‘OK,’ I told her. ‘I’ll see you at . . .’
‘About half past eight. Jacket and tie.’
‘What about socks and shoes as well? I suppose it’s a posh sort of place.’
She pulled a face. ‘Stop mocking me, Charlie: you were always too good at that. Go away and lie in the sun for an hour; your body is excessively white. We can talk tonight.’
I probably regarded her steadily for a moment, then said, ‘Yes. Yes, we can.’
‘You can tell me about my grandson.’
‘OK.’
As I walked off she began to hum ‘The Beguine’. I took it away inside my head – the Tommy Dorsey version that is.
Was this an accidental meeting? From the moment she’d spotted me Grace’s mum had made all the running. That was interesting. She wanted to talk about Carlo: so was this where I would begin to lose him?
Chapter Eight
That old feeling
She wore a floaty, cream linen summer dress which had never been near the clothing ration. It left her tanned shoulders bare.
I remarked, ‘I don’t know how you do it, Addy.’
We drank Stella from cold glasses. I can forgive a woman anything if she knows when to drink beer.
‘How I do what?’
‘Stay young: you look like a film star.’
‘Why thank you, Charlie.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do. Cheerio.’ She raised her glass to me.
‘Cheers. I was twenty when I first met you, now I’m twenty-eight. I’ve aged eight years – probably more. You haven’t aged at all.’
‘When you talk like that, Charlie, I know why Grace fell in love with you.’
‘Grace never loved me at all. I think I was just some sort of light entertainment.’
‘Grace loved you. I think she still does.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘There, just when it’s all going your way, you have to break the spell.’
‘Sorry. It’s just that it’s easier for me to believe that she didn’t love me – not in a way that I would recognize, anyway. Why would you think she did?’
‘Because she told me.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon; after I mentioned I’d seen you.’ I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Bollocks! ‘And if you close your gaping mouth for a few seconds, she might even tell you herself.’
She was at my shoulder. I heard her before I saw her. That slightly breathy girl’s voice which melted resolution.
‘Hello, Charlie.’
Nothing trite. Nothing smart. Nothing funny. Just, Hello, Charlie, and I died. I didn’t know what to say, and for the first time since I’d known her, neither did Grace.
Addy laughed, and said, ‘. . . Oops!’ and looked away embarrassed, but then she always had a cruel streak.
Grace bent down, and kissed me on the side of my neck, between my ear and my shirt collar.
Dead in the water, Charlie.
Grace was wearing faded KD pants and one of those washed-out khaki cotton vests she’d got from the Yanks years ago. They were freshly laundered. The only concession she had made to an evening out was her shoes. I was used to seeing her in battered brown field boots, but this evening she wore a pair of light white slip-ons. Every other woman in the place was in full war paint, dressed for dinner and dancing, but it was Grace all the men looked at. She drew glances the way a magnet captures iron filings. There wasn’t a man in the place that evening who didn’t want to be me.
Addy went onto the dance floor with an Artillery captain, and didn’t come back. Either she was being tactful, or just giving us space to fight. I had once fallen for Grace as hard as any twenty-year-old can. Then she’d left me, and crossed Europe with a motley group of medicine men, healing the sick and tending the wounded. But I had pursued her, which had been a bad thing to do. So she ran again, but not before leaving me holding the baby who had grown into Carlo. I met her again in 1947 and, just as I had begun to fall for her once more, she scooted again. This time for the embryonic State of Israel. She sailed up onto a beach on a tramp steamer with a group of illegals, and I hadn’t heard of her since. There was a candle inside a glass funnel on the table between us. She held her hands on either side of it, and they became translucent.
I asked her, ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I didn’t until Mummy said she’d seen you.’
‘She’s very interested in Carlo.’
‘She’s his grandmother, but don’t worry – she won’t take him away.’
‘I did wonder.’
‘You’re turning into too good a father, Charlie. The boys worship you – they’ll miss you when you’re away.’ How did Grace know that?
‘I miss them too. That’s funny, isn’t it?’
‘No.’
The windows were open: a sea breeze cool on my sunburned arms. After a comfortable silence she said, ‘Sometimes I envy you; but not always.’
She lit a cigarette – untipped as always – and the smoke she breathed out momentarily encircled me. American: maybe Luckies or Camel.
‘It’s not too late to be a mother,’ I told her awkwardly. ‘I haven’t ever lied to Carlo. He knows all about you . . . and I think he’s rather proud.’ Then I changed the subject. ‘I always forget how lovely you are. You’re like Addy: she never seems to age either.’
Grace looked away. Then she picked up one of my hands and examined it like a fortune teller as she spoke. ‘I got married, Charlie. Did you know that?’
‘No, how could I? It doesn’t matter.’
‘It was the only way to stay in Israel. After all I’d done – conning that bloody old ship across the Med for them, full of the arms and ammunition they needed to stop the
