Whiteaway and Laidlaw, that Harrods of the East, had not let them down.
As for clothes, the great shopping expedition had taken most of a day, and Judith had let rip, casting prudence aside. She knew that in England clothes rationing was tighter than ever, and once they got home, there wouldn't be a hope of buying anything very much. To say nothing of the fact that it would probably take some time for all the formalities of officialdom to filter through varying pipelines, and until they did, neither she nor Jess would have access to clothes-coupons, let alone food-ration books, petrol-coupons, identity cards, and all the restrictions of wartime that still dogged a beleaguered and long-suffering nation.
So, for Jess, a complete wardrobe, from underclothes upwards. Shirts, sweaters, skirts, woollen knee-stockings, pyjamas, four pairs of shoes, a thick dressing-gown, and a warm and sensible raincoat. All this lay on Jess's bed, in neat folded bundles, destined for the hold of the troop-ship. For the voyage home, she set aside only the most essential of basics. The ship, they had been told, was packed to the gunwales with returning troops, and personal space was at a premium. So, cotton shorts and jumpers, a cardigan, a thin night-dress, canvas gym-shoes. And, for the day that they disembarked, a pair of trousers and a soft, tan suede jacket…
Now, four o'clock in the afternoon, it was so breathlessly hot that it was almost impossible to realise that, in three weeks' time, she and Jess would actually be glad of all these heavy, scratchy, thick garments. The very effort of folding a Shetland sweater was a bit like knitting in a heat wave, and she could feel the sweat trickling down the back of her neck, and the dampness of hair sticking to her forehead.
‘Missy Judith.’ Thomas's soft voice. She straightened and turned, pushing her hair out of her face. She had left the door open, to create a through-draught, and now saw Thomas standing there, diffident at interrupting.
‘What is it, Thomas?’
‘A visitor. He is waiting for you. On the veranda.’
‘Who?’
‘Commander Halley.’
‘Oh.’ Instinctively, Judith put her hand over her mouth. Hugo. She felt really badly about Hugo because, since Jess's return a week ago, she hadn't seen him, hadn't been in touch, and — if truth be told — scarcely thought of him. And, during the last few days, so much had there been to do, so many arrangements to be made, that an appropriate moment of time had never presented itself in which to pick up the receiver and dial his number. As the days slipped by, guilt niggled, and this very morning she had written a stern note to herself, RING HUGO, and stuck the bit of paper in the frame of her mirror. And now he was here. He had taken the initiative, and she felt both ashamed and abashed at her fall from social grace. ‘I…I'll be with him in a moment, Thomas. Will you say?’
‘I shall bring you afternoon tea.’
‘That would be lovely.’
Thomas bowed, and glided away. Judith, feeling at a distinct disadvantage, abandoned the packing, washed her sweaty hands and her face, and tried to do something about her lank hair. Her sleeveless cotton dress was neither clean nor fresh, but would have to suffice. She pushed her bare feet into a pair of thongs and went to abase herself.
She found him standing, a shoulder propped against the post of the veranda, his back to her, gazing out over the garden. He was in uniform, but had tossed his hat down on the seat of a chair.
‘Hugo.’
He turned. ‘Judith.’ His expression was neither reproachful nor cross, which was a great relief. Instead, he looked, as always, delighted to see her.
‘Oh, Hugo, I'm filled with shame.’
‘Why ever?’
‘Because I should have telephoned you long before now, and given you some idea of what was going on. But there's been so much to do, and I just never got around to it. Too rude. I am sorry.’
‘Stop grovelling. I never even thought about it.’
‘And I'm looking disgustingly grubby, but everything clean's already been packed.’
‘You look fine. And certainly cleaner than I do. I've been to Katakarunda all day; just thought I'd drop in on my way back to the Fort.’
‘I'm so glad you did. Because we're going tomorrow.’
‘So soon?’
‘I put a note on my dressing-table to ring you this evening.’
‘Perhaps it's I who should have been in touch with you. But knowing the situation, I didn't want to intrude.’
‘I would never have left without saying goodbye.’
He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Let's forget it. You're looking frazzled and I'm feeling frazzled. Why don't we both sit down for a moment, and simply relax?’
Which was just about the best idea anybody had had all day. Judith collapsed into Bob's long chair, with her feet up on the leg-rest, and lay back on the cushions with a sigh of relief, while Hugo pulled up a stool and sat facing her, leaning forward, his elbows supported by his bare brown knees.
‘Now, let's start at the beginning. You're leaving tomorrow?’
‘I've been trying to pack all afternoon.’
‘What about the Wrens? Your job?’
‘I'm on indefinite compassionate leave, and when I get home, I'll get a compassionate discharge. All fixed. Chief Officer Colombo's arranged the whole deal.’
‘How are you getting back?’
‘Troop-ship. Bob fixed us a couple of berths at the very last moment.’
‘The Queen of the Pacific?’
‘That's right. Oddly enough, the same old liner I came out in. But this voyage, it's going to be really close quarters. Families from Ceylon going home, and a draft of Royal Air Force from India. But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we'll be on board.’ She smiled, feeling guilty again. ‘It's an awful thing to say, but it does help having a Rear Admiral as a relation. Bob hasn't just pulled strings, he's been winching hawsers. Blasting away on the telephone, pulling rank. He's done it all.’
‘And Trincomalee?’
‘I never went back. I'm never going back.’
‘What about your gear? The stuff you left behind.’
‘Anything special, I brought with me to Colombo; all that got left behind were a few books and some washed-out clothes and my winter uniform. I don't care what happens to any of that. Not important. As well, last week Jess and I went to Whiteaway and Laidlaw, and spent an entire day buying the shop out. So we're both kitted up for all eventualities.’
He smiled. ‘I like the way you said that.’
‘Said what?’
‘Jess and I. It sounds as though you'd never been apart.’
‘Wasn't it a miracle, Hugo? Wasn't it like something out of a dream? I maybe sound as though we've never been apart, but I still wake in the night and wonder if I've imagined it all, and I have to turn on the light so that I can look at her, lying in the next bed, and know that it's really true.’
‘How is she?’
‘Amazing. So resilient. Later, we may have problems. Physical, or psychological. But so far, she seems to have emerged with colours flying.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Bob took her to the zoo. She wanted to look at the alligators.’
‘I'm sorry I've missed her.’
‘They'll be back sometime. Stay till they come.’
‘I can't. I've been bidden for drinks with the C in C, and if I'm late I'll be court-martialled.’
At this point they were interrupted by Thomas, approaching down the length of the veranda, and bearing the tea-tray. Hugo reached forward and pulled up a table, and Thomas, with his customary formality, set down the tray, bowed, and withdrew.
When he had gone, she said, ‘I know Bob told you all about Jess, and the camp in Java and everything, but did he tell you about Gus Callender?’
‘Who's Gus Callender? Do you want me to be mother and pour the tea?’
‘Please. He obviously didn't tell you. It was just the most extraordinary thing. It all happened on the same day. The morning of the day that we knew th
at Jess was alive. You know about the hospital ship? Orion? With the men from the Burma Railway?’
‘Yes. She was here for a day, sailed that evening.’
‘Well, I went to welcome the men who came ashore…’ He handed her a cup and saucer, and she smelt the fresh scent of China tea and the tang of lemon, but it was too hot to drink, so she let it rest on her lap. ‘…and there was this man there, a captain in the Gordon Highlanders…’
She told him about the bizarre encounter. Believing that Gus was dead, and suddenly finding him alive. Going with him to the Galle Face Hotel; the touching reunion with the old waiter; the bottle of Black and White whisky. She told him how Gus had looked, and how he had been dressed, and how, at the end, she had put him in another taxi, headed for the Fort and the hospital ship; and said goodbye.
‘…and then I came back here and even before I'd got into the house, Bob had appeared and was telling me that Jess was alive. Two people I thought had gone forever. All in the same day. Wasn't that the strangest thing, Hugo?’
He said, ‘Quite amazing,’ and clearly meant it.
‘The only thing is, I don't feel as happy about Gus as I do about Jess. His old parents died while he was in prison and working on the railway; he was told in Rangoon that they had died. He hasn't got any other family. No brothers or sisters. I feel it's going to be rather a dismal homecoming for him when he does get back to Scotland.’
‘Where's his home?’
‘Aberdeenshire, somewhere. I don't know. I never knew him all that well. He was a friend of friends, in Cornwall. He stayed with them during the summer before the war. That's when I met him, and I've never set eyes on him since. Until I saw him again, standing there on Gordon's Green.’
‘Has he got a home to return to?’
‘Yes. I think it's some sort of a great big estate. There certainly seemed to be plenty of money. He was at Cambridge, and before that he'd been at Rugby. And he drove around in a very elegant, supercharged Lagonda.’
‘Sounds as though he should be all right.’
‘But people matter, don't they? Family. Friends.’
‘If he's served in a Scottish regiment, he'll be surrounded by friends.’
‘I hope so, Hugo. I really hope so.’
Her tea had cooled. She lifted the cup and drank some, and felt heated, and yet refreshed, all at the same time. Still thinking of Gus, she said, ‘But I must keep in touch.’
‘And who,’ asked Hugo, ‘are you going back to?’
She laughed. ‘A jolly houseful of women.’
‘And Jess?’
‘Sooner or later, she'll have to go to school. Perhaps later. She deserves a bit of time to settle in, get her bearings, have some fun.’
‘Friends and family?’
‘Of course.’
‘No loving swain, waiting to claim you? Waiting to jam a wedding ring on your finger?’
It was sometimes hard to tell whether or not Hugo was joking. She looked up into his face, and saw that he was not.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because if there were, I should say he was a lucky man.’
She took her cup and saucer and leaned over to put it back on the table. ‘Hugo, I would hate you ever to think I had simply used you.’
‘I would never think that. I just happened to be around when you were having a bad day. I only wish we'd had more time together.’
‘We said all this before. I don't think it would have made any difference.’
‘No. Probably not.’
‘But that doesn't mean that it wasn't the best. Meeting you, and all the things we did together. And the war over, and knowing that it hadn't killed off all the trivial, frivolous, fun things people used to do before it all began. Like “I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby”, and dancing in the moonlight, and wearing a new dress, and shrieking with laughter about that dreadful Moira Burridge. Nothing mattering too much, and yet terribly important all at the same time. I'm really grateful. I can't think of anyone else who could have brought it all back, made it real again, so sweetly.’
He reached out and took her hand in his. ‘When I get back to England — whenever — shall we see each other?’
‘Of course. You must come and visit me in Cornwall. I have a dream of a house, so close to the sea. You can come for summer holidays. By yourself, or with some luscious lady friend. In the fullness of time, you can bring your wife and children, and we'll all go bucket-and-spading together.’
‘I like that.’
‘What do you like?’
‘Clear intentions.’
‘I don't want to cling to you, Hugo. It was never like that. But I don't want to lose you either.’
‘How shall I find you?’
‘Phone book. Dunbar, The Dower House, Rosemullion.’
‘And if I ring you up, you promise you won't say, “Who the hell are you?”’
‘No. I don't think I'd ever say that.’
He stayed for a little longer, and they went on talking, about nothing in particular, and then he looked at his watch and said it was time that he was off. ‘I have to make some telephone calls and write a letter and present myself to the C in C in good working order, and five minutes before the appointed hour.’
‘When's that?’
‘Six-thirty. Cocktails. State occasion. Lord and Lady Mountbatten, no less.’
‘Will Moira Burridge be there?’
‘Heaven forbid.’
‘Send her my regards.’
‘If you don't watch out, I'll give her your address in Cornwall and say you can't wait to have her to stay.’
‘You do, and I'll shoot you.’
She went with him to the door, and down the steps to where his car stood parked on the baking gravel. He turned to her. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Hugo.’
They kissed. Both cheeks.
‘It's been great.’
‘Yes. Great. And thank you.’
‘I am so pleased, so pleased, that it all worked out for you.’
She said, ‘It hasn't worked out yet. But it's begun.’
The Queen of the Pacific
Med.
Friday 12th October, 1945.
Dear Gus,
I'm sitting on a rather draughty promenade deck, surrounded by squalling children and distraught mothers, and a large number of very bored aircraftmen. Nothing to sit on, so we all squat around the deck, like a lot of refugees, getting grubbier by the day, because there are few washing facilities!
But I must explain. Easier to begin from the moment I said goodbye to you outside the Galle Face. I got home that day to be told by Bob (Uncle, Rear Admiral Somerville) that my little sister Jess had been found in an internment camp in Java. First you and then her! A day of miracles. Bob, with pheasant-shooting in mind, called it a Right and Left.
She is fourteen now. She flew back to Colombo from Jakarta in a USAF Dakota, and Bob and I met her at Ratmalana Air Station. She is skinny and sun-browned, and will soon be as tall as me. She is well.
So we had a week of tremendous organisation, the upshot of which is that we're both on our way home. I'm getting a compassionate discharge, and we'll go back to The Dower House together.
I have thought of you so much…perhaps by now you are already back in Scotland. I shall send this to the address you gave me, and post the letter when we get to Gib.
It was the most wonderful thing, finding you again and being able to spend a bit of time together. I was just terribly sorry that I had to tell you about Loveday being married. I quite understand that, perhaps for a bit, you won't want to come to Cornwall, because of her. But when you've settled back at Ardvray and picked up the threads of your life, perhaps you'll feel differently. When this happens, you know the most enormous welcomes wait for you. Not just me, but Nancherrow as well. Anytime. Just come. And bring your sketch-book!
Please write to me and let me know how things are going and what your plans are.
With my love, br />
Judith
The Dower House,
Rosemullion,
Sunday 21st October
TRAFALGAR DAY
My darling Bob,
They're home. Safe and sound. I hired a huge taxi, and went on Friday to scoop them off the Riviera at Penzance. The train came in, and there they were on the platform, surrounded by mounds of luggage. I don't think I've ever been more excited.
Both are looking well, if tired and a bit emaciated. Jess bears no relation at all to that fat, spoilt little baby girl who stayed with us that Christmas at Keyham. Except, those blue eyes are just as bright, and she has talked a lot about you and the little time she spent with you in Colombo.
The most touching was when she saw Phyllis again. As the taxi arrived at The Dower House, Phyllis and Anna, with Morag in tow, came out of the door to meet us. Nobody said anything to Jess, but she took one look at Phyllis, and was out of the taxi before it had even stopped, to cast herself into Phyllis's arms. I think Anna is a bit jealous, but Jess is particularly nice to her; she said that she spent a lot of time in the camps helping to look after the smaller ones.
Judith showed me the letter from that sweet Australian girl who looked after Jess when they were interned. What hell they went through together. I am sure that, sooner or later, Jess will begin to speak of her ghastly experiences. I am equally sure that, when she does, it will be to Phyllis.
This morning I went to church and said THANK YOU.
Now, it's Sunday afternoon, a chilly October day, all leaves blown from trees, showers and a nippy wind. Judith has taken Jess to Nancherrow to have nursery tea with them all, and Loveday and Nat. They set off, walking, about an hour ago, bundled up in raincoats and rubber boots. At the first opportunity, we must get a bicycle for Jess. It's really an essential, because only a teaspoonful of petrol every week, and Judith's car is still on chocks in the garage and totally out of commission until she gets a petrol ration for herself.