The Slaves of Solitude (19 page)

They all crammed into the back of the car, and Miss Roach sat on the Captain’s legs, and the Major sat on the Lieutenant’s. The car moved away. They all talked incessantly, yelling
each other down, and in due course began to sing in unison.

Oh, this world (thought Miss Roach as they sped along) into which I have been born! And oh this war, through which it is my destiny to pass! (Though pass was not the word, for she could not
conceive any end to it.) This, she saw, was as much a part of the war as the soldiering, the sailoring, the bombing, the queueing, the black-out, the crowding, and all the grey deprivations. No
imaginable combination of peace-time circumstances could have brought about such a composition of characters as now filled the car and sat on each other’s knees – the ill-looking
driver, the German woman, her lonely self, and the three Americans, of presumably totally different classes in civil life, and presumably going to their deaths when the second front began. And yet,
she was aware, all over the countryside around, all over the country, cars were racing along with just such noisy loads to just such destinations. If it wasn’t Americans, it was Poles, or
Norwegians, or Dutch, and if it wasn’t sitting on each other’s knees it was singing, and if it wasn’t singing it was sitting on each other’s knees, and whatever it was it
was drinking and drinking and screaming and desperate. The war, amongst the innumerable other guises it had assumed, had taken on the character of the inventor and proprietor of some awful low,
cosmopolitan night-club.

She did not join in the singing, but looked out through the window at the stars. These stars gave her no sense of peace, were themselves war-stars, and told her severely, in pinpoints of
pellucid light, that the war would have no ending.

4

Needless to say, although it was after half-past eight, it was not good enough to go straight to the Dragon. They had to pull up at a small inn on the way and have some
more drinks. The ill-looking man drew up silently and obediently, and one of the Americans invited him inside.

‘Yes, come in, Mr. Chauffeur!’ said Vicki. ‘Come in and join in the fun of the fair!’

They entered the public bar, battering into complete dumbness, with the arrogance of their uninhibitedness, loquacity, and intoxication, the few local beer-drinkers, who sat in corners and
watched them in a dog-like way.

There was no whisky here, but as much gin as they wanted. Doubles were passed round, and soon they were making more noise than ever. The ill-looking driver asked for a beer, and sat on a bench
next to Miss Roach. There was already a sort of bond between the ill-looking driver and Miss Roach.

Miss Roach bore the unfortunate Christian name of Enid.

‘Poor old Eeny doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Why’s she sitting all by herself?’

‘No – she doesn’t – does she?’ said Vicki. ‘Come on, old dear – snap out of it.’

‘No – I’m all right,’ said Miss Roach, ‘but I wish you wouldn’t call me Eeny.’

‘Well, what am I to call you?’ said the Lieutenant. ‘I can’t very well call you Roach.’

‘Well – I’d rather that than Eeny.’

‘All right, then. I’ll call you Roach. How are you, Roach?’ And he shook hands with her.

‘Yes. We will call her Roach,’ said Vicki. ‘How are you, Roachy, old thing.’ And she shook hands with her as well.

From that moment it was Roach, Roachy, Roach. They made her drink the whole of her gin, put another in front of her, and everything, hazy enough already, got hazier and hazier.

There was a wireless blazing away in a corner of the room; a dance-band came on; and soon Vicki was demanding that they should all dance. First of all she whirled round the middle of the room
with one man after another, and then she danced solo, while everyone watched her. Her manner of dancing was to lift her skirt to her knees with her left hand, and to put forth her right hand high
into the air, shaking its forefinger to and fro.

5

Miss Roach never remembered how they got out into the air again, but she remembered sitting in front with the ill-looking driver, and talking quietly and soberly to him,
while Vicki, sprawled out on more than one pair of knees behind, talked, rallied, challenged, sang German songs, sang French songs, demanded a cigarette, demanded a light, was queenly, was coy,
rebuked, threatened to smack, and smacked . . . Yes, it was Vicki’s evening all right . . .

Then they were in the packed saloon bar of the Dragon, and fighting their way to the counter . . . Then the Lieutenant was making a scene because there were no more spirits left, and then they
were drinking odious glasses of bitter beer, unable properly to stand on their feet because of the jostling crowd, and hardly able to hear each other talk because of the noise.

Then they were all in a corner of the dining-room of the Dragon, which was deserted except for themselves, and whose lights were mostly turned down, and whose waiter, ill-looking and deferent,
like the car-driver, sorted out and made some sort of sense of their conflicting demands. ‘Listen to me, Mr. Waiter!’ cried Vicki. (She also called him
‘
Gar
ç
on
’ and ‘
Herr Ober
’.)

They had some cold soup and some cold chicken, and someone bought two bottles of champagne. At the end of the meal the Lieutenant drank off the remains of one of these bottles, amounting to
about half a pint, from the bottle. But he could not quite manage it all, and Vicki finished it off for him . . .

Then they were in the crowded bar again, drinking the odious bitter. The ill-looking driver again appeared in the crowd to appeal to the Lieutenant, but was again dismissed. The order of the day
now was to go down to the river before going back. Hearnsden was a river beauty-spot, and it had to be seen. ‘We’ll go and bathe,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘Let’s all go
and bathe.’ ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Miss Roach. ‘You can’t bathe in the middle of the winter.’ ‘Can’t you?’ he said. ‘I can.’
And he turned to Vicki. ‘You’ll come and bathe with me, won’t you?’ ‘Yes, of course I will,’ said Vicki. ‘We’ll all go and have a jolly old
bathe.’

Confused as she was with drink and noise, Miss Roach could clearly enough see how Vicki was sucking up to the Lieutenant, hanging on to his words, playing up to his vanity. At moments she felt a
wave of anger rising at this, but she held it back. She’s drunk, of course, she said to herself, they’re both drunk, and I’ve got to keep my head. All this will seem different in
the morning, she thought, and if only I can get them home it’ll be all right.

Then they were out in the moonlit air, with the Lieutenant in the middle taking their arms, and walking towards the river. The two other American officers had completely disappeared, and never
appeared again.

Miss Roach had been fairly certain that when they reached the waterside the Lieutenant would reverse his decision to bathe, but this did not happen. He sat down on the grass and began to take
off his shoes. ‘Don’t be absurd. You can’t! You can’t!’ said Miss Roach, in desperation, and even Vicki looked a little abashed and said nothing.

‘Well, let’s paddle anyway,’ said the Lieutenant, who had got off his shoes and socks and was rolling up his trousers, and ‘No – don’t be silly –
don’t be silly!’ said Miss Roach. ‘You’ll catch your death!’

‘No. Let’s paddle. We’ll paddle,’ cried Vicki. ‘Come on, Roachy! We’ll all paddle.’ And she also began to take off her shoes.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Miss Roach. ‘Stop him. Don’t be silly!’ But Vicki was now taking off her stockings.

‘Don’t be silly, you silly old Roach,’ she said. ‘Don’t be such a silly old spoil-sport!’

‘Well, I’m not going to, anyway,’ said Miss Roach, and she began to walk away.

‘Come on, Roachy – silly old spoil-sport-Roachy!’ cried Vicki. ‘Come on in and paddle!’ But Miss Roach walked further away.

When she was about two hundred yards away, she looked back. It was, of course, quite impossible to paddle in the river, as the bank fell sheer into deep water. Instead, the Lieutenant and Vicki
were sitting on the bank and putting their feet into the water. In the bright moonlight the Lieutenant was to be seen sitting in a sort of stupor, and Vicki was clinging on to him and screaming
girlishly with pain and pleasure.

‘I’m going back to the car. I’ll wait for you there!’ she shouted.

‘All right, Roachy, old thing – you wait in the car!’ Vicki shouted back. ‘Toodle-oo! Chin-chin!’

6

She was sitting in front again, talking quietly to the ill-looking driver, when they returned. It took some time to convince the Lieutenant that the Dragon was closed, and
that he could not drink anything more, but at last he got into the back of the car with Vicki, and they drove off.

As they drove back she did not quite know what was going on in the back in the way of hand-holding or hugging, and nothing would induce her to look. But something was going on, and hardly a word
was uttered until they were approaching Thames Lockdon . . .

‘Well – that was a very pleasant evening, Mr. Lieutenant,’ said Vicki, at last, ‘and a very pleasant paddle. Thank you very much for both, my friend.’

‘Not at all,’ said the Lieutenant. ‘You’re cute. I always said you were cute, I always said she was cute, didn’t I, Roachy?’

‘Yes, you did,’ said Miss Roach, and a few moments later the car drew up outside the Rosamund Tea Rooms, and the Lieutenant paid the ill-looking driver, who passed out of Miss
Roach’s life for ever.

‘Come on, now we’re going for a walk,’ said the Lieutenant, taking both their arms again.

‘No, we really must go in,’ said Miss Roach, and ‘No – let’s go for a walk,’ said Vicki, and ‘No, we must go in,
really
!’ said Miss Roach,
and ‘Come on,’ said the Lieutenant, and ‘Yes, come on,’ said Vicki. ‘Be sporty. For heaven’s sake be sporty, you silly old Roach!’ ‘It’s not a
question of being –’ Miss Roach could not bring herself to bring out this terrible word and so did not finish her sentence. ‘Oh – quit arguing,’ said the Lieutenant,
pulling at both of them, and in order to avoid a sort of free fight in the street, Miss Roach gave in.

It was queer how she knew from the beginning where the Lieutenant was going to take them. He was going to take them where he always took her when he wanted to kiss her – he was going to
take them to the Park. She was fairly sure, in fact, that he was going to take them to the same seat, and this, she felt, was going to be going a bit too far. She might be mistaken, however, and in
the meantime she tried to make herself as agreeable as possible.

This was not difficult to do, because most of the time, as they walked along, Vicki was singing German, French, or Hungarian songs, and in these, of course, neither the Lieutenant nor Miss Roach
was able to join her.

Sure enough, the Lieutenant steered them, with the certainty of a somnambulist, in the direction of the Park, and the seat in question came in sight.

For one delightful moment she thought the Lieutenant was going to pass it. It was, in fact, possible that some premonition of danger entered the Lieutenant’s befuddled head. But, having
got three or four yards past the seat, he defied this premonition, if he had ever had any such thing, and stopped.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down a bit.’

‘No, don’t let’s sit down – let’s go on walking. It’s nice,’ said Miss Roach, and ‘No,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘let’s sit
down,’ and ‘Yes,’ said Vicki, ‘let’s sit down and look at the river.’

‘No,’ said Miss Roach, ‘
I
don’t want to sit down,’ and ‘Aw, come on,’ said the Lieutenant, and ‘Yes, come on,’ said Vicki.

‘Well,
you
sit down, I’ll go on walking,’ said Miss Roach, and ‘Aw, come on,’ said the Lieutenant, ‘quit being obstreperous.’ And with these
words he practically hauled her down on to the seat.

‘Yes, she’s very obstreperous tonight, isn’t she?’ said Vicki, who was sitting the other side of the Lieutenant.

‘Obstreperous, is she?’ said the Lieutenant, and he began to look at her gravely . . .

No – he
couldn’t.
Drunk as he was, he couldn’t! Surely he couldn’t!

‘Look at that swan,’ she said desperately. ‘He seems to be making a night of it, too – doesn’t he.’

But all the Lieutenant did was to repeat, ‘Obstreperous, is she?’ and to look at her more gravely still.

‘I suppose . . .’ she began, but by this time he had taken hold of her in his arms and was kissing her on the mouth.

‘How’s that for obstreperousness?’ he said when he had finished, and then he turned to Vicki. ‘What about you?’ he said. ‘Are you obstreperous too?’ And
he kissed Vicki in the same way.

Miss Roach rose. ‘Look here,’ she said, ‘I’m  going home. I’m sorry, but I want to go home.’ ‘Don’t be silly,’ said the Lieutenant,
taking her arm. ‘Come and sit down.’ ‘Yes, don’t be silly,’ said Vicki. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘No – I want to go home,’ said Miss Roach, and the Lieutenant, still holding her arm, rose. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘Yes,’ said Vicki, who had also risen. ‘Come and sit down. Be
sporty
– old thing! Be
sporty
!’

And now a sort of panic seized Miss Roach, and they were all talking, or rather shouting, together, and in a sort of tussle. ‘Listen. I want to go home. I’m serious,’ said Miss
Roach. ‘Come on. Be sporty! Be sporty!’ cried Vicki. ‘Come on. Come and sit down,’ said the Lieutenant.

Somehow she freed herself from the Lieutenant’s grasp. She calmed down.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. You stay – but I want to go home, that’s all.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Vicki, also calmer, and approaching her. ‘Be sporty – can’t you? You don’t want to spoil the sport, do you. Can’t you be a
sport?’

‘No, I’m very sorry. I want to go home. Goodbye.’

And all at once, after looking at them both, she was running away.

And, except when she walked for a moment or two, to recover her breath, she did not stop running all the way back to the Rosamund Tea Rooms. She did not know why: she had to run all the way
back: nothing else would do.