Derek Robinson - War Story

“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.”

“Silly woman! I’d love to be a deer.”

“Would you? Can you jump?”

She picked a lemon-yellow rose and twirled it. “I jumped for my living,” she said. “You can get a free show, if you like.”

She took him into the house, to a small ballroom, empty of furniture. “Be a sweety and put something on the gramophone.”

He wound the machine and was startled to see her kick off her shoes and pull her dress over her head. She was wearing the tightest bathing-costume he had ever seen. He had never known that girls’ legs were so long and so beautiful. “Golly!” he said. “You look absolutely…” He took a huge breath.

“Yes, well, ballet dancers are supposed to look absolutely and that’s what I was before I got married. You never saw one of these before? Leotard.” She was bending and stretching. “I like to practise every day. Come on: music, music!”

He put on a record: Bizet’s Carmen. She was right, she could jump. And she flexed like rubber. He kept changing records and learning things he had never suspected about the way women were shaped, until suddenly she stopped dancing and sat in the middle of the room, gasping for breath. “Why does everything beautiful,” she asked,”hurt so much? Don’t try to answer. Come and talk while I bathe.”

He followed her to yet another bathroom, where she went behind a screen of smoked glass. Paxton sat in a cane chair and watched her blurred shape while he talked about life at Pepriac. He had never before been in the same room with an utterly, totally naked woman, and when he thought about it he got peculiar aches just behind his ears, so he tried not to think. That was impossible. Why does everything beautiful hurt so much? At last she came out, wearing a towelling robe. “Want a bath?” she said.

“Um… Not at the moment, thanks.”

“I’ll scrub your back.”

Now he knew he was being teased. “I have a batman who does that for me,” he said.

Dinner was excellent. Baked stuffed mushrooms, buttered whitebait, tournedos Rossini, strawberries with kirsch. Lots of wine. They talked about trivialities until she ate her last strawberry and said “Tell me about the war.”

He drank more wine while he thought what he ought to say. “Don’t think,” she said,”just say what you feel.”

It was a challenge. “All right. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, especially not the other chaps, because they’d—”

“Stop explaining, David. Just tell me.”

“Yes. Very well. Um… Well, I think it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen. Exciting, and colourful, and and… beautiful. That’s the only word, beautiful.”

“How can it be colourful? Everyone’s in khaki.”

“Yes, but there are dozens of different regiments. D’you know the most wonderful sight of all, for me? A battalion of infantry on the march. There’s something about the drums, and the crunch of the boots. I get quite a lump in the throat. And when it gets dark the Front is lit up like a firework display! Flares of all colours, and starshells… We can see them from the aerodrome. And hear the guns.”

He was so happy that he made her smile. “I wish I could see it,” she said. “I’ve got a little cine-camera… Is there really going to be a battle? People keep talking about a Big Push.”

He nodded. “There’s going to be the most glorious scrap, and we’re going to hit Master Fritz for six, you watch.”

“And you’re going to be in it?”

“I must be the luckiest man alive. I’m in the right place, at the right time, on the right side! Can you beat it?”

Coffee came, and brandy. “You haven’t said anything about flying,” she said. “But I can see you’ve been in action.” She meant his split lip.

“That? Oh, that’s nothing.” Now that he had to tell her about his kill he felt awkward, although it was the main reason for his visit. “We were up on patrol this afternoon,” he said, taking a deep look into his coffee-cup, “and I had a spot of luck. Shot down a Halberstadt.” He glanced up, shyly.

She stood and came over and put a finger under his chin to tip it up and kissed him on the lips. “Bully for you,” she said, and stroked his cheek.

“Actually…” Paxton took her hand. “You said you’d teach me to dance if I got another kill.”

They went to the ballroom. She put a slow waltz on the gramophone. “Don’t try to think,” she said as they held each other. “Just let your body follow mine.” Paxton had taken a couple of dancing lessons during the school holidays so he knew a bit about the waltz, but dancing with Judy was a far more exciting experience. For one thing she held him much closer than his partners had, and she would often rest her cheek against his chin.

When the fourth record spun to an end they stopped and she said: “You’re perfect. Get another kill and I’ll teach you something else.”

“Try and stop me,” he said. It wasn’t a very clever remark, so he kissed her. It was meant to be a quick, thank-you sort of kiss but she let it grow into much more than that. Unprecedented ideas drifted into his head, until she pushed him away. “Mr. Haffner is due home any time,” she said. “But come again, won’t you?”

The old man at the lodge had the gates open for him. Paxton gave him some money and chugged into the night. A rich, full day, he thought.

A week passed, a bad week for Hornet Squadron.

A man called Macarthur, a new boy, a replacement pilot, stalled on take-off. He got to a hundred feet, over-revved the engine and lost it. Then he did what he had repeatedly been told not to do: he tried to turn and land on the ‘drome, instead of gliding forward and crash-landing wherever he could. So the FE fell on its back like a load of old furniture pushed over a cliff. More work for the padre.