Giant's Bread (29 page)

He said gently, ‘I'm only sorry that you've been unhappy. Because you have been unhappy, haven't you?'

‘Horribly. But I've found my real life now. There was a boy in hospital – terribly badly wounded. They gave him morphia. He's been discharged now – cured, though of course he isn't fit for service. But the morphia – it's got hold of him. That's why – we were married. A fortnight ago. We're going to fight it together.'

Sebastian did not trust himself to speak. Joe all over. But why, in the name of fortune, couldn't she have been content with physical disabilities? Morphia. A ghastly business.

And suddenly a pang shot through him. It was as though he resigned his last hope of her. Their ways led in opposite directions – Joe amongst her lost causes and her lame dogs, and he on an upward route. He might, of course, be killed in the war, but somehow he didn't think he would be. He was almost certain that he wouldn't even be picturesquely wounded. He felt a kind of certitude that he would come through safely, probably with moderate distinction, that he would come back to his enterprises, reorganizing and revitalizing them, that he would be successful – notably successful – in a world that did not tolerate failures. And the higher he climbed the further he would be separated from Joe.

He thought bitterly, ‘There's always some woman to pull you out of a pit, but nobody will come and keep you company on a mountain peak, and yet you may be damned lonely there.'

He didn't quite know what to say to Joe. No good depressing her, poor child. He said rather weakly:

‘What's your name now?'

‘Valnière. You must meet François some time. I've just come over to settle up some legal bothers. Father died about a month ago, you know.'

Sebastian nodded. He remembered hearing of Colonel Waite's death.

Joe went on.

‘I want to see Jane. And I want to see Vernon and Nell.'

It was settled that he should motor her down to Wiltsbury on the following day.

Nell and Vernon had rooms in a small prim house about a mile out of Wiltsbury. Vernon, looking well and brown, fell upon Joe and hugged her with enthusiasm.

They all went into a room full of antimacassars and lunched off boiled mutton and caper sauce.

‘Vernon, you look splendid – and almost good-looking, doesn't he, Nell?'

‘That's the uniform,' said Nell demurely.

She had changed, Sebastian thought, looking at her. He had not seen her since her marriage, four months previously. To him she had always fallen into a class – a certain type of charming young girl. Now he saw her as an individual – the real Nell bursting out of her chrysalis.

There was a subdued radiance about her. She was quieter than she used to be – and yet she was more alive. They were happy together – no one who looked at them could doubt it. They seldom looked at each other, but when they did you felt it … something passed between them – delicate, evanescent, but unmistakable.

It was a happy meal. They talked of old days – of Abbots Puissants.

‘And here we are, all four of us together again,' said Joe.

A warm feeling fastened round Nell's heart. Joe had included her. All
four
of us, she had said. Nell remembered how once Vernon had said ‘We three –' and the words had hurt her. But that was over now. She was one of them. That was her reward – one of her rewards. Life seemed full of rewards at the moment.

She was happy – so terribly happy, and she might so easily not have been happy. She might have been actually married to George when the war broke out. How could she ever have been so incredibly foolish as to think that anything mattered except marrying Vernon? How extraordinarily happy they were and how right he had been to say poverty didn't matter.

It wasn't as though she were the only one. Lots of girls were doing it – flinging up everything – marrying the man they cared for no matter how poor he was. After the war, something would turn up. That was the attitude. And behind it lay that awful secret fear that you never took out and looked at properly. The nearest you ever got to it was saying defiantly, ‘And no matter
what
happens, we'll have had
something
.'

She thought, ‘
The world's changing. Everything's different now. It always will be. We'll never go back
 …'

She looked across the table at Joe. Joe looked different somehow – very
queer
. What you would have called before the war – well, ‘
not quite
'. What had Joe been doing with herself? That nasty man, La Marre … Oh, well, better not think about it. Nothing mattered nowadays.

Joe was so nice to her – so different to what she used to be in the old days when Nell had always felt uncomfortably that Joe despised her. Perhaps she had cause. She
had
been a little coward.

The war was awful, of course, but it had simplified things. Her mother, for instance, had come round almost at once. She was disappointed naturally about George Chetwynd (poor George, he really
was
a dear and she'd been a beast to him) but Mrs Vereker proceeded to make the best of things with admirable common sense.

‘These war marriages!' She used that phrase with a tiny shrug of the shoulders. ‘Poor children – you can't blame them. Not wise, perhaps – but what is wisdom at a time like this?' Mrs Vereker needed all her skill and all her wit to deal with her creditors and she had come off pretty well. Some of them even felt sympathy for her.

If she and Vernon didn't really like each other, they concealed the fact quite creditably, and as a matter of fact, had only met once since the marriage. It had all been so easy.

Perhaps, if you had courage, things were always easy. Perhaps that was the great secret of life.

Nell pondered, then waking from her reverie plunged once more into the conversation.

Sebastian was speaking.

‘We're going to look Jane up when we get back to town. I've not so much as heard of her for ages. Have you, Vernon?'

Vernon shook his head.

‘No,' he said, ‘I haven't.'

He tried to speak naturally but didn't quite succeed.

‘She's very nice,' said Nell. ‘But – well – rather difficult, isn't she? I mean you never quite know what she's thinking about.'

‘She might be occasionally disconcerting,' Sebastian allowed.

‘She's an angel,' said Joe with vehemence.

Nell was watching Vernon. She thought, ‘I wish he'd say something … anything … I'm afraid of Jane. I always have been. She's a devil …'

‘Probably,' said Sebastian, ‘she's gone to Russia or Timbuctoo or Mozambique. One would never be surprised with Jane.'

‘How long is it since you've seen her?' asked Joe.

‘Exactly? Oh! about three weeks.'

‘Is that all? I thought you meant really ages.'

‘It seems like it,' said Sebastian.

They began to talk of Joe's hospital in Paris. Then they talked of Myra and Uncle Sydney. Myra was very well and making an incredible quantity of swabs and also did duty twice a week at a canteen. Uncle Sydney was well on the way to making a second fortune having started the manufacture of explosives.

‘He's got off the mark early,' said Sebastian appreciatively. ‘This war's not going to be over for three years at least.'

They argued the point. The days of an ‘optimistic six months' were over, but three years were regarded as too gloomy a view. Sebastian talked about explosives, the state of Russia, the food question, and submarines. He was a little dictatorial, since he was perfectly sure that he was right.

At five o'clock Sebastian and Joe got into the car and drove back to London. Vernon and Nell stood in the road waving.

‘Well,' said Nell, ‘that's that.' She slipped her arm through Vernon's. ‘I'm glad you were able to get off today. Joe would have been awfully disappointed not to see you.'

‘Do you think she's changed?'

‘A little. Don't you?'

They were strolling along the road and they turned off where a track led over the downs.

‘Yes,' said Vernon, with a sigh, ‘I suppose it was inevitable.'

‘I'm glad she's married. I think it's very fine of her. Don't you?'

‘Oh, yes. Joe was always warm-hearted, bless her.'

He spoke abstractedly. Nell glanced up at him. She realized now that he had been rather silent all day. The others had done most of the talking.

‘I'm glad they came,' she said again.

Vernon didn't answer. She pressed her arm against his and felt him press it against his side. But his silence persisted.

It was getting dark and the air came sharp and cold, but they did not turn back, walked on and on without speaking. So they had often walked before – silent and happy. But this silence was different. There was weight in it and menace.

Suddenly Nell knew …

‘Vernon! It's come! You've got to go …'

He pressed her hand closer still but did not speak.

‘Vernon … when?'

‘Next Thursday.'

‘Oh!' She stood still. Agony shot through her. It had come. She had known it was bound to come, but she hadn't known – quite – what it was going to feel like.

‘Nell. Nell … Don't mind so much. Please don't mind so much.' The words came tumbling out now. ‘It'll be all right. I
know
it'll be all right. I'm not going to get killed. I couldn't now that you love me – now that we're so happy. Some fellows feel their number's up when they go out – but I don't. I've a kind of certainty that I'm going to come through. I want you to feel that too.'

She stood there frozen. This was what war was really. It took the heart out of your body, the blood out of your veins. She clung to him with a sob. He held her to him.

‘It's all right, Nell. We knew it was coming soon. And I'm really frightfully keen to go – at least I would be if it wasn't for leaving you. You wouldn't like me to have spent the whole war guarding a bridge in England, would you? And there will be the leaves to look forward to – we'll have the most frightfully jolly leaves. There will be lots of money, and we'll simply blue it. Oh, Nell darling, I just know that nothing can happen to me now that you care for me.'

She agreed with him.

‘It can't – it can't – God couldn't be so cruel …'

But the thought came to her that God was letting a lot of cruel things happen.

She said valiantly, forcing back her tears:

‘It'll be all right, darling. I know it too.'

‘And even – even if it isn't – you must remember – how perfect this has been … Darling, you have been happy, haven't you?'

She lifted her lips to his. They clung together, dumb, agonizing … the shadow of their first parting hanging over them.

How long they stood there they hardly knew.

When they went back to the antimacassars, they talked cheerfully of ordinary things. Vernon only touched once on the future.

‘Nell, when I'm gone, will you go to your mother or what?'

‘No. I'd rather stay down here. There are lots of things to do in Wiltsbury – hospital, canteen.'

‘Yes, but I don't want you to do anything. I think you'd be better distracted in London, there will still be theatres and things like that.'

‘No, Vernon, I must do something – work, I mean.'

‘Well, if you want to work, you can knit me socks. I hate all this nursing business. I suppose it's necessary but I don't like it. You wouldn't care to go to Birmingham?'

Nell said very decidedly that she would
not
like to go to Birmingham.

The actual parting when it came was less strenuous. Vernon kissed her almost off-handedly.

‘Well, so long. Cheer up. Everything's going to be all right. I'll write as much as I can, though I expect we're not allowed to say much that's interesting. Take care of yourself, Nell darling.'

One almost involuntary tightening of his arms round her, and then he almost pushed her from him.

He was gone.

She thought, ‘I shall never sleep tonight – never …'

But she did. A deep heavy sleep. She went down into it as into an abyss. A haunted sleep – full of terror and apprehension that gradually faded into the unconsciousness of exhaustion.

She woke with a keen sword of pain piercing her heart.

She thought, ‘Vernon's gone to the war. I must get something to do.'

Nell went to see Mrs Curtis, the Red Cross Commandant. Mrs Curtis was benign and affable. She was enjoying her importance and was convinced that she was a born organizer. Actually, she was a very bad one. But everyone said she had a wonderful manner. She condescended graciously to Nell.

‘Let me see, Mrs – ah! Deyre. You've got your VAD and Nursing Certificates?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you don't belong to any of the local detachments?'

Nell's exact standing was discussed at some length.

‘Well, we must see what we can do for you,' said Mrs Curtis. ‘The hospital is fully staffed at present, but of course they are always falling out. Two days after the first convoy came in, we had seventeen resignations. All women of a certain age. They didn't like the way the sisters spoke to them. I myself think the sisters were perhaps a little unnecessarily brutal, but of course there's a great deal of jealousy of the Red Cross. And these were all well-to-do women who didn't like being “spoken to”. You are not sensitive in that way, Mrs Deyre?'

Nell said that she didn't mind anything.

‘That is the spirit,' said Mrs Curtis approvingly. ‘I myself,' she continued, ‘consider it in the light of good discipline. And where should we all be without discipline?'