Soldier No More (16 page)

“Oh—fff
fff—
sorry!” She looked into his eyes at close quarters, but he was too overwhelmed to register her expression. “Thanks—“ Pause—“— oh
bugger!
”

Roche croaked incoherently. What made things worse was that Jilly and Meriel Stephanides, the brains and the beauty of this incongruous trio, were laughing at him.

“Not at all like Tiffany Case,” said Meriel.

“Or Vesper—or Gala Brand,” said Jilly.

“Or James Bond, come to that,” said Meriel.

“Who?” said Lexy, frowning at them.

“We told you—we gave you
From Russia With Love
to read, Lexy dear,” said Meriel sweetly.

“But she doesn’t read thrillers—remember?” said Jilly to her confederate. “She only reads historical novels—she’s too busy swotting up on Galla Placidia, to keep up with David Audley tonight—remember?”

Meriel nodded. “Of course! To keep up with David! Sweet chance she’s got—of keeping up with David!”

“Always supposing that she still wants to keep up with that David …” Jilly nodded meaningfully at Meriel.

“With
that
David?”

“With that David?” Meriel glanced at Roche calculatingly. “Of course—
with that David!
”

“Tactics,” said Jilly.

“Tactics!” agreed Meriel. “Conjure up the green-eyed monster as an ally: pit David of the Secret Service against David the Dragoon!”

“Of course! That’s why she wanted to know whether he’d been a hussar!” Jilly bobbed agreement in turn. “Horse to horse—sword to sword! Or should it be ‘sabre’?”

“We’ll have to ask him.” Meriel continued to consider Roche appraisingly. “But d’you think it’d be a fair match?”

Jilly eyed Roche like a horse-dealer at an auction. “Don’t see why not. He’s a damn sight better-looking, haggard or not. And he’s younger.”

“Always back a good young ‘un against a good old ‘un? But he’s not much younger. And maybe he won’t bite?”

Jilly looked at Meriel, and shrugged. “We can only try.”

“Well then—you try. You know him, after all, Jilly.”

“But it was your idea, Steffy.”

“No, it wasn’t—it was yours!”

Looking from one to the other, Roche decided that it was time the horse had its say in the auction.

“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” He tried not to sound plaintive.

For a moment none of the three girls spoke. Then Lady Alexandra rallied, drawing her dress together as much as its inadequacy allowed.

“Yes. As my Mum always says, ‘bitches are women, and vice-versa’. And these two particularly, David,” she said icily. “Whatever they say, you say ‘no’ to them.”

“Nonsense!” snapped Jilly. “And it’s your interests we’re thinking of. Are you on leave, David? Or are you just passing through?”

Jilly was running the show. Whatever the ‘idea’ was, it hadn’t been Steffy’s—it was Jilly who was making the running—

Getting him in!

“I’m on leave. I’ve three weeks due to me.” He smiled innocently, playing back to her. “As a matter of fact, I’m gathering material for my somewhat delayed doctorate.”

“Doctor—what?” Lexy shook her blonde head at him.

“Doctorate. Not the Royal Army Medical Corps, Lexy dear—Ph.D—D.Phil, that sort of thing,” said Jilly dismissively. “What’s your thesis on, David?”

“The development of the
bastides
in the 12th and 13th centuries.” It sounded as stupid as it really was when he said it out loud. Damn Thompson!

Lexy’s mouth contracted involuntarily, the generous lips puckering into an interrogative
b
for
bastides
—

Suddenly, Roche had her pinned down in his memory, from yesterday in the plane and from last night in the train, before sleep had claimed him— from Kipling’s
Stalky
, which Wimpy had given him in that farewell parcel beside the Lodge at Immingham: not an overblown English rose, and not a prize chrysanthemum either, but Mary Yeo, the tall daughter of Devon, the county of easy kisses,
fair haired, blue-eyed, apple-cheeked, with a bowl of cream in her hands
—

Pretty lips—sweeter than—cherry or plum,
Seem to say—Come away, Kissy!—come, come!

“No, Lexy.” Jilly shook her page-boy curls wearily. “Not ‘bastards’— ‘
bastides’
. Remember when Mike and David took us to that place at Monpazier, under the arcades? That was a bastide—the whole village.”

Roche’s heart went out to the big girl, so confident and aristocratic—Do you hunt? Are you a hussar?—and yet so vulnerable and amiable and utterly inoffensive at the same time. He wanted to get her down on her back and make love to her, but failing that just to cuddle her protectively and not take advantage of her.

“They’re the fortified towns—or mostly villages now—built round here by the English and the French in the old days, Lady Alexandra,” he hastened to explain before Jilly could put her down again. “Sort of custom-built places to mark the frontier, where the inhabitants could trade and farm by day, and sleep safely at night behind their walls, do you see?”

“She knows,” said Jilly. “She’s been told all about it by David Audley— she knows … She’s not stupid, she only pretends to be, to get the edge on the rest of us. Don’t be deceived by her—she knows perfectly well. And her old Mum was talking about
her
, what’s more—not
us
, David. You’d better remember that from now on.” She put out her tongue at Lady Alexandra. “So just you watch it, Lexy—if you want us to help you.”

Lady Alexandra answered with an even longer tongue. “And the same to you, Miss Clever-Baker—“

“Ladies! Ladies!” Meriel Stephanides interposed pacifically. “David— where are you staying tonight? And afterwards?”

Duty recalled Roche to the colours. “Well… not anywhere exactly, at the moment. I’ve got a tent in the car, with my things—I was going to look around, sort of…”

Lexy perked up. “Well—you can pitch your tent in our garden—“

No he can’t!” snapped Jilly. “Don’t be an idiot, Lexy—Madame would kill us if she discovered another man walking around the premises at dawn, and well you know it—you of all people.” She turned back to Roche apologetically. “Sorry, David, but much as we’d like you to … there’s this Madame Peyrony who rents us this cottage, and she lives right next door.”

“And she conceives it her duty to keep her eye on her jeunes demoiselles anglaises—Jilly’s quite right. She’s a bit of a dragon, is Madame Peyrony,” agreed Meriel.

“She’s an old bag!” growled Lexy.

“Old bag she may be. Nevertheless, she’s got my boss’s address—he’s the only one who got us the place, David,” explained Jilly. “And he believes that emancipation has already gone too far … and she’s already threatened to write to him, after having chanced upon Lexy’s
ina
morato
— one of the many—swanning around in his underpants—“

That’s a slander!” said Lexy.

“Sue me any time you like, Lexy dear.”

It wasn’t fair, anyway.”

“It certainly wasn’t fair! He was one of yours—and it’s my address she’s got! So
I
had to beg for mercy.”

“I gave her Father’s address too, darn it!”

“ ‘House of Lords, Palace of Westminster, London Wl’,” murmured Meriel. “And he’d probably be overjoyed to hear that you were courting a fate worse than death, getting yourself into trouble, with those little sisters of yours still on his hands.”

“I haven’t got myself into trouble!” protested Lexy.

“No—only Jilly, very nearly,” said Meriel.

“Mind you …” began Jilly thoughtfully, her eye flicking for a fraction of a second at Roche before settling on Lexy again “… mind you—you could do a lot worse than get yourself into trouble with David Audley, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have David if he was the last man on earth!” exclaimed Lexy hotly. “And he wouldn’t have me, either.”

“Oh, he’d do the decent thing if he had to. And you shouldn’t judge him by the bachelor squalor he lives in with those friends of his, Lexy dear. There’s no shortage of the ready there—he could certainly support you at the standard of living God and your father have accustomed you,” Jilly nodded wisely.

“
That
’
s it
!” burst out Meriel. “Why didn’t we think of it before?”

“Think of what, Steffy?” inquired Jilly.

“The Tower—David Audley!” Meriel pointed at Roche. “If Lexy asks him nicely, he’ll put up
this
David for as long as he likes. There’s room in the Tower, because they don’t sleep there—they sleep in the cottage alongside, and only use that for their orgies.”

“Good thinking, Steffy!” Jilly beamed at her friend.

“Of course I’ll ask him,” said Lexy. “He’s bound to say yes, David.” She grinned at Roche. “David is, I mean—the other David.”

“Of course he’s bound to,” said Meriel. “It’s one historian doing a good turn for another.”

Roche decided that it was again time for him to show some interest in his fate. “David who?”

“David Audley. He lives just up the road from us,” said Jilly. “He’s a historian, like you. Only he’s more or less a full-time one, sort of. He’s got money, we think.”

So did other people. Roche wondered how Major Stocker was progressing on the track of it.

“He’s also Lexy’s boyfriend—“

“—sort of, also,” cut in Meriel-Steffy. “David the Dragoon—ex-dragoon, actually. He was in the tanks during the war, with Lexy’s father. That’s how we got to know him—it wasn’t a casual pick-up.”

“He wasn’t actually
with
Daddy. I mean … he’s not
old
,” said Lexy loyally. “But he was
sort
of
with Daddy, just after D-Day, you know …” she trailed off vaguely again.

“What she means, David, is that her daddy was a sort-of general in command of a brigade or something, and David Audley was a sort-of second lieutenant inside a tank,” said Steffy. “But he was in her daddy’s old regiment, so he counts as family.”

“Anyway, he’s frightfully nice, and you’ll like him,” said Lexy defiantly.

“ ‘Nice’ is absolutely the last word that would come into my mind to describe David Audley,” said Steffy. “’Frightfully’ might be applicable— like ‘frightfully clever’, or even ‘frightfully drunk’ on occasion.”

“He was frightfully brave, Daddy said,” Lexy regarded Steffy with disapproval. “They could never get him to shut the lid of his tank, he was always poking his head out of it, Daddy said.”

“ ‘Frightfully inquisitive’, that sounds like,” said Steffy.

It sounded more like frightfully stupid, thought Roche. But in the meantime, Steffy either didn’t approve of Audley—or envied Lexy’s
inamorata
role?

“Anyway—we were thinking of introducing you to him before—it was your idea, Steffy,” said Jilly. “Remember?”

Steffy frowned. “I thought it was yours?”

“No—yours. But now we’ve got a proper reason … And we’re already invited up to the Tower for an orgy tonight, so we can combine business and pleasure.”

“And it’s David’s turn to buy the drinks and hold the floor, too,” said Steffy. “That’ll put him in a good mood for a start.”

Roche looked from one to the other, and to Lexy, trying not to goggle at them. In spite of the tough talk, they were still only three grown-up English schoolgirls; indeed,
because
of the tough talk, which was at least partially designed to impress him that they were women of the world, they couldn’t really mean
orgy
when they said it. So he was a bystander to some sort of in-joke of theirs.

“Well, as long as
I
don’t have to hold the floor,” said Lexy fretfully. “I don’t mind buying the booze, but I draw the line at having to spout.”

“Your turn will come, Lexy. You’re bound to draw the short straw sooner or later,” said Steffy.

“It’s all right for you—and Jilly. You’re both too bloody clever for words, with your scholarships and your degrees. But all I’ve got is five School Cert passes and a bit of shorthand-and-typing—I’m no blue-stocking!” Lexy protested. “What am I going to talk about, for God’s sake?”

The dress had begun to gape again: Lexy was certainly no blue-stocking. Steffy spread her hands. “Sex, darling—what else?”

Lexy opened her mouth, searching for words but not finding any. So this was the moment, thought Roche, when David of the Secret Service must sing for his orgy, if not his supper.

“If you draw the short straw, Lady Alexandra, then I’ll take it,” he said gallantly. “It’s the least I can do, whatever it is, in return for your speaking up for me, to find me a place to lay my head.”

They all looked at him in silence for a moment. Then, before he could think of retreating, Lady Alexandra threw her arms round his neck and kissed his cheek.

“Put the man down, Lexy!” said Jilly. “At once!”

Mmm …” Steffy pursed her lips. “I don’t whether that’s permissible under the rules.”

“What rules?” said Lexy. “There aren’t any rules! Let’s go to the Tower at once and find a bed for this super chap, Jilly!”

“No!” said Jilly, in command as always. “David’s not there yet. He’s in Cahors, talking with his French rugger boozers—you don’t play rugger, by any chance, do you, David?”

It was like not being a hussar. “No, I’m afraid not. Hockey is my game.”

“Thank God! Don’t be sorry—I couldn’t bear to go through the Lions’ match against the Springboks at Ellis Park again, blow by blow! And we’ve been through it twice in French too … Anyway, he won’t be back until nightfall—always supposing he doesn’t drive into a ditch somewhere on the way back, that is.” She gave Roche a grin, wrinkling her snub-nose. “Besides which, we came here to bathe, and I need cooling down.”

Cooling down had its attractions, not least after that collision with Lady Alexandra’s unrestrained curves.

“Me too!” He grinned back at her. It wasn’t really a snub-nose, it was delightfully
retrouss
é
, and the grin beneath it was infectious.

“I shouldn’t wonder, with what you’ve just been through!” And there was no maliciousness in that knowing look, either. In the catalogue of their very different virtues, Jilly Baker’s might strike a higher total than either Lady Alexandra’s and Meriel-Steffy’s, when they were all added up.