‘Don’t get yourself all het up, sweetheart. It’s not worth it and I’m going to be leaving tomorrow so let’s not spoil things.’ He rose and straightened his jacket. ‘I’m going to wash and change, if that’s all right, Oli?’
‘Of course, old chap. Dinner’s at eight.’
Archie nodded to him, smiled at me, and left the room. His stride was long and easy, and so familiar, yet elicited different feelings now—watching him turn out of sight into the hallway left me oddly empty-feeling, and it wasn’t simply because his dismissive, parting words had stung.
I dressed for dinner with more care than usual, choosing a dress that draped rather than clung, and smoothing my gloves neatly over my arms, glad to have at least lost the dimples in my elbows and to have gained a more shapely outline. Archie wasn’t what I’d heard described as a ‘man of the world’, but I had no doubt that, at twenty-four, and as handsome as I now realised he was, he would have been on the receiving end of a good deal of female attention.
I turned away and slipped into my shoes, wishing I were one of those people who could wear a kitten heel without feeling ridiculously overdressed, and went to the door. As I turned to pull it closed behind me I took another look around, suddenly hating all the frills and flounces I’d loved so much before. This was a child’s room. Tomorrow I would speak to Mother about getting new bed coverings, and a real dressing table. It was time to grow up.
As a family, we were decently off and locally respected, but, much to my father’s endless regret, not aristocracy, and our Ecclesley house, although large and well appointed, was not simply somewhere we stayed when we were in town, it was our home. We retained only a modest staff too, but they were always delighted when we welcomed guests, so even Archie, who they’d known from boyhood, was shown to the table as if he were visiting royalty.
‘Ah, Buchanan,’ Father said with approval. ‘Good to see you again, lad.’
‘And you, sir.’
‘Or should I call you Captain Buchanan?’
Archie smiled. ‘I’d like that very much; however, I’m commissioned only as a second lieutenant.’
‘Only a matter of time, old chum,’ Oli said, grinning. I couldn’t help agreeing with him, but kept silent and enjoyed the faintly embarrassed look on Archie’s face; it made him look a lot younger again.
‘And how’s your mother?’ my own mother wanted to know. ‘It must be terribly difficult all alone up there in the middle of nowhere.’
‘She’s well, thank you,’ Archie said. ‘She asks after your family all the time.’
I let the banalities wash over me as I ate. How’s this person, and that person? Are you busy at work? Who’ll be drafted in as beaters now most of the young estate workers had signed up? And: of course young Oliver is too keen on law and the family business to consider going off to war. That last one caused Archie and I to stop chewing, and to look from Father to Oli and back again.
Oli shrugged. ‘Well, I’d be happy to go over to help out if they needed me.’
Father waved his hand. ‘Storm in a teacup—be over before we know it. Not like Africa at all.’ He pointed his knife at Archie. ‘Now that was a campaign and a half. Your uncle could tell you all about that, young man.’
I saw a glint in Archie’s eyes, and realised he was hiding a flash of anger at the easy dismissal of the very real danger into which he was going, although his voice did not betray it. ‘Aye, so I understand. Uncle Jack doesn’t talk about it much though. He was at Rooiwal near the end. Was that anywhere near you?’
Father coloured, but to do him credit, he didn’t attempt to lie. ‘Well, of course I’d have liked to have joined the party,’ he said, ‘but the business was just taking off. Couldn’t go off and leave it. Too many people depending on it for a living. Do have some more wine, lad.’
Archie’s mouth twitched as he held out his glass, and I was relieved to see his anger disappear in a barely suppressed grin at Father’s discomfiture. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Conversation moved on, and since no-one was the slightest bit interested in anything I might have to say, I used the time to study Archie more closely, to examine the response to him that had taken me so completely by surprise. The familiarity was still there. It wasn’t as if he was someone else, but that I was, and along with our easy friendship I recognised the need to experience the warmth of a closer contact… Talking to him wasn’t enough any more. I wanted to know how he felt about everything, and I wanted him to care how I felt too. I realised I had stopped eating now and was staring at him, and I looked quickly at Mother, but she was busy admonishing Oli for drinking his wine too quickly. If he had this effect on my appetite I needn’t worry about fat ankles for much longer, anyway.
After dinner I sat with the others while they talked of times past and times to come, and looking at Oli’s eager expression I knew he’d meant it when he’d told Archie he’d have preferred to sign up than go to law school. Archie loosened his tie as they all began to relax, and settled back into his chair with a glass of Father’s best brandy, while I pretended to read but found my attention wandering from the page constantly, whether he was speaking or not.
He was starting to look tired; the journey from Scotland had been a long one, and he had to be up early to get the train from Liverpool to London. Yet despite his slightly edgy weariness, he had a compelling magnetism to him that drew my eyes again and again. The strong, clean features and ready smile were only part of it; his voice wrapped me in its soft-spoken tones. His hands, holding the brandy glass up to the light to peer through the amber depths, were steady and graceful, and I closed my eyes as I remembered the warmth of them pressing me to him in that brotherly hug.
Abruptly I tore my gaze away, and set my book aside. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’
‘But it’s dark,’ Mother protested.
‘There are lights, and I need some fresh air.’
‘You can’t go out alone!’
‘I’ll only be a few minutes. No need to disturb anyone to come with me.’
Without waiting for a reply, I went out into the hall and plucked my coat from the hook, and once outside I half expected to hear the light raindrops sizzle as they landed on my face. I was more tangled, in thought and emotion, than I’d ever been before, and the culprit was sitting back there in our drawing room. Not a thought cast my way, not a care in his head except what he was going into tomorrow. And who could blame him for that?
I closed my eyes again and pictured those beautiful, strong hands holding, not a brandy glass, but a gun. Then I pictured his face, contorted in fear, pain, or both, and the abrupt reality of where he was going squeezed my heart until I thought it would collapse. France, or Belgium, or farther afield; wherever he ended up might not be so far in miles, but it was another world, and it might be a world from which he never returned.
I took a few steps down the deserted street, and realised I didn’t have the strength to walk after all. Instead I found a bench and sat down, not caring about the puddles of rainwater that seeped through my coat and dress, and tried to give myself a good talking-to. It was silly to feel such panic and sorrow; Archie was volunteering for this and was proud to be doing so; he had made his own choice. But I desperately wished he would change his mind.
I remembered how my friends and I had gathered to watch some of the local lads as they marched off, and we’d cheered and thrown flowers, and thought how happy they all looked, how determined to get over there and sort things out where the governments had failed. We’d kissed as many boys as we could, telling them all how splendid they were, and waved them out of sight with a feeling of deep patriotism and satisfaction that all was happening