Everyone Brave Is Forgiven(54)

He closed his mind to all thoughts of the previous night. This was what he had learned in France: that one could continue to operate quite adequately, so long as one stayed in the hour.

At eight-thirty his men began to arrive back at the station, singly and in lurching groups. Alistair slapped each man on the back and got him roughly corralled at one end of the concourse. It was a relief to be back in charge of something simpler than himself. Though his head was hammering with the hangover, it amused him to discover that the men were worse off. After the rescue work was done it seemed that the majority had simply returned to the public houses, where normal service had continued in the cellars below the bars. It was impressive to see what the regiment had done to itself in twenty-four hours, with only indirect help from the enemy.

“Big night?” he said to a man who was bleeding from a cut above the eye.

“Yes but we’ll give it back to them double, won’t we, sir?”

“The Germans?”

“Well the Navy was fortunate, sir, that the Germans interrupted.”

Alistair docked him two shillings of pay for fighting, wrote him a personal IOU for two shillings, and carried on.

A private was complaining, “If the Luftwaffe had let me have one more hour, I’d have got her in the sack.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Alistair. “If you’d had one more minute after that, you’d have got her in the family way.”

The man turned and saw him. “Sorry, sir, didn’t know it was you.”

“I hardly know myself. Never mix wine and whisky, that’s an order.”

“Not unless you’re buying again, sir.”

Alistair moved from man to man, keeping it light. Under the chatter the men shook with anger. When it was time to face the Germans again, the grudge would be particular.

His fellow officers returned singly or in pairs, looking rather better off than he, and they all set to work to re-form the pacified and compliant men into the sterner geometries of war. On the station concourse the men lined up quite docilely in their ranks while the officers puffed on pipes and took the roll call and made sardonic inquiries concerning the men who were still AWOL. At nine, with the half-past raising steam at the platform and the men lining up to board, Alistair felt the universe returning to a bearable configuration.

He looked up from the company list and saw Mary arriving on the concourse in the dress she had worn the day before, conspicuous amid the uniforms. She carried his duffel bag, which he had left at the Lyceum.

His body’s first instinct was to take cover. She hadn’t seen him yet. He could easily just board the train, and he knew he ought to. Instead he waited and smoked his pipe. He could not stop watching her. He was a little sick at himself for it, but he was too tired now to be a saint.

As the men headed for the platform and their ranks thinned, Mary spotted him, broke into a smile and waved. He caught himself waving back, his chest tightening, immediately guilty now that the choice could not be unmade. She hurried over, and then her face fell and she stopped a yard short.

She said, “I was worried something might have happened to you.”

“It did. I popped into town and collected this hangover.”

“It suits you.”

“It’s a little tight around the temples. The others are all right, I hope?”

“I told them I was going home to check up on Mother and Father.”

“Well, now you can.”

She looked down. “You wish I hadn’t come, don’t you?”

He tapped out his pipe. “It might have been better.”

She looked up with a spark of anger. “I am in love with Tom, you know.”

“That’s good.”

“He is the gentlest man.”

“ ‘Well, you know, I like him myself.”

“I’m sure we shall be married.”

“And I’m sure I’ll be delighted for you. Let me know if you need a bridesmaid.”

They stood without speaking, while the last of the soldiers lugged bags toward the train and steam began to hiss from the locomotive.

Mary set down his duffel bag on the platform between them.

“Thanks,” said Alistair.

“Hilda was furious.”

“That’s what you came to tell me?”

She closed her eyes. “I came to make sure you were all right.”

“ ‘Well, now you can tell Hilda I’m all right.”

“Must you be so . . . ?”

“I’m sorry,” said Alistair.

“No, I am. I’m just very tired.”

“We’ll both feel better after a night’s sleep.”

She managed a smile. “Yes, I’m sure we shall.”

The locomotive’s boiler hissed louder. Alistair watched the last of the men boarding. He nodded to the officers who stood on the platform, watching this presumed lovers’ parting with theatrical amusement.

He turned back to Mary. “Look, yesterday was—”

“Wasn’t it? Maybe I was wrong to bring Hilda. I hope you didn’t feel too set up?”

“It was sweet of you and Tom to do the up-setting.”

“I just didn’t think you’d be so . . .”

Alistair waved it away. “Hilda is lovely. I’m sure if there’d been more than twenty-four hours . . .”