‘Sorry to disappoint you, Claude, but it was a colleague from the office. Very hush-hush, I’m afraid, so I can’t say any more. Careless talk and all that.’
‘Ah, one of your fellow desk Johnnies wanting to know which way he should push the pile of papers next, was it?’ said Raymond, in what presumably he thought was a joke.
‘Raymond,’ Irene chided him, ‘you’re such a tease to poor Arthur. You know jolly well he does an important job at the War Office.’
‘Yes,’ commented Claude with a sly glance, ‘he’s one of Whitehall’s many unsung heroes.’
Arthur could have picked up his fish fork and happily shoved it through the man’s neck. ‘And what exactly would your contribution to the war be, Claude?’ he asked, clenching his fists on his lap. ‘You too, Raymond?’
‘Actually,’ answered Raymond, exchanging a look with Claude across the table, ‘we weren’t going to say anything tonight, but since you ask, we’ve both volunteered and heard today that we’ve been accepted as commissioned officers in the army. We report for duty next Monday in Aldershot.’
Their wives looked on proudly, and in his own wife’s face Arthur detected the unmistakable expression of envy that she wasn’t married to a brave chap like her friends were. ‘In that case,’ he said, raising his wine glass, ‘here’s to Claude and Raymond. May they bring great honour and pride upon their families.’ And may they achieve that by getting themselves killed on the battlefield as soon as possible, he added silently.
In bed later that night, while watching his wife go through her lengthy ritual of tending to her face and hair in front of the dressing-table mirror, his thoughts returned to the odious man who’d come here this evening to blackmail him. His name was David Webster, and in handing over a cheque to him, Arthur had had no choice but to accept that it was the first payment in what would be a regular drain on his bank account. Admittedly the amount was not a large one, but for how long would that be? How soon before David Webster became greedy and upped the sum? And would Arthur ever be able to put a stop to it?
‘You know, darling, I don’t believe you enjoyed yourself this evening, did you?’
‘No,’ he said simply, ‘I can’t say that I did particularly.’
Irene stared at him in the mirror. ‘It’s my friends, isn’t it, you don’t much care for them?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘I’m afraid it is, my dear. You were really quite rude to Claude and Raymond.’
‘Only because they provoked me. They know perfectly well I can’t volunteer to fight, not with being blind in one eye.’
She turned around to face him. ‘Do you mind awfully about that?’
‘Of course I do. Don’t you think I’d give anything to be able to do my bit for the war? You know I hate being stuck behind a desk doing nothing of any great significance.’
‘I’m sorry, my darling. I do so wish things could be different for you; that you could be happier with life.’
‘What on earth makes you say a thing like that?’
She shrugged and went back to applying yet more cream to her face, all the time looking at him steadily in the mirror. ‘I don’t think you know how to be happy.’ She gave another little shrug. ‘I might go so far as to say I doubt you’ve ever really been happy at all.’
So much for his wife being stupid, he thought.
Chapter Fifty-Five
In the weeks that followed Stanley leaving them, Bobby was the one who missed him the most. The poor dog whined continuously while pattering about the house searching for his beloved companion, pacing the landing just outside the room that had been Stanley’s as though guarding it until the boy returned. Even when Romily’s wing commander turned up one day with a parcel of lamb bones from the butcher’s, he showed no interest. Nothing was the same for him any more without Stanley. Allegra didn’t think she’d ever seen a more pathetically sad creature.
Here for tea with them this afternoon, Evelyn Flowerday was saying how she’d regularly found the dog waiting at the school gate for Stanley in the days following his departure.
‘The children all wanted me to bring him inside to the classroom,’ she explained. ‘I must say, I was tempted to do just that, especially when he kept up his vigil in the pouring rain.’
‘I’m sorry if he’s been a nuisance to you,’ said Romily.
‘Heavens no, I rather admire his steadfast loyalty.’
‘He’s settled now for patrolling the garden and keeping watch at the gateposts,’ said Allegra, standing at the window and watching the dog as he slowly circled the pond, his tail between his legs, his tread weary. For heaven’s sake, she wanted to shout bad-temperedly at him, Stanley’s not coming back! He’s gone! Just accept it and get on with life!
God help her, but in her current crabby state she could find nothing to be happy about. At the mercy of violent mood swings, she was contrary for the sake of it and could find no way to stop it. She was even more of a fidget than usual, finding it increasingly difficult to get comfortable. She could only sit down for a few minutes before hauling herself to her feet again and cursing the day she ever met Luigi, blaming him for destroying her once beautiful slim body and turning it into this loathsome, fat, cumbersome carcass. Never again would she make the mistake of falling pregnant. Never! If Elijah wanted children, he had married the wrong woman. She wasn’t going to put herself through this torture a second time.
The baby was late, only by two days, but each day felt like an eternity and Allegra felt as though she had been pregnant all her life. Her ankles had started to swell up and her skin had stretched and felt painfully tight, as if it might burst. In fact her whole body felt like it might burst.
For some weeks now she had had moments when she was absolutely convinced something was wrong with the baby. Other times she was equally convinced that her body wasn’t capable of delivering it. She had a recurring dream of the baby crying to escape her womb only to be trapped, finding no way out of the stifling darkness. Everyone said it was quite natural to feel anxious, but she was not persuaded by their assurance.
