resentment against the Germans. The only two personally known to him, the professor and his son Gottfried, were amiable, intelligent chaps. What he did feel, however, pressing like a girdle about his ribs, was a sadness at the finality of the occasion, and the sensation reminded him of the time he had lost Grace and fled from the sleazy lodging of the prostitute near the Turkish baths. It was a profound certainty that the way of life that was his he was about to lose and with it the promise the future had offered, for if Grenfell’s predictions proved right it would be a savage, bloody business, no matter how long or short it proved, and if it did drag on, as Franz seemed to think, then nothing could ever be the same again for any of them. He wondered, objectively, if he would involve himself in it; if, before it was over, he would find himself alongside men like Will Codsall and some of the others who seemed eager to show their mettle but decided against, remembering that he was now thirty-five, with a wife and family to consider and that war was a young man’s business.
The perfume of the roses from the sunken garden seemed to drench this end of the terrace so that when he heard a step on the flagstones and a voice calling him, he thought once more of Grace, whom he always associated with this garden. Then he saw a blur of white in the doorway and called, ‘I’m out here, Claire!’ and she came along the terrace towards him, her hair tumbling over the pink shawl he had given her last Christmas. She said, anxiously, ‘I wondered where on earth you were! What’s happened? Is it anything serious?’
‘Serious enough,’ he told her and repeated the gist of Franz’s conversation over the telephone. He was amazed to note that she seemed relieved rather than startled, as though the clash of armies had nothing to do with themselves or the people of the Valley. She said, ‘Well, all I can say is I’m glad you’re too old and the children are too young!’ and he thought the remark very typical of her and envied her ability to view catastrophe in such a personal light. He said, however, ‘It will make nonsense of all we’ve been trying to do down here, Claire. You realise that I suppose?’
‘I don’t see why it should,’ she argued, ‘James told you it couldn’t possibly last more than a month or so, didn’t he?’
‘I’d sooner take Uncle Franz’s word than Grenfell’s on an issue like this,’ he said. ‘If there are people around prepared to pay that much money for a five-year lease on a scrapyard they must have a good idea what’s likely to happen! Those kind of people, Uncle Franz’s kind, don’t make mistakes that cost money, not their money!’
‘Oh well,’ she said, cheerfully, ‘there’s nothing we can do about it is there? I suppose they must fight it out and then go home and pick up where they left off!’
He smiled, putting his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. It would be a shame, he thought, to try and explain to her what a conflict on this scale could do even to a place as remote as this, or to a woman with a civilian husband and children in rompers. She would soon find out if Uncle Franz’s gloomy prophecy came true. Then he thought how differently Grace would have reacted to the news and remembered that it was here, on this spot, that he proposed marriage on the night of the Coronation soirée. It was disturbing but also significant, he reflected, that Grace should seem so close tonight and the sharpness of his memories seemed almost an affront to Claire standing with her head on his shoulder inhaling the sweetness of the night air so he said shortly, ‘Come on, there’s no sense standing here, let’s go back to bed!’ and they went in and up the broad, shallow stairs. She curled up and was asleep almost at once and again he envied her narrow world. ‘There’s Ikey,’ he thought. ‘He’ll have to go but she never bothered much with Ikey. He always seemed
The perfume of the roses from the sunken garden seemed to drench this end of the terrace so that when he heard a step on the flagstones and a voice calling him, he thought once more of Grace, whom he always associated with this garden. Then he saw a blur of white in the doorway and called, ‘I’m out here, Claire!’ and she came along the terrace towards him, her hair tumbling over the pink shawl he had given her last Christmas. She said, anxiously, ‘I wondered where on earth you were! What’s happened? Is it anything serious?’
‘Serious enough,’ he told her and repeated the gist of Franz’s conversation over the telephone. He was amazed to note that she seemed relieved rather than startled, as though the clash of armies had nothing to do with themselves or the people of the Valley. She said, ‘Well, all I can say is I’m glad you’re too old and the children are too young!’ and he thought the remark very typical of her and envied her ability to view catastrophe in such a personal light. He said, however, ‘It will make nonsense of all we’ve been trying to do down here, Claire. You realise that I suppose?’
‘I don’t see why it should,’ she argued, ‘James told you it couldn’t possibly last more than a month or so, didn’t he?’
‘I’d sooner take Uncle Franz’s word than Grenfell’s on an issue like this,’ he said. ‘If there are people around prepared to pay that much money for a five-year lease on a scrapyard they must have a good idea what’s likely to happen! Those kind of people, Uncle Franz’s kind, don’t make mistakes that cost money, not their money!’
‘Oh well,’ she said, cheerfully, ‘there’s nothing we can do about it is there? I suppose they must fight it out and then go home and pick up where they left off!’
He smiled, putting his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. It would be a shame, he thought, to try and explain to her what a conflict on this scale could do even to a place as remote as this, or to a woman with a civilian husband and children in rompers. She would soon find out if Uncle Franz’s gloomy prophecy came true. Then he thought how differently Grace would have reacted to the news and remembered that it was here, on this spot, that he proposed marriage on the night of the Coronation soirée. It was disturbing but also significant, he reflected, that Grace should seem so close tonight and the sharpness of his memories seemed almost an affront to Claire standing with her head on his shoulder inhaling the sweetness of the night air so he said shortly, ‘Come on, there’s no sense standing here, let’s go back to bed!’ and they went in and up the broad, shallow stairs. She curled up and was asleep almost at once and again he envied her narrow world. ‘There’s Ikey,’ he thought. ‘He’ll have to go but she never bothered much with Ikey. He always seemed
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