When Blackbirds Sing by Martin Boyd Page A

that her daughter was called Sherwood and lived at Wimbledon. He found her namein the telephone book and rang her up. The telephone was answered by Mrs Heseltine herself. She sounded surprised and not very pleased at hearing Dominic’s voice. She was hurt that after their close friendship he had waited months to get in touch with her. Anyhow she could not possibly see him now, as her daughter had had a baby only the day before. Before ringing off she relented a little and said: “Let me know when you’re next in London.” He did not tell her that he was going to France, and they did not meet again.
    Dominic sat in his hotel bedroom with the prospect of six days before him, perhaps his last six in the civilized world, spent in mooning about in his own company. At first he had accepted Colonel Rodgers’ injunction not to go to see Sylvia, thinking it would be wrong to intrude on her when she must be feeling as he felt in the first week after leaving Helena. Now he saw it as a flicker of the colonel’s old jealousy. He took up the telephone and asked the girl at the desk to get him Sylvia’s number.
    Far from being in an abyss of depression, she sounded cheerful and very pleased to hear his voice.
    “Where are you?” she asked.
    When he told her she asked if he was free for luncheon, adding: “I am.”
    She suggested that they should lunch at the Ritz, as it was convenient for both of them. She would ring up for a table. They arranged that she should leave her house at one o’clock, and that he should walk down Green Park to meet her.
    Dominic was a little disturbed that she had chosen the Ritz, again thinking of money that might go to Helena.As it turned out he need not have worried, as they could only eat as much as their food coupons allowed, and the Army authorities had fixed a modest limit to the amount officers might spend in restaurants.
    He met Sylvia just inside the gates of the Park near Buck-ingham Palace. It was cold, but bright and sunny. She was wearing a dark coat with a sable collar, and a black velvet hat, so that her fair skin and her golden hair shone out as in some Renaissance portrait. As at Dilton he was startled when he saw her. He had not imagined that she would look like this in the daytime. In the evening, in yellow silk and pearls, amid the golden lights of the drawing-room at Dilton, it was natural that she should appear exquisite. He did not expect her to have the same effect in Green Park. Her clothes were simple but the people who passed glanced at her.
    “This is fun,” she said, shaking hands. “When did you come up?”
    He told her that he had come on Sunday night, and that he was on embarkation leave.
    “Why didn’t you ring up before?”
    “I had to go to see old Cousin Emma and I dined with Colonel Rodgers.”
    “What, Uncle Marcus! How gay! Still, he always was my rival. And are you going to spend your leave with octogenarians?”
    “No jolly fear,” said Dominic. “Not if I can help it.” He felt as if he had suddenly woken up, as if weights were lifted from his shoulders, as if grey doors enclosing him were flung open to the sun. They laughed and walked back up the park.
    When they came into the Ritz restaurant they attracted notice, not only because of their good looks but because of the striking contrast between them: Dominic dark, arrogant and southern, Sylvia a pure gold product of the north. In a way this appearance was misleading, as Dominic’s arrogance was intermittent, not like Sylvia’s, an unchanging attitude; and her purity of intention was negligible, while his, confused and groping, remained constant. In spite of Sylvia’s alleged poverty—and her appearance was one that only a rich woman can achieve—she seemed to be an
habituée
of the place, and they were deferentially led to a table in the window.
    When they had ordered their food they looked at each other and smiled, partly with pleasure, but also with surprise to find themselves there. It was