As the Crow Flies (20 page)

“What
a beautiful dress,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“No,
it’s the first time I’ve worn it,” said Becky, feeling guilty about not asking
Daphne’s permission to borrow it.

“No
one to help you?” asked Guy, looking around.

“To
be honest, Daphne volunteered to act as chaperone, but I didn’t accept as I
hadn’t wanted to share you with anyone on our last evening together.”

Guy
smiled. “Can I do anything?”

“Yes,
you could uncork the wine while I put the potatoes on.”

“Trumper’s
potatoes?”

“Of
course,” replied Becky, as she walked back through into the kitchen and dropped
the cabbage into a pot of boiling water. She hesitated for a moment before
calling back, “You don’t like Charlie, do you?”

Guy
poured out a glass of wine for each of them but either hadn’t heard what she
had said or made no attempt to respond.

“What’s
your day been like?” Becky asked when she resumed to the drawing room and took
the grass of wine he handed her.

“Packing
endless trunks in preparation for tomorrow’s journey,” he replied. “They expect
you to have four of everything in that bloody country.”

“Everything?”
Becky sipped the wine. “Um, good.”

“Everything.
And you, what have you been up to?”

“Talked
to Charlie about his plans for taking over London without actually declaring
war; dismissed Caravaggio as second-rate; and selected some button mushrooms,
not to mention Trumper’s deal of the day.” As she finished speaking, Becky
placed half a melon on Guy’s mat and the other half at her place as he refilled
their glasses.

Over
a lingering dinner, Becky became more and more conscious that this would
probably be their last evening together for the next three years. They talked
of the theater, the regiment, the problems in Ireland, Daphne, even the price
of melons, but never India.

“You
could always come and visit me,” he said finally, bringing up the taboo subject
himself as he poured her another glass of wine, nearly emptying the bottle.

“A
day trip, perhaps?” she suggested, removing the empty dinner plates from the
table and taking them back to the kitchen.

“I
suspect even that will be possible at some time in the future.”

Guy
filled his own glass once again, then opened the bottle he had brought with
him.

“What
do you mean?”

“By
airplane. After all, Alcock and Brown have crossed the Atlantic nonstop, so
India must be any pioneer’s next ambition.”

“Perhaps
I could sit on a wing,” said Becky when she resumed from the kitchen.

Guy
laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m sure three years will pass by in a flash, and then
we can be married just as soon as I return.” He raised his glass and watched
her take another drink. For some time they didn’t speak.

Becky
rose from the table feeling a little giddy. “Must put the kettle on,” she
explained.

When
she returned Becky didn’t notice that her glass had been refilled. “Thank you
for a wonderful evening,” Guy said, and for a moment Becker was anxious that he
might be thinking of leaving.

“Now
I fear the time has come to do the washing up, as you don’t seem to have any
staff around tonight and I left my barman back at barracks.”

“No,
don’t let’s bother with that.” Becky hiccupped. “After all, I can spend a year
on the washing up, followed by a year on the drying and still put aside a year
for stackin.”

Guy’s
own laugh was interrupted by the rising whistle of the kettle.

“Won’t
be a minute. Why don’t you pour yourself some brandy?” Becky added, as she
disappeared back into the kitchen and selected two cups that didn’t have chips
in them. She returned with them full of strong hot coffee, and thought for a
moment that the gaslight might have been turnd down whittle. She placed the two
cups on the table next to the sofa. “The coffee’s so hot that it will be a
couple of minutes before we can drink it,” she warned.

He
passed her a brandy balloon that was half full. He raised his glass and waited.
She hesitated, then took a sip before sitting down beside him. For some time
again neither of them spoke and then suddenly he put down his glass, took her
in his arms and this time began kissing her passionately, first on her lips,
then on her neck and then on her bare shoulders. Becky only began to resist
when she felt a hand move from her back on to one of her breasts.

Guy
broke away and said, “I have a special surprise for you, darling, which I’ve
been saving for tonight.”

“What’s
that?”

“Our
engagement is to be announced in The Times tomorrow.”

For
a moment Becky was so stunned she could only stare at Guy. “Oh, darling, how
wonderful.” She took him back in her arms and made no effort to resist when his
hand resumed to her breast. She broke away again. “But how will your mother react?”

“I
don’t give a damn how she reacts,” said Guy, and once more began to kiss her
neck. His hand moved to her other breast as her lips parted and their tongues
touched.

She
began to feel the buttons on the back of her dress being undone, slowly at
first, then with more confidence before Guy released her again. She blushed as
he removed his regimental blazer and tie and threw them over the back of the
sofa, and began to wonder if she shouldn’t make it clear they had already gone
too far.

When
Guy started to undo the front of his shirt she panicked for a moment: things
were getting a little out of control.

Guy
leaned forward and slipped the top of Becky’s dress off her shoulders. Once he
had resumed to kissing her again, she felt his hand trying to undo the back of
her bodice.

Becky
felt she might be saved by the fact that neither of them knew where the
fasteners were. However, it became abundantly clear that Guy had overcome such
problems before, as he deftly undid the offending clips and hesitated only for
a moment before transferring his attention to her legs. He stopped quite
suddenly when he reached the top of her stockings, and looking into her eyes
murmured, “I had only imagined until now what this would be like, but I had no
idea you would be quite so beautiful.”

“Thank
you,” said Becky, and sat bolt upright. Guy handed over her brandy and she took
another sip, wondering if it might not be wise for her to make some excuse
about the coffee going cold and to slip back into the kitchen to make another
pot.

“However
there’s still been a disappointment for me this evening,” he added, one hand
remaining on her thigh.

“A
disappointment?” Becky put down her brandy glass. She was beginning to feel
distinctly wooy.

“Yes,”
said Guy. “Your engagement ring.”

“My
engagement ring?”

“I
ordered it from Garrard’s over a month ago, and they promised it would be ready
for me to collect by this evening. But only this afternoon they informed me
that I wouldn’t be able to pick it up until first thing tomorrow.”

“It
doesn’t matter,” said Becky.

“It
does,” said Guy. “I’d wanted to slip it on your finger tonight, so I do hope
you can be at the station a little earlier than we had planned. I intend to
fall on one knee and present it to you.”

Becky
stood up and smiled as Guy quickly rose and took her in his arms. “I’ll always
love you, you know that, don’t you?” Daphne’s dress slipped off and fell to the
floor. Guy took her by the hand and she led him into the bedroom.

He
quickly pushed back the top sheet, jumped in and held up his Arms. Once she had
climbed in to join him Guy quickly removed the rest of her clothes and began
kissing her all over her body before making love with an expertise that Becky
suspected could only have come from considerable practice.

Although
the act itself was painful, Becky was surprised how quickly the promised
sensation was over and she clung to Guy for what seemed an eternity. He kept
repeating how much he cared for her, which made Becky feel less guilty after
all, they were engaged.

Becky
was half asleep when she thought she heard a door slam, and turnd over assuming
the sound must have come from the flat above them. Guy hardly stirred. Quite
suddenly the bedroom door was flung open, and Daphne appeared in front of them.

“So
sorry, I didn’t realize,” she said in a whisper and closed the door quietly
behind her. Becky looked across at her lover apprehensively.

He
smiled and took her in his arms. “No need to worry about Daphne. She won’t tell
anyone.” He stretched out an arm and pulled her towards him.

Waterloo
Station was already crowded with men in uniforms when Becky walked onto
platform one. She was a couple of minutes late, so a little surprised not to
find Guy waiting for her. Then she remembered that he’d have had to go to
Albemarle Street to pick up the ring.

She
checked the board: chalked up in white capital letters were the words “Southampton
Boat Train, PO to India, departure time 11:30.” Becky continued to look
anxiously up and down the platform before her eyes setded on a band of helpless
girls. They were huddled together under the station clock, their shrill
strained voices all talking at once of hunt balls, polo and who was coming out
that season all of them only too aware that farewells must be said at the
station because it wasn’t the done thing for a girl to accompany an officer on
the train to Southampton unless she was married or officially engaged. But Me
Times that morning would prove that she and Guy were engaged, thought Becky, so
perhaps she would be invited to travel on as far as the coast. . .

She
checked her watch yet again: eleven twentyone. For the first time she began to
feel slightly uneasy. Then suddenly she saw him striding across the platform
towards her followed by a man dragging two cases, and a porter wheeling even
more luggage.

Guy
apologized, but gave no explanation for why he was so late, only ordering his
barman to place his trunks on the train and wait for him. For the next few
minutes they talked of nothing in particular and Becky even felt he was a
little distant, but she was well aware that there were several brother officers
on the platform, also bidding their farewells, some even to their wives.

A
whistle blew and Becky noticed a guard check his watch. Guy leaned forward,
brushed her cheek with his lips, then suddenly turnd away. She watched him as
he stepped quickly onto the train, never once looking back, while all she could
think of was their naked bodies lodged together in that tiny bed and Guy
saying, “I’ll always love you. You know that, don’t you?”

A
final whistle blew and a green flag was waved. Becky stood quite alone. She
shivered from the gust of wind that came as the engine wound its snakelike path
out of the station and began its journey to Southampton. The giggling girls
also departed, but in another direction, towards their hansom cabs and
chauffeur-driver cars.

Becky
walked over to a booth on the corner of platform seven, purchased a copy of The
Times for two pence, and checked, first quickly, then slowly, down the list of
forthcoming weddings.

From
Arbuthnot to Yelland there was no mention of a Trentham, or a Salmon.

E
ven before the
first course had been served Becky regretted accepting Charlie’s invitation to
dinner at Mr. Scallini’s, the only restaurant he knew: Charlie was trying so
hard to be considerate, which only made her feel more guilty.

“I
like your dress,” he said, admiring the pastel-colored frock she had borrowed
from Daphne’s wardrobe.

“Thank
you.”

A
long pause followed.

“I’m
sorry,” he said. “I should have thought twice before inviting you out the same
day as Captain Trentham was leaving for India.”

“Our
engagement will be announced in The Times tomorrow,” she said, not looking up
from her untouched bowl of soup.

“Congratulations,”
said Charlie without feeling.

“You
don’t like Guy, do you?”

“I
never was much good with officers.”

“But
your paths had crossed during the war. In fact, you knew him before I did, didn’t
you?” said Becky without warning. Charlie didn’t reply, so she added, “I sensed
it the first time we all had dinner together.”

“‘Knew
him’ would be an exaggeration,” said Charlie. “We served in the same regiment,
but until that night we’d never eaten at the same table.”

“But
you fought in the same war.”

“Along
with four thousand other men from our regiment,” said Charlie, refusing to be
drawn.

“And
he was a brave and respected officer?”

A
waiter appeared uninvited by their side. “What would you like to drink with
your fish, sir?”

“Champagne,”
said Charlie. “After all, we do have something to celebrate.”

“Do
we?” said Becky, unaware that he had used the ploy simply to change the
subject.