The '44 Vintage

en-ham?'

'No, mademoiselle,' Butler croaked. 'But . . . you speak English so well no one would . . . know that you hadn't been educated there.'

'Oh, that is because Maman has this rule—nothing but English at meals.' She drew back to survey her handiwork, and he lifted his eyes just in time to meet hers. She smiled at him. 'In fact, the only times I have spoken French at meals was when David lived with us. Then it was only French—poor David, I was sorry for him . . . well, a little sorry. He was very clever. His accent was not good, but he learnt everything so quickly.'

She sounded almost as though she hadn't much liked Audley, Butler thought. But then at twelve and thirteen boys and girls generally didn't much like each other, even when they spoke the same language, so far as he could remember.

All the same he felt himself envying Audley desperately all the advantages he had had. He, Butler, had a lot of ground to make up, and very little time.

Perhaps no time at all.

Here and now especially no time at all.

'You have known David long?'

'David?' Butler stared at her stupidly, then looked quickly round the kitchen. The mother had gone—

from the moment he had sat down he had forgotten about her. But she had gone, anyway.

'You have known him long?' she repeated the question.

'No.' He swallowed. 'You are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,' he heard himself say.

'Oh . . .' She looked at him in surprise, only half-smiling. 'My father once said . . . that is what the soldiers will say . . . but you are the first, the very first.'

'You are the very first girl I've said it to.' It was like hearing someone else speaking, but somehow that made it easier.

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

'Perhaps you have not seen many girls. You have been too busy fighting, perhaps,' she said lightly. 'But you will see other girls. Then you will say it to them also.'

'I'll never see any other girls, I shall only see you.'

She looked at him seriously, no longer even half-smiling. ' Vous ne perdez pas de temps.'

Butler struggled with the French words, although their meaning was plain enough. He had been thinking the very same thing only half a minute before, after all.

'I have not lost any time, mademoiselle. I don't have any time to lose. In an hour or so from now, we shall have gone—David . . . and I. We have a job to finish. Then we will return to our regiments —

somehow.'

'But—'

Butler raised his hand. 'No. I don't want you to say anything, or promise anything. I will make the promise.'

'But Corporal Jack—'

Corporal Jack . . .

Well, that was just part of the promise, he decided. Half his brain had been telling him that he was crazy

—that she was beautiful and he was lightheaded with hunger and tiredness, and that anything which happened so quickly had to be shallow-rooted in those facts.

But the other half had already promised him that nothing he wanted badly enough was out of his reach.

Not Corporal Butler, but Second Lieutenant Butler.

Captain Butler.

Colonel Butler.

Colonel and Mrs. Butler.

Mrs. Madeleine Butler.

With his red hair and her red hair—red-gold hair—they would have red-headed sons and daughters for sure.

Price, Anthony - [David Audley 08] - The '44 Vintage

'I will come back to this house after the war,' said Butler. 'And I won't be just a corporal either—I shall be an officer. And . . .' Suddenly he felt himself run out of steam. 'And . . .'

She regarded him gravely.

He had to say something, but now for the life of him he couldn't think of anything to say. All his new-found eloquence had deserted him without warning.

'And then we shall see,' said Madeleine Boucard gently. 'Very well, C— . . . very well, Jack. When you come back to me we shall see—you have promised that, then.'

Butler nodded.

'Good. And now I will bandage your head, if you will permit me.'

She smiled at him, and touched his cheek lightly with her hand. 'And you know what?'