The First of July(19)

“If England goes to war, I shall join a smart regiment immediately. In my uniform, Agnes will find me irresistible. Her father could hardly deny me her hand if I was going off to do my patriotic duty.”

He looked to Benedict for agreement; and when Benedict was slow replying, he added: “He couldn’t, could he?”

“You wouldn’t finish your pupillage?”

“Heavens, no. There’s a whole lifetime for fugues, but war is a young man’s game.”

“I thought if it came to it, you’d join the Navy,” Benedict said.

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Well, you always seem to be in with the captains and ships down at the docks.”

“I like their stories, their travels: storms, opium, fights, women—I love it all, Ben. They sail from here out into the world: Shanghai, Alexandria, Odessa: all these illiterate men who know the world far better than I ever can. But I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck on a ship. The smell. The same stories repeated, literally ad nauseam. If they were aeroplanes, now, that would be a thing. A machine, your own small kingdom and the sky, huger than the sea.”

“So what will you do? Seriously?”

“I think, if war comes—not much of an if, in my opinion—and we’re called up, we’ll try for the Gloucesters. At least we’ll mostly be able to understand what they’re saying. I had a cousin took a commission in the Durham Light Infantry. Chaps might as well have been speaking Swahili, he said.”

Benedict hardly heard Theo’s cheerful running on, because the word “we” was as far as he got. “We.”

“It would be very Homeric,” Theo went on. “Brothers in arms. You wouldn’t want to stay in Gloucester when only the old men were left. A big strong chap like you.” He punched Benedict affably on the upper arm. “And I couldn’t have you stealing Agnes from under my nose. Anyway, it wouldn’t be for long. We’d take the King’s shilling. We could always join a military band if the Gloucesters don’t want us. Or the artillery, as we can do math.” He beamed. “What a shock it would be for Father.”

Was a war inevitable? Benedict had never thought so back in Gloucester, which carried on more or less as it had since Roman times; but in London, where the decisions were made, he sensed a tension and an anticipation that he did not recognize.

He slept poorly that night.

On the following afternoon they were expected at the Royal College of Organists, but for now they could explore London on as fine a summer’s day as any visitor could hope for. Benedict thought he might go to Hertford House. It was open to the public, and he had read that it had fine instruments on display. Theo was already at breakfast, looking happy and rested. He was sitting with his back to the window, his hair metallic in the light and the tiny hairs on his hands red-gold as he spread butter on his toast.

Theo said, his mouth half full, “Look. We need to go shopping. I need to get something for Agnes that she couldn’t possibly get in Gloucester and that will impress upon her what a sophisticated suitor I am.”

Benedict’s own plans faded away. Theo’s ideas, once broached, always seemed so much more insistent than his own. “London’s a big place.”

“Well, I thought Mayfair or Knightsbridge, but the best stores are all in Regent Street, Novello says.” He looked up as if momentarily nervous that Benedict would say no. “We could take a tram or a bus to Piccadilly Circus. Novello told me how to get there. And then we could look around and then walk past the shops. It’s a nice day,” he added, as if Benedict might not have noticed. “And we’ll easily be back for this afternoon’s little musical outing.” He made a face.

Benedict wondered if he could find something to buy for Lettie. It would have to be a small something, but then so, presumably, would whatever Theo bought for Agnes.

The interior of the bus smelled of sweat, hair oil, and tobacco. A fat man, who got on the bus just before them, took up the whole of the last double seat, staring outward defiantly. They hung on the rail, swaying as the bus made its way between horses, carts, and motorcars. There was a young man in a boater standing next to Benedict. In the crush, his outer thigh was pressed against Benedict’s. When a woman and child pushed past to get off the bus, he turned slightly and caught Benedict’s eye. Though Benedict turned away and looked over his shoulder at the other passengers, the stranger’s eyes never left him; he could feel it. They were still on him when he looked back. And now, unmistakably, the stranger’s groin was against Benedict’s hip, and Benedict was sure he was aroused; the man moved a little and rhythmically. He swallowed and knew he was blushing, looked across at Theo, wishing he could catch his eye. The young man must have seen his confusion, yet he made no attempt to move away, and every movement of the bus made Benedict more aware of this other figure, this unknown man, so intimately close.