The Burning Shore (25 page)

Enough, she said aloud as she leaned against the gate to the yard. Enough for today, I’ll cry again tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. A voice replied in broken French from the darkness, and she was startled. Bobby? She saw the glow of his cigarette then, and he came out of the shadows and leaned over the gate beside her.

You are an amazing girl, he went on in English, I have six sisters, but I’ve never known a girl like you. Matter of fact, I’ve known damned few chaps that could match you, either. She was silent, but when he drew on his cigarette, she studied his face in the glow. He was about Michael’s age, and handsome. His mouth was full and sensitive-looking, and there was a gentleness about him that she had never had an opportunity to notice before.

I say- he was suddenly embarrassed by her silence_you don’t mind me talking to you, do you? I’ll leave you alone if you prefer. She shook her head. I don’t mind. And for a while they were silent, Bobby puffing on his cigarette and both of them listening to the distant sound of the battle and to the occasional soft groan from one of the wounded in the barn.

Then Centaine stirred and asked, Do you remember the young airman, the first day you came up to the chAteau? Yes. The one with the burned arm. What was his name again, Andrew? No, that was his friend. The wild Scot, yes, of course. His name was Michel. I remember both of them. What became of them? Michel and I were to be married, but he is dead- and her pent-up emotions came pouring out.

He was a stranger and gentle, and she found it so easy to talk to him in the darkness. She told him in her quaint English about Michel and how they had planned to live in Africa, then she told him about her father and how he had changed since her mother had died, and how she had tried to look after him and stop him drinking so much.

Then she described what had taken place that morning in the burning chateau.

I think that was what he wanted. in his own way he was tired of living. I think he wanted to die and be with Mama again. But now both he and Michel are gone. I have nothing. When at last she finished she felt drained and tired, but quietly resigned.

You have really been through the grinder. Bobby reached out and squeezed her arm. I wish I could help you. You have helped me. Thank you. I could give you something, a little laudanum, it all would help you sleep. Centaine felt a surge in her blood, a longing for the quick oblivion he offered her, it was so strong that it frightened her. No, she refused with unnecessary emphasis. I will be all right. She shivered. I’m cold and it’s late now. Thank you again for listening to me. Anna had hung a blanket as a screen at one end of the barn and made a mattress of straw for them. Centaine dropped almost immediately into a deathlike sleep, and woke in the dawn in a sickly sweat with the urgent nausea on her again.

Still groggy with sleep, she stumbled out and managed to get behind the stone wall of the yard before heaving up a little bitter yellow bile. When she straightened up and wiped her mouth, clinging to the wall for support, she found that Bobby Clarke was beside her, his expression troubled as he took her wrist and checked her pulse rate.

I think I had better have a look at you, he said.

No. She felt vulnerable. This new sickness worried her for she had always been so healthy and strong. She was afraid he might discover some dreadful disease.

I am all right, truly. But he led her firmly by the hand to the parked ambulance and drew down the canvas side screens to give them privacy.

Lie there, please. He ignored her protests and unfastened her blouse to sound her chest.

His manner was so clinical and professional, that she no longer argued, and submitted meekly to his examination, sitting up and coughing and breathing at his instruction.

Now I will examine you, he said. Do you wish your maid to be present as a chaperone? She shook her head mutely and he said, Please remove your skirt and petticoat. When he had finished, he made a show of packing his instruments back in the roll and tying up the retaining ribbons, while she rearranged her clothing.

Then he looked up at her with such a peculiar expression that she was alarmed. Is it something serious? He shook his head. Centaine, your fiance is dead. You told me that last night. She nodded.

It is still very early to be certain, very early, but I believe that you will need a father for the child you are carrying. Her hands flew to her stomach, an involuntary protective gesture.

I have really known you only a few days, but that is long enough for me to realize that I have fallen in love with you. I would be honoured, his voice trailed off, for she was not listening to him.

Michel, she whispered. Michel’s baby. I have not lost everything. I still have a part of him Centaine ate the sandwich of ham and cheese that Anna brought her with such relish that Anna examined her suspiciously.

I feel so much better now, Centaine forestalled her inquiry.

They helped feed the wounded and ready them for the day’s trek. Two of their critical cases had died during the night, and the orderlies buried them hastily in shallow graves at the edge of the field and then the ambulances started up and pulled out into the main stream of traffic.

The congestion of the previous day’s route had abated as the army shook itself out of mindless confusion into a semblance of order. The traffic still rolled slowly, but with fewer halts and false starts, and alongside the road they passed the rudimentary supply dumps and advanced headquarters echelons that had been set up during the night.

During one of their halts on the outskirts of a tiny village, half-concealed by trees and vineyards, Centaine made out the shapes of aircraft parked at the edge of the vineyard.

She climbed up on the running-board of the ambulance for a better view, and a flight of aircraft took off from the field and flew low over the road.

Her disappointment was intense as she realized that they were ungraceful two-seater De Havilland scouts, not the lovely SESas of Michel’s squadron. She waved to them, and one of the pilots looked down at her and waved back.

. it cheered her somehow and as she returned to her selfimposed duties, she felt strong and lighthearted, and she joked with the wounded men in her accented English, and they reacted with delight. One of them called herSunshine and the name passed quickly down the line of ambulances.

Bobby Clarke stopped her as she passed. Great stuff but remember, don’t overdo it.”I will be all right. Don’t worry about me. I can’t help it. He dropped his voice. Have you thought about my offer? When will you give me an answer? Not now, Bobby. She pronounced his name with equal emphasis on each syllable, Bob-bee, and every time she said it he lost his breath. We will talk later, but you are very gentil, very kind. Now the roadway was almost impassable once more, for the reserves were being hastened up to help hold the new line at Mort Homme. Endless columns of marching men slogged past them, and interspersed between the ranks of bobbing steel helmets were batteries of guns and lines of supply trucks loaded with all the accoutrements of war.

Their forward progress faltered, and for hours at a time the ambulances were signalled off the roadway into a field or a side lane while fresh hordes streamed past.

I’ll have to send the ambulances back soon, Bobby told Centaine during one of their halts. They are needed . As soon as we can find a field hospital, I’llhand over these patients. Centaine nodded and made as if to go to the next vehicle where one of the men was calling weakly. Over here, Sunshine, can you give me a hand. Bobby caught her wrist.

Centaine, when we reach the hospital there is bound to be a chaplain there. It would only take a few minutes- She gave him her new smile, and reached up to touch his unshaven cheek with her fingertips. You are a kind man, Bobby, but Michel is the father of my son. I have thought about it, and I do not need another father. Centaine, you don’t understand! What will people think? A child without a father, a young mother without a husband, what will they say? As long as I have my baby, Bobby, I don’t give a, how do you say in English, I don’t give them a fig! They can say what they like. I am the widow of Michel Courtney.

In the late afternoon they found the field hospital they were searching for. It was in a field outside Arras.

There were two cottage tents, emblazoned with the red crosses. These were serving as operating theatres. Rough shelters had also been hastily thrown up around them to accommodate the hundreds of wounded waiting their turns on the tables. They were built of tarpaulins over timber frames, or of corrugated iron scavenged from the surrounding farms.

Anna and Centaine helped unload their own wounded and carry them into one of the crowded shelters, then they retrieved their baggage from the roof of the leading ambulance. One of their patients noticed their preparations to leave.

You aren’t going, Sunshine, are you? And hearing him, others pulled themselves up on an elbow to protest.

What are we going to do without you, luv?

She went to them for the last time, passing from one to the next with a smile and a joke, stooping to kiss their filthy, pain-contorted faces, and then at last unable to bear it any more, hurrying back to whence Anna waited for her.

They picked up the carpet bag and Anna’s sack, and started along the convoy of ambulances which were being refuelled, ready to return to the battlefield.

Bobby Clarke had waited for them, and now he ran after Centaine. We are going back, orders from Major Sinclair.”Au revoir, Bobby.”I’ll always remember you, Centaine. She went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. I hope it will be a boy, he whispered.

it will be, she told him seriously. A boy, I am certain of it The convoy of ambulances trundled away, back into the north, and Bobby Clarke waved and shouted something that she did not catch, as they were carried away on the river of marching men and lumbering equipment.

What do we do now? Anna asked.

We go on, Centaine told her. Somehow, subtly she had taken charge, and Anna, increasingly indecisive with each mile between her and Mort Homme, plodded after her. They left the sprawling hospital area and turned southwards once again into the crowded roadway.

Ahead of them over the trees Centaine could make out the roofs and spires of the town of Arras against the fading evening sky.

Look, Anna! she pointed. There is the evening star we are allowed a wish. What is yours? Anna looked at her curiously. What had come over the child2 She had seen her father burned to death and her favourite animal mutilated barely two days before, and yet there was a ferocious gaiety about her. It was unnatural.

I wish for a bath and a hot meal Oh, Anna, you always ask for the impossible. Centaine smiled at her over her shoulder, transferring the heavy carpet bag from one hand to the other.

What is your wish, then? Anna challenged.

I wish that the star leads us to the general, like it led the three wise men- Don’t blaspheme, girl. But Anna was too tired and uncertain for the rebuke to have real force behind it.

Centaine knew the town well, for it contained the convent where she had spent her schooldays. It was dark by the time they made their way through the town centre.

The fighting of the early years of the war had left terrible scars on the lovely seventeenth-century Flemish architecture. The picturesque old town hall was pocked with shrapnel splinters and part of the roof destroyed. Many of the gabled brick houses surrounding the Grande Place were also roofless and deserted, although the windows of others were candlelit. The more stubborn of the popu lotion had moved back again immediately the tides of war had rolled by.

Centaine had not made a special note of the way to the monastery that General Courtney was using as his headquarters when she had last visited it with Michael, so she could not hope to find it in the dark. She and Anna camped in a deserted cottage, eating the last scraps of stale bread and dried-out cheese from Anna’s sack, using the carpet bag for a pillow and each other for warmth as they lay on the bare floor.

The next morning Centaine dreaded finding the monastery deserted when she finally rediscovered the lane leading to it, but there was a guard on the main gate.

Sorry, miss, Army property. Nobody goes in. She was still pleading with him when the black Rolls came racing down the lane behind her and braked as it reached the gates. It was coated with dried mud and dust, and there was a long ugly scratch down both the doors on the nearest side.

The guard recognized the pennant on the bonnet and waved the Zulu driver on, and the Rolls accelerated through the tall gates, but Centaine ran forward and shouted desperately after the car. In the back seat was the young officer she had met on her last visit.

Lieutenant Pearce! She remembered his name, and he glanced back, then looked startled as he recognized her.

Quickly he leaned across to speak to the driver, and the Rolls pulled up sharply and then reversed.

,Mademoiselle de Thiry! John Pearce jumped out and hurried to her. The last person I expected, what on earth are you doing here? I must see Michael’s uncle, General Courtney.

It’s important. He is not here at the moment, the young officer told her, but you can come with me. He should be back fairly soon, and in the meantime we’ll find you a place to rest, and something to eat. It seems to me that you could use both He took Centaine’s carpet bag from her. Come along - is this woman with you? Anna, my servant. She can sit in front with Sangane. He helped Centaine into the Rolls. The Germans have made it a pretty busy few days, he settled beside her on the soft leather, and it looks as though you have been through it as well. Centaine looked down at herself: her clothes were dusty and bedraggled, her hands were dirty and her fingernails had black half-moons under them. She could guess what her hair looked like.

I have just come back from the front. General Courtney went up to take a look for himself. John Pearce politely looked away as she tried to put her hair into place again. He likes to be right up there, still thinks he’s fighting the Buer War, the old devil. We got as far as Mort Homme-’That is my village. Not any more, he told her grimly. It’s German now, or almost so. The new front line runs just north of it, and the village is under fire. Most of it shot away already you wouldn’t recognize it, I’m sure.