blood on the floor of the cockpit, already congealing into lumps like blackcurrant jam, and snakes of it slithering back and forth with each movement of the machine.
He let go of the stick for a moment, leaned forward against his shoulder straps and groped behind his back.
He found the other bullet wound, three inches to the side of his spine and just above the girdle of his pelvis. There was no exit wound. It was still in there and he was bleeding internally, he was certain of it. There was a swollen, stretched feeling in his belly as his stomach cavity filled with blood.
The machine dropped a wing, and he snatched for the joystick to level her, but it took him many seconds to make the simple adjustment. His fingers prickled with pins and needles, and he felt very cold. His reactions were slowing down, so that each movement, no matter how small, was becoming an effort.
However, there was no pain, just a numbness that spread down from the small of his back to his knees. He removed his thumb to test the wound in his thigh, and immediately there was a full spray of bright blood from it like a flamingo's feather, and hastily he stopped it again and concentrated on his flying instruments.
How long to reach Mort Homme? He tried to work it out, but his brain was slow and muzzy. Nine minutes from Cantin, he reckoned, how long had he been flying?
He did not know, and he rolled his wrist so that he could see his watch. He found he had to count the divisions on the dial like a child.
Don't want to come out of the cloud too soon, they'll be waiting for me, he thought heavily, and the dial of his wristwatch multiplied before his eyes.
Double vision, he realized.
Quickly he looked ahead, and the silver clouds billowed around him, and he had the sensation of falling. He almost lurched at the stick to counteract it, but his training restrained him and he checked the bubbles in his artificial horizon, they were still aligned. His senses were tricking him, Centaine, he said suddenly, what time is it? I'm going to be late for the wedding. He felt panic surface through the swamp of his weakness, and the wings of darkness beat more frantically behind his eyes.
I promised her. I swore an oath! He checked his watch.
Six minutes past four, that's impossible, he thought wildly. Bloody watch is wrong. He was losing track of reality.
The SE5a burst out of the cloud into one of the holes in the layer.
Michael flung up his hand to protect his eyes from the brilliance of the light, and then looked around him.
He was on the correct heading for the airfield, he recognized the road and railway line and the star-shaped field between them. Another six minutes flying, he calculated. The sight of the earth had orientated him again. He took a grip on the real world and looked upwards. He saw them there, circling like vultures above the lion kill, waiting for him to emerge from the cloud. They had spotted him, he saw them turn towards him on their rainbow-coloured wings, but he plunged into the cloud on the far side of the opening, and the cold wet billows enfolded him, bid him from their cruel eyes.
I've got to keep my promise, he mumbled. The loss of contact with the earth confused him. He felt the waves of vertigo wash over him again. He let the SESa sink slowly down through the layer of cloud, and once again came out into the light. There was all the familiar country side below him, the ridges and the battle lines far behind him, the woods and the village and the church spire ahead, so peaceful and idyllic.
Centaine, I'm coming home, he thought, and a terrible weariness fell over him, its great weight seemed to smother him and crush him down in the cockpit.
He rolled his head and he saw the chAteau. Its pink roof was a beacon, drawing him irresistibly, the nose of his aircraft turned towards it seemingly without his bidding.
Centaine, he whispered. I'm coming, wait for me, I'm coming. And the darkness drew in upon him, so that it seemed that he was receding into a long tunnel.
There was a roaring in his ears, like the sound of surf heard in a seashell, and he concentrated with all his remaining strength, staring down the ever-narrowing tunnel through the darkness, looking for her face, and listening over the sea sounds in his ears for her voice.
Centaine, where are you? Oh God, where are you, my love?
Centaine stood before the heavy mirror in its walnut and gilt frame, and she looked at her reflection with dark and serious eyes.
Tomorrow I will be Madame Michel Courtney, she said solemnly, never again Centaine de Thiry. Isn't that a formidable thought, Anna? She touched her own temples. Do you think I will feel different? Surely such a momentous event must alter me can never be the same person after thatV Wake up, child, Anna prodded her. There is still so much to do. This is no time for dreaming. She lifted the bulky skirt and dropped it over Centaine's head, then, standing behind her, she fastened the waistband.
IT, I wonder if Mama is watching, Anna. I wonder if she knows I am wearing her dress, and if she is happy for me? Anna grunted as she went down on her knees to check the hem. Centaine smoothed the delicate old lace over her hips and listened to the muffled sound of men's laughter from the grand salon on the floor below.
I am so happy that the general could come. isn't he a handsome man, Anna, just like Michel? Those eyes, did you notice them?
Again Anna grunted, but with more emphasis, for a moment her hands faltered as she thought about the general.
Now that is a real man, she had told herself, as she watched Sean Courtney step down from the Rolls and come up the front staircase of the chdteau.
He looks so grand in his uniform and medals, Centaine went on. When Michel is older, I will insist that he grows a beard like that. So much presence There was another burst of laughter from below. He and Papa like each other, don't you think, Anna? Listen to them!
I hope they leave some cognac for the other guests Anna gnunped, and hoisted herself to her feet, then paused with one hand on the small of her back as a thought struck her.
