The Rainbow and the Rose

  She raised her head, and I moved back a little. ‘I’ll have to go to some of these places this summer,’ she said. ‘I mean, it would be letting her down if I just stuck in England.’

  I smiled. ‘I should start in now and put in time on her for the next month. How many hours solo have you done?’

  ‘Fourteen,’ she said.

  ‘La Baule in June would be an easy first trip on the Continent,’ I said. ‘That gives you two months from now. You could go to the Pageants at Sherburn and at Cramlington in May, get a bit of experience. We shall be sending club machines to those.’

  ‘Will you be going to La Baule?’ she asked.

  ‘Not unless the club decide to make a thing of it and send all three machines,’ I told her. ‘They did that last year for Deauville. I don’t know about La Baule. It depends how many members want to go.’

  She said, ‘Do try and work it. Then we could go together.’

  I nodded. ‘Have a Flight of the three club machines and yours. It might be possible. I’ll have to talk to the Committee.’

  She came every day to the aerodrome in April, and flew her Moth whenever the weather was fit to fly. She got into the habit of coming to the office for a cup of tea with me if I wasn’t up after she had done her flying for the day, and twice she asked me up to dinner at the Manor on my day off. We talked no more about her husband; apparently she was satisfied with having told me what the position was. Once she brought her mother down to the aerodrome, and we put the old lady in the front seat of Morgan le Fay and her daughter took her up for a short flight. Ronnie Clarke, of course, would fly with anyone and she took him up two or three times. Towards the end of the month she was doing cross-country flights upon her own.

  Late one afternoon, when it was raining cats and dogs and she had flown to Cambridge, she rang me up. ‘Johnnie,’ she said, ‘I’m at Peterborough, on the aerodrome. I started back and it began to rain and it got very piggy, so I put down here. What’s it like with you?’

  ‘Horrible,’ I told her. ‘Looks as if it’s set in for the evening. I wouldn’t try to fly back here tonight. I should get into a hotel and stay where you are till tomorrow. Would you like me to ring Mrs Duclos?’

  ‘I ought to get back,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing Derek in the morning. I think I’ll have to try and hire a car.’

  ‘Would you like me to drive down and fetch you in the Alvis?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s eighty miles,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I told her. ‘There’ll be nothing more doing here today.’

  ‘Of course, I’d love that. But it would be terribly tiring for you.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’ll start right away, and be with you about half past six. Can you get Morgan into a hangar?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’ll have to stay out in the open.’

  ‘I’ll bring down some screw pickets and your engine and cockpit covers,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, thank you. And Johnnie, would you bring my raincoat and my skirt? They’re hanging in the Ladies’ Room. Then we can have dinner somewhere before driving home.’

  I started off at once, after ringing her mother to tell her what was happening, got on to the Great North Road, and drove down southwards in the pouring rain. It was dark by the time I got to Peterborough, and raining harder than ever. I found her waiting for me in a sort of barn upon the aerodrome; she had taxied her Moth into the lee of a shed and covered the cockpit insecurely with a couple of sacks. She was very wet, and very glad to see me. We put on the cockpit and the engine covers and folded the wings and picketed the machine down; while I finished off the job she took off her overall in the back of the barn and got into her skirt and coat.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere where we can have a drink,’ she said. ‘I’m miserably cold.’

  ‘What about the Dog and Duck at Thorganby?’ I suggested. ‘We can get a meal there, and it’s seven miles on the way home.’

  ‘Anywhere,’ she said, ‘so long as it’s somewhere warm.’

  We pulled into the yard of the Dog and Duck ten minutes later and ran in through the rain. Thorganby is quite a little village and the Dog and Duck is a very old house; on that wet evening there was a bright fire in the saloon bar with chairs in front of it, and nobody there but us. I knew the landlord slightly and while she was tidying herself up I ordered a meal.

  ‘Ham and eggs and cold blackberry pie,’ I said when she appeared. ‘That all right? They’re going to let us have it on a table here, in front of the fire.’

  ‘Oh, lovely!’

  ‘I said we’d like to have it in about half an hour. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘I’m cold,’ she said, shivering.

  ‘Would you like a hot rum toddy, with some lemon in it?’

  ‘Oh, Johnnie!’

  Behind the bar the landlord nodded, and went out and fetched a very big, black kettle and put it on the fire, where it began to sing. We had a toddy and felt better, so we had another one, and then because the kettle was there boiling, we had a third. Then it seemed time for some blotting paper and we had our ham and eggs and blackberry pie in front of the fire. And finally we had another hot rum toddy for the road.

  It was fine and very dark when we went out into the yard to find the car, and much colder than the saloon bar. We had had too many rum toddies, of course, because the sudden change of temperature made my head swim a little. She was affected, too, because in the darkness she stumbled on the uneven paving, and I caught her arm, and then she was in my arms and I was kissing her, and she was kissing me in return. We stayed like that for a minute, and then she said quietly, ‘This is very bad.’

  ‘Too many rum toddies,’ I said thickly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Too many rum toddies,’ she repeated. ‘I’m not.’ And then she said, ‘We’ll have to think about this, Johnnie.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to think about it.’ She released herself gently from my arms, and we found the car. ‘Which of us is going to drive?’ I asked. ‘We’re both about as bad as each other.’

  She said seriously, ‘Yes, we’re both about as bad as each other.’ Then she laughed a little, and said, ‘You drive, and let me think. You’re less likely to crash it than me, anyway.’ So I drove the Alvis out of the yard of the Dog and Duck and out on to the Great North Road for home.

  We drove on in silence through the night, through occasional showers of rain, running easily at about forty-five. The Alvis was a sports saloon and her seat was very close, her shoulder rubbing against mine. We were both busy with our own thoughts. I hadn’t wanted it to happen because it was bound to make trouble for us both, two lonely people, neither of whom was in a position to marry. Now that it had happened, I was glad, and so, I think, was she.

  When we had passed through Blackford and we were about ten miles from Duffington she spoke for the first time. ‘Let’s park a minute by the side, Johnnie,’ she said.

  I drew up off the road a little under some trees and turned off the headlights; the rain dripping off the branches made little patterings upon the roof. She said, ‘I want to talk.’

  I smiled. ‘I think we’d better.’

  In the dim light she nodded. ‘I want to ask you a horrid question, Johnnie.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said.

  She asked, ‘Do you do much of this? Do you have many girls?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the first girl I’ve kissed since Judy.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly.’

  She sighed a little. ‘That’s what I wanted to know. I thought it was like that, but in a way it makes things worse.’

  ‘We can try and forget about it, if you like,’ I suggested.

  ‘We shan’t be able to,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that’s the answer.’

  She sounded so unhappy that I reached out and took her hand, and she let me have it. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said gently. ‘It’s been coming on for a long time, this has. It was bo
und to happen, one way or another.’

  She turned to me. ‘I know. If things were different this would be the sweetest day of my life. But I’m a married woman, and you’re a married man. I’m not the sort of woman who does this sort of thing. And I don’t think you’re the sort of man to do it, either.’

  ‘We’re neither of us so much married as all that,’ I said.

  ‘You may not be, but I am,’ she replied.

  I sat stroking her hand. ‘I didn’t mean this to happen, but I’m glad it has,’ I said at last. ‘Too many rum toddies, and a damn good thing.’ She smiled a little. ‘I know we’re running straight into a packet of trouble. But nothing that’s worth having can be got without a lot of trouble in this world.’

  I paused. ‘I want to tell you something,’ I said. ‘Since we met I’ve been to a solicitor. I can divorce my wife, he tells me, and we’re putting in a petition.’

  ‘Divorce Judy?’

  I nodded. ‘She’s been living with another chap for the last eight years, as his wife. In Hollywood. It’s going to be pretty expensive and it’s going to take a long time. But I can do it, and I will. There’s half our tangle untied.’

  She sat silent for a minute. Then she said, ‘What would you do if I untied the other half?’

  I turned to her. ‘I should want you to marry me.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Now that you’ve said it, I don’t want you to say it again, Johnnie. Not ever. Suppose I were to get divorced from Derek, and I don’t think I could, it would still be years and years before you could say that to me. And people change. We’ve been thrown together a good deal in the last few months, and you’ve been terribly kind to me, kinder than any man has ever been in all my life. I’ve looked forward every day to meeting you again, counting the hours.’ I pressed her hand. ‘I’ve been very silly and rather cruel in return,’ she said. ‘If I wasn’t prepared to go on with you, I ought not to have let things come to this. You’ve been very kind to me, and in return I’ve got to be unkind to you, and hurt you. I want you to try and forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it.’

  She said, ‘Nor would I.’

  We sat again in silence, and presently I said, ‘We’ve started something, and I don’t know how it’s going to finish. Whatever happens, we shall neither of us forget this. But if you’d rather that we didn’t see so much of each other for a bit, we could try that. I could get another job now, fairly easily. Imperial Airways want pilots.’

  ‘You mean, you’d go away?’ she said dully.

  ‘I’d do that, if you want me to,’ I said.

  ‘Would you have to do that?’ she asked.

  ‘If I don’t,’ I said, ‘this’ll probably happen again.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied.

  Presently she said, ‘I’m tired, Johnnie – too tired to think properly. I can’t imagine what we’re going to do – I’ll have to sleep on it. But when all’s said and done, there’s only one person that really matters in this thing.’

  I turned to her. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Derek,’ she replied.

  I was silent. She said gently, ‘You and I are well. We’re fit, and healthy. If sad, unpleasant things have to be done, we can do them and battle through. But Derek’s not like that. He’s ill, and he’s my husband. He’s the one we’ve got to think about. Not ourselves.’

  I was silent, not wanting to hurt her, thinking of the man who had assaulted little girls and got had up in court for it. She was quite right, of course, but I couldn’t find anything to say. If she abandoned him, that might not be too good.

  At last she said, ‘Take me home, Johnnie. I’ll make up my mind and I’ll do something in the next day or two. And then I’ll tell you.’

  I nodded. ‘There’s no violent hurry, Brenda. I shan’t change. I’m going on with my divorce, and get that moving.’ I pressed her hand. ‘Don’t take things too hard.’

  She said softly, ‘Dear Johnnie …’

  I pressed the starter, and got the car out on the rainswept road again in the black night. We went to the deserted aerodrome for me to get my own car, and I got out there. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said, and drove off. I stood and watched her tail-light disappear, and she was very dear to me.

  The next day was a fine one; she rang me early in the morning and went down by train to Peterborough after her visit to The Haven to fetch her Moth. She flew in in the late afternoon but nothing passed between us; she did not want to talk and till she did I would not try and force her. Several days passed; she came once or twice to the aerodrome and flew her aeroplane. Then one Sunday she suggested we should meet for lunch at Huddlestone, a village about thirty miles away. ‘It’s difficult here,’ she said a little awkwardly, ‘with people talking.’

  I nodded. ‘I flew over Huddlestone Woods a day or two ago,’ I said. ‘The bluebells must be a sight. You can see the whole ground blue from the air, in the glades. Would you like to take a picnic lunch?’

  She brightened. ‘Oh, that would be lovely! I’ll get the lunch for both of us.’ So we arranged to meet in the village square at noon on my day off.

  We did that, and we parked her car and drove into the woods in mine. It was a bright day and the woods were marvellous, carpeted in bluebells, and the air like wine. We left the car and walked on through the woods until we found a fallen tree to sit on for our lunch, and she unpacked the basket I had carried from the car.

  Presently she said, ‘I had a talk to Dr Baddeley last week.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Derek,’ she said, ‘and us. I didn’t say you. I just told him there was someone else.’

  She had been quite frank with her husband’s doctor. She had told him that whatever she decided to do would be dictated by her husband’s interest; that if he felt that a dissolution of the marriage would give him a great setback, then the marriage would go on. They had, however, talked of this once or twice when Derek had been completely in possession of his senses, and he had said that the marriage ought to be dissolved. It would never be safe for them to have a family, and while she was a young woman she should be free to marry again if she wanted to. He had been emphatic about it. What did Dr Baddeley think?

  The doctor told her that her husband had talked of this to him, and had expressed the same views. He had pointed out to him that the marriage could not be ended just like that; there would have to be a divorce, and grounds for a divorce. Until one of them misconducted themselves the marriage would have to go on, and since he was in The Haven and couldn’t very well commit adultery, the initiative lay with her.

  The doctor said his patient had been very much distressed by that aspect of the matter, and had said that it ought to be possible to end the marriage in her interest. From that time the doctor had avoided the subject, but his patient had referred to it several times. It was evidently worrying him. He thought, on the whole, it would ease his patient’s mind if the marriage could be brought to an end, though if that were to happen he would like her to continue her visits.

  ‘He was awfully nice about it,’ she said.

  ‘What prospect is there that Derek will get well?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Very little. I asked him again about that. There’s been no change. He said he’d have to keep him certified for at least two years after the last attack.’

  I nodded. ‘What’s the next thing?’ I asked.

  ‘I want to have a talk to Derek,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to pick my time a little bit. It might take a week or two. Would you mind if I tell him who you are?’

  ‘Not a bit,’ I said. ‘We’d better have this all out in the open.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ she said seriously. ‘I’m sure it’s better like that.’

  We had our lunch sitting together on the log. She told me about her childhood in Guildford, and I told her about my early life in Canada, and the hours passed like minutes. It was three
o’clock before we woke up to the time. She had to go back for tea, and we began picking up the remains of lunch and packing them in the basket.

  When we were ready she stood up, slender in the afternoon sun against the bluebells, and she said, ‘There’s just one thing, Johnnie.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘If this goes on,’ she said, ‘and Derek agrees to divorce me, I shall have to give him grounds for divorce.’

  I had been thinking the same thing. I reached out and took her hand. ‘With me?’

  ‘I don’t know who else,’ she said seriously.

  I smiled. ‘Would that be very terrible?’ I took her other hand.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not with you. But it’s a bit smutty, and I wouldn’t have wanted to start off on anything in that way.’

  ‘It can be play-acting,’ I told her.

  ‘Play-acting?’

  I nodded. ‘It’s a bit of a smutty play, but it’s play-acting all the same. There are hotels in London that cater for this sort of thing. Not the sort of a hotel that you’d care to go to normally. We can book a room and register as man and wife. We go up there at bed time making sure the porter notices us, and play cards all night in front of the gas fire.’

  Her eyes danced. ‘Dominoes,’ she laughed. ‘I love dominoes.’

  ‘All right, dominoes. Then at seven o’clock in the morning we tumble the bedclothes a bit and undress and get into bed, and ring for morning tea. Make sure the maid notices us and give her a good big tip. She goes to court and gives evidence, and you get your divorce without any strings on it.’

  ‘Would you do it that way, Johnnie?’ she asked. ‘Without any strings?’

  ‘I know you’d rather,’ I said, ‘and I think I would, although it means waiting a long time. When we’ve both got our divorces and we’re both free people, then I’ll ask you to marry me and we’ll start off clean.’

  She came into my arms and we kissed, standing in the sunlight on the carpet of the bluebells, in the dappled shadows of the trees. Presently she sighed and said, ‘We oughtn’t to be doing this. We’re not free people yet.’

  I released her. ‘No,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to watch our step. It’s going to be the thick end of two years before we’re free. But it’ll pass.’