of them to rise and follow her out into the wet and dripping world.
They dragged on leaden feet up the lane towards the chateau, side by side, not touching but so acutely aware of each other that they might as well have been locked in each other's arms.
Then the planes came out of the dusk, low and swift, the thunder of their engines rising to a crescendo as they passed overhead: In the lead was the green Sopwith. From this angle they could not see Andrew's head, but they could see daylight through the rents in the fabric of his wings, through the lines of bullet holes which the Spandaus had torn.
The five aircraft that followed Andrew had all been shot up as well. There were tears and neatly punched holes in their wings and fuselages.
It's been a hard day, Michael murmured, with his head thrown back. J Another Sopwith trailed the others, its engine popping and missing, vapour trailing back in a stream behind it, one wing skewed out of line where the struts had been shot through. Centaine, watching them, shuddered, and crept closer to Michael.
Some of them died out there today, she whispered, and he did not have to reply.
Tomorrow you will be with them again. Not tomorrow. Then the next day, or the next Once more it was not necessary to reply.
I Michel, oh Michel! There was physical agony in her i voice. I must see you alone. We might never, we might never have another chance. From now on we must live each precious minute of our lives as though it is the last. The shock of her words was like a blow to his body.
He could not speak, and her own voice dropped.
The barn, she whispered.
When? He found his voice, and it croaked in his own ears.
Tonight, before midnight, I will come as soon as I am able to. it will be cold. She looked directly into his face social conventions had been burned away in the furnace of war. You must bring a blanket She whirled then and ran to catch up with Anna, leaving Michael staring after her in a daze of disbelief and uncertain ecstasy.
Michael washed at the pump outside the kitchen and changed back into his uniform. When he entered the kitchen again, the pigeon pie was rich and redolent of fresh truffles under its crumbly brown crust, and Centaine was filling and refilling her father's glass without a protest from him. She did the same for Anna, but with a lighter more cunning hand, so that Anna did not seem to notice, though her face became redder and her laughter more raucous.
Centaine placed Michael in charge of the His Master's Voice gramophone, her most prized possession, and made it his duty to keep it fully wound up and change each of the wax discs as they ended. From the huge brass trumpet of the machine blared the recording of Toscanini conducting the La Scala orchestra in Verdi's Afda, filling the kitchen with glorious sound. When Centaine brought his plate laden with pigeon pie to where he sat opposite the comte, she touched the nape of Michael's neck, those dark silky curls, and she purred in his ear as she leaned over him, I love Afda, don't you, Captain? When the comte questioned him closely on the production of his family estates, Michael found it difficult to concentrate on his replies.
We were growing a great deal of black wattle, but my father and uncle are convinced that after the war the motor car will completely supersede the horse, and therefore there will be a drastic reduction in the need for leather harness, and consequently the demand for wattle tanningWhat a great shame that the horse should have to give way to those noisy, stinking contraptions of the devil, the comte sighed, but they are right, of course. The petrol engine is the future. We are replanting with pines and Australian blue gums. Pit props for the gold mines and raw material for paper. I Quite right. Then, of course, we have the sugar plantations and the I cattle ranches. My uncle believes that soon there will be ships fitted with cold rooms that will carry our beef to the worldThe more the comte listened, the more pleased he became.
Drink up, my boy, he urged Michael, as an earnest of his approval. You have had hardly a drop. Is it not to your taste? Excellent, truly, however, le fbie, my liver. Michael clasped himself under the ribs and the comte made sounds of sympathy and concern. As a Frenchman he understood that most of the ills and woes of the world could be attributed to the malfunctions of that organ.
Not serious. But please don't let my little indisposition prevent you. Michael made a self-depracating gesture, and obediently the comte recharged his own glass.
Having served the men, the two women brought their own plates to the table to join them. Centaine sat beside her father, and spoke little. Her head turned between the two men as though in dutiful attention, until Michael felt a light pressure on his ankle and with a leap of his nerves realized that she had reached out with her foot beneath the table. He shifted guiltily under the comte's scrutiny, not daring to look across at Centaine. Instead, he made that nervous gesture of blowing on his fingertips as though he had burned them on the stove, and he blinked his eyes rapidly.
Centaine's foot withdrew as secretly as it had advanced, and Michael waited two or three minutes before reaching out his own. Then he found her foot and took it between both of his; from the corner of his eye he saw her start and a flush of dark blood spread up her throat to her cheeks and ears. He turned to stare at her, so enchanted that he could not pull his eyes away from her face, until the comte raised his voice.
How many? the comte repeated with mild asperity, and guiltily Michael jerked his foot back. I am sorry. I did not hearThe captain is not well, Centaine cut in quickly and a little breathlessly. His burns are not healed, and he has worked too hard today. We should not keep him unnecessarily, Anna agreed with alacrity, if he has finished his dinner. Yes. Yes. Centaine stood up. We must let him go home to rest. The comte looked truly distressed to be deprived of a drinking companion, until Centaine reassured him. Don't disturb yourself, Papa, you sit here and finish up your wine. Anna accompanied the couple out into the darkness of the kitchen yard and stood close by, eagle- eyed and arms akimbo, while they said their shy goodbyes. She had taken just enough of the claret to dull the razor-edge of her instincts, or she might have wondered why Centaine was so eager to see Michael on to his motor-cycle.
May I call upon you again, Mademoiselle de Thiry? If you wish, Captain.
Anna's heart, softened by wine, went out to them. It took an effort to harden her resolve.
Goodbye, Mijnheer, she said firmly. This child will catch a chill. Come inside now, Centaine.
The comte had found it imperative to wash down the claret with a fine de champagne or two. it cut the acidity of the wine, he explained seriously to Centaine. It was, therefore, necessary for the two women to help him to bed. He made this rather perilous ascent singing the march from Aida with more gusto than talent. When he reached his bed, he went down like a felled oak, flat upon his back. Centaine took each of his legs in turn, straddled it and pulled
