Old Filth - Jane Gardam [92]
“You are like a jungle creature,” he said. “In an undiscovered country.”
“Eddie,” she said at last, winding herself into the sheets, “I have something very important to say. How much time have we got? When’s your train?”
“Five-fifteen.”
“It’s nearly five o’clock already.”
He fled the bed, he ran for the stairs, he limped and hopped into scattered garments, he yelled with terror.
She laughed and laughed.
He found one shoe, but the other was gone.
“This will finish me,” he said. “This will be the end of the Army for me.”
She howled with laughter from the bedroom; came laughing down the stairs wrapped in the sheet, lighting a new cigarette.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I am in love with you, Eddie.”
“I have a bad reputation already. With my Colonel. And I am in charge of Queen Mary. Oh God—there’s my shoe!” He was in his jacket, in his British warm, had found his cap as she wrapped herself around him.
“Eddie, Eddie. You look still the boy in the trees at High House.”
“What time is it? Oh God. I’ve fifteen minutes. There won’t be a taxi.”
But there was a taxi. God has sent me a taxi, he thought. It was standing outside the door. “Paddington,” he said. “In ten minutes. I’ll give you ten pounds.” He did not look back to see whether she was watching.
“Ten pounds, sir.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” (It’s only what I’d have spent at the Savoy. God but I’m hungry.)
“Yes. Platform one. Where’s the bit of carpet? Is it gone?”
It was there. And word had gone round. Somehow a crowd had gathered beside the Royal coach and the top of the toque with its doves’ feathers could be seen passing between the clapping avenue of loyal subjects. The lady-in-waiting was invisible, a small woman to begin with, and no doubt weighted down now with more wool. The bodyguards were already on the train. Eddie gave a brief nod to the guard and jumped into his private cabin, slammed the door and fell on the banquette. I’ll go along in a minute. Just get my breath.
The train began to steam slowly, powerfully, inexorably away from London.
Go along in a minute, he thought and fell asleep.
He woke to a crash and shriek of brakes. The whole train jolted, shuddered and stopped. Outside it was now dark and he jumped from his long blue velvet couch and made for the corridor, to meet one of the bodyguards coming to find him.
“Emergency, sir. Probably unexploded bomb on the line. Queen Mary’s sent for you.”
The lady-in-waiting was trembling. From outside came a series of shouts. The train began to shunt backwards, squealing and complaining.
“It’s the Invasion,” said the lady-in-waiting.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Margaret,” said the Queen. “Eddie, take her along to your compartment and find her an aspirin. She needs a rest. Then come back again and we can talk. I want to hear every single thing you’ve done today.”
“So tiresome,” she said an hour later. “The carriage so dark. These blue spot-lights are very clever but they’re just not bright enough to read by.” She fell silent. “But it’s nice to look out at the moonlight.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” (And he realised she was afraid. He’d heard that though she never showed it by a tremor she was terrified of kidnap.)
“And you did no more than that, Captain Feathers?” (Captain Feathers? What’s this?) “No more than go about in taxis? You didn’t even go to the Savoy for luncheon as you’d so wished?”
“I’m afraid not. I found London—overwhelming. Kensington seemed quite like an unknown vil-vill-vill-village.”
“A village? How very odd. I was born there. In Kensington Palace. I never felt it a village.”
“I—couldn’t find Kensington Palace.”
“Oh dear,” she said.
The train at last jerked forward, stopped, jerked again and then began to steam sweetly along towards the West.
“That is a pity,” said Her Majesty. “By the way” (looking out at the moonlight) “whatever has become of your tie?”
On the way home from their walk about the meadows around Badminton House, Old Filth asked the girl and her grandmother if they would stop the wheelchair at the post office for him to buy postcards. “No, no,” he said.