The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(42)

Giles lay still, staring up at the ceiling. ‘So how do we escape?’

‘I wondered how long it would be before you asked that.’

‘And what’s the answer?’

‘Not a chance while your leg’s still in plaster, and even after that it won’t be easy, but I’ve got a plan.’

‘Of course you have.’

‘The plan’s not the problem,’ said Bates. ‘The problem is the escape committee. They control the waiting list, and you’re at the back of the queue.’

‘How do I get to the front?’

‘It’s like any queue in England, you just have to wait your turn . . . unless—’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless Brigadier Turnbull, the senior ranking officer, thinks there’s a good reason why you should be moved up the queue.’

‘Like what?’

‘If you can speak fluent German, it’s a bonus.’

‘I picked up a bit when I was at OTS – just wish I’d concentrated more.’

‘Well, there are lessons twice a day, so someone of your intelligence shouldn’t find that too difficult. Unfortunately even that list is still fairly long.’

‘So what else can I do to get bumped up the escape-list faster?’

‘Find yourself the right job. That’s what got me moved up three places in the past month.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘As soon as the Krauts found out I was a butcher, they offered me a job in the officers’ mess. I told them to f*ck off, excuse my French, but the brigadier insisted I took the job.’

‘Why would he want you to work for the Germans?’

‘Because occasionally I can manage to steal some food from the kitchen, but more important, I pick up the odd piece of information that’s useful to the escape committee. That’s why I’m near the front of the queue, and you’re still at the back. You’re going to have to get both feet on the ground if you’re still hoping to make it to the washroom before me.’

‘Any idea how long it will be before I can do that?’ asked Giles.

‘The prison doc says it’ll be at least another month, possibly six weeks before they can remove the plaster.’

Giles settled back on the pillow. ‘But even when I do get up, how can I hope to be offered a job in the officers’ mess? Unlike you, I don’t have the right qualifications.’

‘But you do,’ said Bates. ‘In fact, you can go one better than me, and get yourself a job in the camp commandant’s dining room, because I know they’re looking for a wine waiter.’

‘And what makes you think I’m qualified to be a wine waiter?’ asked Giles, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

‘If I remember correctly,’ said Bates, ‘you used to have a butler called Jenkins working for you at the Manor House.’

‘Still do, but that hardly qualifies me—’

‘And your grandfather, Lord Harvey, is in the wine trade. Frankly, you’re over-qualified.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘Once you get out of here, they’ll make you fill in a labour form, listing your previous employment. I’ve already told them you were a wine waiter at the Grand Hotel, Bristol.’

‘Thanks. But they’ll know within minutes—’

‘Believe me, they don’t have a clue. All you have to do is get your German up to scratch, and try to remember what Jenkins did. Then if we can come up with a decent plan to present to the escape committee, we’ll march to the front of the queue in no time. Mind you, there’s a catch.’

‘There has to be, if you’re involved.’

‘But I’ve found a way round it.’

‘What’s the catch?’

‘You can’t get a job workin’ for the Krauts if you take German lessons, because they’re not that stupid. They make a list of everyone who attends the classes, because they don’t want no one eavesdropping on their private conversations.’

‘You said you’d found a way around that?’

‘You’ll have to do what all toffs do to keep ahead of people like me. Take private lessons. I’ve even found you a tutor; a bloke who taught German at Solihull Grammar School. It’s only his English you’ll find difficult to understand.’ Giles laughed. ‘And since you’ll be locked up in here for another six weeks, and haven’t anything better to do, you can start straight away. You’ll find a German–English dictionary under your pillow.’

‘I’m in your debt, Terry,’ said Giles, grasping his friend by the hand.

‘No, I owe you, don’t I? On account of the fact that you saved my life.’





21

BY THE TIME Giles was released from the sick bay five weeks later, he knew a thousand German words but he hadn’t been able to work on his pronunciation.

He’d also spent countless hours lying in bed, trying to recall how Jenkins had gone about his job. He practised saying Good morning, sir, with a deferential nod of the head, and Would you care to sample this wine, colonel, while pouring a jug of water into a specimen bottle.

‘Always appear modest, never interrupt and don’t speak till you’re spoken to,’ Bates reminded him. ‘In fact, do exactly the opposite of everythin’ you’ve always done in the past.’