In all this, Howard acquiesced. He could remember very clearly how the war had gone before. He had been in it for a short time, in the Yeomanry, but had been quickly invalided out with rheumatic fever. The cockpit of Europe would take the shock of the fighting as it usually did; there was nothing new in that. In Cidoton, it made no change. He listened to the news from time to time in a detached manner, without great interest. Presently fishing would begin; the snow was gone from the low levels and the mountain streams were running less violently each day.
The retreat from Brussels did not interest him much; it had all happened before. He felt a trace of disquiet when Abbeville was reached, but he was no great strategist, and did not realise all that was involved. He got his first great shock when Leopold, King of the Belgians, laid down his arms on the 29th May. That had not happened in the last war, and it upset him.
But on that day nothing could upset him for very long. He was going fishing for the first time next morning, and the evening was occupied in sorting out his gear, soaking his casts and selecting flies. He walked six miles next day and caught three blue trout. He got back tired and happy at about six o'clock, had dinner, and went up immediately to bed. In that way he missed the first radio broadcasts of the evacuation of Dunkirk.
Next day he was jerked finally from his complacence. He sat by the radio in the estaminet for most of the day, distressed and worried. The gallant retreat from the beaches stirred him as nothing had for months; for the first time he began to feel a desire to return to England. He knew that if he went, there would be nothing for him to do, but he wanted to be back. He wanted to be in the thick of things again, seeing the British uniforms in the streets, sharing the tension and anxiety. Cidoton irked him with its rustic indifference to the war., By the 4th June the last forces had left Dunkirk, Paris had had its one and only air-raid, and Howard had made up his mind. He admitted as much that night to Mrs Cavanagh.
'I don't like the look of things at all,' he said. 'Not at all. I think I shall go home. At a time like this, a man's place is in his own country.'
She looked at him, startled. 'But surely, you're not afraid that the Germans will come here, Mr Howard? They couldn't get as far as this.' She smiled reassuringly.
'No,' he said, 'they won't get much farther than they are now. But at the same time, I think I shall go home. ' He paused, and then he said a little wistfully: 'I might be able to get into the A. R. P.'
She knitted on quietly. 'I shall miss having you to talk to in the evenings,' she said. 'The children will miss you, too.'
'It has been a great pleasure to have known them,' he said. 'I shall miss them.'
She said: 'Sheila enjoyed the little walk you took her for. She put the flowers in her tooth-mug.'
It was not the old man's way to act precipitately, but he gave a week's notice to Madame Lucard that night and planned to leave on the eleventh. He did it in the estaminet, and provoked a lively discussion on the ethics of his case, in which most of the village took part. At the end of an hour's discussion, and a round of Pernod, the general opinion was favourable to him. It was hard on Madame Lucard to lose her best guest, the gendarme said, and sad for them to lose their English Camarade, but without doubt an old soldier should be in his own country in these times. Monsieur was very right. But he would return, perhaps?
Howard said that he hoped to return within a very few weeks, when the dangerous stage of the war had passed.
Next day he began to prepare for his journey. He did not hurry over it because he meant to stay his week out. In fact, he had another day's fishing and caught another two blue trout. There was a lull in the righting for a few days after the evacuation from Dunkirk and he went through a day of indecision, but then the Germans thrust again on the Somme and he went on preparing to go home.
On the ninth of June Cavanagh appeared, having driven unexpectedly from Geneva in his little car. He seemed more worried and distrait than usual, and vanished into the bedroom with his wife. The children were sent out to play in the garden.
An hour later he tapped on the door of Howard's bedroom. The old man had been reading in a chair and had dropped asleep, the book idle on his lap. He woke at the second tap, settled his spectacles, and said: 'Come in!'
He stared with surprise at his visitor, and got up. 'This is a great pleasure,' he said formally. 'But what brings you out here in the middle of the week? Have you got a holiday?'
Cavanagh seemed a little dashed. 'I've taken a day off,' he said after a moment. 'May I come in?'
'By all means.' The old man bustled round and cleared a heap of books from the only other chair in the room.
Then he offered his guest a cigarette. 'Won't you sit down?'
The other sat down diffidently. 'What do you think of the war?' he asked.
Howard said: 'I think it very serious. I don't like the news at all.'
'Nor do I. I hear you're going home?'
'Yes, I'm going back to England. I feel that at a time like this my place is there.'
There was a short silence. Then Cavanagh said: 'In Geneva we think that Switzerland will be invaded.'
Howard looked at him with interest. 'Do you, now! Is that going to be the next thing?'
'I think so. I think that it may happen very soon.'
There was a pause. Then Howard said: 'If that happened, what would you do?'
The little sandy-haired man from Geneva got up and walked over to the window. He stood for a moment looking out over the meadows and the pinewoods. Then he turned back into the room. 'I should have to stay in Geneva,' he said. 'I've got my work to do.'
'Would that be very - wise?'
'No,' said Cavanagh frankly. 'But it's what I have made up my mind to do.'
He came back and sat down again. 'I've been talking it over with Felicity,' he said. 'I've got to stay there. Even in German occupation there would still be work for us to do. It's not going to be pleasant. It's not going to be profitable. But it's going to be worth doing.'
'Would the Germans allow the League to function at all?'
'We have positive assurances that they will.'
'What does your wife think about it?' asked Howard.
'She thinks that it's the proper thing to do. She wants to come back to Geneva with me.'
'Oh The other turned to him. 'It's really about that that I looked in to see you,' he said. 'If we do that, things may go hardly with us before the war is over. If the Allies win they'll win by the blockade. There won't be much to eat in any German territory.'
Howard stared at the little man in wonder. 'I suppose not.' He had not credited Cavanagh with such cool courage.
'It's the children,' the other said apologetically. 'We were thinking - Felicity was wondering... if you could possibly take them back to England with you, when you go.'
He went on hurriedly, before Howard could speak: 'It's only just to take them to my sister's house in Oxford, up on Boars Hill. As a matter of fact, I could send her a telegram and she could meet you at Southampton with the car, and drive them straight to Oxford. It's asking an awful lot, I'm afraid. If you feel you couldn't manage it... we'll understand.'