“Well, you got one Hun today,” Cleve-Cutler said.
“Yes, thanks to O’Neill. He got close enough for me to apply the finishing touches. He did all the hard work.”
“You prick,” O’Neill said. “You piss-poor lump of shit.”
“I sense here a difference of opinion,” Cleve-Cutler said.
“Hey!” Piggott said. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take a look at the pistol? Then we can see if it’s been fired or not.”
“I lost it,” Paxton said. “Awfully sorry.”
“Lost it? How the hell did you come to lose it?”
“Dropped it over the side. I took it out to make sure it was loaded and suddenly the plane sort of went over sideways and before I knew it… Goodbye pistol.” He grimaced. “Didn’t want to mention it. I mean, a chap feels such a juggins.”
Piggott sniffed. “Well, you’ll have to pay for it, that’s all.”
“Bollocks,” O’Neill grunted. “All bollocks.”
“What about the way O’Neill flies the aeroplane?” Cleve-Cutler asked.
“I think he’s jolly brave,” said Paxton. “When the Hun’s coming at us he holds the plane absolutely straight and level so I can get the best possible shot. I’m frightfully lucky to have a pilot like that.”
Cleve-Cutler nodded to himself, slowly and at length. “Buzz off, both,” he said. They went out.
“Well,” Piggott said. He scratched his head.
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Cleve-Cutler said.
“D’you think he tried to shoot him?”
“I’m sure he did. Have you ever seen Frank in such a bate? Eyes like headlamps.”
“Then he was right. Paxton’s crazy.”
Cleve-Cutler tugged at his left ear. “Um,” he said. “Ah. Well, now. He was crazy then, up there, for a little while. He’s not crazy now, is he?”
“No, but he’s a bloody liar, isn’t he?”
Cleve-Cutler laughed and laughed. “That was damn good, wasn’t it? I must say I enjoyed that. He’s pure animal, is our Paxton. Half blood-lust and half low cunning, all wrapped up in the old school tie.” The thought made him laugh again. “What a shocker. I wish I had more like him.”
Paxton and O’Neill kept well apart on the way to the pilots’ hut. As they were getting changed, O’Neill said: “You’re not a sodding juggins. You’re a halfwit. All you had to do was say that flare pistol got lost through enemy action, and they’d have given you another one, free.”
“It’s something called honesty,” Paxton said. “You wouldn’t understand. “
They said nothing until they met the adjutant to report on the patrol. O’Neill gave a fairly detailed account of the fight; he identified the enemy as a Halberstadt D II single-seater, one gun synchronised to fire through the propeller arc. The way it disintegrated in the second attack, just blew apart, made him believe that its fuel tanks were punctured and an incendiary bullet touched a stream of vapour. Good pilot. Determined.
“Anything to add?” Brazier asked Paxton.
“Only to say what a pleasure and a delight O’Neill’s company has been, and how I look forward—” O’Neill punched him on the side of the head, a slog of a blow that hurt the hand as much as the head. Brazier cried,”I say, there! Now come along!” Paxton swung a fist wildly and blindly and hit O’Neill in the stomach. Then they were whacking and slamming at each other, usually missing, until Brazier grabbed them by the collars and dragged them apart. He hoisted them onto their toes and gave them a good shake. It was an astonishing feat of strength. Paxton’s teeth were rattling, and O’Neill’s hands were flopping as if his wrists were broken. “Now listen here!” Brazier shouted. He gave them a good flourish to gain their attention, and blood sprayed from O’Neill’s nose. “That sort of thing’s not on! You’re not at home now. I’ll have no brutality in this camp. Cut it out or I’ll take on the pair of you and beat you to a bloody pulp.” He tossed them aside.
O’Neill went to the mess for a drink. Paxton went to his billet and got cleaned up. Then he went to see Piggott. On his way there, three people congratulated him on his kill. He asked Piggott’s permission to go into Amiens for a couple of hours. “Yes, yes, by all means, go, for Christ’s sake get out before you start another fight,” Piggott said. On his way to borrow a motorcycle, Paxton was congratulated by four more people. Several others waved as he rode out of camp. He never knew he had so many friends.
Chapter 16
There was nobody on the lake, and the tennis courts were empty. The grounds were empty, too. The further he rode up the drive the emptier everything looked. It was a drab, lifeless evening and when he glimpsed a corner of the house it seemed big and unfriendly. What if Mr Kent Haffner met him? He lost his nerve and turned back and rode fast to the entrance gates. The old man who had opened them to let him in emerged from the lodge and opened them to let him out. Paxton sat on the bike with his feet on the gravel and counted the pounding heartbeats. What was he afraid of? A middleaged American diplomat? We reposing especial Trust and Confidence in your Loyalty, Courage and good Conduct… So what the dickens was he afraid of? He revved the engine. It backfired and the old man jumped. He was afraid of meeting Judy, of course. Afraid she might not like him this time. How feeble! He turned the bike again and roared back up the drive.
His heart was still thumping and thudding when a maid showed him into the library. He felt slightly giddy, and when he saw Judy Kent Haffner wrestling with another young officer he felt ill. They were sitting on a sofa and they were flushed and breathless with laughter. “You’re a cheat and a stinker,” she said, gasping, and pushed the man away. “David’s going to thrash you. Aren’t you, David?”
“Within an inch of his life.” Paxton was impressed by his voice: he sounded calm and easy. They had been playing backgammon. It was all just fun. He ordered up a smile and walked across the room as if he walked across rooms every day. She stood and tossed her hair back and kissed him on the lips. It came as a shock. He never knew girls tasted so good. “Goodness, you’re all dusty! Anne-Marie…” The maid was still there. “Show Mr. Paxton to the Chinese bathroom.”
When he came back, looking pink and smelling of jasmine, the other man had gone. She took both his hands and led him onto the terrace. “You saved me from a dreadful fate,” she said. “I was getting whopped, absolutely whopped. Now tell me, how is the war going? You’ll stay for dinner, you must, otherwise I shall be miserably lonely and probably shoot myself between the fish and the meat, which is a very painful place to get shot, and where the hell have you been all this time?”
“Fighting the foe.”
Still holding his hands, she took a step back and studied him At first he went slightly red but then he asked himself what he had to be ashamed of? Nothing. All his mother’s friends said he was goodlooking. So he turned no more than slightly red and he looked straight back at her. It was a wonderfully enjoyable experience.
“Do you still have your marvellous machine-gun?” she asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“And am I going to find out how long it is?”
“No. Military secret.”
“You’re my hero.”
They walked to the rose garden, where the air was heavy with scent. “You know, we ought to be able to eat roses,” she said. “Look at that one: pure rich cream. And here’s one like the flesh of a peach.”
“I heard about a breed of wild deer that eats roses non-stop. Just the flowers.”
“Clever animal.”
“My aunt doesn’t think so. She breeds roses.”