Later, he told her what he was going to do.
Looking back, he thought it had been an overly dramatic gesture, but he no longer wanted to exclude her from any part of his life, in mind or body. Even as the British Embassy was making its ponderous inquiries, his father’s friend, a former colonel of the 2nd Wiltshires, had written back with enthusiasm, having misread Harry’s inquiries as a direct request, and offering suggestions for his return. His fare would be paid: “Second class, I’m afraid.”
Clearly, the colonel said, Harry would wish to see his family and the estate; but if he could let him know of his arrival, they could then arrange for him to be met at regimental headquarters. There would be the matter of a medical and a few other minor administrative chores, but he looked forward to welcoming Harry to the regiment. He would explain then about training, likely deployment, and so on. Plenty of time for that. He ended by saying “I know your father would be tremendously proud of your decision.”
Over the next few weeks, green spikes of new growth emerged from the mud and grass of the park and a foam of almond and cherry blossom filled the front gardens of Fifth Avenue mansions. He thought that, despite everything, or perhaps because of it, he had never been happier. To his astonishment, Marina had supported his decision and, she explained, clinging to him, her tears were of pride as much as in anticipation of a long period apart. It was her father who was astounded and seemed to be unsuccessfully concealing his puzzlement. To him, this rash and unnecessary response to a nonexistent call to arms was evidently the act of a negligent husband.
Harry’s first impulse was to not tell any of his friends, but of course this was unrealistic. The news didn’t just slip out, it ricocheted like a bullet around their social circle. Some people clearly thought he was mad; some verged on almost perfectly concealed contempt.
“Well, of course, you’re an Englishman with an island to protect,” said one.
Some were amused; some ardent tennis and golf players seemed to think soldiering was a kind of demanding, if not very exclusive, sporting event. But others shook his hand.
To his regret, two of their heartier friends insisted on throwing a farewell party and, although it was a jollier affair than he or Marina had imagined, he was relieved when at last he could slip away, wanting to spend his last hours in New York with his wife. The next day, after very little sleep, he woke with a pounding head. He stood in front of the mirror in his silk dressing gown, tipping a headache powder into water. He drank it with a shudder and then, in the mirror’s reflection, saw Marina still curled up on her side, asleep in a tangle of sheets and blankets. If only she were pregnant, he thought. How he hoped she might be. The strength and suddenness of his longing surprised him.
Hours later, he stood on deck, his face already sticky with salt from the Hudson breeze, the ship leaving on an ebb tide. The last cargo appeared to have been stowed; the nets, which had been busy swinging crates into the hold when he had arrived with Marina and her father, now hung limply from the cranes; and his arm ached from waving, his face from smiling.
The crowd was less jolly, yet no less frantic than when he had embarked on his honeymoon so short a time ago. It was not surprising: this was a British liner and, as there were threats regarding German attacks on shipping, few travelers now went to Europe simply for fun. A yellow streamer rose up from the crowd and landed gently on his shoulder, breaking his concentration for a second so that he could no longer find Marina’s face in the mass below.
Even when the huge hawsers were freed and the great ship began to move away from the dock, she had not reappeared. The vessel vibrated under Harry’s feet, the noise of its massive turbines drowning out the shouts from the crowd. Harry felt a rush of panic as his eyes scanned the throng in increasing desperation, trying to find his wife, but the waving arms blurred his vision. Eventually he fixed on the Manhattan skyline. The expanse of dark water opened wider and wider, the churning river smelled and moved more like the sea it was becoming, yet the dense buildings of the city seemed to stay immobile, with no sense of the distance growing between ship and shore for a very long time.
In the week’s journey across the Atlantic, he had had little time to absorb the vast change in his circumstances, to take in how much he missed his wife, nor even to write a letter to her without interruption. His early notion—that there might be some justice if the ship was torpedoed and he went down with it—was soon deadened by the tedium of daily lifeboat practice.
He had decided not to stay overnight at Abbotsgate, but merely to join his stepmother for luncheon. Teddy was home on a temporary leave from school. Harry had bought him an antique, but reasonably sharp, trapper’s knife. He had found it in New York’s Italian quarter and suspected that if it had ever been used for hunting, it was more likely to have been in the Appalachians than the Apennines. Teddy was delighted and brandished it between his teeth like a pirate.