Acts of Mutiny. Derek Beaven

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СКАЧАТЬ that he should ask a woman travelling alone to partner him and to join them at their table. He expected it of himself.

      The two wives had shared him all evening. It was utterly chaste, the sort of manners one always thought of as English but, to be strictly honest, never found in England. At any rate not these days, she could hear her mother saying. Not since the war. Only in older men, Penny, for all one tries.

      Her mother always romanticised the past. Here were manners from the new world. One would have said simply ‘public school’, except that was virtually synonymous with first class anyway, and not everyone had offered to dance with her. Besides, that phrase in a man meant all sorts of English things, like mud and dogs and father and teas and tears, and the smell of certain rooms and days, special words rooting back into a coterie that was home. There could be nothing like that anywhere else. Russell certainly lacked any such connection. He was perhaps in his late thirties. His family owned a grain-exporting concern in Victoria, he had said; they lived in the suburbs of Melbourne.

      ‘Let’s go and sit down.’ Clodagh steered Penny towards the view. ‘Russell can bring your coffee over.’

      The accent was detectable, the intonation somewhat languid and cultured. Never having met any Australians, never having heard Australian speech – beyond a few newsreel fragments and one or two well-known radio voices – Penny still found herself perplexed by these faintly altered vowels. Penny almost ‘Pinny’, though not quite.

      Her mother, owning the little prep school, had always laid great stress on the maintenance of vowels. She was a righteous, bitter woman. Nevertheless, Penny found it hard to believe that her future life would be among these people. She realised that this subject of accent, though it should have been appropriately trivial, was quite out of the question for polite small talk. She wanted to ask Clodagh Coote how she could make those sounds; but it would have been as unthinkable as commenting upon her name.

      Yes, it seemed a very trivial matter – she knew it was – but it preoccupied her, and distanced her both from her own folk and from the Cootes. As if they belonged, Russell and Clodagh, in an unexpected and partly botanical oil painting.

      She placed her bag and other materials beside the lounger-chair, and hoisted herself in via the sloping footstool.

      ‘Well, we shan’t see any more of that, thank goodness.’ Clodagh waved dismissively at the sea as if it still contained the imprint of forty-foot waves. ‘Penny, I can’t tell you how bad I am at motion. I was completely wretched, wasn’t I, Russell?’

      ‘Oh, absolutely wretched, Penny.’ Russell placed her coffee on the small, fixed table in front of them and slid into a chair himself. ‘Clodagh wasn’t cut out to be a sailor, I’m afraid. She’ll be very glad to get it all over. She’s longing to find herself back at home and on dry land.’

      And churches, Penny thought. Until the young man had mentioned them, she had been unable to put her finger on what precisely it was she would miss. Home, England, was churches; quiet, grey guardians of the past, set like kindly and unalterable waymarks in a network of villages and towns. Why, you could virtually navigate in some parts of England by the spires and church towers. It was almost magical.

      A girl of about ten came into the lounge and stood beside Clodagh’s chair. She was neat and perhaps a touch overdressed for the warm morning, in a check woollen dress with a collar. Her hair was dark, unlike Clodagh’s, and secured in two careful plaits.

      ‘Mummy, I told Mitchell he had to take me with him, but he just went off with the others.’

      Clodagh put her glass down and turned to her daughter. ‘Which other children, dear?’

      ‘It’s those two boys from the deck beneath ours and another one. They’re all going to play ping-pong and they said they didn’t need me.’

      ‘I’m sure there’s something else you could do?’ She adjusted the girl’s collar.

      Russell said, ‘Go and tell him, Finlay, that he’s got to let you play and that’s all there is to it. Go along, now.’

      ‘But they don’t want me around. They say I don’t know how to hit the ball.’

      ‘Tell Mitchell he’s supposed to be looking after you. He knows that.’

      Finlay left uncertainly. Clodagh leaned back in her chair with a faint gesture of exhaustion. ‘It’s really wonderful for children, a voyage. There’s so much for them to do, and see. It’s very educational.’

      Penny, still mildly disoriented by the names she had just heard, replied, ‘Oh, yes,’ and thought of Peter and Christopher.

      An older man, another Australian – some sort of businessman, she believed – sat down beside Russell and drew his attention. She found herself watching, for a moment, the slight tip and fall of her coffee in the cup on the table.

      Clodagh said, ‘They are a constant anxiety. One just doesn’t realise how much, until they come along. I quite envy someone in your position. But then of course they do have their compensations, I suppose.’

      ‘In my position?’ Penny said. Then she realised. ‘But I do have children. Two boys.’

      ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Penny. I had no idea. You didn’t seem … Oh, that’s lovely. Are they already in Adelaide … with your husband, then?’

      ‘No. They’re in England. Peter’s the older one, he’s about Finlay’s age; and Christopher is six. They’re with my mother.’ Penny felt exposed, though she had no reason to be. ‘Hugh, my husband, wanted me to join him out there as soon as I could, after it was settled that the move was for good. At least for the foreseeable … The boys can come out later, when the school term’s finished, probably. When everything’s settled and there’s a home for them to go to. They’ll fly out. They’ll like that. I’m with the furniture, you see.’ She smiled. ‘That’s why I’m going by sea. Apart from the experience itself, of course. Hugh thought I’d enjoy it. It would relax me … And the firm were paying. So why not, we thought?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ said Clodagh. There was a pause. ‘Why not, indeed, Penny. So pleasant last night, wasn’t it? We were so pleased to have your company. Russell’s quite a good dancer, isn’t he; though I shouldn’t say so.’

      ‘Certainly. Yes, he is.’

      ‘I do like to dance.’ Clodagh sipped her drink and gazed out through the panoramic glass at the drench of Mediterranean light. ‘But I find it tires me.’

      Seasickness, homesickness – are they not just labels for what no two people experience in quite the same way, as the stomach rises to the heart? What to do about tears? Looking firmly ahead at the view through the window, she felt in her bag beside the chair for a handkerchief, then pretended to be dabbing her brow and cheeks. And then she swallowed nearly everything back down again behind her coffee cup. Why had she been so uncharacteristically weepy the last two days? It seemed more than the situation called for. And, of course, she was relieved, actually, to be getting away from her mother at last.

      ‘Excuse me one moment.’ She pretended she needed to check their position.

      In this saloon, in a special glass-topped desk, set in the exact centre of the windows’ curve, a new white chart was clipped each morning. Penny allowed her eye to roam over it. Yes, she would not cry now. Coloured pins recorded their progress. She СКАЧАТЬ