Pastoral (25 page)

Marshall said: “Oh—er, yes.” She looked up at him curiously and saw that the corners of his mouth were twitching, and that he was trying not to laugh. She wondered for a moment, and then laughed with him. “I think you’re a pig,” she said. “You know I didn’t mean …” She turned, still laughing with him, and embarrassed. “Come on, let’s look at some more fish.”

They paused before the pike in genuine interest. “That’s what you ate a bit of,” said the pilot. “Remember?” Gervase remembered very well; it was dim in the hall before the pike-tank, and there was nobody much about, and it seemed a pity to lose touch altogether by letting go hands. And so they wandered on from tank to tank in the dim light, talking about the fish and unobtrusively holding fingers linked down by their side.

And presently they went out into the sunlight of the gardens, and the first thing that they saw was a captain in the Tank Corps walking hand-in-hand with a corporal in the A.T.S.

“Look at that,” said Marshall quietly. “It’s what you have to do here. Custom of the country.” Five minutes later the Tank Corps captain coming out the Pets’ Corner saw Gervase and Marshall standing hand-in-hand and laughing at the penguins and said the same thing to his corporal, and so everyone was happy.

They spent a quarter of an hour with the penguins, and then
they left the gardens and went back in a taxi to the station to collect her suitcase, and then back in the same taxi to the aunt at Hampstead, where she was to stay the night. And when the meter of the taxi clicked up to nine shillings, Gervase said: “Peter, we can’t go on running up taxis at this rate. We’ll be ruined.”

“All right. Let’s.”

“Anyway, I’m going to pay half.”

“Over my dead body.”

She turned to him as they went past Swiss Cottage. “No, honestly, I must pay half.”

He grinned at her. “You’ve got me some nice fishing. I owe you for that, anyway. If you’d feel safer paying half and half, Gervase, I’ll take your money even if it breaks me heart. But I’d much rather not.”

“I don’t feel like that, Peter,” she said slowly. “But I always have paid half and half when I’ve been out with people.”

“I’ve got eleven pounds,” he said. “If we get through that I’ll come down on you.”

She was shocked. “But, Peter, we can’t go spending money like that!”

He said: “You see.” The taxi drew up at the block of flats that was Aunt Mary’s residence, and they abandoned the discussion.

Aunt Mary was a spinster about fifty years of age, who worked at the Red Cross. She was only partially effectual; her interests chiefly were in the Universal Language and in the League of Health and Beauty; she held strong views on vivisection, and disliked the Nazis. She welcomed Gervase cordially and was interested and polite to the young man that Gervase had brought with her. Half-way through tea Aunt Mary woke up to the realisation that she had never seen Gervase looking so pretty; that she was positively radiant. Aunt Mary decided that she would have to write a little note to her sister, Gervase’s mother.

Gervase went to change in her bedroom, and Marshall went into the bathroom for a wash, and then sat on talking to Aunt Mary until Gervase was ready. He found Aunt Mary troublesome. Her work was concerned with the despatch of Red Cross parcels to prisoners of war, and she was anxious to find out all she could about the recipients. After nearly eighteen months in Bomber Command, Marshall knew a good deal
about prisoners of war; much of what he knew was secret and all of it was distasteful to him. It seemed to him to be unhealthy to spend your time in speculating what would happen to you after you had been shot down, as unhealthy as the business man who displays keen curiosity about the procedure in bankruptcy. He answered her many questions politely but reluctantly, and was relieved when Gervase came to set him free.

She was in her pastel blue dance frock, with the silver slippers. Her mother had chosen it for her, so it was simple; she wore no jewellery because she only had a couple of lockets and a brooch or two. There was nothing, really, to make Peter Marshall feel that he had just picked up a thousand-pound bank-note—only Gervase in a civilian frock with rather more Gervase and rather less frock than he was accustomed to seeing. He thought she was most ravishingly beautiful.

Aunt Mary lent her a fur coat as a cloak and gave her the latch-key; then they were ready to go. As they went down the stairs arm-in-arm Marshall said: “Got your money with you?”

She glanced at him. “Only a few shillings, Peter. I’m not going to let you spend eleven pounds, or anything like it.”

“It wasn’t that that I was thinking of,” he said. “I was thinking that you’d better pay half and half after all. You want all the safety you can get in that frock.”

She laughed, and they went forward happily together, and found a taxi and drove to the Piccadilly and had a dry Martini before going to the theatre. And while they were drinking this the pilot said: “What are we going to do to-morrow?”

Gervase glanced at him. “I hadn’t thought about tomorrow. I ought to stay and see something of Aunt Mary.”

“When have you got to be back at Hartley?”

“I’ve got to be back there to-morrow night. That means the four o’clock train from Paddington.”

“I thought it would be nice to get some sandwiches and have the day in Kew Gardens.” He paused. “All the spring flowers will be out now.”

Gervase said innocently: “We could take Aunt Mary with us.” He looked up and saw that she was laughing at him, and he said: “You can see all you want to of Aunt Mary next month. I told you I was going to work you hard this month.”

Gervase thought for a moment. Spring flowers sounded lovely; she had never been to the Botanical Gardens at Kew,
and she wanted to go. Curiously the memory of the old lady in Kingslake House came to her mind, and her words: “Make up your mind quickly, and don’t keep him waiting too long. You can’t afford to dilly and dally in times like these.” She knew that that advice was right. A month should be time enough for her to make her mind up whether she wanted to spend her life married with Peter Marshall; in any case, that was all the time she had. It would be unfair to him to keep the matter dragging on longer than that, she felt; a girl of any character should know her mind within a month. But here they were with nearly a week of that month already gone, and in that week they had met twice and written once each. When he got back to Hartley things would be constrained and difficult at their meetings in the mess. Time was denied to them, and opportunities were rare; she must not be silly over the ones they had, in fairness to themselves.

She smiled at him. “All right,” she said. “I’ll work. I don’t know what Aunt Mary will think.”

“I do,” he said.

“So do I,” said Gervase. “But it isn’t true.”

“Of course not,” he said gravely. They caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing, and got up and went off to the theatre.

They came out some hours later, weak with laughter, having held hands throughout each dim-lit act and moved decorously apart during each interval. They did not know their way about the Savoy, and that made their entrance into a pleasant adventure; presently they found themselves at the table that Marshall had reserved on the edge of the dance floor.

They started off with a smart argument about the drink. “We’ve not got to champagne yet,” said Gervase firmly, “and for all I know we never will. And, anyway, we can’t afford it.”

“This night of all nights,” said Marshall.

“This night of all nights,” said Gervase, “I’ve evidently got to keep my wits about me. I’ll have ginger-ale.” She compromised to the extent of having gin in it; the wine waiter departed very much annoyed with her.

They dined well because they were very hungry, and they danced well enough to satisfy each other, which was all that mattered to them. They laughed at the cabaret and danced again, and suddenly it was midnight and everything was packing up. The car that Marshall had ordered was waiting for them, and they drove back to Hampstead, sitting very
close together and arm-in-arm.

At the flats Marshall told the car to wait, and took Gervase in and up the stairs. In the dim passage she said: “I’ve had a lovely, lovely day, Peter. Thank you for being so nice to me.”

They paused together. “Better than you thought it would be?” he enquired.

She hesitated. “Yes, it has been,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to come, but I’m glad I did.”

He smiled. “I know. You were afraid I’d breathe hot love all over you and make a rude suggestion in the taxi.”

She laughed awkwardly; it was exactly what she had been afraid of. “I wasn’t,” she declared. “You aren’t that sort of person.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said the pilot. “I’ll make a rude suggestion quick enough as soon as I think you want to hear it.” He took her hand. “But I don’t think you do.”

She shook her head; it was an odd sort of conversation, she thought, but she was not annoyed. “No, I don’t.” Standing with him in the dim hallway, hand-in-hand, the queer thought came to her that no suggestion he might make could ever be rude because he wanted to marry her, and that seemed to cover everything. She said: “After all, you made your rude suggestion weeks ago in asking me to marry you.”

“I did that,” said Marshall. “And I’ll make it again if you give me half a chance.”

He had both her hands by this time. “Would it spoil things if I kissed you?” he asked gently.

She did not answer; ten seconds later she could not have answered if she had wanted to. He was a comprehensive kisser, she decided breathlessly; she said: “Peter, I don’t want to be eaten alive.”

Holding her in his arms, he said: “Then you oughtn’t to smell so nice. You’d better go to the chemist and get something for it.”

She laughed softly and stood there in his arms, feeling comforted, secure, and infinitely alive. And, standing so, they talked in low tones about their arrangements for the next day, how he would call for her at about eleven, having gathered up some sandwiches somehow or other. And presently they kissed again more gently, and she slid out of his arms and vanished into Aunt Mary’s flat. Marshall went down to the waiting car and was driven back to his hotel, tired and content.

Morning found Marshall sitting on his bed in the Cumberland Hotel polishing his buttons to go out with Gervase, and found Gervase sitting on her bed in Aunt Mary’s flat polishing her buttons to go out with Marshall. Eleven o’clock found them simulating regret at parting with Aunt Mary, whom they had treated very badly, and walking out into the Hampstead street carrying Gervase’s suitcase and a large packet of sandwiches.

They found a taxi presently and went to Paddington to park the suitcase. And there it seemed to them that it was getting on for lunch-time, and it was a pity to rush things, and the six-forty-five was quite a good train, after all. So they crammed the sandwiches into a suitcase and went by Underground to Piccadilly, and up into the sunlight again. And as they walked around looking for somewhere to have lunch it seemed prudent to them to go hand-in-hand in case they might get separated and waste time looking for each other, and that was quite all right because everybody else seemed to be doing the same thing.

They lunched at a little place in Jermyn Street, which set them back the thick end of two pounds, and came out pleasantly full and very pleased with themselves. And having investigated the state of the exchequer and discovered that they still had two pounds fifteen left before Gervase took over the expenditure, they took a taxi to Kew Gardens at considerable expense. They had the top down for the sun, and soon discovered that that made it draughty, so there was no point in sitting at opposite ends of the seat. Indeed, by the time they crossed Kew Bridge they were getting along so well that Marshall suggested they had better tell the driver to turn round and go back to Piccadilly.

Gervase detached her arm, sat upright, and adjusted her cap before the mirror. “I won’t do anything of the sort,” she said. “I want to see Kew.”

“Pity,” said Marshall. “I was just going to bring out my rude suggestion. I’d got it out and sort of dusted it, all ready.”

She laughed. “Never mind. I’ll let you spring it on me some day as a great surprise.”

He said anxiously: “Promise you’ll be shocked?”

Gervase said: “Of course I’ll be shocked, Peter. I’ll say: ‘Oh, Mr. Marshall, whatever made you think I was that sort of girl!’ ”

“That’ll do,” he said, a little grudgingly, “but you’ll have
to get more feeling into it. Burst into tears and say something about your mother.”

“I’ll remember,” said Gervase obediently.

They paid off the taxi and went into the gardens hand-in-hand, because you never quite knew what you might not meet in a Botanical Garden, as Marshall pointed out. It was, perhaps, as well they did not meet the W.A.A.F. Police.

It was beautiful in the gardens. It was the middle of April, but after the open winter everything was a month early, and the lilac was in bloom, and the laburnum, and magnolias. The whole place was a riot of colour in the sunlight; every glade was full of blossoming trees. The pilot and the section officer walked over the short grass silent with wonder; it was so beautiful that they could hardly speak about it. Once Gervase stopped, somewhere near the Pagoda, and said quietly: “I’ve never seen anything so lovely in my life. Peter, did you know that it would be like this?”

He shook his head. “I knew it would be good, but not like this.”

They sat down presently and talked and talked and talked. They told each other all about their homes, about their parents, about their brothers and sisters, about their schools, their interests, their lives. And in a flash the time slipped by till it was after five, and they must be beginning to get back to Paddington if Gervase was to catch her train.

“It seems a shame to have to go,” said Gervase. “It’s so lovely here.”

“I’ll be back at Hartley next week,” said Marshall. “We’ll go out and have a crack at your fishing.” She smiled. “That’ll be fun.”

He hesitated. “You know I’ve only got five more operational flights to do?” he said quietly. “Before I’ve done my second tour?”