Thank God Sherwood was not required for duty. He wanted to come back to Rob Roy, but Ransome knew inwardly that he was finished with his lonely encounters with mines and whatever the enemy could dream up, forever. Perhaps in his strange, distant fashion he wanted to share his change of fortune with the only people he really liked.
He heard a door closing behind him and felt a start of anxiety, maybe she had changed her mind? Or she had been prevented from coming? A small bus rolled to a stop with slush dripping from its sides, and suddenly she was there, running towards him, her arms outstretched, oblivious to the other passengers and the grinning bus driver.
They clung together for a long moment, saying nothing, each reassured that it was really true.
Then she said, ‘Shall we go inside?’ She looked up at him, searched his face, and in those few seconds she saw it all. The shadows beneath his eyes, the small tight lines at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to keep on hugging him, to hold him as she would a child, and make the strain go away.
She asked, ‘Perhaps you’d rather not? I – I mean they’re not from Covent Garden or the Albert Hall. But I thought—’
Ransome put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the ageless shadows of the entrance, where he shook the snowflakes from his cap on to the worn stones. ‘I’d love to, Eve. I can’t tell you—’
A wizened usher guided them to their seats in one of the pews. The place was quite cold, but strangely moving with its flickering candles and air of timeless strength.
She pressed against him while he spread his greatcoat over their knees like a rug.
She whispered, ‘No heating. To save fuel.’
A man in an unfamiliar uniform touched Ransome’s shoulder. Excuse me, sir, but would you let this party into your pew?’
Ransome had wondered why the rest of the pew had been empty when the abbey appeared to be packed.
A line of young RAF officers filed past them, silent, and looking neither right nor left. The highest ranking one was a flight-lieutenant. They were all about Eve’s age.
As the last one attempted to pass he knocked a prayer book from its shelf, stooped down and then handed it to Eve with a mumbled apology. He had been a good-looking youth, but now half of hijj, face had been burned away. Just like wax, with a gleaming glass eye to complete the mockery of his survival. The others were much the same, burned, mutilated, and somehow embarrassed.
Eve said, ‘Thank you. There’s not much room, is there, in such a big place.’
Ransome saw the young pilot stare at her. Astonished that anyone who looked like her could treat him as if he were normal. Perhaps he had once had a girl like her, before —
Ransome saw a tear run from his remaining eye before one of the others pulled his sleeve and said jokingly, ‘Come away, Bill, she’s in the navy’s care!’
What did each hour cost them? Yesterday’s heroes.
Ransome felt her fingers digging into his hand. But she did not speak this time.
He glanced around. The wounded pilots still had the same need as the other servicemen here, he thought. Like an oasis, to help repair what they had lost.
The orchestra made itself comfortable, and while a senior lay churchman made a ponderous introduction there were all the usual exciting if discordant sounds of musicians tuning up.
It was a mixed Baroque concert, the Telemann violin concertos, and after a freezing fifteen-minute interval, a selection from handel’s Water Music. Eve had even remembered that, and Ransome thought of his small and dwindling collection of Handel records in Rob Roy. Too many explosions and near-misses had done for most of them.
And all the while he was very aware of the girl beside him, her warmth, the scent of her long hair, and when he glanced at her profile, the memory of those other times. Was it wrong to hope in wartime? Could it even be fair to profess love when each day the odds against survival mounted?
Then the concert was over, and they were outside in the snow again.
‘I have to get back.’ He hated each word.
‘I know.’ She thrust her arm through his as they walked towards the bus-stop. ‘You warned me.’ Then she turned and looked at him. ‘I’m so happy, Ian. Just to have you with me. I shall never forget this, the concert—’ her eyes dropped. ‘Those poor airmen. Everything. I feel a part of it now because of you.’
Ransome had already been told about Richard Wakely’s broadcast and newspaper article. He should have guessed. Wakely’s image was far more important to him than trying to score points off the men who had been there, who had seen him grovelling and blubbering for his own skin. Perhaps in its way his was a kind of courage too. Being in contact with events which could strike terror and revulsion into you when you did not have to, because of duty, or whatever sent a man to war…
The bus floundered through some deep puddles and they climbed on to it. It was about twenty miles to Plymouth and yet it seemed to pass in minutes.
When they reached the outskirts of the city it was pitch-dark, with only the falling snow giving any sort of life to it.
She said, ‘Thank you for meeting me at Buckfastleigh.’ She-shivered, although not from cold. ‘Sometimes when you spend your days in and around Christianity it can become oppressive.’ She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘But never with you!’
Ransome gripped her and wanted to blurt out everything, as Sherwood had probably done. As he held her against him he was very aware that she was no longer the schoolgirl, and he knew she understood what he was thinking.
She said, ‘When can we meet? Please make it soon. I’ve been so worried, I’ve tried to be with you wherever you were. Then seeing your picture, hearing how it was—’
He replied, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Things on board should be in hand by then. I’ll have to go and visit my parents-Tony will be home too, with any luck.’ He looked at her, then kissed her very gently on the cheek, feeling the snow melt on his lips. ‘Will you come with me?’
She nodded. ‘We can look at your funny boat.’ She was almost in tears.
‘Don’t be sad, Eve. I love you more than ever, at least I would if that were possible. I don’t want to share you with anyone.’
She touched his mouth with her fingers. ‘I know. Once I didn’t dare to admit what I was thinking about you.’ She shook her head. ‘No, don’t look at me! I never knew I could feel that way, so utterly wanton.’
Another bus groped its way towards them. She said breathlessly, ‘I want you, Ian.’ Then she kissed him hard on the mouth and ran to the bus. He watched her wiping the condensation off a window with her sleeve to wave to him as the bus headed away towards Codrington House.
Ransome thrust his hands into his greatcoat pockets and walked slowly into the deeper darkness, his whole being clinging to those last words. I want you. No demands or conditions, not even a doubt, without knowing it she had already given him the greatest gift of all. Her trust.
When he reached Rob Roy there was an air-raid warning in progress, two seamen of the duty watch were under arrest for being drunk and disorderly in a dockside canteen, and Vice-Admiral Hargrave had been asking for him several times on the shore telephone.