More often he spoke of that boys’ world full of thrillingly shocking things that Edward had once described: of sadistic schoolmasters and swaggering bullies, of freezing dormitories and trouncing other schools at rugby, of despised homesickness and the boredom of lessons.
Sometimes they talked about the future, as if war would never happen.
‘I’d like to be a doctor. A surgeon, of course. I fancy cutting people up and moving their insides about to see how they work.’ Rafe was reclined against a sand dune, his arm shielding his eyes from the sun.
‘It sounds dreadfully bloodthirsty. Aren’t you supposed to cure people?’ Beatrice, sitting beside him, watched the sand ants bear away crumbs from their picnic.
‘I expect I’d have to. Aunt Arlene says Mother writes of me joining Father’s old regiment after Oxford, but I’m dashed if I’ll go and leech my life away in the Colonies somewhere. No, I want to stay here.’
‘In Cornwall?’
‘Well, England. I hate India.’
‘You mean, you don’t like your stepfather.’ Beatrice started tickling his neck with a piece of grass.
‘Stop it.’ He pushed it away, opened his eyes and sat up.
‘Stop what, talking about your stepfather?’
‘You know what I mean.’ He looked furious now. He always did when his mother’s latest husband was mentioned. Beatrice thought the man sounded perfectly ordinary. It was the idea of him replacing his father that he couldn’t take.
She remembered the way her parents had looked at each other when Rafe’s father had been mentioned. ‘Rafe,’ she said, ‘what happened to your father? I mean, how did he die?’
He looked away into the distance, then down at his hands. Finally, he spoke. ‘I don’t really remember, but Gerald says that I found him. He once told me the whole thing was my fault, you know.’ She saw in his eyes the evidence of some awful horror and it frightened her.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she whispered.
‘I was only six. I must have blotted it out. We’d come back from Paris for the summer. Gerald tells me I found him hanging in the barn.’
‘Hanging?’ Still she didn’t understand. No one had talked to her about anything like this before.
‘He killed himself, Bea. The man who got a medal for bravery went and did a cowardly thing like that.’ Rafe’s voice squeaked in rage now. ‘Gerald says I should have found him earlier.’
‘That’s stupid.’ Beatrice stood up. She could think of nothing else to say. All this was beyond the comprehension of her sheltered life.
Rafe saw she was distressed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a swim.’
She remembered later that Rafe hadn’t asked her what she would do with her life. Nobody had ever asked her, in fact, but change was in the air.
The future must be decided. Next August, 1938, Angie would be sixteen, Beatrice, the month after. There was only this one more year of sharing Miss Simpkins. Her parents hinted at various possible ideas. Miss Simpkins had suggested Beatrice be sent away to a proper school for three years, an enlightened one that prepared young ladies for university.
‘And what would Beatrice do after university? Become a governess?’ her father sneered, when her mother mentioned this.
‘Mrs Wincanton has talked of her coming out with Angelina. They’re sending Angelina to school in Paris in September, to finish her.’
And quite how would we afford all that razzmatazz?’
‘She would stay with them in London. I suppose there would be the matter of dresses and expenses, but it would be a great opportunity for her, Hugh. We could send her to Normandy for a few months first, to stay with my family. She must do something. What will there be for her here in Saint Florian?’
‘We can’t send her abroad. The Wincantons can do what they like, but I say the political situation is too uncertain.’
‘Perhaps you are right, but I don’t know what we shall do with her then.’
‘Isn’t anybody going to ask me what I want?’ Beatrice said crossly. Her mother raised her delicate eyebrows.
And what would you like, Beatrice?’ her father said in a voice heavy with irony.
She thought about it. What she would really like was for everything to stay the same. For this summer to go on. For Rafe not to go back to school. That couldn’t happen, of course, but she was unable to imagine anything else.
‘Go to London maybe?’ she said finally. ‘With Angelina.’
The more she thought about it, the more the idea grew. She began to daydream about life there, the streets of great white houses she’d seen in films. Trams and buses, the Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace, and the dressing up and the parties, though she wasn’t certain she’d enjoy the parties. Angelina’s father lived in Kensington, she’d been told this. She supposed they’d all stay with him and that sounded very glamorous.