Soldier No More

At any rate, he wasn't there, and they were alone.

' Right!' Jilly's voice turned him back towards her just in time to see her strip off her dress over her head with one continuous serpentine movement, to reveal a slender body in a white bathing dress.

He kicked off his sandals at the water's edge, and then the discomfort of the slippery stones under his feet brought him down to earth painfully.

'Come on—you have to do this bit as quickly as you can!'

Jilly Baker took his hand, pulling him forward. 'Once the current starts to lift you off your feet it's not so bad —'

The water swirled about his knees, and then frothed about his thighs, surprising him with its solid force even though he had watched the Frenchman battle against it. He had never stepped into a river like this, which dragged at him as though it was alive.

'There's a flat piece there—see?' Jilly pulled at him, pointing to a rippling white shape beneath the surface just ahead of them. 'There now! That's right—just hold me—make them jealous!'

Roche anchored his feet, one on bearable gravel, one on the smoothness of bed-rock stone which had been sandpapered by ten thousand years of shifting pebbles.

He looked back at the charade on the dry strand from which they had come. The rush of the river was loud all around dummy5

him.

'Don't worry! They can't hear us. And Lexy'll take hours stuffing herself into her bikini,' Jilly said conversationally, her cheek against his shoulder. She was wet and slippery as an eel, and he didn't know quite where to put his hands, although he knew where he wanted to put them.

'I'm sorry about that, Captain Roche—David—can I call you

'David'? I shall have to, anyway—so . . . David?'

Jilly.' Her waist was the only safe place.

'I don't know what you're doing. . . and I don't think I want to know. . . But they said it had to be natural, after I picked you up, so it had to be Steffy who thought of it, if not Lexy—

inviting you to Audley's. . . Only she was so slow to catch on.'

'I thought you did it beautifully.' He couldn't help kneading her stomach under water. 'What's this chap Audley like?'

'He's okay—big, tough man . . . likes his own way too much for my taste. But he also likes it if you stand up to him. And he doesn't suffer fools gladly ... So don't let him push you around just for good manners' sake ... In fact, the best thing you can do is make a straight play for Lexy—it shouldn't be too difficult now.'

'Not for you? I'd prefer that, if there's a choice.'

She moved against him. 'Thanks for the compliment.'

“It wasn't a compliment, Jilly.'

'Well. . . thanks for the insult. But, the way it was put to me, there isn't any choice. Play for Lexy, and put the rest down to dummy5

might-have-been, David.'

All the world was might-have-been. Julie was might-have-been. 'Won't Audley take exception to that?'

'Audley doesn't give a damn for anything, least of all competition. I think he really fancies Steffy more than anyone, only he's afraid she's up to something . . . Lexy isn't up to anything—but she's not nearly as stupid as she pretends, she just doesn't want a tough guy like Audley for a husband. She wants someone she can mother. Audley's just for kicks—and vice-versa . . . The point is, Steffy also fancies Audley. So you go for Lexy, and Steffy'll be on your side, and so will Audley.'

Roche glanced quickly towards the riverbank, and had to tear his eyes away from Lexy, magnificently bikinied. Steffy was still undressing.

'Audley has two friends staying with him?' That was what Raymond Galles had said, he remembered belatedly.

'Yes, two of them. David Stein's ex-Cambridge—ex-RAF too.

Photographic reconnaissance . . . I'm not sure whether he's an archaeologist, or an art historian—he's here for the cave paintings, the prehistoric stuff, anyway. But he's an Israeli now—'

'An Israeli?'

'Dyed-in-the-wool. Got three wars under his belt now—one world war and two Arab-Israeli wars. He was back flying with them last year, at Suez, though he won't talk about it. A bit dummy5

hush-hush, as Lexy would put it.'

'And the second one?'

'American. Mike Bradford. Also ex-Cambridge—no, Oxford—

Rhodes Scholar ... I don't know where Audley picked him up, or he picked Audley up, as the case may be —'

'They're coming, Jilly. Rhodes Scholar?'

'I think. Now he writes novels. Got a modest hit in the States last year—war novel. Another very bright fellow —like Davey Stein ... In fact, they're all bloody clever, as Lexy would say—