Coming Home

  It was all very depressing. Judith sighed. ‘So many battles. The Battle of France. And now the Battle of Britain…’

  She did not go on. She knew what Jeremy was going to say next.

  ‘And Edward's in the thick of it.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Only family news.’

  ‘Doesn't he write to you?’

  Judith shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘And you don't write to him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That's not true.’

  ‘Really.’ She looked at him. ‘Nothing.’ But she was useless at lying.

  ‘You loved Edward.’

  ‘Everybody does. I think he is a man born to be loved. Fairy godmothers must have been thick on the ground when he was born.’

  ‘I didn't mean that.’

  Judith dropped her eyes. In the garden, the trees rustled in the wind, and a couple of gulls wheeled, screaming, high overhead. When she stayed silent, he spoke again.

  ‘I know how it was. I knew, that last Sunday, when you were all sitting out in the garden at Nancherrow, before lunch. And Edward and I brought the drinks out, and you looked up and saw him, and there was an aura of such joy about you that it seemed like a lightbulb being switched on. And he went over to speak to you, and it was as if some magic, glittering ring enclosed the pair of you…held you apart from the rest of us.’

  She found it almost unbearable to be so reminded. She said, ‘Perhaps that's what I wanted you all to think.’

  ‘After lunch, you both left us, and came to see Mrs Boscawen. And then Edward turned up at the cove, but we never saw you again because you'd gone. You'd left Nancherrow. Something happened, didn't it?’

  He knew. There was little point in denial.

  ‘Yes. It happened. It happened, and I thought he felt as deeply about me as I felt about him. I think I always loved Edward, Jeremy, right from the first moment I ever met him. But then, there is something irresistible about a person who can make the most humdrum of occasions into a celebration. And he always had that incredible gift, even when he was a schoolboy.’ She turned to smile at Jeremy. A wry smile, but he responded instantly with his old, encouraging grin. ‘But you, of all people, know about that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I imagined that he felt the same about me. But of course he didn't.’

  ‘He was immensely fond of you.’

  ‘But not taken with the idea of a permanent commitment.’

  ‘He's too young for commitment.’

  ‘That's what he told me.’

  ‘And you let that end it all?’

  ‘I'd gone too far, and said too much. I had to back away.’

  ‘And leave Nancherrow?’

  ‘I couldn't stay. Not in the house, not with him, and the family. Not seeing him every day. Surely you understand?’

  ‘I can understand the end of love. But not the end of friendship.’

  ‘I wouldn't know. Athena might know, perhaps, but I'm not as experienced as she is.’

  ‘Are you still in love with Edward?’

  ‘I try not to be. But I suppose you never fall out of love with the man who was the first love of your life.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen. Just.’

  ‘So young.’

  She said, ‘I'll be all right.’

  ‘Do you worry about him?’

  ‘All the time. At the back of my mind. I look at newspaper photographs of air battles and Spitfires, and although I think about Edward, I find it impossible to identify him with it all. Perhaps, as well as being charming, he's charmed. One thing we can be certain of: whatever he's doing, he's enjoying it.’

  Jeremy smiled, understanding. ‘I know what you mean, and I'm sorry to have pried. I didn't intend to invade your privacy. It's just that I know Edward so well…his good points and his faults…and I was concerned. Afraid that he'd hurt you.’

  ‘It's over now. And I can talk about it. And I don't mind you knowing.’

  ‘Good.’ He had finished his coffee. He laid down the cup and looked at his wristwatch. ‘Now, if you're going to show me around your property, perhaps we'd better get moving, because before very long I shall have to be on my way.’

  So they got up off their chairs and went indoors, and the peaceful tranquillity of the old rooms dissolved the last of the constraint that had lain between them, to be replaced by Judith's pride of possession and Jeremy's boundless enthusiasm. He had been to the house, of course, many times, in the days of Aunt Lavinia, but had never ventured farther than sitting-room and dining-room. Now, they embarked on a regular tour of inspection, starting at the top with the new attic nursery, and ending in the kitchen.

  ‘…Diana and the Colonel let me have all the furniture and stuff that the family didn't want, so I haven't had to buy anything. I know the wallpaper's faded, and the curtains worn, but I always rather like things that way. Even the bare bits in the carpets. It makes it friendly and familiar, like wrinkles on a nice person's face. Of course, there are gaps, where things have gone to Nancherrow, but I can live quite happily with that. And the kitchen works really well…’

  ‘How do you heat your water?’ He was being comfortingly practical.

  ‘With the range. It's incredibly efficient, provided you remember to feed it twice a day…The only thing I really would like is a proper refrigerator, but I haven't had time to do anything about that yet, and the shop in Penzance hasn't got one for sale, so I suppose I'll have to go to Plymouth. And Mr Baines talks about putting in another bathroom, but honestly, we don't really need one. I'd much rather put in central heating, like Nancherrow, but I suppose that will have to wait until after the war…’

  ‘You'd have to have an extra boiler for central heating.’

  ‘There's room for one beyond the scullery…’

  She showed him the space that she had in mind, and they spent another satisfactory five minutes discussing the subject, and considering the difficulties of inserting pipes through and around the old, thick stone walls of the house. And then they were joined by Phyllis and Anna, who had been picking peas for lunch, and after a bit more chat Jeremy looked at his watch once more, and said it really was time he took himself off.

  Judith went with him to his car. ‘How long are you staying at Nancherrow?’

  ‘Just a couple of days.’

  ‘Will I see you?’ she asked a little wistfully.

  ‘Of course. Tell you what, why don't you come down this afternoon, and we'll walk down to the cove together. With whoever wants to come. We could swim.’

  It was an inviting idea. She hadn't been to the cove for too long. ‘All right. I'll bike over.’

  ‘Bring your bathers.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘About three, then?’

  ‘I'll be there. But if they've all made other plans and want you to do something else, just give me a ring.’

  ‘I'll do that.’

  He got into his car, and she stood and watched him drive away. And then went back into the kitchen to sit at the table with Phyllis and Anna and help pod the peas.

  The long driveway of Nancherrow was lined with hydrangeas in full flower. In the suffused sunlight filtering through the branches of tall trees, it felt a bit like bicycling along the bed of an azure-blue river. Judith had changed into shorts and an old Aertex shirt. In her bicycle basket were her striped beach towel, her bathing costume and thick sweater, and a packet of ginger snaps to eat after the swim. She looked forward to swimming, and hoped that Loveday, and maybe Athena, were going to join Jeremy and herself.

  Out of the trees, and the bicycle tyres rattled over gravel. The haze of the morning had cleared, but the soft west wind still blew. The windows of Nancherrow blinked in the afternoon sunshine, and Loveday's hens, penned into their wire enclosure at the side of the house, clucked and tocked away to the
mselves, making all the traditional sounds of cheerful, healthy poultry who have just laid — or are about to lay — an egg.

  There didn't seem to be anybody about, but the front door stood open. She parked her bike, leaning it against the wall of the house, gathered up her bathing-things and her sweater, turned to go indoors and find everybody, and instantly jumped nearly out of her skin, because Jeremy had appeared from nowhere and was standing right behind her.

  ‘Oh! You brute. What a fright! I never saw you, never heard you!’

  He put his hands on her arms, holding her still, as though she were about to escape in some way. He said, ‘Don't go in.’

  His face was taut, and under his tan, very pale. A nerve throbbed just above the angle of his jaw-bone. Judith stood bewildered.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A telephone call. Half an hour ago. Edward's dead.’

  She was grateful that he held her so steadily, for her knees were trembling, and for an instant she experienced a terrible panic, as though she wasn't going to be able to breathe. Edward's dead. She shook her head, in passionate denial. ‘No.’

  ‘He was killed this morning.’

  ‘No. Not Edward. Oh, Jeremy, not Edward.’

  ‘His commanding officer rang up to break the news. He spoke to the Colonel.’

  Edward. The gnawing fear that had lived with them all for so long, lurking, and waiting, had finally struck. She looked up into Jeremy's face, and saw, behind the spectacles that were so much part of him, that his eyes shone with unshed tears. And she thought, It's all of us. We all loved Edward, in different ways. Each single one of us, every person who ever knew him, is going to be left with a great hole in his life.

  ‘How did it happen?’ she wanted to know. ‘Where did it happen?’

  ‘Over Dover. Hell-fire Corner. There was a tremendous enemy raid on the shipping in the harbour. Stuka dive-bombers and Messerschmitt fighters. An immense, intense bombardment. The RAF fighters tore into the German formations. They got twelve enemy planes, but lost three of their own machines. Edward's Spitfire was one of them.’

  But there had to be a shred of hope. Shock had drained her. Now she found herself suffused with useless rage. ‘But how do they know? How do they know he's dead? How can they be sure?’

  ‘One of the other Spitfire pilots put in his report at the debriefing. He saw it all happen. A direct hit from one of the Stukas. A plume of black smoke. The plane plummeted down, in a spin, hit the sea. Then exploded. No ejection. No parachute. There's no way any man could have survived.’

  She listened to his painful words in silence, and the shred of hope died forever. Then Jeremy stepped forward and took her in his arms. She dropped the bundle of towel and sweater onto the gravel, and put her arms around his waist, and thus they did their best to comfort each other, Judith with her cheek pressed against his shoulder, the clean cotton smell of his shirt, the warmth of his body. Standing there, in his embrace, she thought of the family, somewhere indoors. The charmed Carey-Lewises, and the desolation of grief, the enemy, that had invaded the lovely, happy, sun-filled house. Diana and the Colonel. Athena and Loveday. How were they going to come to terms with the agonising finality of their loss? It scarcely bore thinking about. All that was certain was that she, Judith, had no part in this private desolation. Once, she had felt part of the Carey-Lewises. Sometime, she would probably feel that way again. Now, at this moment, she was no more than an intruding stranger at Nancherrow, a trespasser.

  She drew away from Jeremy, gently detaching herself from his arms. She said, ‘We shouldn't be here, you and I. We shouldn't stay. We must both go away. Now. Leave them.’

  Garbled words, spoken with urgency, but Jeremy understood.

  ‘You go if you want to. I think you should. Go home. Back to Phyllis. But I must stay. Just for a couple of days. I think the Colonel's anxious for Diana. You know how protective he is of her…So I'll hang around. There might be something I can do to help. Even if it's only giving him a bit of moral support.’

  ‘Another man in the house. If I were the Colonel, I would want you to stay. Oh, Jeremy, I wish I could be like you. Strong. You have so much to give them all, but at the moment, I don't feel I've got anything. I just want to escape. Go home. Go home to my own home. Is that awful?’

  He smiled. ‘No. Not awful at all. If you like, I'll drive you.’

  ‘I've got my bicycle.’

  ‘Ride carefully. You've had a shock.’

  He stooped, then, and picked up her rolled towel and her sweater, and brushed the gravel dust and grit from them, and went to stow them back in the basket. Then he took the handles of her bicycle and wheeled it over to where she stood.

  ‘Away you go.’

  She took it from him, but still hesitated. ‘Tell Diana I'll be back. Give her my love. Explain.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Don't go away again without coming to say goodbye to me.’

  ‘I won't. And, another time, we'll swim.’

  For some reason, this caused her eyes to fill with tears. ‘Oh, Jeremy, why did it have to be Edward?’

  ‘I don't know. Don't ask me.’

  So she didn't say any more. Just got on her bicycle and pedalled slowly away, and he watched until she was out of sight; gone down the curve of the drive, disappeared into the tunnel of trees.

  Why did it have to be Edward?

  After a bit, he turned and went up the steps and through the door, back into the house.

  Afterwards, Judith had little recollection of that journey from Nancherrow to The Dower House. Her legs, as though they had developed volition of their own, pumped the bicycle pedals, working automatically as pistons, set on driving the machine along. She didn't think about anything very much. Her brain felt as numb as a limb that has suffered some terrible blow. Later, it would start to hurt, and then become agony. For the moment, her only idea was to get home, as though she were a wounded animal headed for its lair, burrow, den, cave, holt, whatever one wanted to call it.

  She reached, at last, the gates of Nancherrow, and was out once more, in the sunshine, then was spinning down the hill into the deep valley of Rosemullion. At the bottom, she turned into the village, and cycled along the road beside the little river. A woman, hanging out her washing, called her name. Hello! Lovely day! But Judith scarcely heard and never turned her head.

  She cycled on, up the hill until the steepness of the slope defeated her and she had to get off the bicycle and push it the rest of the way. At the gates of The Dower House she was forced to pause for a moment, to get her breath, and then went on, wheeling the bicycle over the pebbles. By the door, she dropped it and let it lie, abandoned, the front wheel still turning slowly, the handlebars askew.

  The house waited for her, drowsy in the afternoon light. She went to lay her hands on the wall of the porch, and the old stone was still warm from the sun which had lain upon it all morning. Like a person, she thought. A human being. Living, and with a heartbeat.

  After a bit, she went indoors, through the porch, and so into the flagged hall, where the only sound was the slow tick tock of the grandfather clock. She paused, and listened.

  ‘Biddy.’ And then, again, ‘Biddy!’

  Silence. Biddy, clearly, had not yet returned.

  ‘Phyllis!’

  But nor did Phyllis answer.

  She went to the end of the hall and opened the glass door that led out onto the veranda. Beyond this lay the garden, and there she saw Phyllis, sitting on a rug on the grass with Anna and Morag, and a few toys for Anna to play with. The rubber ball that Judith had bought the child, and a dolls' tea-set, made of tin, unearthed when Biddy had cleared the attic.

  She went across the veranda and out onto the lawn. Morag, hearing her footstep, sat up and woofed in a fairly useless manner, and Phyllis looked around to find out who, or what, had caused her to bark.

  ‘Judith! We weren't expecting you back so soon. Didn't you go swimming?’

  ‘No.’ Reaching Phyll
is's side, Judith sank down on the rug beside her. The thick tartan wool felt comfortingly warm in the sun, like a heavy sweater pulled on after an icy swim.

  ‘Why ever not? It's such a…’

  ‘Phyllis, I have to ask you something.’

  Phyllis frowned at the intensity of Judith's voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘If I go away…if I have to go away, will you stay here and take care of Aunt Biddy for me?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The thing is, I haven't spoken to her, but I think she'll probably want to stay on, at The Dower House, with you. Not go back to Devon, I mean. But you see, you mustn't leave her. She mustn't be left alone. She gets terribly lonely, thinks about Ned, and she starts drinking whisky to cheer herself up. I mean, really drinking so that she gets drunk. It happened before, when I left her in Devon, and Mrs Dagg told me about it all. It's one of the reasons I brought her to Cornwall with me. I have to say this now, because Biddy isn't here, so this is just between you and me, but you wouldn't ever leave her, would you, Phyllis?’

  Phyllis, quite naturally, was mystified. ‘But, Judith, what’s all this about?

  ‘You knew I was going. Sometime. To join up. I can't stay here forever.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘I'm going tomorrow, to Plymouth. To Devonport. I'll catch a train. I'll sign on there, in the Women's Royal Naval Service. But of course, I'll come home again. I shouldn't get my orders for at least two weeks. And then I'll go for good. But you won't ever leave Biddy, will you, Phyllis? Promise me. If you and Anna have to go away, perhaps you could arrange for someone to come and live here, and be with her…’

  She was, Phyllis realised, working herself up into a high old state, and why? So tense and so urgent, gabbling away, scarcely making sense at all. Phyllis was both bewildered and concerned. She laid a hand on Judith's shoulder, and was reminded of the time she had tried to calm and reassure a nervous young horse.

  ‘Now…’ Deliberately, she spoke slowly and quietly. ‘Stop getting so upset. Of course I shan't leave her. Why should I leave her? We all know Mrs Somerville. Know she likes her little drink of an evening.’