Heirs of Ravenscar (6 page)

They had sailed away from Liverpool in 1904; then their love of London lured them back. They made many visits home over the ensuing years, and Amos had been delighted to see them whenever they arrived on his doorstep.

It was a happy day for Amos when the famous letter came,
announcing Maisie's marriage to her young Irishman, who, as it turned out, was the eldest son of Lord Dunleith, an Anglo-Irish landowner with a splendid Georgian mansion called Dunleith and vast acres surrounding his county seat.

All of these thoughts were swirling around in his head as Amos tramped towards Trafalgar Square. There were a good many people circulating in the area, and especially around the statue of England's greatest hero, Horatio Nelson. Revellers were singing and waving the Union Jack and dancing. Some were shouting, ‘We beat the Hun!' Obviously they were celebrating because it was the end of the war, not because it was Christmas, which was still a week away.

At the other side of Trafalgar Square somebody let off a Catherine wheel, and bursts of sparkling lights rushed up into the night air. More and more fireworks began to explode for a wonderful display of colour and brilliance, and there was applause and laughter and more songs.

Unexpectedly, a clear soprano voice rang out above the din. The woman began to sing
Land of Hope and Glory
, and after the first verse other people joined in, and soon everyone was singing. Including Amos, who discovered he had a funny lump in his throat. He felt an enormous swell of pride, and realized he was as sentimental and patriotic as the rest of them were.

Eventually, he moved on, walking through the square, heading West to Piccadilly and the Ritz Hotel.

Thank God the fighting has ended, he thought. For the first time in history, a war had exploded and engulfed the entire world, destroying the old order of things. He understood that nothing would ever be the same again. But thankfully the world was at peace tonight, after four years of hell and millions of young men dead, mowed down before they had had a chance to live.

W
hen he reached Arlington Street, just off Piccadilly, Amos crossed over to the other side where the entrance to the Ritz Hotel was located.

Nodding to the doorman, attired in a uniform of dark blue and black top hat, he pushed through the swing doors and entered the lobby.

Glancing at the large clock on the wall, Amos was gratified to see that he was not late. It was exactly seven o'clock. After depositing his overcoat in the gentlemen's cloakroom, he went into the promenade area where English afternoon tea was served without fail every day of the week.

He stood glancing around, and a split-second later he spotted Charlie coming towards him.
Slowly
. He had an extremely bad limp and was using a walking stick, leaning on it heavily. A captain in the British Army now, having received many promotions, he looked very smart in his officer's uniform and Sam Brown belt.

Amos lifted his hand in a wave, and Charlie waved back.
Hurrying forward to meet him, Amos's step faltered slightly as he drew closer to his old friend. But he quickly recouped, took a deep breath, and continued down the plush carpet, hoping Charlie hadn't noticed.

Pushing a smile onto his face, Amos thrust out his hand when they came to a standstill opposite each other, and Charlie grasped it tightly, held on to it for a moment.

Amos felt his heart clench and he had to swallow hard. The young actor would never act again, not with that ruined face. One side was badly scarred by burns, the skin bright red, puckered, and stretched tightly over the facial bones. The scars ran from his hairline to his jaw, and looked raw.

As if he had read Amos's thoughts, Charlie said evenly, ‘I'll have to find a new profession, I'm afraid, Amos. But at least
I
got out alive, and you know what, the doctors thought they'd have to amputate my leg, but they didn't. Somehow they managed to save it for me.' His voice wavered slightly as he added, ‘I've been one of the lucky ones.'

Amos was choked up, but swiftly took control of himself, impressed by Charlie's courageous attitude. ‘I know you've been to hell and back, but you're home now. And you're safe.'

Charlie smiled faintly. ‘Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, old friend. Come on then, let's go to the restaurant, shall we? Have a drink, toast each other, and reminisce about old times.'

‘Best idea yet. And how's your sister Maisie?'

‘She's tip-top, very cheerful, feeling better because Liam is steadily improving, and every day. He was so shell-shocked he was like a zombie for a long time. Then he started weeping a great deal, and constantly woke up screaming in the night. And I know why … it's the memories … they don't go away.' Charlie shook his head. ‘Too many walking wounded who probably won't ever get better. The walking dead, I call
'em. Might as well be dead, the kind of lives they're going to have. Well, I shouldn't say that, should I?' He endeavoured to adopt a more cheerful tone, and finished, ‘Maisie's a wonder, and she's convinced that Liam will make a full recovery. She sends you her love, by the way.'

‘I received a Christmas card from her the other day, and she told me she hopes I'll go and visit them at Dunleith. In fact, she suggested we go together.'

‘We'll do it!' Charlie announced, and nodded to the
maître
d
' who had come to greet them, and was waiting to usher them into the restaurant.

‘Good evening, Captain Morran, very nice to see you tonight.' The man glanced at Amos, and smiled, ‘Good evening, Mr Finnister.'

Amos inclined his head. ‘Good evening,' he replied, feeling certain that the
maître
d
' remembered him from the times he had come here for lunch with Edward Deravenel and Will Hasling.

They followed the head waiter across the room. When he showed them to a table near the window overlooking Green Park.

‘I'm glad I was able to get a room here,' Charlie volunteered, looking across the dinner table at Amos. ‘The hotel seems to be very busy, no doubt because of the Armistice, and Christmas, of course. But I'm an old client and they were most obliging. I'm sure you remember that once we could afford it, Maisie and I stayed here whenever we came to London. Mostly to see you, Amos, you know.' Without waiting for a comment, he rushed on, ‘Believe me, this place is a helluva lot better than the trenches. Take my word for it.'

‘I do. I can't imagine what you boys went through over there. Nobody can. Hell on earth, I'm certain, and I've no doubt that it was bloody horrific –' Amos cut himself off as a waiter appeared at the table.

Charlie looked at Amos and asked, ‘Would you like champagne? Or something stronger?'

‘I'll have whatever you're having, Charlie, thanks very much.'

‘Then it's champagne.' Charlie said to the waiter, ‘I'd like a bottle of
pink
champagne, the best in the house.'

‘That would be Krug, sir. I'll bring it right away.'

When they were once more alone, Charlie leaned closer to Amos and said in a low voice, ‘The constant shelling, the mustard gas, the hand-to-hand fighting, it was bleedin' awful. But it was the bloody mud that got to us. Sometimes we sank knee-deep in it, and it slowed us down, I can tell you. One of my lads suddenly hit on the idea of using our rations to make a solid floor in the trenches.'

‘Rations?' Amos's eyebrows shot up questioningly.

‘That's right … tins of Fray Bentos corned beef, our daily rations. Hundreds of tins went under our boots, helped to keep our feet dry, and at eye level, so we could see over the top of the trenches. Spot the Germans as they came at us. It was horrible, like glue, that mud, and then there was the incessant rain, the bombs exploding, the men dying all around us …' Charlie let his voice fall away. He pressed his lips together, struggling to keep his emotions in check, but it was a struggle for him.

Amos, regarding him worriedly, noticed that Charlie's dark eyes were suddenly moist, and he reached out, touched the younger man's arm quietly, lovingly. ‘There, there, lad, take it easy. Perhaps we shouldn't be talking about this –'

‘It's all right, honest,' Charlie cut in with swiftness. ‘It's better to talk about it really, especially with an old friend like you. I know you understand how I feel, you always have.'

Amos said nothing, but thought that Charlie had never been through anything like this before, but then who had?
It had been a war of such magnitude, horror and brutality that it defied description.

Charlie suddenly coughed behind his hand, and swallowed. Then before he could stop himself he went on talking. ‘I saw my men die around me, all of them. I lost the whole battalion. I'm the only survivor.' His voice broke on these words, and he pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, sat back quietly, pushing the memories of his men away.

Amos, aware that Charlie was trying to control his distress, motioned to a waiter, and when he came to the table, Amos said, ‘Could we have some water, please? And the menus … we've been waiting for those. We'd like to order.'

Nodding, the waiter hurried off.

After a moment or two, Charlie turned to Amos and made a face. ‘Sorry, old mate, very sorry. Usually I'm fine, quite all right most of the time, and then suddenly I get upset, sort of overcome. My apologies. I didn't intend to inflict this on you.'

‘You're doing no such thing, don't be daft,' Amos answered, and then seeing a bevy of waiters descending on them, exclaimed, ‘Everything's coming all at once.'

Within minutes they were alone again, and lifting their flutes of champagne; they clinked glasses. ‘Here's to the future!' Charlie said.

‘The future!' Amos echoed, and took a sip.

A silence fell between them as they both scrutinized the menu, and then Charlie looked over the top of his, and said, with a smile, ‘Lots of delicious things to choose from, and I must confess, they all tempt me. A lot better than the grub I was getting in the army hospital at Hull. Bloody foul it was.'

Amos laughed, relieved to see that the old Cockney cheerfulness was surfacing in Charlie. ‘I must say it does read like a repast for a king. Well … I fancy the Colchester oysters,
or perhaps the Morecambe Bay potted shrimps, and then saddle of mutton with redcurrant jelly, or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.'

‘D'yer think they knows 'ow to mek Yorkshire pud 'ere? Me old muvver used ter say only the folks from up the Dales could do it proper, and that's right, innit? No, this ain't the place fer it.'

Amos burst out laughing. ‘I thought you'd forgotten all your Cockney, Charlie, seeing as how you're speaking like an officer and a gentleman tonight.'

Charlie laughed with him and took a long swallow of his pink champagne, enjoying it. ‘Not only tonight, but all the time really. Didn't you ever notice on our trips home before the war that Maisie and I were speaking differently, like this, not falling into Cockney slang at all?'

‘Come to think of it, yes, I did. But occasionally you sort of, well,
lapsed
, shall we say?'

‘Not often. However, there was a really good reason why we decided to speak properly, after we'd arrived in New York. And it's this … they didn't understand Cockney there. I mean, what Yank would know that apples and pears means stairs, and rosy lea is a cup of tea?'

‘That's understandable. But let's face it, a lot of the English don't understand it either,' Amos pointed out.

‘That's because you've got to be born within the sound of Bow Bells to understand Cockney and speak it proper-like. And that's St Mary-le-Bow Church where the bells are, but I know you know that. And listen, Mum once told me another fing, that rhyming Cockney slang was invented so that nobody else could understand it. Only Cockneys. It was a way to outwit the rozzers, coppers like you, Amos, and anybody else trying to listen in to a private conversation.'

‘A secret language! I'll be buggered.' Amos grinned.

So did Charlie, who announced, ‘You do manage to cheer
me up, you really do. It's the first time I've had a laugh in months and months.'

Before Amos could answer, the
maître
d
' came over to the table to take their order, and once he had left them alone, Amos leaned closer to his old friend. ‘I just wanted to say something, and it's this. I'm here to help you, in whatever way you might need me. If I can help you in any way, you know I am ready, willing and able to do so. I don't suppose you need money, because you were a successful actor, a star, but –'

‘No, no, I don't need money!' Charlie interrupted. ‘I have a good business manager in New York, and he's done very well for me, taken my money and quadrupled it over the years. And Maisie's money, too. A' course, she doesn't need money. After her father-in-law died last year, Liam inherited the title and quite a fortune. He was the only son, you see. I'm proud of her, Amos, because she's been running that estate ever since she married Liam. Lord Dunleith was sick, and a bit decrepit, and she took over because Liam was at the front, and Lady Dunleith was dead. She's quite remarkable, I think, our Maisie.'

‘I agree with you,' Amos murmured, and pushed away thoughts of the past and things he had no wish to remember. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘What do you think you'll do, now that the war's over? Or are you just going to be a gentleman of leisure.'

‘That's not for me, doing nothing!' Charlie shook his head vehemently. ‘I can't act anymore, not with this ruined face. But I could direct or produce, and perhaps I might even write for the theatre. Something will turn up.'

‘I know it will, you've always been very enterprising. But isn't there anything you can do about the scarring? I mean once your face has properly healed?'

‘Maybe. One of the doctors at the hospital in Hull told me that skin can be grafted, and that there are certain new
methods, special treatments being developed. I shall just have to wait until I've healed. Perhaps then I can see someone.'

At this point two waiters arrived with trays of food. There were Colchester oysters for Amos and paté for Charlie, which they promptly served, and then brought plates of toast and brown bread.

‘I'm glad we're having dinner together tonight,' Charlie remarked at one moment. ‘I couldn't wait to see you. As long as I've known you, you've always made me feel tons better. It's comforting to have a really close friend, someone you can trust.'

‘Yes, it is. And I can say the same for you, Charlie.'

It was after they had finished the main course of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and were sipping their glasses of St Emilion and relaxing, that Charlie suddenly sat up straighter in the chair.

‘What is it?' Amos asked, following the direction of his gaze.

‘A friend's just coming into the restaurant. That officer over there in the entrance. The one on crutches, with those two women and another man. Do you see him?'