Уильям Николсон - Motherland

‘The nation awards VCs an annual sum of ten pounds. But only if you’re non-commissioned. Officer class is assumed to have private means.’

She eases the car off the road and down the drive to Edenfield Place.

‘Just wait till you see Pammy. She’s turning into such a little madam.’

Louisa is there to greet Larry, and then George appears, nodding and blinking. Gareth, the indoor man, takes Larry’s weekend bag and his satchel up to his allocated bedroom. There’s tea laid out in the drawing-room.

‘All a bit more civilised than when I was last here,’ Larry says.

‘I rather miss the Canadians,’ says George. ‘They made such a jolly noise.’

‘Where’s Pammy?’ says Kitty.

‘Out somewhere with Ed,’ says Louisa. ‘They’ll be back soon.’

Ed doesn’t appear, so after they’ve had a cup of tea Larry and Kitty go in search of him.

‘He’ll be in the wood beyond the lake,’ says Kitty. ‘If he’s not up on the Downs.’

As they stroll past the lake house in the gathering dusk Larry says lightly, ‘That’s where I first met you.’

‘Reading Middlemarch .’

Ed comes into view on the far side of the lake. He has Pamela on his shoulders, and he holds her fast by her ankles.

‘My God!’ says Larry softly. ‘He’s so thin!’

Ed sees them and breaks into a careful bounding run. The little girl squeals with fear and delight.

Eyes shining, chest heaving, Ed reaches them and swings Pamela down to the ground.

‘Larry! Good man!’

He takes his hand and pumps it.

‘I would have come sooner,’ says Larry, ‘but I didn’t know what sort of a state you were in. And look at you! You look like a ghost!’

‘I am a ghost.’ Then his eyes meet Kitty’s and he smiles. ‘No, I’m not. Not a ghost at all. And will you look at this! I have a daughter!’

Pamela is gazing curiously up at Larry. Her father’s joy at his friend’s arrival causes her to give him serious attention.

‘Hello, Pamela,’ says Larry.

‘Hello,’ says the little girl.

‘Come along, then,’ says Kitty. ‘There’s still some tea left.’

Ed puts one arm over Larry’s shoulders. He’s more animated than he’s been for days.

‘Oh, Larry, Larry, Larry. I am so glad to see you.’

He beats with one fist on Larry’s shoulder as they walk back to the house.

‘Me too, old chap. For a while I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.’

‘I hope you trusted you’d meet me in heaven. Or wasn’t I to be allowed in?’

‘They’ll serenade you with trumpets, Ed. You’re a genuine hero.’

‘No, no. Don’t say that.’

‘I was on that beach.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that,’ says Ed, withdrawing his arm. ‘Tell me about you. Is it art, or is it bananas?’

‘It’s art for now. I’ve enrolled in a course at Camberwell College. I’m having a go at taking it seriously.’

‘And frivolously too, I hope. Art should be fun too.’

‘It’s more than fun, Ed. It’s what gives me my deepest happiness.’

Ed stops and gazes into his friend’s eyes.

‘There, you see,’ he says. ‘I’d give anything to have that.’

Alone in his bedroom, a fine large room over the organ room with a west-facing window, Larry changes slowly for dinner, and thinks about Kitty. It frightens him how much he longs to be in her company, and how happy he is when her lovely face is turned towards him. But his part is to play the role of faithful friend, both to her and to Ed; and play it he will.

Over dinner he has an opportunity to observe the curious relationship between George and Louisa. Louisa has got into the habit of talking about George in his presence as if he doesn’t hear her.

‘Is George doing something about the wine?’ she says. ‘Oh, isn’t he hopeless! Sometimes I wonder that he manages to get out of bed in the morning. You never saw a person with less get up and go.’

‘The wine is on the table, my dear.’

‘He hasn’t got his napkin on. You’ll see, he’ll spill the sauce all down his tie.’

Obediently, George tucks his napkin into his collar. His eyes peep at Larry through the thick lenses of his glasses.

‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’ he says.

Ed hardly touches his food. Larry sees how Kitty watches his plate with anxious eyes. Louisa complains bitterly about the petrol rations.

‘They say they’ve increased the ration, but four gallons a month! That won’t get anyone very far.’

‘I think the truth is we’re broke,’ says Larry. ‘The country, I mean.’

‘Do let’s not complain,’ says Kitty. ‘Think how frightening it was, not knowing day by day if people were still alive even.’

When dinner is over Ed slips away, not saying where he’s going. Louisa and George settle down to a game of Pelmanism, which it turns out is their customary evening relaxation. Louisa spreads out the cards face down on the long table in the library.

‘George has a surprisingly good memory for cards,’ she says. ‘I think it must come from all that peering at maps.’

Kitty and Larry leave them to their game. They retreat to the smallest of the family rooms, the West Parlour. Here family portraits hang on chains against a pale eau-de-nil wallpaper, and the chintz-covered armchairs are deep and comfortable. For a few moments Kitty looks at Larry in silence, and he too remains silent, not wanting to break the sweet intimacy.

‘Well?’ she says at last.

‘He’s not in a good way, is he?’

‘He won’t see a doctor. He won’t see anyone.’

‘How is he with you?’ says Larry.

‘He’s kind, and gentle, and loving. And you see how he is with Pammy. But most of the time he just wants to be alone.’

‘What does he do when he’s alone?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing, as far as I can tell. He just thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t think. Maybe he wants to be alone so he can switch himself off, or something.’

‘Sounds like some sort of breakdown.’

‘He had a terrible time in the camps. He was kept handcuffed for four hundred and eleven days.’

‘Jesus! Poor bastard.’

‘I just don’t know what to do.’

She’s clasping her hands together as she speaks, working them against each other, as if trying to rub out some invisible stain.

‘Will you help us, Larry?’

Her lovely face is looking at him in mute appeal, admitting the unhappiness she can’t name.

‘I’ll try talking to him,’ says Larry. ‘But he may not want to talk to me.’

‘He’ll talk to you if he talks to anyone.’

‘You say he’s looking round for a job.’

‘He isn’t really. He knows he must find some kind of income. But the way he is at present, I don’t see that he’s employable.’

Larry nods, frowning, pondering what best to do.

‘I love him so much, Larry,’ Kitty says. ‘But we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms for now. It’s what he wants.’ There’s the glisten of tears in her eyes as she speaks. ‘I wish I knew why.’

‘Oh, Kitty.’

‘Do you think it’s me?’

‘No. It’s not you.’

‘We’ve been apart so long. You’d think at least he’d want that.’

‘I’ll try and talk to him,’ Larry says.

‘Now,’ says Kitty. ‘Go to him now.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes, I know.’ She looks down, suddenly ashamed. ‘I follow him sometimes, just so I know where he goes. He’ll be in the chapel.’

‘The chapel!’

‘We were married there, remember?’

‘Of course I remember.’

‘He goes and sits there by himself. Sometimes for hours.’

Larry gets up out of his armchair.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’