The Major said, ‘OK. Pull up here, Les.’
‘I’m not sure about that, Guv’nor. I’m feeling a bit exposed.’
‘Trust me,’ the Major told us. ‘This one’s going to be all right.’
When James told us to get out, Les told him, ‘I should cocoa,’ and backed Kate into a small alleyway between the bar and the nearest cottage.
So James got out alone. It was the first time I had sided openly with Les. James thrust his head into the car window on my side and glared at us both.
‘Gutless little ponces. What’s the point of my being a Major if you won’t do what I tell you?’ And he stalked off to sit at one of the round tables.
Les asked, ‘I wonder what we did to deserve that?’
I asked, ‘James been served yet?’
‘No. But you do understand that you can stop it right here, and get off free? You do get that?’
‘Yes. But I don’t think I can.’
‘Why not?’
‘I heard somewhere that Red soldiers play football with new-born kids. Probably crap; but I can’t stand the thought of wondering if that had happened for the rest of my life – after all, if she knows I’m after her, I’ve virtually been used to chase Grace into their arms.’
‘She knows, Charlie. But it ain’t your fault, an’ you heard the man: she might go somewhere else. South.’
‘That doesn’t matter. I ought to catch up: at least give her the choice.’
‘Even if the rest of your life ain’t so long because of it?’
‘Don’t worry about me, Les. I’m going to live forever.’
‘I hate soldiering with men like you; you know that? Wanna fag?’ Then, ‘ ’allo. Here we go. Fat man in a pinny coming up to the Major. He’s gonna get it in the guts or in the guts. I hate soldiering with him sometimes.’
‘What’s that mean? In the guts or in the guts?’
‘Beer or a bullet. It’s what he does sometimes. Takes some effing silly chance.’
The barman waddled off. I saw him from the back. He had a tremendous arse: gold medal winner. He reminded me of those cows I milked in Holland. When he came back it was with three stone jugs of what I presumed to be beer, and a plate of something.
‘Pickled cabbage,’ James told us as we joined him, ‘oh, my windy ones. And steins of pale beer. If this is where you go out, at least you go with a beer in your hand. Did you ask him?’ The last bit was to Les alone.
‘Yes, Guv. He wants to go on.’
‘Told you. Stubborn little bastard.’
‘I’m here,’ I told them. ‘You don’t have to talk about me as if I’m not.’
‘Then bloody well say something sensible for a change,’ James told me.
The cabbage was vile; but beggars and choosers, you know. Another stein of beer came along, and the cabbage tasted better. There was sun on our faces, but a heavy low line of grey cloud crouched along the horizon of Greater Germany. Hitler was not having a good day. Les frowned.
I asked, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Dunno, sir. Something. Maybe it all looks too good to be true. The proper war’s only a few miles up the road.’
‘Is that what the rumbling is? I thought that was a storm gathering over there.’
‘Guns. Plenty of them. Some poor sod is getting theirs.’
We watched James walking to and fro with the publican. The latter had the air of a relieved man. James’s little book was out, and whenever they stopped pacing he wrote in it. Once he stopped to shake his fountain pen: he must be running short.
Les told me, ‘Look. If it ever goes bad on us, and the Major and I don’t wake up one day, make sure that you get his notebook, and get it back to civilization with you.’
‘Why? It’s only got lists of food in it, hasn’t it?’
‘. . . and the names of the prominent local Nazis, and Communists, who their contacts were in Britain before the war, and where their money and valuables an’ the stuff they stole have been stashed. He’s very good at food, but not half bad at the rest of it by all accounts. People talk to him.’
‘Cliff’s like that, isn’t he? Is that what makes a good intelligence officer, then?’
‘Not pissing folk off, sir, is what makes a good intelligence officer. Major James says you’re as good as the next thing your contact tells you.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘With respect, sir . . . anyone can get information out of somebody once; what counts is when that somebody comes back to you with more information because he wants to.’
‘And James is good at that?’
‘The best, sir. Why don’t you look at that now?’ He nodded at our glorious leader.
The publican was earnestly explaining something. He had his arm around James’s shoulder. A thought occurred to me.
‘It won’t happen, Les, but if it did, who would I give the book to?’
‘You’d find lots of folk after it. Our friend Tommo and the peerless Pole would be after you a bit sharpish, I expect. They could use it.’
‘What about Cliff? Would he do?’
‘Aye. ’appen ’e would.’
I emptied my stone jug. The publican must have had half an eye on us all the time, because as I replaced it on the table he looked towards the bar and waved his tablecloth. The woman who served the next two pots was clean and wholesome-looking, if not pretty. Her thick hair was a dull, burnished blonde colour. She reminded me of France, and the type of woman James went for. Then she smiled, and her missing teeth made me think of France again, and the family from Laon.
I asked Les, ‘OK, so we’re up at the Front, doing what you came out here to do. What happens next?’
Les shook his head as
