Dower House, too. That’s where Nanny is now. The more valuable things are there, and the paintings. Nanny has two bedrooms and the big kitchen and the rest of the Dower is all storage. Pa’s agent goes there twice a year to check it over, and for the rest, Nanny sits guardian over it as if it was her own. I wish I could spend one of my leaves there, just to see the old place and let it know it isn’t forgotten. And to see Nanny too,’ she added.
‘You love that old Lady Mead, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Mike. Too much, I think. But Lady Mead seemed always to be there, unchanging. All the time I was away at school I’d long for it; and when we went to London for the season I couldn’t wait to get back to it.
‘Christmases there were unbelievable. The great hall goes up through two storeys and we’d have an enormous tree. And there were log fires everywhere so no one noticed the cold and damp – well, not at Christmas, anyway. Christmas was the only time it was really warm. And – oh, Mike, I’m sorry for going on and on. Terrible bore, aren’t I? It’s just that I do miss it so.’
‘You’re not boring me, honey.’ He liked to listen to her talking with that crazy English accent. ‘But how come you could ever give it up? Well, an Englishman’s home is his castle, they say. Why didn’t your old man tell them to push off when they said they wanted the house?’
‘But he couldn’t have! There is a war on. It would’ve been unpatriotic even to think of refusing. And they’d have taken it, anyway. So Pa co-operated fully and got a few concessions out of it. At least Nanny is still around there.’
‘Gee, you Brits.’ Mike shook his head in bewilderment. They sure took some understanding. They could take over half the globe without as much as a by-your-leave, yet surrender their homes without a whimper. ‘Seems you’d endure anything for King and Country.’
‘Don’t be so sure about that! Mama played merry old hell, even though she’d rather be in London, and Pa kept on and on about the game rights and managed to get a couple of weeks’ shooting out of them. Mind, he’s always careful to invite the RAF commanding officer when a shoot is on, the cunning old devil. But don’t get us wrong, Mike. We Bainbridges don’t give up without a bit of a scrap.’
‘Reckon you don’t,’ Mike acknowledged, ‘else how have you managed to hang on there all that time – four and a half centuries, almost?’
Had those four hundred-odd years made Lucy what she was, frank and uncomplicated and so very polite? Mike liked her politeness and the way she smiled a lot. That smile made a guy feel good, just being with her.
‘How indeed? But what about you, Mike? Tell me about Vermont, New England, and about your family. And what do you do, in civvy street?’
‘I’m an engineer. And you know about my granny who’s eighty-six and about my aunt who has a parrot. The rest will keep.’
Keep? For when? Lucinda demanded silently. Certainly not until next time because there wouldn’t be one, there really wouldn’t.
‘Look. It seems we aren’t going to see the boom nets working and it isn’t any use waiting because there isn’t a ship in sight. Hadn’t we better be making our way to the dance? And Mike, tonight I must catch the last transport back.’
‘Okay, honey. But just one thing. I don’t suppose you’ve got a photo on you? Or maybe you could send me one?’
‘Now why would you want a picture of me?’ she asked him, surprised and pleased.
‘To remind me of the classy English girl I met in Craigiebur, I guess.’ His face was solemn now, and his eyes no longer teased her. They still walked arm in arm and so close that she had only to move her face a little to her right and her lips would be very easy to kiss. But not yet, he decided. Later, maybe, when they said goodnight. ‘Do I have to have a reason, Lucy?’
‘No. Not really. And as it happens I do have a snap with me.’ One with Charlie on it. One she had placed inside her paybook to remind her, dutifully, of the man she was to marry and of Lady Mead and of Nanny, who had taken it; a photograph that would give her the opportunity to say, ‘Who’s the man? Oh, that’s my fiancé. He’s in the Army and we’ll probably be married on his next leave.’ That would put the record straight, wouldn’t it? Mike would have to know about Charlie, and giving him the snapshot would be the best way to do it. ‘At least, I think I have.’ She thrust her hand into the right-hand inside pocket of her jacket; a pocket specifically sized and situated for the safekeeping of paybooks. ‘Yes, here it is.’
It was a good likeness of them both. Charlie’s shirt was open almost to his waist, his sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows. His hair was slightly untidy and his smile made his teeth look nicer than they really were.
‘Say, Lucy, your hair was long, then.’
‘Yes. Afraid I had to have it all chopped off when I joined the Wrens. Regulations. Hair mustn’t touch the collar.’
‘Hmm. Think I’d rather have it the way it is now. And what’s that place in the background?’
‘That’s Lady Mead. Part of the south wing and the orangery. It was taken last year when we were all down there, helping clear everything out.’
‘Looks a swell old place. What are you wearing, Lucy?’
‘What d’you mean, what am I wearing?’ For God’s sake, why didn’t he ask about Charlie?
‘Your clothes. I want to know exactly.’
‘Okay, then. I’m wearing an old pair of jodhpurs and a pale blue Aertex shirt – my school hockey shirt, actually.’ Now ask about the man beside me with his arm on my shoulders. Go on, Mike. Ask.
‘Y’know, Lucy, I don’t think you should ever let your hair get that long again.’ He was studying the snapshot intently, as if it were a valuable painting, hung, well-lighted, in some exhibition. ‘Short hair, like you’ve got it now, frames your face, shows your bones better. Who’s the guy, by the way?’
‘Him? Oh, that’s Charlie, my cousin. He’s Pa’s younger brother’s boy. Charlie’s older than me because Pa married late, you see. Late, and somewhat unproductively.’
Dear Lord! Did she have to go on like this? All she had to do was say, ‘That’s the man I’m engaged to.’ Simple enough, so why was it such an effort?
‘In the Navy, is he?’
‘The Army.’ Her reply was brief because she was angry; angry with herself for not being straight and honest, and angrier still because suddenly and inexplicably she did not want to be straight and honest, and had never, she realized, had the slightest intention of being so. At least, not where Charlie was concerned.
‘Oh, Lucinda, how could you?’
‘Ar, hey, queen. It’s nothin’ to do with me, but wasn’t that a bit naughty, eh?’
Nanny and Vi were sitting like prim little consciences, one on either shoulder, and they could both mind their own business because tonight Lucy Bainbridge was out dancing with an American. And after tonight their ships would have passed and sailed in opposite directions, so what the hell?
She watched him place the snapshot in his wallet, then taking
