself, and is able to maintain a steady fifty miles an hour. The petrol tank is on the low side. She makes a note to herself to fill it up tomorrow.

As they weave their way round the outskirts of Brighton the brigadier becomes conversational.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Kitty,’ he says. ‘Where do you come from? What do you call home?’

‘Wiltshire, sir.’

‘Is that a fine part of the world?’

‘Yes, sir. Hills and woods.’

‘I miss my home,’ he says. ‘I miss it real bad. My boys’ll be turning ten soon. I haven’t seen them for two years. Do you know Canada at all?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Why would you? I grew up in a little place on the shores of Lake Huron called Grand Bend. Feels like a long way away now, I can tell you.’

He gazes out of the car window as they drive along the foothills of the Downs.

‘This is pretty country,’ he says, ‘but it looks small to me.’

Kitty delivers the brigadier back to headquarters, and returns the Humber to its garage. She looks in on the Motor Transport Office to hand in her work docket and to request petrol for tomorrow. Louisa is there, and some of the other girls, and Sergeant Sissons.

‘Don’t forget the clocks go back on Saturday night,’ says Sissons. ‘End of double summer time.’