Soldier No More

Clarkie?'

'That's right, sir. Mine begin with the coronation of King George that was King Edward's brother—King Edward that married that American lady, or the Prince of Wales as he'll always be to me. He was a lovely boy, the Prince. I saw him once, at the races, when Charlie and me went to attend to a party the Master, Mr Nigel, was putting on— he gave me a lovely smile, like he knew me, as I took round the tray with the champagne on it, the Prince did . . . 'Course, I was dummy5

younger then, only a slip of a girl.' She nodded knowingly at Roche. 'And he had an eye for the girls, he did, did the Prince of Wales.'

Roche glanced covertly at her. She was little and dumpy, with cheeks reddened by all weathers and the heat of that black kitchen range. But those tight pepper-and-salt curls had once been blonde, and the sparkle in the blue eyes was still bright.

'So he did,' agreed Wimpy. 'And that, you might say, was his undoing in the end, eh?'

'And that Prince Philip—he's a lad!' Mrs Clarke warmed to what was clearly one of her favourite subjects. 'Of course, he gets that from having been a sailor, like his Uncle, that was Lord Louis when I was a girl—I met him too. And Lady Louis

—' she nodded proudly at Roche '—Edwina Ashley, she was, and beautiful like in those magazines, you should have seen her!'

Wimpy caught Roche's eye for a fraction of a second. 'But that mug from the Silver Jubilee in 1935 ought to be yours too, Clarkie, surely? You were in service then?'

'So I was, sir. But so was Mother—and I broke mine, so that's hers, that one.' She grinned at Roche. 'To tell the truth, sir, Captain Roche, I got tiddly that night—all because of the Master, Mr Nigel, and his champagne ...'

'A tradition of the house,' agreed Wimpy, shifting his attention from Mrs Clarke to Roche as he spoke. 'On great occasions the wine flows in the Old House—in the dummy5

appropriate receptacle, naturally.' He nodded at the line of mugs on the mantelpiece.

'That's right, sir,' said Mrs Clarke, nodding at Wimpy and Roche as she spoke. 'Filled to the brim with champagne, that was the rule. No wonder we all got tiddly!'

Roche reached up towards the nearest mug, fascinated.

'You look at it, sir,' Ada Clarke encouraged him, 'and see for yourself how much it takes. That was Master David's favourite, that one, he liked it because of all the writing on it.'

Wimpy gave a derisive snort. 'Absolute rubbish, Clarkie! He liked it because it was bigger than the others—it held more champagne, that's why. And he was drunk as a lord on both occasions as a result.'

'He was sick both times, more like,' conceded Mrs Clarke defensively. 'But it could have been what he ate just as easily.'

'He was beastly drunk—'

They were oblivious of him, duelling with twenty-year memories.

'It was too much rich food. All that smoked salmon, sir—and the caviare from Fortnum and Mason's . . . and I made him that Black Forest cherry cake specially—'

'Full of kirsch—precisely! He was tight as a tick, Clarkie dear.

Kirsch plus champagne—no wonder!'

Or maybe Wimpy was very far from forgetting him—maybe dummy5

quite the opposite . . . maybe this, very deliberately, was the beginning of Wimpy's special tuition on David Audley.

Mrs Clarke drew a deep breath. 'Well. . . if he was . . . a bit tiddly—'

'Aha!' Wimpy seized her admission instantly. In any argument with Wimpy the loser would never be allowed to retreat in good order, pursuit would always be close and merciless. Indeed, he was already turning triumphantly to Roche. 'Now the truth comes out, old boy!'

'Huh!' exclaimed Ada Clarke, also turning towards Roche.

'And if he was, then who was to blame, I ask you!' She nodded significantly at Wimpy. 'You don't need far to look, sir, Captain Roche—indeed you don't.'

Wimpy spread his hands. 'I'm not denying anything, Clarkie dear.'

'Nor can you—I should think not!' She gave him a mock-disapproving sniff. “No, sir—' she caught Roche with his mouth full of cake '—you should have seen what he brought down here, for Mr David—I saw him slip out of the House with the tray ... I was waiting on the guests of course-piled high with everything, like he was feeding a regiment. . . and a whole bottle of champagne, and Master David hardly ten years old . . . and the Master sees him too, what's more—'

'I never knew that, Clarkie!' Wimpy leant forward. 'You never told me that before.'

'You never asked me. But I saw—and he sees you—' back to dummy5

Roche again '—the Master, Mr Nigel, that is ... And he says to me 'Aye-aye! Now where's he off to then, Mrs Clarke, eh?'

with that look in his eye, like he half knew already—like he always did when it was you and Mr David up to your tricks, goin' up to London, and that—'

'Good God!' whispered Wimpy, a muscle twitching in his cheek. 'He knew about—London?'

'When you took Master David to see the illuminations, for the jubilee— and the coronation?' She shook the