The Novel in the Viola (33 page)

‘I love you,’ he whispered, but rather than encouraging me, his words made me cross and I elbowed him, hard. He recoiled and sat up, staring at me with a wounded expression.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘You wanted to make the most of having the place to ourselves.’

‘Yes. But I don’t want to do that. Not yet.’

I suddenly felt very childish, conscious that my finery was only borrowed.

‘I’m wearing your mother’s dress. And we’ve spoilt it.’

Kit shrugged. ‘You could always take it off.’

‘I most certainly cannot.’ I heard Anna’s voice coming from my mouth. My fingers flew to the pearl necklace heavy around my throat. I felt the cool disapproval of the two absent mothers. Adjusting my dress, I picked up my shoes and fled into the house, feeling hot tears prick my eyes.

When his father returned Kit grew restless. He knew that somewhere others were busy with war, while he was reduced to planting cabbage seedlings or fishing for haddock with Burt. His leg was almost healed and he would not admit to any pain, desperate to be cleared for active service at the earliest possible moment. He prowled the garden, smoking, or disappeared down to the beach. He no longer insisted on my company. Somewhere a battle raged and
The Angelica,
small as she was, had her part and Kit was lost.
I could not help wondering if things had gone differently, and I’d allowed him to make love to me, he might have confided in me more. In the years since I have had a long time to think about these things, and sometimes I still wonder. If the silk dress had not torn. If I had not been struck by a sudden pang of conscience. Is it possible that everything would have ended differently? But that is why the English invented gardens. When I find myself maudlin over such things, I prune the roses or attack the ground elder with renewed vigour.

A letter arrived from Margot, the first in months, the post having been hopelessly disrupted by the wolf packs. I imagined her missing letters sinking into the waves, and tried not to think of the ships missing as well. I read in the sunshine on the terrace, forcing myself not to rush, to savour every word.

I can’t tell you how useless I feel marooned here in America. Have you had many bombs yet? Are you very frightened? I went to the cinema and heard on the newsreel the noise those blasted sirens make and they were quite terrifying, even in the movie theatre – I can’t imagine what they’re like when accompanied by planes and bombs. You must drink brandy for your nerves.

I wished I could tell her that we felt similarly useless on the quiet part of England’s coast.

Spring here is beautiful. We have a lovely house now with a view of the harbour and a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge. I practise in a room with a view of the water, and as I play I think of you, gazing at the other side of the same sea. I’ve been a little low lately. I am empty inside from missing all of you and I so want a family of my own and I know I should not worry about it not happening and that worrying only makes it more difficult and Robert and the doctor (who is terribly kind) both say the same thing but, Elise, it is very hard. Robert has bought me a dog, a beautiful golden retriever, to take for walks and dote upon. I have called him Wolfgang, Wolfie for short. You would love him. I remember how you used to plead with Anna and Julian to let you have a dog.

I wished my sister were at Tyneford so that I could comfort her. I knew that she’d always wanted to call her son Wolfgang. I pictured the two of us rambling along the ridge throwing sticks for Wolfie, laughing as the dog swam in the bay and then shook his coat all over us. It is interesting to note that in none of my fantasies did I tell her about the novel in the viola. Even though my sister longed for a word or a sign from our parents, I hoarded the viola to myself. It is too late now for regrets. Today will be a day spent in the garden. I shall plant the crocuses for next spring and try to think of other things.

One evening at the end of May I lingered in the drawing room after dinner with Kit and Mr Rivers. It was past eleven o’clock, the windows were tightly shut and the curtains drawn over the blackouts. It was too warm and I longed to open a window for some fresh air. Kit hunched on an armchair beside the empty grate, staring into nothing, while Mr Rivers pretended to read. I studied the household hints in
Woman’s Own
,
feeling terribly self-righteous and terribly bored. From the hall came the sound of the telephone. We all bristled, listening to the soft pad of the butler’s footsteps and his low murmur. A few moments later the drawing room door opened and Mr Wrexham entered.

‘Mr Kit. The telephone for you, sir, it’s a Captain Graham Parsons.’

Kit leapt up and crossed the room in two strides. Mr Rivers and I lowered our papers and held our breath so we could eavesdrop. I craned forward in my chair and listened to Kit’s voice, ‘
Yes, sir . . . certainly, sir . . . there is . . . twenty-four hours . . . yes, right away, sir . . . high tide . . . perfectly fit, thank you, sir . . . goodbye
. . .’ and then the echo of his footsteps on the parquet floor. He came back into the drawing room, and I noticed that he was flushed with excitement, his eyes bright. He stood looking at Mr Rivers and me and leant against the wall, studying to appear nonchalant, but his lip twitched with a smile.

‘I have orders. I am to commandeer a boat and sail her to Kent and then join a convoy to France.’

‘Good God. Then it’s true. The army’s in retreat,’ said Mr Rivers, discarding his newspaper.

‘I suppose so. The captain didn’t say. I’m to receive final orders when I reach Ramsgate.’

Kit perched on the edge of a sofa, then unable to settle, stood up and paced, circling the room. I caught his hand as he passed and forced him to a stop.

‘When will you leave?’

‘High tide. I’m to get the boat ready and sail for Kent as soon as she’s ready.’

A sick feeling grew, and I gripped his hand so hard my knuckles turned white. Kit smiled at me, brushing a curl of dark hair behind my ear. ‘Don’t fret, darling. It’s a relief to do something at last. I’ll be back before you know it.’

I tried to smile but I did not release his hand. Despite everything that had happened to my family, Kit still could not imagine that sometimes people were parted for longer than they wanted.

‘Go and change,’ said Mr Rivers. ‘Then we’ll go down to the beach and speak to Burt. I presume that you wish to take
The Lugger
?’

Kit nodded. ‘Yes. She’s the nimblest of the fishing-boats. She’s not the largest, but she’s fast, and I know the quirks of her engine. That wretched outboard has blown up more times than I care to remember, and I’ve never not been able to fix her.’

Ten minutes later we were hurrying down to the cove, Kit dressed in his naval uniform and carrying his mackintosh. He looked handsome and older than before, clad in his long coat, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes. I dug my fingernails into the fleshy part of my palms and wished I believed in God so that I could pray for his safe return. Mr Rivers had also changed into his work clothes, and I noticed a set of oilskins tucked under his arm. The night was cloudless and full of stars. An owl cried out in the dark and flew low across the pebbled beach, while the wind strummed the marram grass. I scrambled to keep up with the men’s easy strides, and as we reached the beach I slithered across the rocks in my plimsolls. Burt’s cottage windows were blacked out, but in the starlight a thin plume of smoke was visible as it curled out from the broken chimneypot. Kit knocked on the door, and a minute later it flew open. Burt blinked as he took in Kit standing on his front step in his naval trench coat and his lieutenant’s cap.

‘Burt, I need to commandeer
The Lugger.
I have to take her to France. Our boys are stranded on the beaches.’

Burt gave a slow nod, and then a half-salute. ‘Aye, Officer. Well, yer told us before that
The Lugger
wis now part of His Majesty’s navy. If the Admiralty needs her, then she mist go. Only wish I wis a bit younger an’ a bit less creaky an’ I’d sail with yoos.’

Kit strode across the darkened yard to the beach where the boat lay upon the pebbles under a blanket of tarpaulin. Mr Rivers helped him throw off the covering, and Burt joined them both, walking around the hull, scrutinising the paintwork with the flickering light of a match. Kit climbed onto the deck and started handing down coiled fishing-nets and lobster pots.

‘She must be stripped of everything except essentials.’

I caught the nets and carried them into a corner of the yard.

‘Are there any blankets?’ called Mr Rivers. ‘It’ll be cold on the channel. And food. We need food in tins and at least three gallons of fresh water.’

‘I’ll go and ask Mrs Ellsworth,’ I said, and turned to hurry back up the path to the house.

‘There’s plenty of time,’ called Mr Rivers. ‘Tide must turn. It’s at the lowest ebb. We’ll need to wait at least six hours until
The Lugger
can sail.’

I didn’t care if there was time. I ran along the track as fast as I could – I wanted to spend every last minute with Kit. The moon cast a cold glow on the chalk path, white as bone. The night smelt sweetly of dog roses, which wove in tangles through the black hedgerows. I rushed past the tawny owl, now perched on a fencepost, his head swivelling to watch me with yellow eyes. I reached the back door, my breath coming in gasps.

‘
Mrs Ellsworth!
I need blankets and tins of fruit and meat and custard and a flask for water . . . and dressings and bandages . . . and some brandy if you have it.’

She came bustling along the passage, her tanned forehead furrowed like plough lines across a field.

‘Yes, yes, all right. Come in and close the door – you’re letting out the light.’

I realised that in my hurry I’d forgotten about the blackout rules and light was streaming onto the cobbles in the yard. I slammed the door and followed her into the pantry. She thrust a sack into my hands.

‘Fill this with tins from the bottom shelf. Take a dozen evaporated milk. Fruit pieces. Potted meat. And put in two tin openers. And spoons.’

Once I had packed the food, I dragged the sack to the back door. Wondering how on earth I was going to carry it all to the beach, I spied Art’s wheelbarrow with relief. Mrs Ellsworth joined me in the yard, holding a pile of blankets and a picnic hamper, which she dumped on top of the wheelbarrow. I started to wheel it along the drive and back down the path to the bay. It clattered in the dark, and I was sure that I would wake every villager. I wondered how on earth the old smugglers managed. I supposed they didn’t use wheelbarrows. It was heavy and kept sticking on the stones, but we returned to the beach within the hour. The men were checking
The Lugger
’s
rigging and arguing over whether to take a spare sail.

‘Can’t sail into battle,’ said Kit, arms folded across his chest. ‘We’ll use the outboard once we get near France.’

‘But if the engine packs in?’ asked Mr Rivers.

‘Then we use the oars.’

‘She’s a devil ter row,’ said Burt, shaking his head.

‘Well, there’ll be plenty of men. Some of them will have to help,’ said Kit, determined.

‘Right yer are,’ said Burt. ‘Take another set then.’

‘What about flares?’ asked Mr Rivers.

‘Under bench in stern,’ replied Burt.

Kit climbed down and came to stand beside me, draping his arm around my shoulders. ‘Nothing more to do but wait for the tide.’

‘Why don’t you go back to the house and get yourself a few hours’ sleep, sir?’ asked Mrs Ellsworth.

Kit laughed. ‘Couldn’t sleep now. I’ll stretch out on deck and rest,’ he added, to mollify her. ‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing my hand and scooping up a blanket. ‘You’re always asking what it’s like to sleep aboard a ship – come and find out.’

I allowed him to help me clamber onto the deck of
The Lugger.
He spread a blanket across one of the narrow wooden benches and lay down, tapping the space beside him. I hesitated for only a second before squeezing in next to him. He wrapped his arms around me and I felt his breath on the back of my neck. I was still cold and I gave a shiver. Kit wriggled upright.

‘I’m sorry. Very ungallant. Here,’ he removed his woollen trench coat, and laid it over us both. The tide was far out in the bay, and the water rushed against the rocks in the distance.

‘It’s not as comfortable as a Snottie’s hammock,’ he said.

‘Snottie?’

‘Midshipmen. We officers have the luxurious discomfort of a hard bunk in a broom cupboard and being flung onto the floor if the wind picks up. I’ve slung a hammock once or twice though, and magic things they are. Swing with the rhythm of the ship, sleep like a baby rocking in a cradle.’

‘We’ll try it when you get back,’ I whispered. ‘By Durdle Door. Like you said in your letter.’

We fell silent, conscious of the intimacies expressed in his letters and of the weeks squandered in Tyneford. He’d spent much of them wishing to be at sea and now that he was about to depart he brimmed with regret.

‘I’m sorry, darling. It’ll be different when I’m on leave. It was being out of action that made me act like such a cad.’

I twisted in his arms so that I could kiss him. His mouth was warm against mine.

‘Elise,’ he said, as he at last drew away. ‘I want to marry you now. I don’t want to wait anymore.’

I swallowed, feeling something lodge in my throat. ‘Yes, all right.’

He brushed my cheek with his fingertips. ‘Really? Yes?’

I tried to imagine the letter I would write to Anna . . .
Darling Anna, Today I married Kit. I wore your pearls.

I brushed Kit’s jaw with my lips. ‘But,’ I glanced down at my hands, too shy to look at him, ‘even if we don’t marry straight away. The things in your letter. We could try the things in your letter, even if we’re not married. I won’t stop you next time. If you like.’

‘Yes, I’d like,’ he said, his voice low. ‘When I’m back.’