Beyond the Storm. Diana Finley

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      * * *

      Sam was completely bewitched by India: the overwhelming heat, the noise, the colours, smells and tastes of it. He wrote to Charlotte of all he experienced. In particular, he told her of his trips to Kashmir: trekking on horseback through hills smelling of pine and rosemary, sleeping under canvas on a camp-bed made up by his batman Morris, and eating delicious fragrant food cooked over an open fire by Rahman Singh. He knew she would like to hear of his equestrian adventures, the sturdy little horses sure-footed on stony screes and steep mountain tracks.

      Despite the detailed and vivid descriptions of his experiences, Sam thought little of Charlotte during the long voyage, and for the first weeks in Calcutta. At times he worried about not missing her, but he put it down to the distraction of adjusting to such an alien environment. His head was filled with one new impression after another – there was little room for anything else.

      Gradually, he settled in to his rooms and took stock of his life. He became aware of an absence. It was not as if he were lonely; far from it, he was constantly in company. His fellow officers were a mixed bunch, as always, but he found comradeship with Ellis, St John, Cameron and Hailsham. His men liked and respected him. He enjoyed the knowledge that he had created a good rapport with them. His contact with the local people was equally positive. He was learning Urdu in order to communicate better with them. There were regular dinners and dances at the officers’ mess, where he dallied with one or two young women: an English governess employed by a local Maharaja to tutor his children, and the older daughter of the District Commissioner. His senior officer, Major Wellbeck, warned him off.

      ‘Take care, Lawrence. These girls are after husbands, remember. If that’s what you want, fine. But make the proper approaches.’

      Sam felt colour rising up his neck.

      ‘If it’s just a bit of hanky-panky you’re after, there are always the native women. The adjutant can tell you which is a safe house, so to speak.’

      Sam wrote beautiful letters, descriptive, expressive, poetic. As time went on, the tone of Charlotte’s replies became a little softer. The emotional content of Sam’s letters rose in intensity. He was deeply moved by them himself. They were so convincing. How much easier it was to put feelings into writing than to express them face to face.

      After a year, he asked Charlotte if she would consider becoming his wife and joining him in India. She wrote back to affirm that she might consider such a proposal, and detailing her precise needs regarding sufficient stabling at their married quarters. She explained that as she had no father to ask the ‘correct questions’, she had to ask them herself. Namely, what exactly were Sam’s prospects in terms of his likely career path and future earnings? He replied that he expected to be promoted to captain the following year, when he would be twenty-five. He was too modest to mention that his commanding officer had explained that such early promotion reflected Sam’s exceptional potential. Charlotte suggested they wait until the following year to get married. Until that time they considered themselves engaged.

      The following year, 1927, Sam returned home on three months’ leave. His parents were delighted to see him, and pleased about the forthcoming marriage. For some weeks Sam and Charlotte embarked on a spending spree, which alarmed Doctor Lawrence and Winifred inordinately, but they came to accept that the young couple needed to equip an entire household. The army provided some essential basics, but further items of furniture, bedding, kitchen goods and clothing were assembled, ready to be boxed and shipped to India. Winifred’s greatest sadness was that Charlotte rejected her offered gift of her mother’s old wedding ring. Charlotte wanted to choose a new one for herself.

      ‘But what about the expense, my dear?’ asked Winifred.

      ‘Hang the expense,’ Charlotte replied.

      Sam and Charlotte were married at Stonethwaite Parish Church. Humphrey was Sam’s best man. As they stood shuffling from foot to foot at the altar, awaiting the bride’s arrival, Sam was overcome with misgiving. He saw his father in the front row, sombre as always, staring straight ahead. Next to him his mother, red-eyed and clutching a handkerchief, tried to smile at Sam.

      ‘Oh God, what have I done?’ breathed Sam.

      ‘Courage, mon brave,’ whispered Humphrey.

      After the celebration, Sam and Charlotte retired to his old room for their first night together as a married couple. A second single bed had been carried into the room and pushed up against Sam’s narrow schoolboy bed. It did not surprise Sam that Charlotte recoiled when he reached for her that night.

      ‘Not here,’ she hissed, ‘with your parents next door!’

      He could understand her reluctance. It had been excruciatingly embarrassing saying goodnight to them and going upstairs together. But as he gazed at Charlotte’s forbidding back, he wondered if they couldn’t at least have hugged each other.

      Early the next day they took the train to Southampton, where their ship was waiting. That night, in the privacy of their cabin, Charlotte was extremely tired from the journey. The second night she appeared so nervous and anxious that Sam tried to reassure her. He kissed her neck and chastely ran his fingers down her rigid shoulders and arms. Charlotte was an innocent girl, he told himself, shy and unschooled in the ways of the world. She had not had the supportive presence of a mother during her earlier years. What did he expect? He needed to give her time, to be patient.

      He was patient for all the weeks of the voyage, and then tried hard to sustain patience when they moved into their bungalow. Charlotte was unhappy with the sleeping arrangements. She would have liked separate bedrooms. Sam’s patience was running out. One evening he abandoned all his good intentions and shouted about his rights as a husband. He asked why she had married him: was it just for a ticket to a social position and a good life in India?

      ‘If you absolutely insist, I suppose I have to agree, occasionally. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.’

      Sam’s desire faded in direct proportion to the growth of his anger and frustration. It seemed clear that Charlotte’s only true love was for horses. If he could have offered her impregnation with good Arabian stock, she might have considered the proposition. Children – his children – were out of the question.

      It took six years of misery before his commanding officer would agree to a divorce.

      ‘The army doesn’t approve of divorce, Lawrence, especially not a rushed job. You don’t want to destroy your career prospects completely.’

      They lived at opposite ends of the house. On the surface, they kept up a semblance of normality. When attending balls at the officers’ mess together, Charlotte sometimes said, ‘I suppose you’d better give me your arm.’

      In 1933, Charlotte returned to England. Two years later they were granted a decree nisi. Sam never contacted her, or heard from her again.

      At thirty-three, Sam resigned himself to a solitary life, successful in his chosen career, but lacking personal attachments: a life devoid of warmth and affection. He created a beautiful garden around the bungalow. The servants were instructed to water the plants every evening, whether or not he was there. Alongside the hibiscus, orchids, oleander and bougainvillaea were roses and delphiniums, ceanothus and hydrangea. The garden was his greatest pleasure. He wished he could share it with his mother.

      Sam remained in India for two more years, after which he was posted to Egypt, by then a major. It was a time of increasing СКАЧАТЬ