He could barely make it to the end of the sentence; his voice was hoarse and he could feel his eyes filing with tears. He wanted to tel her that the earthquake of grief that was suddenly threatening to sweep him away was not about his son. Or that it was not only about him but about everything that was gone, even about Somers and the holowed-out man who now lay in the corner bed only fifty yards away from them.
'I was so frightened,' he said.
She put her arms round him, knocking some hymnbooks on to the floor as she did so.
'Laurie, whatever you believe or part of you believes, the best thing you could do in your son's memory now is to live. Work. Explore. Marry again one day.
Have more children. Forgive yourself. Laugh from time to time.'
She kissed him on the forehead and held his head to her. He could smel her, wonderfuly warm and familiar.
'But not to you or with you?'
'No. Not with me. Not now. But you're stil quite young. Don't punish yourself for being frightened in intolerable circumstances. I don't mean to sound like a prig but when so many are dead like John or, like Richard, as good as dead, you have a chance to be part of this new world, unnerving though it is. I wish you would. And I hope you'l always be my friend. I need a special friend.'
'I'd like that,' he said. She handed him a ridiculously smal, embroidered handkerchief that had been carefuly ironed. He pressed it first to one eye then the other without unfolding it. He no longer cared whether he looked stupid.
'The rest—it's not quite as easy as you think. I can't see it another way; I can only learn to live with it. And I'l try. I'm thinking of going back into teaching.
Apparently they're terribly short of schoolmasters and they're using men in their sixties and seventies to make up numbers. They need some new blood. I might even be quite good at it. I've been asked if I'd be interested in a History post at Westminster. They want to see me next week. They need someone to start next Lent term.'
'That's marvelous,' she said with real enthusiasm. 'I think you'd be briliant at it. And we could meet and talk, and go to see Charlie Chaplin, even—and eat respectable crumpets and walk in Green Park. One day soon I'l move to London. It's hopeless living with Mother and she has Aunt Virginia who is the mainstay of her life. From London I could see Richard more often. I could work for a living. I want to do that. Anyway, if I stay in Cambridge, I'm going to wake up one day and find I've turned into a stuffed owl or a weasel inside a glass dome.'
'A weasel?' He ran his fingers through her hair. 'I don't think you're very weasely, Miss Emmett. More of a mongoose: inteligent, mischievous and loyal.'
'Destructive and noisy, but good for keeping down vermin?'
'Al useful skils in their place.' He laughed. 'I love you, weasel or not,' he said.
'Thank you,' she said and kissed him one more time, gently but with certainty. 'If it wasn't for Richard,' she began.
He put his finger up to her lips. 'Don't,' he said. Then puling her to him, he buried his face in her hair. 'I love you,' he said again.
There was no longer any game to play so honesty could not damage him. She whispered something back into his shoulder but he didn't catch it and it didn't seem to matter.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Having gone to his interview straight after lunch, at which the Board of Governors at Westminster School made clear his appointment would be a foregone conclusion, Laurence came out as the bels of the abbey were chiming three. As he passed through the Sanctuary, pupils stood aside to let him by. One or two smiled tentatively.
This would be his life from next year onwards, he thought with pleasure. It was the second week of December, the last day of term and excited boys of al sizes teemed around him in black jackets and stiff white colars.
He went home to change out of his smartest suit, then left his flat in a panic, afraid that his sister would be standing bemused and alone on Victoria Station, not knowing how to reach her hotel. The second post had arrived. He went through it quickly, discarding an obvious bil. A letter from Charles lay on the hal table with a parcel. He tore it open, though it was clearly meant as a Christmas present. G.K. Chesterton's
Two buses arrived together, both of which were crowded, so he was lucky to get a seat. Outside it was already dark. Seen through the condensation running down the windows, London was merely a blur of red and yelow lights. He rubbed the glass with his coat cuff. Through the smeared, wet circle he saw they were at the back of Buckingham Palace, where the traffic had almost ground to a halt. He couldn't see whether the royal standard was flying. Perhaps the King and Queen were already at Sandringham; he thought that was what they always did at Christmas. He looked at his other letter. It turned out to be a dinner invitation from a Mrs Tresham Brabourne. He was caught by surprise; so the boyish Brabourne was married. At the bottom of the card, Brabourne had added his own postscript: 'If you would like to bring Miss Emmett, please do so.' Laurence smiled to himself.
As he walked into Victoria Station in a mist of drizzle, he was met by the sight of a scrawled headline on a paper stal, SUBMARINE LOST IN THE NORTH SEA. He was curious; he had never even seen a submarine. He bought a paper without stopping to read it and moved on towards the platforms. It was ten to five by the clock.
Her train was due in at five. He tucked the ends of his scarf into his coat, buttoned his gloves. His eyes flickered down to the headlines. Beneath the submarine tragedy was a short report on an inquest. The coroner had opened the inquiry into what the paper caled 'the tragic accidental death of the hero of Mafeking, General Somers'.
He looked up at the board, feeling dizzy as he tipped his head back.
After he'd heard the news originaly he had gone up to the Lovel house, taking with him the copy of Brabourne's magazine,
