The Shell House Read Online Free PDF Page A

would read it again, though he already knew its contents by heart. He closed his eyes, taking pleasure in the deep, yearning ache that was his constant companion; more painful than the shell-fragment that had embedded itself in his leg, because he didn’t think he could ever be cured. He didn’t want to be cured.
    Realizing that Reverend Tilley was addressing him, he called himself to attention. The vicar was still going on about the Fitches. ‘I’m sure young Geoffrey wishes he were in your position. Another eighteen months and he’ll be old enough to enlist.’
    ‘Then,’ Edmund said, ‘we must all hope that the war goes on long enough.’
    The vicar decided to take this as a joke. Edmund’s father heard only the sharpness, and gave him a reproachful look. Edmund looked straight back at him. It was his father’s fault, since he chose to arrange these ordeals. Tea with the vicar today, dinner with the Fitches tomorrow . . . it was unbearably tedious. And pointless, if they only knew.
    The Fitches were old family friends, with a large house in Ongar. Their daughter, Philippa Fitch—her name was like a tongue-twister, or the start of a comic verse—was destined to be Edmund’s wife, if his father had his way. This dinner party was carefully timed so that Philippa could see Edmund in his uniform, modestly playing his part of wounded hero about to return to the battlefield. The supposed romance between Philippa and Edmund was being carefully orchestrated by both sets of parents. A marriage would be a way of uniting the two families. After an appropriate interval, according to the plan, Philippa would obligingly produce a son, heir to the Graveney estate, and the future would be assured. Philippa was a pleasant young woman, well-mannered, accomplished and pretty by anyone’s standards, with a pale complexion and a mane of rich chestnut hair, artfully arranged by her maid. She had large dark eyes which constantly darted and flickered in Edmund’s direction; she listened attentively to everything he said, as if expecting nuggets of insight and wisdom to drop from his lips. She knew how to play her role.
    There was one very large obstruction to this marriage, something that would have shocked and horrified Edmund’s parents if they had been able to begin to understand it, the Reverend Tilley even more. Everything was the wrong way round.
Thou
shalt not kill
, the Commandments said, but that was all changed in wartime, when
Thou shalt kill
, like it or not, and with the approval of God’s deputies if not of God Himself. And if killing could be good or bad, so could loving, it seemed. Love thy neighbour, but not too much. Love thy neighbour with everyone’s blessing if her name is Philippa Fitch, but not if his name is Alex Culworth. That kind of love was reprehensible, damnable, contemptible. Edmund could imagine the vilification he would get from the vicar if he found out. But the idea of confiding in him was laughable. The vicar, a long-standing friend of Edmund’s father, was like a tedious uncle—a frequent visitor to the house, fond of good dinners, vintage wines and circular conversations.
    Edmund amused himself by imagining Alex here now. No respecter of convention, he would be sprawled on a chair with unconscious elegance, long legs stretched out. Alex and the vicar! Edmund found himself smiling at the thought. He could imagine how Alex would draw out the older man, questioning him with open-faced sincerity about the conduct of the war, innocently leading him into confusion, self-contradiction and bluster. Alex’s cleverness and barbed wit did not threaten Edmund now, as they once had. Alex had a way of looking at him, no matter who was present—a swift, reassuring glance that was as good as a declaration.
    ‘Excuse me.’ Edmund pushed back his chair. He had tolerated the conversation for long enough.
    Reverend Tilley also rose to his feet and proffered his hand. ‘Well, good luck, my boy. I don’t