Holding On (4 page)

‘Perhaps going to Hong Kong will help,' suggested Kit hopefully.

Sin raised her eyebrows and said nothing.

‘She sounded a bit strange when she talked about it yesterday,' pursued Kit, ‘but I just assumed that she was more excited about the baby than going to Hong Kong. Miles is delighted, of course.'

‘Of course,' said Sin neutrally.

Kit looked at her sharply. ‘Why are you saying it like that?' she demanded. ‘Of course he's delighted. A baby on the way and his own command. What could be better?'

‘What indeed?' murmured Sin. ‘Let's forget it, shall we? Let's go and walk in the park. I feel an urge coming on to drown myself in the Serpentine. It happens each time we talk about love and marriage and babies and so on.'

‘We might as well,' said Kit. ‘Perhaps I'll join you. We can die together. Relationships are so damned complicated.'

‘Talking of which,' said Sin innocently, ‘Jake telephoned earlier. Didn't leave a message except to send his love. Want to call him back before we go?'

‘No,' said Kit grumpily. ‘I'm not in the mood now. That's another problem. I do love dear old Jake the Rake but is it the real thing? I'm even more confused after this little bombshell. We have such fun but if I let him get serious will it rock the boat? Does that mean I don't really love him? How is one to know?'

‘Never mind,' said Sin. ‘Of course, as you pointed out, I'm not Wittgenstein but you know what he said? “Love which can't be classified is best.” Got a point, hasn't he?'

‘Your death wish may be gratified before we reach the park,' said Kit grimly. ‘You've ruined my evening. Let that be enough for you. Oh, and bring your purse. I might want an ice cream.'

 

During the journey from Portsmouth to Devon, Maria sat wrapped in preoccupation while Hal talked about his posting to the frigate HMS
Falmouth
, the fun of returning to Devon, the possibilities of the married quarter available in Compton Road near HMS
Manadon
in Plymouth. She murmured appropriately, trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice, but her thoughts were busy elsewhere. The prospect of their few days of leave was ruined by the knowledge that Fliss was at The Keep. Maria had been delighted when Hal suggested that they should go down to see the married quarter, staying for a few nights with his grandmother. She loved to be fussed over by Ellen and Fox, to be approved by Mrs Chadwick and Uncle Theo, spoiled by Caroline. She felt like a beloved child returning home from school – and Hal was such a favourite with his family. Although she stared straight ahead she visualised his face; determined, confident, handsome, open. People took to him, warming to his friendly smile and goodnatured laugh. He had a handclasp and a redeeming word for all; everyone loved him.

This, of course, was where the root of the matter lay. Maria did not want everyone to love Hal, or rather she wished he were not so indiscriminate in his returning of this love. In her more rational moments she knew that Hal's easy affection was given to male and female alike – but when was jealousy ever rational? It came at her from nowhere, swooping in to undermine her fragile confidence, to shake her belief in his love for her. It drove her to be bitchy and cruel, it kept her awake at nights when he was away, it made her dread the other wives' gossip, hating to hear that he was enjoying himself in any way which might involve other women. She knew that, wherever the ship docked, the officers were invited to parties and dinners, entertained royally during their ‘showing the flag visits', fêted when they were in foreign ports. She waited eagerly for his letters, for the occasional telephone call, for every reaffirmation of his love.

This sunny June morning, as the road fled away behind them, she wondered if it would have been the same if Hal had never told her about Fliss. Was it Hal's ‘confession' – that he and his cousin had been romantically involved – which was to blame for her insecurity? It was so unfair. Manlike, he had been determined to get it off his chest, unaware of the effect on her. He'd explained that the romance had been adolescent and quite innocent but there was something so horribly Romeo-and-Juliet-ish about the whole business and, or so it seemed to Maria, if his family hadn't forbidden it then presumably he and Fliss would have continued to love one another. She had never quite been able to pin him down. Hal's stance was ‘well, it didn't happen so what's all the fuss about? I'm married to you now and that's that.'

Maria thought: There's something still there, though, I just know it. I can feel it when they're together. I'm second best, that's the problem. How can I compete with her? God, I hate her!

The truly irritating thing was that Fliss was so nice to her. In fact, during one of Hal's longer patrols at sea, she had accepted an invitation to stay with Fliss in the little house in Dartmouth. For a brief, sane moment, Maria had seen that she might neutralise the whole thing by making friends with Fliss; they would form an alliance so that she had nothing to fear from her.

To begin with it actually seemed as if it might work. Without Hal around, the two girls had settled into a delightfully friendly relationship and had a wonderful week together. Fliss introduced Maria to the beaches and moors, took her into the small market towns; they even went to choral evensong at Exeter cathedral after a glorious afternoon of shopping in the city. They had barely mentioned Hal, except as he related to Maria's being utterly miserable when he was away. His absence had allowed her to talk about him as if he were a different Hal, one whom Fliss knew only slightly but whom
she
knew intimately. She had been worldly-wise, tolerant about his shortcomings, joking and light-hearted about his lack of domesticity. Fliss had made no attempt to be proprietorial, made no mention of her own particular knowledge of Hal. She'd been so understanding, so sympathetic, and they'd laughed together over the problems facing the naval wife. By the end of the week Maria was convinced that she'd laid the ghost.

Her certainty had lasted until the next time that she saw Hal and Fliss together at the Birthday weekend at The Keep. The Chadwicks had an old tradition of celebrating several birthdays in one big festivity. Mrs Chadwick, Hal and Kit, and Mole all had birthdays at the end of October and, by some miracle, these always managed to fit in with half term, which was why this celebration had become so important over the years. Everyone made an effort to get to The Keep for it.

This particular Birthday, just after their first wedding anniversary, Hal was home from sea and he and Maria went down to Devon for the festivities. She had felt quite confident, actually looking forward to it – until she'd seen the look in Hal's eyes when he first saw Fliss . . .

They'd been in the hall with Uncle Theo and Mole, having arrived much earlier than they'd expected to, when Fliss had come in with Caroline, helping her to carry the tea things. They'd been laughing together and had paused just inside the door to finish their conversation, heads bent together and looking suddenly serious, before they turned to look at the group around the fire. Maria had heard the phrase about faces ‘lighting up' and, at that moment, she knew exactly what it meant. Fliss's small face had smoothed out, her eyes had widened and her lips had curved upward. Glancing involuntarily at Hal, Maria saw that his face, too, was bright with love; it were as though something invisible but almost tangible stretched between them. Her heart had beat fast with terror and she knew a longing to smash something, to scream, anything to snap the thread which seemed to draw her husband and his cousin together.

She'd been silly then, she'd turned to Mole, asking why they still used his nickname now that he was grown up, when he was much too big to burrow under rugs or hide beneath furniture. Sam was a nice name, she'd told him, and from now on she would call him Sam. He had watched her, puzzled, and she knew that her voice was too high, her gestures too exaggerated, but knew, also, that she must do something to break the tension between Hal and Fliss. Then Prue, Hal's mother, had appeared and the charge of electricity had faltered, dwindling into the affection of two members of the same family greeting each other with perfectly natural friendliness. Maria had melted into her mother-in-law's hug with relief and gratitude. Prue was so motherly, so sweet, so delighted to see them . . .

‘Honiton,' Hal's cheerful voice broke into her thoughts, startling her. ‘We're making very good time. How about stopping for coffee?'

The Keep had been built on the site of an old hill fort between the moors and the sea, and the three-storeyed castellated tower stood with its back to the north, its grounds sheltering beneath high stone walls. Its courtyard faced south whilst the garden, bounded by orchards, stretched away to the west. To the north and east, however, the hill fell sharply away, the rough, grassy slopes descending to the valley through which the river passed. Later generations had added two wings, set back a little on each side of the original tower whose austere grey stone remained unadorned, although old-fashioned roses and wisteria climbed the wings and the courtyard walls. Exposed to the capriciousness of the West Country weather, The Keep looked older than its one hundred and thirty years. It appeared to have grown quite naturally out of the earth, at one with its surroundings.

This misty, rainy morning Ellen, arriving in the kitchen to begin the morning's tasks, was glad of the Aga's warmth. Never was she foolhardy enough to believe that summer had really arrived or the Aga no longer needed. Despite the new electric stove in the scullery, Ellen clung to tried and trusted ways. Where else could you dry the laundry but on the wooden airer that swung on its pulleys from the ceiling high above? What else would keep the kitchen cosy and warm on such a chill day? It was Caroline now who took out the ashes and carried in the coke, but to Ellen's relief – and Fox's – she did not complain of this back-breaking grind nor did she suggest that the new electric stove might be more convenient. A silent object of reproach, it remained in all its virginal whiteness, unused and a constant reminder of the waste of Mrs Chadwick's money.

Fox was already installed in the rocker, a cup of tea in his hand, whilst Ellen bustled about preparing breakfast. On days such as these, Caroline had taken over the dog walking, too. Fox's arthritis prevented him from venturing far afield, although he enjoyed pottering out on to the hill when the weather permitted. It had taken him a while to adjust to the loss of independence, to give in gracefully. It was his beloved mistress, whom he had served for fifty years, who had removed the sting which threatened to poison the contentment of his old age. He had attempted to express his gratitude at being her pensioner, apologising for his inadequacy, and she had listened to him thoughtfully.

Her words still touched and warmed his heart, allowing him finally to take an honourable ease ‘. . . you are part of my family. You must be gracious now and accept our care for you as we have accepted your protection and service in the past. It is no more than you deserve . . . You have been with me from the beginning, Fox, and we shall see things out together, you and I.'

She had given him back his dignity so that he did not have to go away, to leave The Keep, to struggle alone without family or friends around him.

‘I can't like it,' said Ellen suddenly, putting the marmalade down upon the table with a thump. ‘It's no good. I must have my say or burst. I'm worried sick and that's the truth. Going to the other side of the world to have her baby. Whatever next, I wonder. She'll be no good in that sort of climate. She's not strong, Fliss isn't. Whatever can the Commander be thinking about to allow it?'

Fox painfully flexed his knotted fingers and patted the only bit of Ellen he could reach. She twitched resentfully, like a horse resisting a fly, and then abruptly nodded recognition of his attempted comfort.

‘It happens all the time,' he told her. ‘'Tis British, Hong Kong is. There'll be hospitals and everything. No call to get upset. The Commander can't leave her behind for two years, leastways, he won't want to. He'll be there with her.'

‘And a fat lot of good that'll be,' cried Ellen. ‘It's your family you need at times like this.'

‘He
is
her family,' pointed out Fox mildly. ‘He's her husband.'

‘You know quite well what I mean,' snapped Ellen. ‘Husbands might be all very well in their place but their place isn't with a pregnant girl thousands of miles from home. Like as not he'll be off at sea, anyway, and she'll be all alone. Oh, I'm that worried I can't think straight.'

‘Fliss is a sailor's wife now,' said Fox gently. ‘Her duty is with the Commander. There's nowt nor summat any of us can do about that, maid. Just be thankful there's so much more medical knowhow these days.'

‘She's frightened,' said Ellen miserably, sitting down suddenly. ‘I can see it, for all her bright chatter. She doesn't deceive me.'

Fox stared at her, shocked by this revelation. He had been quite taken in by Fliss's cheerfulness but now, as he looked at the uncharacteristic slump of Ellen's shoulders, he began to feel infected by her anxiety.

‘It reminds of me when they first arrived from Kenya,' said Ellen. ‘Remember? She was always pushing down her own grief because of Mole being struck dumb by the shock. I can see her now at this very table, panic-stricken because she thought he'd never talk again and him swallowing and swallowing, trying to get the words out. She'd never let him see it, though. Always bright and cheerful, trying to distract him, hiding her fear. She's doing it again now but she doesn't fool
me
.'