Windflower Wedding. Elizabeth Elgin

strange comfort. He smiled his thanks to his driver who said, ‘Good night, sir. Good luck,’ then walked away down a long, echoing passage.

      ‘The CO is expecting you if you’ll come this way,’ said a regimental sergeant major, picking up Keth’s cap. ‘I’d take this, if I were you, sir.’

      Keth thanked him, and settled it on his head, realizing he would be expected to salute.

      They began to climb the stairs. Twelve steps up – dammit, he was counting again – the staircase branched to left and right. They turned left and the RSM knocked twice on the third door on the right.

      ‘Enter!’

      ‘Captain Purvis, sah!’ He did a smart about-turn, opened the door and closed it behind him with a bang.

      Keth came to attention and saluted, all the while wondering about Pendenys and if army boots stamped all over Mrs Clementina’s floors and up her stairs and if everyone banged her doors like the muscular sergeant major.

      ‘Sir!’ Keth stared ahead, arms rigid at his sides.

      ‘At ease, Purvis. Take a pew.’ The brigadier nodded towards a leather chair opposite.

      Keth sat, then removed his cap, placing it carefully on the floor at his side.

      ‘Good journey over? No bother?’

      ‘The best ever. The Queen Mary doesn’t waste time.’

      ‘Hm. Always fancied a trip on one of the queens. Comfortable, was it?’

      ‘Yes, sir, but very – er – basic.’

      The liner had been stripped of all her luxury. A cabin intended for two now slept eight in iron bunks. He remembered his first luxurious crossing of the Atlantic in ’thirty-seven, then wiped all thoughts from his mind.

      ‘Drink?’ asked the senior officer. ‘We do manage to get the odd bottle of whisky from time to time.’ He rose to pour two measures.

      ‘A very small one for me; I haven’t eaten since morning.’

      ‘Water with it?’

      ‘Please, sir.’

      ‘Welcome.’ The brigadier raised his glass. ‘Good to have you with us.’

      ‘Thank you, sir. Glad to be here.’ How glad they would never know.

      The brigadier had poured very small measures. He tilted his glass and drained it. Keth thought him a decent fellow but then perhaps he was a very senior boffin in khaki. Perhaps everyone here were mathematicians or scientists disguised as soldiers, just as he was.

      ‘How was Washington?’ He poured another small measure of whisky, nodding his head in the direction of Keth’s untouched glass.

      ‘Not for me, sir. I’m fine, thank you. And Washington has hardly changed.’

      ‘Hm. You were there before – at the Embassy?’

      ‘Yes, sir. In the cipher room. A civilian.’

      ‘And you volunteered to return – correct me if I’m wrong?’

      ‘I asked to be drafted home. I was told there would be conditions and I accepted them – though I don’t know yet what they are.’

      ‘All in good time. Tomorrow’s another day. Right now you’ll be wanting a kip, I shouldn’t wonder. Sorry you missed dinner but your batman will go on the forage for you.’ He glanced at his watch, a signal for Keth to get to his feet.

      ‘No hurry. Finish your drink.’ The brigadier pressed a button beneath the lip of his desk and almost at once the lance corporal who had carried in Keth’s kit appeared to stamp his feet and stand to attention.

      ‘Take Captain Purvis to his quarters, please.’

      ‘Er – good night, sir.’ Keth emptied his glass. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘’Night, Purvis.’

      The interview was over and he had learned nothing save that tomorrow was another day when doubtless the conditions would be explained to him, and where he would be working, and with whom.

      ‘Will you be going down to the mess, sir, while I unpack your kit?’

      He was being asked to clear off out of it and not make a nuisance of himself.

      Obstinately he said, ‘No, Lance Corporal, I don’t feel like socializing tonight. But I would like a couple of sandwiches and a very large mug of tea. Milk, no sugar. And then I would like a bath and maybe, afterwards, make a phone call.’

      ‘Oh, deary me, sir.’ The batman shook his head mournfully. ‘The sandwiches and the bath – no trouble. The phone call, oh, no.’

      ‘But why ever not?’ Keth indicated the bedside telephone with a nod of his head.

      ‘That, sir, is only internal, between you and the switchboard. Won’t get you to the GPO, not that instrument.’

      ‘Then how do I go about it?’

      ‘Sir, you don’t. There’s a ban on outside calls. Only in the direst emergency would you be allowed one. But I’ll see Cook about your sandwiches. I might manage beef …’

      ‘Beef will be fine.’

      ‘Righty-o, sir. I’ll get them now, then I’ll come back and unpack for you while you have your bath. I believe you’ve come from the States?’

      ‘I have.’

      ‘Then you won’t know about baths, here. Six inches of water, no more, per person. There’s a black line painted around all our baths, and over that line we dare not go!’

      ‘Of course not.’ Keth bit on a smile, then rummaged in his canvas bag for his toilet things. He had brought several tablets of soap with him and rose-geranium bath salts for Daisy – a bottle of perfume too, to use on their honeymoon because as sure as God made little apples, they were getting married on his next long leave. ‘But are you sure there is no way I can phone my fiancée?’

      ‘Not that I know of, Captain. Letters is the only way and they’ll have to be seen by the Censor. Even ours.’ He shook his head dolefully. ‘But that’s what comes of working in a place like this. You take the downs with the ups, and since I was pulled off the beach at Dunkirk with one in the shoulder, I count my blessings, in a manner of speaking. Rather be here, for all its faults, than holed up in Tobruk or in a prisoner-of-war camp.’

      ‘Faults? You mean there’s nothing much to do here?’

      ‘Oh, there’s the recreation room and the NAAFI van comes twice a week. They bring ciggies and we’re allowed a couple of bottles of beer. But mostly it’s – well, you know what I mean, sir? I’ll see to your sandwiches. And if you’ll give me your soap bag I’ll reserve you a bath on the way down. It’s customary, around this time of night, to put your soap and towel in a bath, otherwise you’ll be unlucky.’

      ‘Thanks, Lance Corporal,’ Keth smiled. ‘And what am I to call you?’ He seemed a decent sort, in spite of his sorrowful expression.

      ‘Call me? Why, Lance Corporal, that’s what, sir! If you’ll pardon me, it doesn’t do to get too familiar here – what with the fluid nature of the place, if you get my meaning.’ He left the room, leaving Keth to wonder about the fluid nature of the place and why phone calls were strictly not allowed. Frowning, he picked up the telephone.

      ‘Switchboard,’ a female voice answered at once.

      ‘Can you tell me, please, how I can make a call to Liverpool?’ Dammit, it was worth a try!

      ‘See the adjutant, sir. He’ll refer your request to the brigadier,’ came the ready reply.

      ‘Thank you.’ Carefully, thoughtfully, he replaced the receiver. But hadn’t the brigadier said that tomorrow was another day,