March,' she exclaimed. 'To London. It's been arranged for years. I was to have six months in England and on the Continent, and then I was coming back through America. I'd have seen Madison Avenue. It's so bloody unfair.'
She took a long gulp at her glass, and held it away from her in disgust. 'Christ, what's this muck I'm drinking?'
He got up and took the glass from her and smelled it. 'That's whisky,' he told her.
She took it back from him and smelled it herself. 'So it is,' she said vaguely. 'It'll probably kill me, on top of brandy.' She lifted the glass of neat liquor and tossed it down, and threw the ice cube out upon the grass.
She faced him, unsteady in the starlight. 'I'll never have a family like Mary,' she muttered. 'It's so unfair. Even if you took me to bed tonight I'd never have a family, because there wouldn't be time.' She laughed hysterically. 'It's really damn funny. Mary was afraid that you'd start bursting into tears when you saw the baby and the nappies hanging on the line. Like the squadron leader in the R.A.F. they had before.' Her words began to slur. 'Keep him occ… occupied.'
She swayed, and caught a post of the verandah. 'That's what she said. Never a dull moment. Don't let him see the baby or perhaps… perhaps he'll start crying.' The tears began to trickle down her cheeks. 'She never thought it might be me who'd do the crying, and not you.'
She collapsed by the verandah, head down in a torrent of tears. The submarine commander hesitated for a moment, went to touch her on the shoulder and then drew back, uncertain what to do. Finally he turned away and went into the house. He found Mary in the kitchen tidying up the mess left by the party.
'Mrs. Holmes,' he said a little diffidently. 'Maybe you could step outside and take a look at Miss Davidson. She just drank a full glass of neat whisky on top of brandy. I think she might want somebody to put her to bed.'
2
Infants take no account of sundays or midnight parties; by six o'clock next morning the Holmes were up and doing and Peter was on the road pedalling his bicycle with the trailer attached to fetch the milk and cream. He stayed with the farmer for a while discussing the axle for the new trailer, and the towbar, and making a few sketches for the mechanic to work from. 'I've got to report for duty tomorrow,' he said. 'This is the last time that I'll be coming over for the milk.'
'That'll be right,' said Mr. Paul. 'Leave it to me. Tuesdays, and Saturdays. I'll see Mrs. Holmes gets the milk and cream.'
He got back to his house at about eight o'clock; he shaved and had a shower, dressed, and began to help Mary with the breakfast. Commander Towers put in an appearance at about a quarter to nine with a fresh, scrubbed look about him. 'That was a nice party that you had last night,' he said. 'I don't know when I enjoyed one so much.'
His host said, 'There are some very pleasant people living just round here.' He glanced at his captain and grinned. 'Sorry about Moira. She doesn't usually pass out like that.'
'It was the whisky. She isn't up yet?'
'I wouldn't expect to see her just yet. I heard someone being sick at two in the morning. I take it that it wasn't you?'
The American laughed. 'No sir.'
The breakfast came upon the table, and the three of them sat down. 'Like another swim this morning?' Peter asked his guest. 'It looks like being another hot day.'
The American hesitated. 'I rather like to go to church on Sunday morning. It's what we do at home. Would there be a Church of England church around her any place?'
Mary said, 'It's just down the hill. Only about three-quarters of a mile away. The service is at eleven o'clock.'
'I might take a walk down there. Would that fit in with what you're doing, though?'
Peter said, 'Of course, sir. I don't think I'll come with you. I've got a good bit to sort out here before I join in Scorpion,'
The captain nodded. 'Sure. I'll be back here in time for lunch, and then I'll have to get back to the ship. I'd like to take a train around three o'clock.'
He walked down to the church in the warm sunlight. He left plenty of time so that he was a quarter of an hour early for the service, but he went in. The sidesman gave him a prayer book and a hymn book, and he chose a seat towards the back, because the order of the service was still strange to him and from there he could see when other people knelt, and when they stood. He said the conventional prayer that he had been taught in childhood and then he sat back, looking around. The little church was very like the church in his own town, in Mystic, Connecticut. It even smelled the same.
The girl Moira Davidson certainly was all mixed up. She drank too much, but some people never could accept things as they were. She was a nice kid, though. He thought Sharon would like her.
In the tranquillity of the church he set himself to think about his family, and to visualize them. He was, essentially, a very simple man. He would be going back to them in September, home from his travels. He would see them all again in less than nine months' time. They must not feel when he rejoined them, that he was out of touch, or that he had forgotten things that were important in their lives. Junior must have grown quite a bit; kids did at that age. He had probably outgrown the coonskin cap and outfit, mentally and physically. It was time he had a fishing rod, a little Fiberglas spinning rod, and learned to use it. It would be fun teaching Junior to fish. His birthday was July the 10th. Dwight couldn't send the rod for his birthday, and probably he couldn't take it with him, though that would be worth trying. Perhaps he could get one over there.
Helen's birthday was April the 17th; she would be six then. Again, he'd missed her birthday unless something happened to Scorpion. He must remember to tell her he was sorry, and he must think of something to take her between now and September. Sharon would explain to her on the day, would tell her that Daddy was away at sea, but he'd be coming home before the winter and he'd bring his present then. Sharon would make it all right with Helen.
He sat there thinking of his family throughout the service, kneeling when other people knelt and standing when they stood. From time to time he roused himself to take part in the simple and uncomplicated words of a hymn, but for the rest of the time he was lost in a daydream of his family and of his home. He walked out of the church at the end of the service mentally refreshed. Outside the church he knew nobody and nobody knew him; the vicar smiled at him uncertainly in the porch and he smiled back, and then he was strolling back uphill in the warm sunlight, his head now full of Scorpion, the supplies, and the many chores he had to do, the many checks he had to make, before he took her to sea.
At the house he found Mary and Moira Davidson sitting in deck chairs on the verandah, the baby in its pram beside them. Mary got up from her chair as he walked up to them. 'You look hot,' she said. 'Take off your coat and come and sit down in the shade. You found the church all right?'
'Why, yes,' he said. He took his coat off and sat down on the edge of the verandah. 'You've got a mighty fine congregation,' he observed. 'There wasn't a seat vacant.'
'It wasn't always like that,' she said drily. 'Let me get you a drink.'
'I'd like something soft,' he said. He eyed their glasses. 'What's that you're drinking?'
Miss Davidson replied, 'Lime juice and water. All right, don't say it.'
He laughed. 'I'd like one of those, too.' Mary went off to get it for him, and he turned to the girl. 'Did you get any breakfast this morning?'
'Half a banana and a small brandy,' she said equably. 'I wasn't very well.'
'It was the whisky,' he said. 'That was the mistake you made.'
'One of them,' she replied. 'I don't remember anything after talking to you on the lawn, after the party. Did you put me to bed?'
He shook his head. 'I thought that was Mrs. Holmes’ job.'
She smiled faintly. 'You missed an opportunity. I must remember to thank Mary.'
