He didn’t apologize for keeping me in the dark, but asked, ‘Where are they sending you?’
‘Egypt, I expect. I haven’t heard anything good about it, except a story about a belly dancer and an imaginative pig in a Cairo nightclub.’
He ignored the last part. ‘What do they want you to do?’
‘Dunno. Radios I expect. It’s the only thing I’m any good at.’
‘How much are they paying you?’
‘Dunno, boss: not as much as you. Most of the men I knew in the war lost rank after it, and the turds from the officer schools all floated back up to the top again.’ He ignored that as well. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me to find that I’m a sergeant again.’
‘I’ll make up the difference.’
‘Thanks, but why? I mean, why would you do that?’
‘Because I don’t want to lose you, of course. Halton Air was making a loss until you began to manage it for me.’
‘That was a fluke. The Airlift came along just at the right time for us. Anyway, I thought we were dropping down the league again.’
He gave me the three-minute cough before observing, ‘In six months’ time, when we’ve linked up our own road haulage units and coaches with the aircraft, the work will come rolling in again. You’ll see. We’ll have the only integrated transport company in the country.’ He was always ahead of the game, Old Man Halton. When he finished coughing there were specks of blood on the white lawn handkerchief. So, the Old Man didn’t want to lose me. I could have said, You could have fooled me, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, do you?
Later he asked me if I wanted to go on leave until I got the brown envelope.
I told him, ‘No. I don’t think so. I’ll hang about for a while to make sure Elaine has got the hang of things, and I’ll also spend some time with my boys.’
‘I told you to bring them along some time, didn’t I? Boys like aeroplanes and lorries.’
‘I’ll remember that, sir.’
He laughed and then he coughed. He laughed because I’d just told him to mind his own business, and we both knew it. I just kept my work and private life apart. That was my way.
Just before I left him I told him that he had a third share in one of the most notorious nightspots in Berlin. It stopped him coughing for all of a couple of minutes.
The girl in the outer office said her name was June. Flaming June, I thought.
Sometimes it happens just like that: the dice roll for you. Less than a minute into a conversation with her I said, ‘I’m only up here for a night. Can you come out with me?’
‘You’re Mr Bassett, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Charlie . . .’
What I’d had in mind was an evening in a pub and then chancing my arm, but she replied, ‘There’s a lovely new restaurant in Hounslow.’
‘OK then?’
‘OK, Charlie.’
I had my hour in a pub after all, waiting for her to get off work. The owner was a burly man in his fifties, who stood the other side of the bar, polished the glasses and made conversation until my date came along. Just before June arrived the radio above the bar launched into a jaunty old Tommy Dorsey number. I recognized it, but couldn’t place it. It was playing when she walked in.
‘What’s that called?’ I asked him, but it was June who answered,
‘It’s “Satan takes a holiday”.’
Yeah. The next number was ‘What is this thing called love?’ I’ve told you before; God’s sending out His little signals all the time, but we’re usually on the wrong frequency for decent reception.
We were the last to leave the restaurant and when it was empty they let us dance a couple to the radio. The last song was ‘I’ll be seeing you’. I think it was that guy Sinatra.
Her bedsit, in a suburban house in a suburban avenue, was a comfy little room. There was a heavy crocheted cover on the bed, and a gas fire. We made love as if we had known each other for years.
I’d meant what I’d said. I went down to Lympne the next day and threw myself into the books and forms. Elaine looked subdued when I walked in. I wondered why, but thought I’d let her come out with it in her own good time. She couldn’t even conjure up a quick grin when I offered to make her coffee, so I loaded up two mugs with black Camp and topped off each with an inch of Five Bells – that’s export-strength rum. She took one hefty swig, and then spluttered.
‘Strewth, Charlie, what did you put in this?’
‘Navy neaters. OK?’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’
‘I’ve done worse.’
I had, actually . . . or rather we had. Once upon a time. But that was three years past, and she’d had a son since then and, as I told you, I’d met her husband and rather liked him. It’s always best to quit when you’re ahead, but, thinking about it, it was she who’d done the quitting, not me. So I asked, ‘What’s up?’
‘My Terry.’ Husband. He flogged long-distance lorries up and down the Great North Road. It had meant that before the kid came along she might have had too much time on her hands. I know that sounds unkind, but that was the way we looked at things then. Learn to put up with it: I have.
‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘Nothing. He wants to change jobs and drive for Mr Halton; that’s all.’
‘You’ll see more of him if he’s based at Watford.’
‘I know. That’s the problem. I like it just fine with him only home at weekends, and now
