Prue, still lying down, watched as Rudolph sat up, wiped the rain from his face with his green uniform shirt and put the shirt back on. ‘Hope you’re going to put your tie on,
too,’ she said.
‘What? Here? Is that right? Do I need to? You’d like my garrison cap, too? Should I salute you?’
Prue laughed. ‘I like your uniform. It’s the best I ever saw, apart from the land girls’.’
Rudolph obediently slung the khaki cotton tie round his neck, urged it under his pristine collar and quickly made a neat knot with his long, agile fingers. ‘To your liking?’
‘Perfect.’ Prue sat up, stretched for her yellow bow, which had flown a few feet away from the rug.
‘I like your different-coloured bows,’ said Rudolph. ‘Do they have a message?’
‘Of course,’ she said, though she had not thought of this before. It was a good idea. ‘I’ll keep you guessing.’ She retrieved her red shoes, bent over to do up the
buckles. Then, rather than struggle to put on her clothes under the rug, she suddenly rose and faced Rudolph, who was still sitting on the ground. She stood in front of him, hands on hips, which
she jutted forwards.
‘Why, Prudence,’ he said, ‘could be I’ll never forget this sight. I’ll be able to tell my grandchildren. There was this time, this place, a long time ago. There was
this naked girl in red shoes and a yellow bow in her hair, trees all round us, distant sea, rain falling from the leaves making her sparkle . . .’ He said all this in his soft, slow, teasing
way, as if he dared not be serious. His voice made stars shoot through every part of Prue’s being.
‘Cripes,’ she said. Rudolph leant forward and kissed each of her knees in turn. Then, spurred by a sudden hard gust of rain, he rose higher on his knees. Prue put one of her hands on
top of the other, and laid them both on his head.
Later he produced the flask of coffee, much needed now the heat of their bodies was spent. And somehow they found themselves dozing between the two rugs, listening to the rain
which sometimes came in sharp bursts, sometimes drifted softly. In one of the trees above them a bird was shuffling around, trying out sharp-edged notes that added up to a cheerful song.
‘All that time in the Land Army and I still don’t know which bird is which,’ said Prue. ‘Only chickens.’ Rudolph laughed. As Prue said to Stella later, they did not
talk much. There seemed little need. The important things, the excitement and the understanding, could not possibly have been further enhanced by words.
In the next few days they made love across a swathe of Norfolk: the edge of cabbage fields, in barns, haystacks, on the dunes, the beach.
‘You get to learn about the land this way,’ Prue said once, brushing ploughed earth from her skirt. At night they slept little in their various hard beds, in small dark rooms with
sloping ceilings and ugly furniture, smells from pub kitchens rising through wooden floors. They were constantly ravenous. One day they found a fisherman who sold them two lobsters. They persuaded
the old cook in some dying pub to boil them – a variation on fish and chips. Gradually, in the slivers of time between their lovemaking, they exchanged parts of their own histories. Rudolph
assured Prue that the plan to part from Barry was a wise move – she did not mention the baby – and he was entertained by her stories of the men who had played a part in her life. He
tried to describe what it was like to fly an aircraft of inconceivable power and speed, scorching through an empty sky. Exhilaration was mixed with terror, he admitted. ‘And I’ll tell
you something else,’ he said. ‘I’m a member of the Three Minute Egg Club.’
‘What on earth is that?’
‘Well, after long missions over enemy territory some of us often returned to base with only enough gas left in the tank for a few minutes. Often some didn’t make it. The lucky ones
among us became club members.’
‘Scary,’ said Prue. ‘I could never imagine—’
‘No, well. Staring at an appalling death, each moment as long as a year, does something to you.’ He seemed shaken. She took his hand.
To deflect his thoughts, she decided to descend from the horrific to the mundane. She began to describe her mother. ‘I’d like to meet her one day,’ Rudolph said, cheerful
again. They were sitting at the bar of a pub near the staithe, drinking ginger beer.
Prue gave one of her loud squawks. ‘Oh no you wouldn’t,’ she said, as fishermen’s heads turned. ‘Not my mother. If I brought home a black boyfriend she’d have
hysterics. Hysterics. She wouldn’t let you into the house. She’d threaten never to speak to me again. She says black skin gives her the creeps, though she’s happy to entertain
some of the most revolting white skin you’ve ever seen . . . She’s just totally prejudiced. I’m afraid she thinks Negroes are the lowest form of life.’
Rudolph stared down into his drink. ‘A lot of people over here feel that way,’ he said. ‘That’s perhaps why I wear my uniform most of the time. Men in the services are
less of a threat. In fact they were pretty popular when the war was on and the husbands were away fighting. They left behind a lot of American babies.’
‘Mum was appalled by all that. I hate her for it, but she won’t change,’ said Prue.
‘Maybe it would be all right if you didn’t say I was your boyfriend. You could say I was just a friend.’
‘It wouldn’t work. Honestly. She wouldn’t let you through the door,’
‘OK. I’ll give up on that one.’ He shook his head, then turned to Prue and smiled. ‘Do you suppose I am your boyfriend? Is that how you think of me?’
Prue paused, thinking as seriously as she was able. ‘Thing is, we’ve been so . . . busy there hasn’t been much time for thinking.’
‘No.’
‘And we haven’t exactly declared what we feel for each other, have we?’
‘No. But it’s usually best not to, too soon.’
‘Even when it’s more or less obvious?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘But time’s running out.’ Prue heard a very slightly frantic note in her voice. She understood that Rudolph was a man haunted by the shortage of time, something so many
fighters in the war, he said, had discovered. So perhaps he would understand her impatience.
‘Possibly,’ said Rudolph. He looked at her, his black eyes more serious than she had ever seen. ‘But possibly it isn’t.’
Just as the meeting of Norfolk sky and sea was indistinct, so the days bled into each other with no firm line of demarcation. The inevitable end was a thought Prue successfully
kept at bay. She was determined to live only in the present moment. So when Rudolph announced, on Sunday morning, that it was his last day of leave, he had to return to work on Monday, Prue was
shocked, disbelieving. Time played so many unkind tricks. It had run through her fingers with no warning of its imminent end.
It was a fine day, that Sunday. They decided to go and see the seals. They took a bag of food, the sandy rugs, and coats against the chill breezes that blew without warning from the sea.
The enormous beach was almost empty: they passed just one old man and his bucket, digging for cockles. They walked barefoot on sand hardened into ruffles by a million tides. They walked side by
side, not touching, not speaking, feeling the sun on their backs.
The seals congregated on the furthermost part of the beach, which sloped down to a wide channel of water that skipped along, shallow waves never quite breaking, to join the sea. The slope
afforded the seals a good place to slide down into the water, where a dozen or so of them played hide and seek. They would disappear, then suddenly black noses would surface far from the place they
had dived. Their return to dry in the sun was more difficult. Clumsily they struggled up the slope, determined, comic. When they reached the crowd at the top they flipped over, exhausted, their
flippers fanning their fat bodies.
Rudolph and Prue laid their rugs at the top of the slope, but some hundred yards from the seals. They did not want to disturb them. Prue’s heart was beating horribly fast. She knew that
today there would have to be some sort of declaration: a temporary farewell, or a plan for some unknown future. They lay back on the rug. She rested her head on Rudolph’s arm. After a while
he said: ‘I haven’t wanted to ask what your plans are. I suppose I must, today.’
‘My plans? Golly, my plans . . .’ Prue felt a sense of mild panic. She tried to collect her thoughts, her words. She wanted to answer Rudolph in a way that he would not see as
alarmingly ambitious for a future together, but would indicate her wild certainty. ‘Before I came to stay with Stella, the idea was I should go back to Manchester, collect my things and move
to this flat in Brighton that Barry seems to think will suit me nicely.’
‘Right. That was your plan. And now?’
‘I suppose it still is.’ She turned to him. ‘What are you going to do?’
Rudolph shifted himself so that he could look down at Prue. ‘Jesus,’ he said, ‘it’s hard. I’m returning to the States at the end of the month. I’m leaving the
Air Force. I’m going to take over the farm from my dad. He’s not in a good way. But I shall enjoy that. I’ve always wanted to farm. Just had to put my plans on hold when the war
came.’
‘Quite.’
Rudolph eased himself out of his Eisenhower jacket – a green that Prue fancied – folded it and put it under her head. ‘I’ve liked my time over here,’ he said.
‘I shall miss it.’
‘Perhaps you shouldn’t leave. You’ve done so well – I mean, a captain at your age.’
Rudolph gave a small laugh. ‘No great achievement, honestly. It was just that so many of us were killed – seventy thousand in the Eighth Air Force alone. More or less anyone who
survived till the age of twenty-four was made a captain. It was mostly luck.’
‘You’re being too modest.’
‘No, really.’ They watched a mother seal nudge her pup up the slope, pushing it skilfully with her nose. ‘But Prudence – Prue . . . I don’t want all this, you and
I, to come to an end, no plans. No possibilities. No future.’
‘No. Neither do I.’ Even as she said it, Prue felt a whisper of uncertainty. Considering her conviction that Rudolph was her man, this was confusing.
‘There might be another way. You could come back to the States with me.’
‘What? As your girlfriend?’ Clouds, with a sudden burst of speed, raced above them.
‘No, no. Of course not.’ He took her hand. ‘As my wife.’
Prue sat up, startled. ‘Golly, cripes, goodness,’ she said. ‘I mean, you’ve never given me a sign, this week, that you thought I might be the right
wife
for you.
Lover, yes. We’re the best ever lovers, aren’t we? But marriage . . .’
‘We’ve been too occupied for much serious talk. I didn’t want to rush in with a lot of possibilities. I just wanted to give you a good time. But it was love at first sight for
me. It can happen. I firmly believe it can. You must have guessed how I felt.’
‘I didn’t quite know . . .’
‘Well, that’s how it is. How can I put it? I love you totally. You’re the most marvellous girl I’ve ever met. I haven’t bought a ring because I knew I
couldn’t find a decent one in the wilds of Norfolk. But I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife. Will you think about it?’
Prue flicked away a strand of hair from her eyes. Now that Rudolph had made his feelings clear, and offered her a future as his wife in America, in some puzzling way her own certainty was
suddenly cracked. ‘Goodness,’ she said again. ‘That’s a very big thought. A huge thought. It’d be an enormous decision.’
‘Of course. I don’t want to hurry you. There’s time, there’s time. All you have to do is to write to me in America to say you’re coming.’ He fought to contain
a sigh. ‘Or to say you’re not.’
‘I could do that, yes.’
‘My best buddy, Ed – he was shot down on the last day of the war – when he knew I was to be posted over here he said, “Rudi, find yourself a good English girl. Find
yourself a good wife.” He’d have been over the moon, Ed would, had he known I’d found you.’ He paused. ‘There’ve been a few other girls, of course. Nothing
serious. I’ve never had my heart broken, or even dented. It’s always been, why, thank you, ma’am, and goodbye.’
‘Bit the same with me,’ said Prue. ‘Though I did love Barry One very much. I would have married him. He was killed within months of being called up . . . I haven’t been
so lucky since then.’
‘Perhaps now?’
‘What can I say? It’s been one of the best weeks of my life. I shall never forget it.’
‘So perhaps . . . But I should tell you a bit about where I come from, life in the Deep South. When I get back I’m going to live in the big house – not that big – and my
dad’s going to move to a smaller place half a mile down the road.’
‘Rather like Mr Lawrence’s arrangement with Joe,’ Prue said, but did not explain.
‘And you with your love of farming, your expertise, your skills,’ he smiled, teasing, ‘you’d love it there. It’s a fine place, good land. We’re far from rich
but we do all right. I’m looking forward to it, I really am. One day I’d like a couple of sons to help, and a daughter or two. Does any of that idea take your fancy?’
‘It does, yes.’ For a moment she could almost see it all.
‘Then perhaps you should come out, take a look, make up your mind when you’ve seen what I could offer.’
‘That’s a good idea.’ She was aware that her voice was thin.
Rudolph took off his cap. Prue put it on, suddenly skittish, to scatter the solemnity of their talk.
‘You look pretty good in that.’ He tilted it to one side. ‘I’m going to swim. Coming?’ Prue shook her head. Rudolph, the extraordinary man who wanted to marry her,
stood up, undressed faster than anyone Prue had ever seen. The old man digging for cockles was too far away to see them, let alone be shocked by Rudolph’s nakedness. Sunlight flashed off his
hard body. His eyes, as he looked down on Prue, were uncertain. He ran to the water – seals slithered away as he went – plunged into the channel. Prue watched, smiling, as he moved
about among them: they were curious, unafraid. Some swam so close to him he could touch them. When they dived, he dived too, joining their game.
Prue looked up at the familiar arc of sky, the distant line of sea, the spire of a far-away church tower, the endless stretch of sparkling beach, and knew she should put her mind to
contemplating Rudolph’s proposal. She didn’t want to because she wanted this last day, like the others with him, to be almost mindless: just hours of glorious sensations. Some instinct
told her she should take her chance. She and the handsome American pilot seemed to have found a rare closeness that, surely, was love, though the actual definition of love was always elusive. She
desired him every moment of the day and night, and there were flashes when, beneath the extraordinary passion, she thought she detected the kind of love that would last, that would be strong enough
to overcome any difficulties. A picture of the wedding day came to mind – perhaps in a Norfolk church, as this was where they had met. Her mother would not be there, but that would be her
fault. Prue would have a white dress, despite it being her second wedding, and pale feathers in her hair.