The '44 Vintage

—Dr. de Courcy who—?

Will be glad to see you, my boy . . .

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

Small talk. Polite phrases as far removed from the world outside as light was from darkness, and the soft curve of Madeleine Boucard's breasts from the aching muscles of his own body.

'Fit for duty.' Boucard repeated the words thoughtfully. 'But what duty is this, with which I can help you? That is, if you are not escaping, as you say you are not?'

As he spoke he glanced again in Hauptmann Grafenberg's direction, and this time the young German picked up the signal.

'You will wish me to ... withdraw, I think.' He pushed back his chair and stood up.

'No. On the contrary, Hauptmann—I want you to stay,' said Audley. 'Do please sit down.'

Hauptmann Grafenberg remained standing. 'I think it is better that I do not hear what you are to do. I would prefer not to, please.'

Sergeant Winston stirred. 'He means you got his word of honour, Lieutenant, but he'd rather keep his peace of mind—what he's got left of it. Right, Captain?'

The German looked at the American sergeant, brushing as ineffectively as ever at the hair which fell across his face, but before he could say anything, Audley held up his hand.

'No. I understand that, but it can't be like that. First because we can't leave you here—'

'David—' Boucard interrupted.

'No, sir. We can't and we won't. I wouldn't have come here otherwise . . . but there's another reason too

—for my peace of mind, you might say. Because I need a witness.'

Madame Boucard leaned forward. 'A witness, David? A witness for what?'

'For what we may have to do, maman.' Audley blinked at her uncertainly, as though still unable to reconcile his twin roles of small godson and large dragoon lieutenant.

'What you may have to do?' Madame had no such difficulty: for her the years and inches and the King's Commission had clearly changed nothing. 'And what is it that you may have to do which requires the attendance of a German officer?'

'It doesn't exactly . . . require a German,' said Audley hastily. 'It just happens he'll make a damn good witness, is what I mean.'

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

'There's no need to swear.'

'No, maman—I beg your pardon.' The unbruised cheek reddened in the lamplight. Audley swayed from side to side for a moment, and then suddenly seemed to notice the German again. 'Oh, do sit down, for God's sake, there's a g-g-good chap.'

Hauptmann Grafenberg brushed at his hair again, but remained standing. 'Herr Leutnant—'

Madame Boucard gave a small cough. 'Please be so good as to sit, Captain.'

Hauptmann Grafenberg sat down.

'Now, David—?' She turned back to Audley.

But all Audley's courage seemed to have deserted him, together with his wits and the power of speech.

Instead he began to straighten the place mat in front of him, and then the plate on the place mat, and after that the knife on the plate.

The trouble was that silence didn't make matters better, it made them worse by answering the question in Butler's mind with a terrifying certainty.

What we may have to do.

'Hell!' said Sergeant Winston. 'I beg your pardon, ma'am—but hell all the same. Because we got ourselves into one hell of a mess, so hell is right. But it isn't the lieutenant's fault, he's just doing his duty the way he sees it.' He paused defiantly. 'And the way I see it too, come to that, so I guess you can freeze me too.'

Butler felt ashamed that he had left it to a foreigner to defend his officer, which was what he should have done without a second thought.

'And me too, madame,' he said.

Madame Boucard smiled at him, and then at the sergeant 'I never doubted that for one moment.'

'No, ma'am?' Sergeant Winston tested the statement to destruction. 'That's good, ma'am.'

'I agree, Sergeant.' She took the verdict like a lady—and an equal. 'Very well, then, David—so you are going to assassinate someone.'

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

Audley's mouth opened, then closed again.

She nodded at him. 'Very well—kill, if you prefer the word.'

Audley swallowed. 'Yes—I prefer the word.'

'Of course. Killing is what soldiers do.'

'We're soldiers, maman.'

Madame Boucard inclined her head fractionally, as though to concede what could hardly be denied but not one jot more.