Coming Home (54 page)

Loveday, at seventeen, was also leaving St Ursula's forever. She had never been made a prefect, and academically had got no farther than sitting her School Certificate examination, but had made it perfectly clear to her long-suffering parents that, without Judith, St Ursula's would be unbearable.

‘But, darling, what are we going to do with you?’ Diana asked in some perplexity.

‘I'll stay at home.’

‘You can't simply
moulder
here. You'll turn into a cabbage.’

‘I could go to Switzerland, like Athena.’

‘But you always said we were
never
to send you away again.’

‘Switzerland's different.’

‘I suppose you could go. Not that it did Athena much good. All she learned to do was ski, and fall in love with her instructor.’

‘That's why I want to go.’

And Diana had dissolved into laughter and hugged her youngest child, and said that she would see.

Two o'clock. A small disturbance at the back of the hall, and the entire company rose, thankfully, to its feet. At last the occasion was under way. It was a bit, thought Judith, like a wedding, with all the flowers, and everybody in their best, mothers fanning themselves with hymn sheets, and the bride about to swan into view on the arm of her father. So strong was this illusion that, as the Bishop led the small procession down the aisle, she half expected an organ to start belting out some toccata or other.

But there was, of course, no bride. Instead, the platform party took their places on the stage. The Bishop stepped forward and delivered his short prayer. Everybody sat. The ceremony proceeded.

Speeches. (The Chairman of the Governors droned on forever, but Miss Catto was brisk, brief, and even quite funny, raising a welcome and spontaneous laugh or two.)

Prize-giving. Judith thought she might get the Senior English Prize, which she did, and then went up again for the Senior History Prize; a bonus, because that had not been remotely expected. Finally, the last prize of all. The coveted Carnhayl Cup.

Judith by now was stifling a yawn. She knew perfectly well who was going to get the Carnhayl Cup. Freda Roberts, who spent her days running around being obsequious, and sucking up to all the mistresses.

The Carnhayl Cup, Miss Catto was explaining in her clear voice, was presented annually to the girl who, by the popular vote of her entire staff of teachers, had contributed most to the school. Not simply academic work, but those three essential
C
s: Capability, Character, and Charm. And the winner this year was…Judith Dunbar.

She felt her mouth drop open in an unbelieving and unbecoming gape. Somebody gave her a dig in the ribs and said, ‘Go on, you idiot,’ and she scrambled to her feet for the third time and went, feeling quite weak at the knees, to collect her prestigious trophy. So wobbly were her legs that she tripped going up the steps, and just about fell flat on her face.

‘Well done,’ said Lady Beazeley with a beaming smile, and Judith took the cup and bobbed a curtsey and returned to her place to a storm of applause and with cheeks, she knew, red as beetroots.

Then, finally, the School Hymn. The music mistress, already in her place, crashed out a chord on her piano, everybody rose to their feet, and eight hundred voices just about raised the roof.

He who would valiant be

'Gainst all disaster

Let him in constancy

Follow the Master.

The power of music had always affected Judith deeply, shifting her moods in an instant between the ephemeral emotions of sorrow and joy. Now, she had come to the end of an era, and knew that never again would she hear the familiar words of Bunyan's great poem without remembering every detail of the moment. The hot summer afternoon, the scent of flowers, the great surge of voices. It was hard to decide whether she felt happy or sad.

Since Lord thou dost defend

Us with thy Spirit

We know we at the end

Shall life inherit.

Happy. She was happy. With the resilience of youth, her spirits soared. And, singing, another cheerful thought occurred to her. With the Carnhayl Cup under her belt she was in a strong position to get possession of her new car before she and Loveday set off for their visit to Porthkerris. They would drive together. Two friends, done with school. Grown-ups.

Then fancies flee away

I'll fear not what men say

I'll labour night and day

To be a pilgrim.

Speech Day was over, everybody departed, the school, the dormitory, deserted. Only Judith remained behind, sitting on her bed, sorting out the contents of her handbag, and putting off time until six o'clock when she had an appointment in the headmistress's study to say goodbye to Miss Catto. Her luggage and her battered trunk were already on their way to the Carey-Lewises in the boot of the Colonel's Daimler. Later, when Miss Catto had finished with her, Mr Baines had volunteered to come and drive her back to Nancherrow. The time spent with him as they made this journey would be a splendid opportunity to press the case for getting her new car.

Finished with her handbag, she crossed the dormitory and went to lean out of the opened window. Saw the empty lawns sloping to the tennis courts and the shrubbery. All traces of the garden party had been cleared away, and shadows were beginning to lengthen across the trodden grass. She thought of the afternoon when she had seen it all for the first time; the day that she had come with her mother for a little private prowl. In retrospect, the four years which lay between had flown more quickly than Judith could ever have imagined, and yet, in some ways, the long-ago afternoon seemed a lifetime away.

Five to six. Time to go. She turned back to the empty dormitory, retrieved her handbag, and went downstairs. The great stairway stood empty, and everything seemed strangely silent. No chatter of voices, no clangour of bells, no distant tinkle of scales from the music room, as some girl laboured through her practice hour. She knocked on the study door, and Miss Catto called ‘Come in’ and Judith found her headmistress, not sitting behind her desk, but at ease in an armchair, turned to the long window and with her feet up on a stool. She had been reading
The Times,
but as Judith appeared, folded it and dropped it onto the floor beside her.

‘Judith. Come along. I'm not going to spring to my feet, because I'm exhausted.’

She had removed her gown and hood and tossed them across her desk, and her appearance was quite different without these, badges of office. Now it was possible to admire the silk afternoon dress, and to observe her legs, shapely in fine silk stockings. Her navy-blue court shoes had little heels and silver buckles, and, comfortably relaxed after her demanding day, she looked both feminine and attractive, and it occurred to Judith that it was really a shame that Mr Baines already had a wife and family of his own.

‘I don't wonder you're exhausted. You've never stopped all day.’

Another armchair had been set in position, and between stood the low table, on which had been placed a silver salver with a bottle of sherry and three small glasses. Judith saw this and frowned. Never had there been so much as a whiff of wine in this room. Miss Catto saw her puzzlement and smiled. ‘The three glasses are for you and me and Mr Baines when he turns up. But we won't wait for him. Pour us each a glass, dear, and then sit down.’

‘I've never drunk sherry.’

‘Well, this is a very suitable day for you to start. And I think it will do us both good.’

So she poured the two glasses, and then settled herself in the cushions of the second chair. Miss Catto raised her glass. ‘To you and your future, Judith.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And before I forget, congratulations on winning the Carnhayl Cup. And remember, it was an almost unanimous vote, and absolutely nothing to do with me.’

‘It was all a bit surprising…I thought Freda Roberts would get it. And I nearly fell over going up those wretched steps…’

‘Well, you didn't, and that's all that matters. Now, what's the programme for the holidays…?’

The sherry was good. It warmed, and made Judith feel comfortable and at ease. She curled up her legs, as she would never before have dared to do, and told Miss Catto her plans.

‘I'm going back to Nancherrow to begin with, and then Mrs Warren has asked me to Porthkerris for a couple of weeks.’

‘With your friend Heather.’ Miss Catto never forgot any person's name. ‘You'll enjoy that.’

‘Yes, and they've asked Loveday too, but Loveday can't make up her mind whether to come or not.’

Miss Catto laughed. ‘Typical. Perhaps she feels a bit shy?’

‘No, it's not that. It's her new pony. She's been to Porthkerris with me before. We went once, just for a day, and then another time a whole weekend.’

‘And did Loveday enjoy herself?’

‘Enormously. I was rather surprised.’

‘Three friends is sometimes not a very good number.’

‘I know, but Loveday and Heather got on like a house on fire, and Mr and Mrs Warren think Loveday's a real character. And Heather's brothers teased and ragged her, but she loved it all and gave as good as she got.’

‘Splendid for her to get away from the rather rarefied atmosphere of home. To see how other people live and fit in with their ways.’

‘I'm
hoping
she'll come, and that I'll be able to drive her there, in my own car. Did Mr Baines tell you about that?’

‘He did drop a hint.’

‘It was his idea. He said I needed to be independent, and perhaps, if I passed my Matric…’ Judith hesitated, not wishing to sound smug or boastful, ‘But now, I've won the Carnhayl Cup…?’

Miss Catto, understanding, laughed. ‘I should think so! Make your point with him while he hasn't got a leg to stand on. Independence! What joy. Now, tell me more. What else is on the cards?’

‘I'll probably go and be with Aunt Biddy for a bit. Uncle Bob's at sea, and Ned's joined the
Royal Oak,
so she's always happy to have a bit of company. We thought we'd go to London for a day or two, and she'd help me buy some new clothes for Singapore. I can't arrive looking too dowdy.’

‘Most certainly not. Just promise me one thing. Don't fall in love while you're in Singapore and get married and throw Oxford out of the window. You've got all your life to fall in love and get married, but you'll never have the opportunity of going to University again.’

‘Miss Catto, I have no intention of getting married for
ages.
Certainly not before I'm twenty-five.’

‘Good for you. And watch out for shipboard romances. I've never had one, but I hear they're lethal.’

‘I won't forget.’

Miss Catto smiled. ‘I shall miss you,’ she told Judith. ‘But it's your life, and time for you to move on, make your own decisions, set your own rules instead of having them set for you by some other person. Just remember that the most important thing is to be truthful to yourself. If you hang on to that, you won't go far wrong.’

‘You've always been so kind…’