– good night, sir.’ Keth emptied his glass. ‘Thank you.’
‘’Night, Purvis.’
The interview was over and he had learned nothing save that tomorrow was another day when doubtless the conditions would be explained to him, and where he would be working, and with whom.
‘Will you be going down to the mess, sir, while I unpack your kit?’
He was being asked to clear off out of it and not make a nuisance of himself.
Obstinately he said, ‘No, Lance Corporal, I don’t feel like socializing tonight. But I would like a couple of sandwiches and a very large mug of tea. Milk, no sugar. And then I would like a bath and maybe, afterwards, make a phone call.’
‘Oh, deary me, sir.’ The batman shook his head mournfully. ‘The sandwiches and the bath – no trouble. The phone call, oh, no.’
‘But why ever not?’ Keth indicated the bedside telephone with a nod of his head.
‘That, sir, is only internal, between you and the switchboard. Won’t get you to the GPO, not that instrument.’
‘Then how do I go about it?’
‘Sir, you don’t. There’s a ban on outside calls. Only in the direst emergency would you be allowed one. But I’ll see Cook about your sandwiches. I might manage beef …’
‘Beef will be fine.’
‘Righty-o, sir. I’ll get them now, then I’ll come back and unpack for you while you have your bath. I believe you’ve come from the States?’
‘I have.’
‘Then you won’t know about baths, here. Six inches of water, no more, per person. There’s a black line painted around all our baths, and over that line we dare not go!’
‘Of course not.’ Keth bit on a smile, then rummaged in his canvas bag for his toilet things. He had brought several tablets of soap with him and rose-geranium bath salts for Daisy – a bottle of perfume too, to use on their honeymoon because as sure as God made little apples, they were getting married on his next long leave. ‘But are you sure there is no way I can phone my fiancée?’
‘Not that I know of, Captain. Letters is the only way and they’ll have to be seen by the Censor. Even ours.’ He shook his head dolefully. ‘But that’s what comes of working in a place like this. You take the downs with the ups, and since I was pulled off the beach at Dunkirk with one in the shoulder, I count my blessings, in a manner of speaking. Rather be here, for all its faults, than holed up in Tobruk or in a prisoner-of-war camp.’
‘Faults? You mean there’s nothing much to do here?’
‘Oh, there’s the recreation room and the NAAFI van comes twice a week. They bring ciggies and we’re allowed a couple of bottles of beer. But mostly it’s – well, you know what I mean, sir? I’ll see to your sandwiches. And if you’ll give me your soap bag I’ll reserve you a bath on the way down. It’s customary, around this time of night, to put your soap and towel in a bath, otherwise you’ll be unlucky.’
‘Thanks, Lance Corporal,’ Keth smiled. ‘And what am I to call you?’ He seemed a decent sort, in spite of his sorrowful expression.
‘Call me? Why, Lance Corporal, that’s what, sir! If you’ll pardon me, it doesn’t do to get too familiar here – what with the fluid nature of the place, if you get my meaning.’ He left the room, leaving Keth to wonder about the fluid nature of the place and why phone calls were strictly not allowed. Frowning, he picked up the telephone.
‘Switchboard,’ a female voice answered at once.
‘Can you tell me, please, how I can make a call to Liverpool?’ Dammit, it was worth a try!
‘See the adjutant, sir. He’ll refer your request to the brigadier,’ came the ready reply.
‘Thank you.’ Carefully, thoughtfully, he replaced the receiver. But hadn’t the brigadier said that tomorrow was another day, and with a couple of sandwiches inside him and a mug of tea, things would seem better. One thing was certain; no one here gave straight answers to straight questions and he hadn’t yet discovered the name of the place, nor where, in Scotland, it was located.
The lance corporal returned, looking even sadder, placing a plate and mug beside Keth, shaking his head gloomily.
‘Sorry, sir. No beef. You’ll have to make do with cheese.’
‘Cheese is fine.’
‘Then I’ll be back, sir, in ten minutes. Oh, and the adjutant’s compliments, and will you see him in his office at nine sharp in the morning?’
Keth bit into the sandwich, realizing how hungry he was and how surprisingly good the cheese tasted.
He kicked off his shoes then lay back on his bed. Even though the telephone mocked him, he knew there would be some way to speak to Daisy, tell her he loved her and that soon they would be married.
Darling, he sent his thoughts high and wide, I love you, love you, love you – and I’m home!
Drew and Kitty walked hand in hand beneath the linden trees.
‘I’m so happy,’ she sighed. ‘Everything is so perfect that sometimes I worry.’
‘Worry, when we’ll soon be married and you’ll be mistress of Rowangarth and we’ll live happily ever after?’
‘I’d rather be your mistress, but I suppose I am, really.’
‘No. You’re my lover,’ Drew smiled. ‘Are you truly happy about us, Kitty?’
‘Truly, truly happy. I don’t want to come down off my lovely pink cloud.’
‘You’ll have to, to marry me – and that’s another thing. When?’
‘Look, let’s sit down.’ She linked his arm, then entwined his fingers in hers, sitting on the stone seat at the side of the walk. ‘All this – you, me, meeting and loving, Rowangarth on a September afternoon – even the war can’t spoil it. It’s our own special world and no one has ever loved as we love, nor ever will. I love you and I’m in love with you. I’m so devastatingly happy that I want this gorgeous madness to go on for ever – can you understand, Drew?’
‘Of course. It’s the same for me too. But I want us to be married.’
‘We are married. We met on a scruffy dockside in a bombed city and all at once every light in Liverpool blazed brightly and I felt dizzy, and oh, Drew, I’ll never be able to tell you how wonderful it was, that first loving. That was when we were married, don’t you see? That very night we slept together. We’ve even got same names – Drew and Kitty Sutton.’
‘I want you to be Lady Sutton. I want Uncle Nathan to marry us. I want you to have my – our – children.’
‘And we will be married, of course we will, and we’ll have kids – four, at least. But, darling, I want this unbelievable
