War Damage Read Online Free Page B

I’m afraid,’ said Cynthia, ‘but I’ll ring you soon, Reggie.’ Ernie Appleton shook hands again. He smiled in a way that made you think he had to smile too often when he didn’t feel like it. Freddie walked them to the gate, where they stayed chatting for a moment, and then went back into the house.
    Hilary watched Freddie. ‘Don’t know why you give him house room.’
    Regine was used to Hilary’s extraordinary rudeness. That hadn’t changed. He never stinted what he called his honest, forthright and unvarnished views.
    â€˜You know perfectly well Freddie is my oldest friend. I’ve known him since Shanghai. Please don’t talk like that about him. He’s the kindest person in the world.’
    Hilary probably didn’t realise how rude he was. Unusually he even apologised. ‘Sorry, old girl, didn’t mean to offend, but there’s no getting away from the fact that moral degeneracy is on the rise. During the war things got completely out of hand – I mean, look at the illegitimacy rates –’
    Regine laughed. ‘You can hardly blame the Freddies of this world for that!’
    â€˜It’s no laughing matter, Regine.’
    â€˜No.’ A different topic was needed. Fortunately Muriel embarked on a new grumble.
    â€˜The state of the Heath! That army camp opposite us in East Heath Road – it’s an absolute disgrace; the Nissen huts, great slabs of concrete, barbed wire, old tins, broken glass – weeds all over it now, of course, but you can still see it all poking through—’
    â€˜And all those new asphalt paths all over the Heath and so much of it still fenced off,’ added Hilary. ‘Still, at least they didn’t put prefabs up all over Parliament Hill Fields. We must be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.’
    â€˜They wanted to build permanent housing,’ snapped Muriel. ‘They’ve still got their eye on it probably.’
    The war was over, yet its effects lingered on, like a hangover, or, no, a debilitating infection, a sort of malaria of the mind that, once contracted, continued to lurk within the system, never finally cured. But grumbling didn’t help and Regine was all for getting completely away from the war. The best medicine, she was sure, was simply to enjoy life as much as one possibly could.
    Noel Valentine came out onto the lawn, and she drew him into their conversation. He at least wasn’t full of dismal political views. Unlike Hilary, whose sweeping statements brooked no denial, Noel always saw the detail. Detail is everything, he said. That’s what’s wrong with Arthur Carnforth’s painting, he’d once said to Regine. He’s not good enough on the detail, fuzzy impressionism just won’t do.
    Once he and the Jordans were safely talking about the Van Gogh exhibition, Regine returned indoors. She was looking for Charles. I think I’ve fallen for him, she thought. ‘Mad about the boy’ – that song Freddie used to sing. But after all, she’d been so good for so long … a fifteen-year-old, well, nearly sixteen; it reminded her of the Colette novel she’d read on the boat home. Chéri . Darling.

three

    T HE PARTY HAD MOVED into a different phase, her guests gelled in conversational groups. She was free to go in search of the boy. She returned to the library, but Charles was no longer there and she was ambushed by Ian Roxburgh. She hadn’t seen him arrive – it certainly hadn’t been while she was in the garden – but there he was now, with his ginger hair and neat moustache and the pale, pale blue eyes she found slightly disturbing. He was leaning against the desk next to Neville, who looked a bit squiffy in his armchair.
    â€˜I was telling your husband about my contacts in Hong Kong. There’s a lot of good stuff coming out of China now. With the civil war it’s all chaotic. The communists