‘I must have told you a dozen times, if I get offered the job in Geneva as a permanent position, the next step is almost certainly a senior posting to London. I’ve told you a dozen times,’ she repeated.
‘At least a dozen,’ I said. This was not helpful of me, but I couldn’t stop myself.
‘Oh, I’m sorry if I’ve been boring you. Well, here’s a bit of news which I won’t repeat too often because I won’t be here to repeat it. I’m going to Geneva tomorrow. I will be away for at least six months before I am entitled to any leave. I can’t come home at weekends because they work Saturday mornings in the bank. If you want to come and see me, my address and some other notes for you are on my desk in the study.’
She was really angry now. She told me I didn’t care; I was buried in my own career, and now on our last evening I was being sarcastic and self-centred. She pushed her plate away and I heard her run up the stairs and slam the bedroom door.
I haven’t the nerve to go in there tonight. I’ll try and catch her in the morning before she leaves.
23 August
This morning I made a last effort. I felt shattered by the evening before. These emotional exchanges take it out of me, and I felt bilious all night long. Despite that I was up at five, and went downstairs in my pyjamas to find Mary’s cases in the hall. Mary herself was sitting drinking a mug of tea at the kitchen table.
She looked at me in a not very friendly way and asked me what I was doing up at that time of day.
‘To say goodbye, of course,’ I said. ‘Darling, don’t let’s part on a sour note. I’m going to miss you.’
‘Well, you should have thought of that before you were so unpleasant to me last night.’
The front door bell buzzed. It was her taxi.
Mary stood up. She allowed me the faintest peck on the cheek by way of a kiss, and then in a few moments she, her cases and the taxi had gone. Gone for how long, I wonder. For a year? For good?
6
Written and posted in Frankfurt airport
10 May
Darling Harriet,
I don’t know how to tell you this. I tried you on your mobile and left a message, but by the time you pick it up I will be out of the country and not contactable by phone or email.
I was rung by the adjutant and given about five minutes’ notice to get packed and out to the airport. We flew commercial to Frankfurt, which is where I am now. I’m writing this in a little coffee place in the departure lounge. We have a few minutes before our connecting flight out to Basra.
Yes, I’m afraid I’m going to Iraq and that means our week together is in ruins. Darling, I feel as sick about this as you will do when you read this. One thing I have already decided: I’ll do my tour here, which is meant to be about twelve weeks, but when I come back I’m going to put in my papers. I’m going to leave the forces. I’m not especially ambitious for promotion-I can’t be bothered to go to staff college. I only joined up because Dad wanted me to, and I was never going to get to university. I just wanted a few years of fun. Well,
I’ve had lots of fun and they’ve looked after me very well, so I suppose when they tap me on the shoulder and send me somewhere slightly unpleasant, I can’t object.
But now I’ve met you, as a way of life the marines are no longer for me. It’s just as you say. It would be so good to settle down and become part of somewhere again, instead of constantly passing through.
That’s small consolation for a bust holiday, but I hope you will understand. Don’t worry about Iraq, it’s just a routine rotation of people. I wasn’t on the list but someone had a slight accident so I was pulled in to replace him. We won’t be doing any dangerous stuff. The place has calmed down a lot over the years. It’s more public relations than anything else. I’d almost prefer it if we saw some action, because otherwise it can be a very dull place to be stuck, particularly at this time of year when it’s almost too hot to go outside.
Anyway, I’ll be thinking of you. We’ll go away the minute I get back. That’s a promise.
Write to me as soon as you can c?o BFPO Basra Palace, Basra, and it should reach me pretty quickly. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while. If I’m on the base at Basra I should get letters almost straight away, but if I’m in-country there might be some delay before I have a chance to see them.
So don’t ever worry about me. I’ll be all right.
Love,
Letter
Captain Robert Matthews
c?o BFPO Basra Palace
Basra
Iraq
12 May
Darling Robert,
You can imagine my first reaction when I picked up your message on my voicemail. I went in a rage to my desk and pulled out the file with all the copies of the hotel and car hire reservations and tore them up. Then I burst into tears.
In other words, I behaved just as badly as you might have expected, but I think you will admit I had some excuse. I was looking forward to our holiday in France together
Now I sort of accept it, and I just want you to know I’m thinking of you every minute, and when I’m asleep I dream about you. You can’t ask for more than that, can you?
Don’t leave the marines just because your girlfriend whines at you every time you have to go away. If that’s really what you want to do, then of course it’s right. But don’t do it for me if it’s a sacrifice, because then you’d blame me when you got bored and restless and then we’d end up divorced five minutes later. I don’t want to divorce you; I want to marry you. Anyway, what would you do instead?
We’ll talk about it when you come back. Don’t do anything until then.
Masses of love,
Letter
Captain Robert Matthews
c?o BFPO Basra Palace
Basra
Iraq
15 May
Darling Robert,
I wish I knew where you were and what you were doing. It would mean I could worry a bit less. I hope, wherever it is, you are not too uncomfortable and it is not too dangerous. I tried to look your unit up on the Internet but, of course, I found nothing.
Isn’t it strange, writing letters to each other? Because I’m not allowed to email you and I can’t speak to you by phone, I am left with no choice. Apart from a few thank you letters and one or two to you I haven’t written any letters to anyone since I used to write to my mother when I was away at school. Even then it was mostly to ask her to send me more money. And because I haven’t the least idea what you are doing in Iraq, thank God, we can’t talk about that. So I suppose I’ll have to bore you to death, and tell you about me.
Our client, a sheikh from Yemen (I’m not supposed to tell anyone his name-I would tell you, but it wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway) has come to see us with the most extraordinary idea. He wants us to commission the best UK fisheries scientists to introduce salmon into the Yemen. He has an estate up near Inverness we helped him buy a few years ago, with a few miles of river which are apparently quite good fishing in June and July. You would know about all that sort of thing. The sheikh has become rather good at it, and enjoys going up there to fish more than almost anything. He also takes beats on other rivers whenever he can. He is almost obsessive about his fishing, much more so than his shooting or stalking. I’ve seen him at it, and he seems to know what he is doing.
He is a very impressive character. He is quite small, but stands very upright and communicates a sense of power which you cannot ignore. I don’t mean I fancy him, and he certainly doesn’t fancy
