Coming Home

  ‘What about clothing coupons?’ Judith, ever practical, wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, no problem, darling, I did a tiny deal with Hetty. Gave her a great pile of Athena's cast-offs, and in return she gave me six months' worth of coupons. And she reckoned she'd got the best of the deal. Which of course she had.’

  ‘Poor Hetty,’ Judith had to say.

  ‘Not a bit. She was delighted. She's never had such a wardrobe. And she'll get asked to the wedding. And of course, we're going to ask Phyllis and Biddy and Bob.’

  Bob. Judith frowned. Living away from Nancherrow and The Dower House, she had slightly lost track of events, and mention of Bob's name (Bob had never been part of Cornwall) took her by surprise.

  ‘You mean Uncle Bob? Bob Somerville?’

  ‘But of course. He came down on leave in the spring, just a few days, and Biddy brought him for dinner at Nancherrow. He and Edgar got on like a house on fire. Such a delightful man.’

  ‘I suppose Biddy wrote and told me, but I'd forgotten. I wonder if he'll be able to come.’

  ‘I do hope so. We're going to be a bit short of attractive men. Just pews full of old buffers with walking-sticks.’

  ‘Tell me about the wedding. Tell me all your plans.’

  ‘Well…’ Diana was in her element. ‘We thought a sort of fête-champêtre in the courtyard…so much more original than a stuffy lunch indoors. You know, hay-bales and barrels of beer and trestle-tables…’

  ‘What if it rains?’

  ‘Oh, it won't rain. At least, I don't think it will rain. Not for me. It wouldn't dare.’

  Tommy laughed at her complacence. ‘How many guests will come to this beanfeast?’ he asked.

  ‘We worked it out on the train, didn't we, Loveday darling? Rosemullion Church holds eighty with a pinch, so no more than that. And in church, we thought pitchers of wild flowers, and swags of cow-parsley. And corn-stooks with white ribbon bows on the end of each pew. Really countrified. Tommy, why that face?’

  ‘I am reminded of Far From The Madding Crowd.’

  ‘That's far too gloomy. Much more cheerful than that.’

  ‘What hymns are we going to sing? “We Plough the Fields and Scatter”? Or “Fair Waves the Golden Corn”?’

  ‘Not funny, Tommy. Going too far.’

  ‘Can I wear my frock-coat, or am I expected to come in tweeds with a fish-hook in my hat?’

  ‘You can wear anything you like. Corduroys and baler twine, if it'll make you happy.’

  ‘Anything that makes you happy makes me happy,’ Tommy told her, and she mouthed him a kiss and said that perhaps it was time to order coffee.

  Her ebullient, light-hearted mood lasted the rest of the day, and swept the two girls along on the coat-tails of her energy and high spirits. With lunch over, the little party dispersed, Tommy to return to Regent Street, Diana and Loveday to head back to Harrods, and Judith to set off, alone, in search of a suitable wedding present for Loveday and Walter. She caught a bus to Sloane Square and Peter Jones, and there wandered about, deliberating over things like saucepans and wooden spoons, doormats and lamps with shades. But none of these items struck her as being particularly interesting or appealing, so she walked out of Peter Jones and into the network of small streets that lay to the north of the King's Road. After a bit, in the midst of small pubs, she came upon a little junk-shop, spilling dubious-looking antique furniture onto the pavement. Beyond its dusty window were velvet-lined boxes of table silver, odd cups and saucers, lead soldiers, ivory chessmen, old chamber-pots, bronze statuettes, and bundles of faded plush curtains. Feeling hopeful, she ventured inside, and as she pushed open the door, a bell jingled. She smelt must and mould; it was dark and dusty, cluttered with looming furniture and coal-scuttles and brass gongs, but, from some back room, an old lady emerged, wearing a pinafore and a considerable hat, to switch on a dim light or two and to ask if Judith was wanting something. Judith explained that she was looking for a wedding present, and the old lady said, ‘Take your time,’ settled herself majestically in a sagging armchair, and lit up the stub of a cigarette. And so Judith spent a happy fifteen minutes or so edging her way around the tiny shop, and inspecting various unlikely objects, but finally found exactly what she had been searching for. Twelve Masons ironstone dinner plates, unchipped and in perfect condition, with the deep blues rich as the sea, and the warm reds unfaded. They were both decorative and useful, and if Loveday didn't want to eat off them, she could always arrange them on some shelf.

  ‘I'll take these, please.’

  ‘Righty-ho.’ The old lady dropped her cigarette stub on the floor, ground it out with the heel of her bedroom slipper and heaved herself up out of the armchair. It took some time to pack the plates, wrapping each in newspaper and then packing them into an old grocery box, which consequently weighed a ton. Judith paid for her purchase, heaved the bulky burden up into her arms, and headed back to the King's Road where, after a bit of a wait, she succeeded in finding a taxi to drive her back to the Mews.

  By now it was nearly half past four, but Diana and Loveday did not return for another hour, laden with packages and parcels, both complaining vociferously of shopper's feet, but still, miraculously, on speaking terms. They had had a lovely time, the expedition had been all success, but they both were dying for a cup of tea. So Judith put the kettle on and laid a tray, and made hot buttered toast, and a happy half-hour was spent showing and inspecting all the lovely new clothes that had been purchased. And when at last Loveday came to the end, and the room was a drift of garments and tissue paper, Judith fetched the grocery box from behind the sofa where she had hidden it, and dumped it at Loveday's feet and said, ‘It's your wedding present,’ and the first plate was unwrapped to gasps of gratifying delight and appreciation from both mother and daughter.

  ‘Oh, they're heaven!’

  ‘Don't unwrap any more. They're all the same and there are twelve of them.’

  ‘Gorgeous. You couldn't have given me anything more beautiful. We looked at plates, but they're all horrible utility white. These are lovely. Lovely. Where did you get them?’

  Judith explained. She said, ‘You'll have to take them back with you in the train, I'm afraid. They're dreadfully heavy. Do you think you'll be able to manage?’

  ‘No trouble. We'll find a porter or a trolley, or something, and Pops is going to come and meet us at Penzance.’

  Diana said, ‘They're almost too pretty to use.’

  ‘I shall display them,’ Loveday decided. ‘I shall get someone to give me a dresser, and I shall display them. They'll cheer my little house up no end. Thank you, darling Judith. Thank you so much.’

  So it was all very satisfactory. They sat on, drinking tea and eating toast until Diana looked at her little watch and announced that it was time for them all to start getting ready for the evening's entertainment, for Tommy had got tickets for the revue Strike It Again, and was taking them all to the theatre.

  Because of all these delightful activities, it was not until the next morning that Judith found herself alone with Diana. Loveday was not yet up, and so the two of them breakfasted together at the kitchen table…a proper breakfast — boiled Nancherrow eggs and copious cups of freshly brewed coffee. And it was only then that they were able to discuss topics more grave and serious than Loveday's wedding, namely the fate of the Dunbar family, trapped in the Far East by the Japanese war.

  Diana wished to know every detail of every single thing that had happened, and when it had happened. And she was so sympathetic and concerned that it wasn't too difficult to talk about the sad progress of events, culminating in the last piece of news which had filtered through, which was that The Rajah of Sarawak had never reached Australia.

  ‘Do you think that their boat was torpedoed?’

  ‘It must have been, though there was no official confirmation.’

  ‘Too awful. Your poor mother. Thank you for telling me. Sometimes it's good to talk. I deliberately didn't say anything when we were all
together yesterday because it seemed rather inappropriate. And I wanted yesterday to be Loveday's. I do hope you didn't think I was being dreadfully casual and uncaring. And whatever happens, you know we are always there. Edgar and I. We think of you as another daughter. If ever you need a shoulder to cry on, you only have to pick up the telephone.’

  ‘I know that. You're sweet.’

  Diana sighed, set down her coffee cup and reached for a cigarette. ‘I suppose one just has to go on hoping for the best.’ Sitting there, in her peach satin dressing-gown, and with her lovely face naked of make-up, she looked, all at once, immeasurably sad. Judith waited for her to say something about Gus, because his name, unspoken, hung in the air between them. But Diana stayed silent, and Judith realised that if they were going to talk properly, then she must be the first to say his name. It took a bit of courage, because there was always the chance that Diana might open her heart, confide her own misgivings about Loveday's intentions, and, close as they were, Judith dreaded such confidences, which would leave her caught in the horrid trap of divided loyalties.

  She said, ‘I've always thought that hope was something of a two-edged sword. Loveday's stopped hoping, hasn't she? She's certain that Gus is already dead.’

  Diana nodded. ‘I know. Totally convinced. Too tragic. What can one say? I suppose if she feels that strongly, then he must have been killed. They were so close, you see. They had such an instant rapport. It was lovely to watch, extraordinary. He turned up at Nancherrow, out of the blue, and it was as though he'd always been around. Such a quiet, engaging man, and so talented and artistic. And so in love. They never tried to hide their love.’

  She fell silent. Judith waited for her to continue but, it seemed, she had nothing more to say. Gus was gone, like water flowing away beneath a bridge, and now Loveday was carrying Walter's baby, and was going to marry Walter. Too late for second thoughts, no time for misgivings. Diana and Edgar had, as it were, nailed their colours to the mast, and no person, not even Judith, was ever to know how they truly felt.

  After a bit, she said, ‘Perhaps Loveday's right. Hope isn't much to build your life on. But the alternative is so unthinkable, and if it's all you've got’ … And then, without thinking, ‘…Jeremy said it was important to keep on hoping…’ and instantly could have bitten her tongue, for Diana, at once, was alert.

  ‘Jeremy? When did you see Jeremy?’

  ‘Oh, sometime.’ Disconcerted, furious with herself, Judith floundered. ‘January, I think. I can't remember. Just before Singapore fell. He was passing through London.’

  ‘We haven't seen him for ages. Was he well?’

  ‘I think so. He's got promotion. Surgeon commander.’

  ‘Now you mention it, I think his father told Edgar. Clever boy. I must send him an invitation to the wedding. Where is he?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘But an address?’

  ‘HMS Sutherland, care of GPO.’

  ‘Too vague. Doesn't tell us a thing. Oh, this damned war. Everybody all over the place. Shattered. Like bits of shrapnel.’

  ‘I know.’ Judith was sympathetic. ‘But there's not an awful lot we can do about it.’

  Suddenly Diana smiled. ‘Darling Judith, what a sensible girl you are. You're perfectly right. Now, pour me another cup of coffee and let's decide how we're going to spend this beautiful morning. Tommy wants to give us all lunch, but if we can get Loveday out of bed, there'll be time for a walk in the park…let's not waste a moment…’

  So, back on course again. But that evening, returning to Portsmouth in the train, Judith sat gazing out of the window, and thought back over the astonishing events of the past two days. Loveday and Walter. Married. A couple. Alone, and without the stimulation of luncheon parties and sparkling company, she felt the euphoria of the weekend fade, and in its place her own private reservations came flooding back. Loveday was, and always had been, a most special friend, but Judith knew her waywardness and her stubborn determination only too well. Loveday's greatest fear had always been that the war should, in some way or another, drag her away from Nancherrow. Threat of official call-up was quite enough to send her into a panic. With Gus, as she believed, dead and lost forever, she had no reason not to turn to Walter. Married to Walter, she would be safe at Nancherrow for always. The workings of Loveday's mind were not difficult to comprehend. But Judith just hoped that what she had been told was true. That Walter, in the hayloft, had seduced Loveday. And that it was not Loveday who, calculating the odds, had seduced Walter.

  Two weeks later, to a day, Judith received the official invitation to Loveday's wedding. She discovered it on her return to Quarters from Whale Island, ostentatiously enormous, and squashed in with all the other mail in the appropriate pigeonhole. Diana, it appeared, had wasted no time. A heavy, tissue-lined envelope and a double sheet of the sort of luxurious, water-marked paper that Judith had forgotten even existed. She imagined Diana wheedling the stationer into unearthing some of his precious pre-war stock, and then persuading the printer to rush her urgent commission through. The result was a marvel of lavish embossed copperplate, almost royal in its splendour. Clearly, it stated, there was to be nothing hole-in-the-corner about this occasion.

  Inside the invitation was tucked a lengthy missive from Loveday. Judith took the envelope up to her cabin, jammed the invitation into the frame of the mirror over the chest of drawers, and sat down on her bunk to read the letter.

  May 14th. Nancherrow.

  Darling Judith. It was so sweet of you to get to London, and to be so sweet, and we loved seeing you. Here's the invite. Isn't it smart? Mummy's such a love, she has to do everything the big way.

  Here it's like a three-ring circus, because we have to cram everything into such a short time. I'm still working with Walter, because Mummy and Mary and Mrs Nettlebed are much more efficient than me, and apart from standing still while Mary pricks pins into me (the confirmation dress actually doesn't look too bad), there doesn't seem to be much I can do except get in the way. When we're not on the farm, Walter and I are trying to get the garden of the cottage cleaned up. He tractored away quantities of old bedsteads, defunct perambulators, buckets with no bottoms, and other undesirable objects, and then turned it all over with the plough, and planted a crop of potatoes. He calls it clearing the land. Hopefully, when the potatoes are lifted, he'll plant some grass or something, and then we shall have a LAWN. The builders are tearing the cottage to bits. (I think Pops has pulled a string with the County Council or something, so unlike him, but the building restrictions are very strict and if he didn't pull a string, we'd never have got anywhere.) Anyway, it's all been gutted and then put together again, and as well as the two rooms, there's a bathroom out at one side and a sort of muck-room at the back with a stone floor, where Walter can shed his boots and take off his overalls and hang them on a peg. A new range and new floors. I think it will be frightfully cosy.

  Mummy and Pops spent agonised evenings trying to compose a guest list, as we are so limited with numbers. Pops is being frightfully fair, forty of our friends and forty of the Mudges'. Anyway, all the right people are being asked, including the Lord Lieutenant, and Biddy and Phyllis and dear Mr Baines and Dr and Mrs Wells, and various other close friends. On the Mudge side, it's a bit more tricky because they have so many relations, all, as far as I can see, having married each other's cousins, et cetera. But you'll be pleased to hear that the Warrens (distant relations by marriage) have been invited. I wrote to Heather and asked her too, but she says she can't get away; I'm so glad I don't work at her horrid Secret Department, she doesn't seem to have any sort of life at all.

  You will also be glad to know that Mrs Mudge has bought herself a new set of teeth for the occasion. As well as a blue crêpe dress and a hat ‘to tone’. The hat and the dress tone with each other, not with the new teeth. And she's made an appointment to have a perm.

  Mummy's totally optimistic about the weather and is planning her outdoor lunch in the courtyard. Pops isn't so op
timistic, and keeps making what he calls ‘contingency plans’, which means moving everything into the dining-room should the heavens open. Mrs Nettlebed wanted to do it all but, with rationing, it just isn't on, so a caterer has been booked, from Truro. Mummy has told him he is not to produce those sort of trifles that have Bird's Custard and hundreds and thousands. And the Lord Lieutenant has promised a couple of salmon, so with a bit of luck, the lunch won't be too bad.

  We're not having champagne, because we can't get any, and Pops says he's keeping his last case for when Rupert gets home and the war is over. But some sort of jolly sparkling wine (South Africa?) and a barrel of beer.

  Mr Mudge confided to Pops that he'd got a cask of neat spirit buried in his garden, and offered it as another form of alcoholic refreshment. Apparently he heaved it up off the rocks after a shipwreck a couple of years ago, and hid it from the Customs and Excise men. Too exciting. Pure Daphne du Maurier. Who would have thought it of him? However, Pops thought it might be a bit dangerous to feed our guests on neat spirit and said to Mr Mudge that the cask had better stay where it was.

  But frightfully generous.

  Mr Nettlebed is so funny. You'd have thought he would be really in his element with all these social arrangements being made, but in fact his greatest concern, from the moment we announced our engagement, was what was Walter going to wear. Could you believe it? Walter, actually, was just going to wear his one suit that he sometimes puts on for funerals, though I must say it does look a bit odd, because it belonged to an uncle who had longer legs than Walter, and Mrs Mudge has never got around to taking the trousers up. In the end, Nettlebed cornered Walter in the Rosemullion pub, stood a couple of beers and talked him into letting Nettlebed take over. And last Saturday, they went to Penzance and Nettlebed wheeled him into Medways and got him to choose a new grey flannel suit and got the tailor to fix it so that it looks really smart. And a new cream shirt and a silk tie. Walter had the coupons, but Nettlebed paid for all the new clothes, he said it was a wedding present. So kind. And with that all accomplished, Nettlebed is looking a great deal more light-hearted, and able to concentrate on counting out the spoons and forks and polishing up the wineglasses.