‘Have you a visitor with you?’
‘Yes, an old school-friend, Nona–’
‘Still in the house?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Thank God for that. Now listen. You’ve got to keep her. Make any excuse you like. Get her to stay the night.’
‘But, Harry, it’s Mrs Bostock’s night out and I’ve got my fire-watching and there’s scarcely a thing to eat.’
‘How queer,’ thought Miss Ranskill. ‘Doctor Mallison didn’t seem to want me this morning: now he does, and Marjorie doesn’t.’
It was impossible now not to go on listening. She must discover if she were expected to say goodbye after tea and go. Go where? It didn’t matter so much as all that. She had slept on sand before.
‘I can’t help that. You’ve got to keep her. I’ve just seen White.’
‘White? Oh! Harry, did he give you the sausage meat? I did ring up and he said he’d try to deliver, but–’
‘I don’t mean White, the butcher, I mean White, the police inspector.’
‘Harry! Whatever for?’
‘Well, I don’t want to say too much about anything on the telephone – but – Sure you’re alone?’
‘Yes, I’m speaking from the surgery. Go on.’
‘Well, your old school-friend is wanted by the police. She’s been talking rather oddly in the shops and this morning she did a bolt from the Navy.’
‘Do you mean she’s deserted from the Wrens? Oh! Harry!’
‘I’ll be round as soon as I can, and so will the police.’
‘Harry, I just can’t believe that any St Cat’s girl – It’s too beastly.’
‘It’s not too pleasant for me either. Bye-bye, dear, see you soon.’
A receiver clicked downstairs and the one held fast in Miss Ranskill’s grip became as silent as a sea-shell on a mantelpiece.
What had she said and what had she done and what did the term ‘running away from the Navy’ imply? How could she explain that she had run away from nothing but the sight of her own face in a mirror and the embarrassment it might bring to a nice young man! Marjorie had hinted at desertion, but did women who were rescued from the sea join the Navy automatically? Had the law become an absurdity? Miss Ranskill knew none of the answers, but she was frightened and her head began to ache badly.
She had expected life to be simplified by clicking of switches, striking of matches, and turning of taps, but the faces of her own country-folks were less friendly than the sneering profiles of the sea-gulls on the island.
The sound of steps on the landing reminded her that it was time to move away from the telephone. Then the door opened and a new strange Marjorie came in – a Marjorie turned wary, an overgrown schoolgirl trying to be a sleuth.
‘I say,’ she began, ‘I meant to ask you before, only there’s been so much to do; you will stay the night, won’t you? You simply must.’
She had only glanced once at her school-friend’s face and now she was addressing its reflection in the mirror. Miss Ranskill answered a reflection too.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said.
‘Are you – were you going to stay in Hartmouth for long?’
‘No, I – I’ve got to make other arrangements as soon as possible, get in touch with my sister and buy some clothes; I haven’t any but these.’
She touched her threadbare skirt and glanced down at her bare feet.
‘You mean you’ve no other clothes at all?’
Miss Ranskill shook her head.
‘Why not?’ Suspicion edged Marjorie’s voice.
‘I tried to get some this morning but they said I must have coupons or something. I hadn’t got any, of course.’
‘Why, of course? People in the Services’ (there was slight emphasis on the last word) ‘don’t have coupons because they have everything given to them. Everyone else has a book of clothing-coupons. Of course, if you’ve lost yours, or used them up, it’s your lookout.’
‘I thought perhaps you could have helped,’ said Miss Ranskill. ‘I asked in the shop and I gave your name. I didn’t think you’d mind, but it wasn’t any good.’
‘Of course I’d like to help.’ Marjorie’s fingers were fiddling with the tufts of her old friend’s scattered hair. ‘You ought to know that. Only there are some things one just can’t help over. I mean, it’s so frightfully difficult to explain, I mean–’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Miss Ranskill, because quite suddenly she did. ‘You mean that if I were a Cavalier and you were a loyal cottager, you’d hide me up the chimney until the Roundheads went by, but that if I were a modern spy or–’
She stood up, because the relief of having hinted that she knew what was thought of her stimulated her tired limbs and she was not frightened any longer.
Marjorie strode to the door and struck a Casabianca attitude with her back to it. No, decided Miss Ranskill, she was playing Kate-Bar-the-Gate now, as she snipped at the air with inadequate nail-scissors.
‘I mean,’ said Marjorie, ‘I mean that if my puppy, and I adore my puppy, chewed up the Union Jack I almost think I’d have him shot. He could have my last pair of silk stockings. He could destroy anything I have but not the Flag.’
‘Oh!’ said Miss Ranskill. She flopped down on to the bed, laid her shaggy head on the pillow and burst, not into sobs for lost loyalties, but into laughter. ‘I’m sorry, but if only you knew how funny you are!’
‘I don’t see anything funny about it.’
‘Except that I haven’t chewed up the Union Jack.’
For the moment Miss Ranskill had forgotten all her horror and loneliness and fear. She shook with laughter. The sight of Marjorie, looking so exactly like the Marjorie of St Catherine’s, almost made her forget the torment she had been through. The link of past laughter was between them: she was the impudent mocker again, and her friend stood for dignity.
‘Spiritually, you may have done. How do I know what you’ve done? You’ve behaved very oddly and now you begin laughing at things that matter. I mean–’
‘Yes,’ Miss Ranskill checked her laughter, ‘but your trouble is that you’ve always fancied yourself as Joan of Arc and an out-and-out Britisher.’
‘Well,’ Marjorie chucked up her chin, ‘what’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing except historically – and it’s rather a strain on the loyalties.’
‘If you had any loyalties–’
Miss Ranskill stood up again and Marjorie braced herself against the door.
‘You needn’t think you can get away. I wouldn’t have taken this job on if I hadn’t known I was jolly strong. I’ve never let myself get out of training ever.’
Miss Ranskill looked at the firm straddled legs. They were muscled certainly, but there was a good layer of fat. Marjorie had not wrestled with boulders and tides, or fought for food and warmth and shelter.
Strong as most men you are, I reckon, Miss Ranskill, nearly as strong as me.
A little puff of sea-air came in through the slightly open window, fluting the curtains and soothing Miss Ranskill’s cheek. What was she doing in this conventional room, bickering with an old friend?
Your friends will be mighty glad to see you when we do get ashore, Miss Ranskill. When I think what you’ve been to me. Lots of friends, anyone like you must have.
For years she had lived and thought in freshening sea-air. She must try to think clearly now: she went to the window and pushed it up.
‘Not that way!’ shrilled Marjorie. ‘You can’t get out.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Miss Ranskill wearily. ‘I thought you’d asked me to stay the night. Didn’t you?’ She gasped a little as she returned to her seat on the bed. ‘I’m not used to being shut up in rooms. I only wanted some air. If I did go away I’ve nowhere to go.’