The Old Vengeful

'Because it's exactly the sort of thing that David would fall for

—it's just sufficiently too bloody outlandish for anyone else . . . but it isn't too outlandish for him . . . And, David, we know that's the next likely ploy—to shoot us off at a tangent. . . I'm not saying we're not close, with Loftus . . . But frigate actions off Ushant in 1812—and PoW escapes after that—it's simply not on. It's just too predictable, if they suspect you're on the job.'

'You're giving them too much credit, my dear fellow.' Audley waved a hand dismissively. 'They couldn't possibly have set up Miss Cookridge months ago, and written out her dummy3

ancestor's memoirs in longhand, and aged the ink, and all that. . . just in case we came up with Vengeful out of Washington—it's quite beyond their capabilities, apart from the timing, even if they do have my number.'

Elizabeth could almost feel Paul struggle against this negative argument, and find nowhere to go.

'But, right or wrong, you're under orders now.' Audley came down to earth abruptly. 'So you'll do what you're told tomorrow, like everyone else.'

VIII

THERE WERE BELLS ringing somewhere out in the warm darkness of Laon.

' In the Champagne district of northern France, between Craonne in the east and Soissons in the west, lies the Chemin des Dames—' the Ladies' Highway'. This name originally applied to a road built along the crest of a ridge by Louis XV for the diversion of his sisters, but has since come to refer to the ridge itself, some 75 miles long and for the most part nearly 450 feet high, and with numerous hog's-back spurs and deep ravines running south to the valley of the Aisne . . .'

Elizabeth's eyelids fluttered, but her brain again refused to dummy3

stop working, feverishly and confusedly trying to assimilate her experienccs, and to codify and file them for future recollection.

'No, madame—Madame has quite a high colour, so she thinks a blusher will add to her difficulty . . . But no! It is only that the flushed checks are always in the wrong place ... so we need to relocate the colour—so!'

' It was here, on this fatal ridge, and by a matter of no more than a couple of hours only, that the German retreat from the Marne ended on September 14th, 1914: although neither side knew it, in the thick weather and bitter close- quarter fighting between isolated units of the British 1st Corps and the German 7th Reserve Corps on those formidable muddy slopes, the trench warfare of the next four years was born

—'

It was no good—it was just too much . . . Louis XV and his sisters and their maids-in-waiting . . . and Paul Mitchell's Northamptons and Coldstreamers, and their comrades of the King's Royal Rifle Corps and the Royal Sussex . . . they all mingled together with Lieutenant Chipperfield's exhausted escape party in the mist and the rain on the Chemin des Dames under a hail of machine-gun fire and a deluge of 8-inch howitzer shells from von Billow's Germans—

dummy3

And . . .

'The eyes are not difficult—Madame has good eyes—the important area is not over, but under . . . and there one does not cover the whole area—that is vital—but simply touches out the dark bits, which make the baggy look . . . like so—I will do this eye, and then Madame will do the other, eh?'

'A private aeroplane?'

'Not a private one, Elizabeth. Private planes are for millionaires and oil sheikhs. Just a business plane for a business trip—saves hassle, saves time ...'

There were bells ringing somewhere, out in the warm darkness—

'Where's Humphrey Aske, Paul? Didn't David say he was coming with us?'

'That little bastard? That's one of David's bad ideas—a chaperone! Do you want a chaperone, Elizabeth?'

Wishful thinking! But hers, not his, obviously—sadly!

'But he'll meet us over there, anyway—more's the pity!'

dummy3

Over there had been the first clue—

' All the British could do was to dig, as they had never dug before. Fortunately, the soil was good— at least before the rain began to drain off the crests— and the sides of trenches and 'funk- holes' held up without revetment—'

'Madame's hair must be cut, and it must not be put up —

no . . .up may seem sensible, but it is a great consumer of time, and Madame's hair is naturally fuller, and hair is getting fuller now ... So Monsieur Pierre will shorten perhaps a trifle, and will add the highlights—the colour is good, but the highlights will accentuate—yes?'

'— which was just as well, since the enemy's artillery observers dominated the valley, while the British guns were still south of the river, firing blind. Here too, was the shape of things to come: this was to be an artillery war, and the man who could see could kill— '

'Christ! Elizabeth . . . what have they done to you?'

Dust and ashes: she had thought they'd made her presentable, and the cost of this summer suit would have started turning Father in his grave if she'd paid for it with his money. 'Don't you like it? Faith chose it, Paul