Lieutenant-Colonel Garrick Courtney, VC.' D.S.O.'
Saul paused and his expression changed. 'No relation of yours, I
trust?'
'No,' lied Sean without hesitation.
'Thank God,' Saul continued. 'Anyway, this is why people pity us.
The embarrassment arises from the fact that nobody recognizes our
official existence. Even the drawing of rations must be preceded by a
comic opera dialogue between Tim and the Quartermaster. But because we
are called
'Guides' everybody expects us to get out there and start doing a bit of
guiding.
So in some weird fashion the failure of General Buller to advance even
one hundred yards in three months is laid at our door.' Saul filled
his glass. 'Anyway, we haven't ran out of brandy yet. ' 'You mean we
don't do anything?' Sean asked incredulously.
'We eat, we sleep and we drink.'
'Occasionally we go visiting, ' Tim added. 'Now is as good a time as
any. ' 'Who do we visit?'
'There is a most interesting woman in the area, not five miles distant.
She owns a travelling circus-forty wagons and forty girls.
They follow along behind the main army to comfort and encourage it.
Let's go and get some comfort and encouragement. if we start now we'll
get to the head of the line-first come, first served.'
'I'll leave you to it,' Saul stood up and drifted away.
'He's a good kid,' Tim observed as he watched him leave.
'Is it against his religion?'
'No. But he's married and takes it seriously. How about YOU?
'I'm not married.
'Let's go then.'
Much later they rode home together in the moonlight, both pleasantly
melancholy with love and liquor. The girl who had taken Sean to her
wagon was a friendly lass with a pair of fat maternal bosoms.
'I like you, mister,' she told him afterwards.
'I like YOU also,' he replied truffiftilly.
Although Sean experienced no more shame or guilt than after satisfying
any of his other bodily needs, yet he knew that half an hour with a
stranger in a wagon bed was a very poor substitute.
He began to hum the tune that Ruth had sung on the night of the
storm.
Lieutenant-Colonel Garrick Courtney removed his uniform jacket and hung
it carefully on the dumb-valet beside his desk.
The way a house proud wife straightens a picture, on her wall, he
touched the purple watered silk on which was suspended the heavy,
bronze cross, until it hung to his satisfaction. His lips moving, he
read the inscription again, For valour', and smiled.
The champagne he had drunk during lunch made his brain feel like a
great brilliant diamond set in his skull, sharp and hard and clear.
He sat down, swivelled the chair sideways to the desk, and stretched
his legs out in front of him.
