Centaine laughed in the wind and called to Michael, Go higher. Go up higher. He obeyed and she was never still for a moment, twisting and hopping about in his lap, leaning out of the cockpit first on one side, then on the other.
Look! Look! there is the convent, if only the nuns could see me now. There, that is the canal, and there is the cathedral at Arras, oh, and there- Her excitement and enthusiasm were infectious, and Michael laughed with her, and when she turned her head back to him, he kissed her, but she broke away.
oh, I don't want to miss a second! Michael picked out the main airforce base at Bertangles; the runways formed a cross of mown green turf through the dark forest, with the cluster of hangars and buildings nestling in the arms of the cross.
Listen to me, he shouted in her ear. You must keep your head down while we land. She nodded. When I give you the word, jump down and run into the trees. You will find a stone wall on your right. Follow it for three hundred metres until you reach the road. Wait there. Michael joined the Bertangles circuit in textbook fashion, taking advantage of his sedate down-wind leg to scrutinize the base for any activity which might indicate the presence of high-ranking officers or other potential troublemakers. There were half a dozen aircraft parked in front of the hangars, and he saw one or two figures working on them or wandering about amongst the buildings.
Looks as though it's clear, he muttered, and turned crosswind and then on to final approach, with Centaine scrunched down on his lap, out of sight from the ground.
ichael came in high, like a novice; he was still at fifty feet when he passed the hangars, and he touched down deep at the far end of the runway and let his rollout carry them almost to the edge of the forest before he swung broadside and braked hard.
Get out and run! he told Centaine, and boosted her out of the cockpit, Hidden from the hangars and buildings by the fuselage of the SE5a, she hoisted up her skirts, tucked her leather bag under her arm, and scampered into the trees.
Michael taxied back to the hangars and left the SE5a on the apron.
Better sign the book, sir, a sergeant mechanic told him as he jumped down.
Book? New procedure, sir, all flights have to log in and out. Damned red tape, Michael groused. Can't do a thing without a piece of paper these days. But he went off to find the duty officer.
Oh yes, Courtney, there is a driver for you. The driver was waiting behind the wheel of a black Rolls-Royce parked at the back of No. 1 hangar, but as soon as he saw Michael he sprang out and stood to attention.
Nkosana! he grinned with huge delight, his teeth gleaming in his dark moon-shaped face, and he threw Michael a sweeping salute that quivered at the peak of his cap. He was a tall young Zulu, taller even than Michael, and he wore the khaki uniform and puttees of the African Service Corps.
Sangane! Michael returned the salute, grinning as widely, then impulsively hugged him.
To see your face is like coming home again. Michael spoke easy fluent Zulu.
The two of them had grown up together, roaming the grassy yellow hills of Zululand with their dogs and hunting-sticks.
Naked they had swum together in the cool green pa ols of the Tugela river, and fished them for eels as long and thick as their arms. They had cooked their game on the same smoky fire, and lain beside it in the night, studying the stars and seriously discussing the occasions of small boys, deciding on the lives they would live and the world they would build when they were grown men.
What news from home, Sangane? Michael demanded as the Zulu opened the door of the Rolls. How is your father? Mbejane, Sangane's father, was the old servant companion and friend of Sean Courtney, a prince of the royal house of Zulu, who had followed his master to other wars, but was now too old and infirm, and was forced to send his son in his place.
They chatted animatedly, as Sangane drove the Rolls out of the base and turned on to the main road. On the back seat Michael stripped his flying gear to reveal his dress uniform, complete with wings and decorations, that he wore beneath.
Stop over there, Sangane, at the edge of the trees. Michael jumped out and called anxiously, Centaine! She stepped out from behind one of the tree trunks and Michael gaped at her. She had used the time since he had left her to good effect, and he realized now why she brought the leather bag. Michael had never seen her wearing make-up before, but she had applied it so artfully that he could not at first fathom the transformation. It was simply that all her good points seemed enhanced, her eyes more luminous, her skin more glowing and pearly.
You are beautiful, he breathed. She was no longer a child-woman, she was possessed of a new poise and confidence, and he felt awed by her. Do you think your uncle will like me? she asked. He will love you, any man would. The yellow suit was of a peculiar shade that seemed to gild her skin and throw golden reflections into her dark eyes. The brim of the billy cock hat was narrow on one side and full on the other, where it was pinned up to the crown with a spike of green and yellow feathers. Beneath the jacket she wore a blouse of fine creamy crepe-dechine, with a high lace collar, that emphasized the line of her throat and the dainty set of her small head above it. The boots had been replaced by elegant shoes.
He took both her hands and kissed them reverently, and then handed her into the back of the limousine.
Sangane, this woman will be my wife one day soon. The Zulu nodded in approval, judging her as he would a horse or a young thoroughbred heifer.
May she bear you many sons, he said.
When Michael translated, Centaine blushed and laughed.
Thank him, Michael, but tell him I would like at least one daughter. She looked about the luxurious cab of the Rolls. Do all the English generals have such motor-cars? My uncle brought it from Africa with him. Michael ran his hand over the fine soft leather seat. It was a gift from my aunt. Your uncle has style to go to war in such a chariot, she nodded, and your aunt has good taste. One day I hope I will be able to give you such a gift, Michel. I should like to kiss you, he said.
Never in public, she told him primly, but as much as you want when we are alone. Now tell me, how far is it? Five miles or so, but with this traffic on the road, God alone knows how long it will take us. They had turned into the main Arras-Arniens road, and it was clogged with military transport, guns and ambulances and heavy supply lorries, horse-drawn wagons and carts, the verges of the road crowded with marching men, hunch-backed beneath their heavy packs, with the steel helmets giving them a mushroom-headed uniformity.
Michael caught resentful and envious glances as Sangane threaded the big glistening Rolls through the slower traffic. The men trudging in the mud looked into the interior and saw an elegant officer with a pretty girl on the soft leather seat beside him. However, most of those sullen stares turned to grins when Centaine waved to them.
Tell me about your uncle, she demanded, turning back to Michael.
Oh, he's a very ordinary chap, not much to tell actually. He was thrown out of school for beating up his headmaster, fought in the Zulu War and killed his first man before he was eighteen, made his first million pounds before he was twenty-five and lost it in a single day. Shot a few hundred elephant while he was a professional ivory hunter, killed a leopard with his bare hands. Then, during the Boer War, he captured Leroux, the Boer general, almost unaided, made another million pounds after the war, helped negotiate the charter of Union for South Africa. He was a cabinet minister in Louis Both's government, but he resigned to come to this war. Now he commands the regiment. He stands a few inches over six feet and can lift a 200-lb sack of maize in each hand. Michel, I am afraid to meet such a man, she murmured seriously. Why on earth-'I am afraid I might fall in love with him. Michael laughed delightedly. I also am afraid. Afraid he will fall in love with you!