Heart of War (79 page)

They had come down off the Down and were heading south into the Weald, to the place where she had left the car in the morning. He said, ‘Captain Kellaway is sending my poetry to a publisher in London.'

‘I know,' she said. ‘You told me.'

‘The first lot's going to be published soon – November, perhaps. The captain wants me to call it
De Profundis.'

‘From the depths,' she said. ‘Oscar Wilde used the same title to explain … what he was, really.'

‘The captain told me, but I don't want no Latin name … I'll think of something, soon's I get back.'

‘Are you going to use your own name, as author?'

Fletcher laughed then – ‘No, just “Fletcher.”'

They stopped beside the car, and Fletcher climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Beighton – the Seven Stars,' he said. ‘There's good cheese there and we won't have to listen to old Parsley.'

‘Certainly, milord,' she said, scrambling up into the driver's seat. ‘Shall I be eating outside, or may I join you in the bar?'

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, ‘You try and get away from my side and see what happens to you, pretty Betty.' She turned her face quickly so that his lips found hers, and they kissed, long and lovingly.

He leaned away, and said, ‘I'm changing, Betty. Growing into the world … the one we all live in, except some of us in Walstone don't know it … I've never met anyone like Fagioletti before – he's a corporal in B Company … Captain Kellaway … a lot of London fellows, there's all sorts in the Army now … even old Rowley, the C.O. – known him all my life, from far away, but he's different now … or I am … Mr Campbell, the adjutant … talks to me for an hour on end sometimes, when he finds me resting or reading. Snipers spend all day out in a post, without moving, but ready … so we always get the next day off duties. I've had a lot of time to think … and I think I'll be ready, and fit to be your husband when it's over.'

She cried, ‘Oh, Fletcher,
why
can't we have more time together? It's not fair!'

‘No, it's not,' he said, ‘but we wouldn't have even this day if Mum hadn't got so ill with the influenza and Mr Campbell given me a special 72 hours' leave. So we'd best make the best of what we do have. You'll spend the night with me in the cottage?'

She said quietly, ‘Of course, Fletcher … all the hours you have.'

‘What's happening to your work?'

‘Ginger understands … He's my boss … though I think he's jealous, poor man. He's so nice, but … he's not you.'

Fletcher slid out of the seat, jumped to the ground and went forward to crank up the engine.

‘Switched off,' Betty called; then – ‘Switched on!' Fletcher swung, the engine fired.

Tom Rowland walked along the Admiralty corridor toward the 2nd Sea Lord's office, whither he had been summoned. A letter burned in his pocket: it was from Ordinary Seaman Charlie Bennett, written from his home in County Durham. Charlie had consumption, developed not a month after Tom had left
Penrith
. Now, after two months in hospital, he was discharged from the Navy as medically unfit … Would … could … he come and see Tom?

Tom wondered whether the D.N.I. was intercepting his mail; and if so, if he had read the letter … perhaps that was what this summons from the 2nd Sea Lord was about. As to the letter itself … Charlie Bennett had conclusively shown him, Tom, what he was, sexually. They had sworn to each other their love. Faith between men must be as inviolable as it was supposed to be between man and woman. He would ask Charlie to come and live with him, and be his companion … Charlie would be his servant, too, obviously. There would be no need for Jones to clean the flat – Charlie would do it; and learn how to cook, and put out his clothes. In return, Tom would continue what he had started, in so small a way, last October – educating Charlie for the world he would now be living in, a world of art galleries and Green Rooms and haute couture salons instead of gun turrets, hammocks, and mess decks.

Inside the big room the Naval Assistant stood aside as Tom stood stiff backed in front of Admiral Burney's desk, his gold-braided cap under his arm. The admiral was speaking, ‘Admiral Fisher, and earlier Admiral Duff, have reported that you are doing very good work in the Anti-Submarine Division, Rowland. They say you have originality, application, and common sense – it's surprising how few people working on problems from the theoretical end have that last quality … On the other hand, the D.N.I has informed me that you are associating with Russell Wharton, the actor.' He paused, looking up.

Tom hesitated a moment. But if Russell was teaching him anything, it was that he must not cringe or lie: he was what he was, whatever the consequences. He said, ‘Yes, sir. He's a friend of mine.'

‘Close?' the admiral said. He's trying to let me off easily, Tom thought; he's leaving me the opening to say Oh, no … He said, ‘In the past four months, since I was posted here, he has become so, yes, sir.'

The admiral's tone hardened, ‘You remember when you first came, I gave you a formal warning, in the presence of Captain Buller here, who made an official note of it.'

‘I remember, sir.'

‘In view of Captain Leach's reason for asking that you be posted away from
Penrith
, don't you think it is unwise for you to associate with a known homosexual such as Wharton?'

Tom said, ‘I am sorry, sir … he is my friend. When I am with him I am always in uniform, as you ordered.'

He waited. Let them do what they would, or felt they must. He missed the sea, the sailors, and the comradeship of the wardroom; but in himself, he was a much happier and better functioning man. He could not have earned the head of the Division's commendation as the man he used to be – he would have been too much on edge, worried about himself and his nature.

The admiral said, ‘This is a warning, Rowland. We can't dismiss you, or court martial you, merely for associating with an actor … why in the name of God isn't it an actress? … but the D.N.I.'s people will watch you more closely. That's all.'

Tom said, ‘Aye, aye, sir,' wheeled round and marched out and back to his office in the Anti-Submarine Division.

Alice Rowland lay in the hospital bed, staring at the open window, and the heavy outline of the trees beyond. The humped bedclothes covered the basket that protected the short stump of her left leg, making her body seem that of some strange and monstrous animal … well, that's what she was now, after all. She felt far away, partly because every bone in her body still throbbed and ached, partly because she was almost due for her morphine injection, of which she was having two a day to deaden the pain of the shattered and separated thigh.

The ward sister came in leading a dumpy woman of middle age, simply dressed. Alice stared at her – who was this? The sister said, ‘Here's a friend to visit you, Miss Alice.'

The woman said, ‘Mrs Cowell, miss … Dave's wife.'

‘Of course,' Alice said. ‘It was so dark in that room, wasn't it?'

‘I can only stay a minute, miss. I wanted to come and tell you how sorry we are about it … your leg. Dave said I must come, but I had to come for myself, too … Do you think it would help if Dave came to see you?' Her eyes were big and anxious. ‘I wouldn't mind, you know. I mean, things is different … All that matters is you getting well. So, if it would help …'

Alice put out her hand – ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Cowell … I think I'd better not.'

The ward sister returned with another visitor. This was a
young woman in expensive clothes, a rather short green dress, green suede shoes, and a wide hat with a gallant ostrich feather. The late sun shone through the auburn hair piled under the hat, and caught the glint of her green eyes. The sister said, ‘The Marchioness of Jarrow, Miss Alice.' Mrs Cowell slunk away with a murmured, ‘Goodbye, miss.'

Alice stared, and then said, ‘Florinda, of course!... You look so beautiful.'

Florinda sat down in the bedside chair – ‘I thought of bringing you some flowers, but they're supposed not to be good in a hospital.'

‘I think they're nice even if they do drink some of my oxygen,' Alice said.

Florinda said, ‘How are you, Miss Alice? Seems such a long time ago since you gave me a big doll for Christmas when you were staying with Squire …'

‘Oh dear,' Alice said, ‘you were … eleven, I think. I remember wondering whether you would think yourself too old for dolls.' She looked surreptitiously at the clock. When would that doctor come? She hated the sting of the needle but afterward … ah!

Florinda said, ‘Hope you've had nothing but good news from your family, miss.'

‘So far,' Alice said. Tom was safe in the Admiralty, but one could only hope, and pray, for Quentin and Guy and Boy – and soon, Naomi.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?' Florinda asked. ‘Anything you want? I can easily get it in London, whatever it is.'

And can afford whatever she wants, Alice thought; she was a good tactful girl, with natural taste.

‘Nothing, thanks …' except morphine, she added to herself. Florinda rose from the chair. ‘I have to go back to London … Fletcher's going to have dinner with me before he catches the leave train for France … Don't forget, Miss Alice – anything I can do …' She waved her hand and walked out of the private room without looking back.

The sister came in again. Now, Alice thought, surely … ‘Mrs Merritt,' the sister said. Stella came in, and Alice eyed her as closely as her condition and anxiety allowed. She looked tired – beautiful, of course, Stella could never be otherwise – but not at peace. She was, let's see, seven months
pregnant, for the baby was due in mid-October, and would be the Governor's first great-grandchild. It was a shame that Johnny would not be here to see his baby; he was in France with the American Army, Stella had told her, but had not yet been sent into battle.

Stella sat down in the chair Florinda had just vacated, and said, ‘I passed Florinda coming out – Florinda Gorse.'

Alice said, ‘She was here.' She was getting fidgety, her fingers playing with the coverlet. ‘How are you? You look tired.'

‘I am, a bit. The baby seems so heavy sometimes …' Her voice trailed away as she yawned. She blinked, stared at Alice and mumbled, ‘The doctor said I wasn't to stay more than five minutes.'

‘The doctor? Where is he?'

‘In the next room … He said he'd be coming along.'

Alice lay back. Soon! Stella said, ‘Johnny was in a place called Chaumont, but he said a group of them were going to our area – the British – any moment, to learn about trench warfare. Then, he said, he'll probably be sent back to America to become an officer.'

‘Good,' Alice said. ‘Will he be coming through England on his way?'

‘I'm afraid not. The American ships are landing at Brest and St Nazaire, and going straight back from there.'

The door opened and the doctor came in. Alice began to roll back the long sleeve of her nightgown. The doctor came to her bedside and said, ‘No need for that now, Miss Rowland. Only one nasty needle a day for you now, and soon – none!'

She tried to jerk herself upright – ‘I'm supposed to have two injections a day! You ordered them yourself!'

The doctor glanced at Stella and said, ‘That's true, Miss Rowland, but now, well, the pain is less and we are going to taper the doses down to nothing over the next ten days.'

Alice heard herself screaming, ‘I must have it! I can't stand it … you promised … where is it, where is it?' She burst into uncontrollable sobbing.

The doctor's face was grave. As her sobs subsided he said, ‘Miss Rowland, morphine is a very dangerous drug … as are all drugs … cocaine, opium, heroin, all of them. They are habit forming, and we do not like to give them to any patient
for more than a few days at a time in case the patient becomes addicted. In your case … do you hear me?'

Alice nodded miserably.

‘In your case, the addiction has obviously come sooner than we expected. We had to take the risk because of the extremely serious and painful nature of your wound. But we must now treat you as an addict. You shall have your two injections a day, for a week – but progressively smaller … then one a day, for three or four days. After that we'll discontinue the morphine altogether. You will have some not very pleasant withdrawal symptoms – pains all over the body, sweating, shakes, insomnia. I shall give you Luminal to help you sleep, and aspirin for the pains … or, if they become very bad, codeine.'

Stella listened, sweating. It was like a broken gramophone record. Aunt Alice – a drug fiend – from having been given the stuff by a doctor. She herself now knew the majestic ecstasies and power of her own drug, her own mind. Could it be possible that Aunt Alice, mousey old Aunt Alice, could be experiencing the same?

The doctor said, ‘We shall need your co-operation, too, Miss Rowland. Between us, we'll set you free. Sister, bring me the syringe and ampoule, please.'

Set you free, Stella thought. What if Aunt Alice didn't want to be set free? As she didn't … but the baby? She got up abruptly and left the room, without saying another word.

Lady Helen Durand-Beaulieu was walking back from Walstone to High Staining, having posted a parcel to her brother, Captain Lord Cantley, with the Coldstream Guards in France, and another to Captain Charles Rowland, with the Weald Light Infantry; bought some stamps, and listened to some gossip from Miss Macaulay the postmistress. Probyn Gorse sidled up alongside her, appearing from heaven knew where. He touched the peak of his old deerstalker, murmuring, ‘Afternoon, milady … Been shopping?'

‘Sending off parcels, Probyn,' she said.