Soldier No More (22 page)

Etienne d ‘
Auberon-Something-Something
? That would be another name for Genghis Khan, when he could get Jilly to decode the ‘Something-Something’ part of the Frenchman’s name anyway, thought Roche grimly. Because, as of now, everyone connected with the Tower was under suspicion of being an enemy until proved otherwise, even Frenchmen. It was their country, after all.

Meanwhile mild interest was in order. “Lives round here, does he, this Etienne?”

“He does
now
. I mean, he always did, after a fashion, in the family chateau—like Mummy and Daddy retire to freeze in the Cotswolds from time to time … But he used to live in Paris, in a fearfully smart flat near the Bois, when he was working for the Government there… Only then he had this absolutely frightful row over something—Algeria, I expect… they’re always having rows over Algeria—but it was one of those awful rows the French have, all about honour and France, and things like that—honestly, you wouldn’t credit it! I mean, can you imagine Jilly rowing about
honour
! Or Cousin Roland pitching into
his
Minister about England? But
they
do—the French—honour and France, and probably Liberty, Equality and whatever the other one is …
Fraternity
, that’s it! Fraternity my eye! According to David … ‘Tienne was all set for fraternal pistols at dawn in the Bois over whatever it was—and
they
were all set to put him up against the wall for a firing squad!” She shook her head in disbelief at her own story, cornflower-blue eyes wide. “Which is ridiculous, isn’t it—because, I mean, Cousin Roland didn’t exactly
celebrate
over that ghastly Suez business last year, he got so stroppy in the end that they had to pack him off to Scotland to let off steam shooting grouse to get it out of his system … But with ‘Tienne, it was like they were about to put him in the Tower of London under close arrest.”

Etienne d’Auberon
Something-Something
was becoming very interesting mdeed. But if the scandal had reached such serious proportions, even allowing for Lexy’s weakness for hyperbole, why hadn’t he heard of it? thought Roche.

“It was all hushed up in the end, of course.” The blue eyes narrowed knowingly. “David Audley says de Gaulle spiked their guns somehow, but Jilly thinks it was because Tienne knew too much, and they were scared he’d spill the beans about whatever it was … I mean, if it was as awful as
that
, then there must have been an awful lot of beans to spill, wouldn’t you think, David?”

“Mmm …” agreed Roche cautiously.

“But you must have heard about it, darling, surely?” The vague blue eyes blinked at him.

That was what was beginning to disturb him. Because if Etienne d’Auberon had been involved in a big Government scandal and he hadn’t picked up a whisper of it—and Philippe Roux hadn’t dropped the slightest hint of it—even the fact that d’Auberon’s name rang no bells could mean that he was a well-covered backroom boy … then the scandal had been very efficiently hushed for once. And that meant it was
big
—

“I’m just a simple soldier, Lady Alexandra.” And, for that matter, how
simple
was she? For, while her style and vocabulary were debutante, since when did debutantes chatter knowledgeable asides on Suez and Algeria and de Gaulle? Or was all that
simply
what had rubbed off frorn Audley and Jilly and Cousin Roland?

He had to know. “What makes you think I’ve heard about it?”

I didn’t, darling—Jilly did. Just before I came up here she said I ought to tell you about Tienne, anyway … because he might turn up at the orgy. He does sometimes.” She shrugged. “And you move in those sort of circles.”

“What sort of circles?” So it was a Jilly after-thought!

“Oh—hush-hush ones. You know!”

But that joke had gone far enough. “I told you—I’m just a simple soldier.”

“Simple my eye! Simple soldiers don’t make friends with our Jilly… and they don’t make phone-calls either. They make passes at me, is what they do. I’m an expert on simple soldiers, darling—and you don’t fit the pattern, believe me!”

Roche realised that he was on a hiding to nothing on Lady Alexandra’s own ground so long as he tried to play the game his own way. Jilly had given him better advice than she could imagine, but so far he’d made too little use of it.

“Tell me more about this fellow d’Auberon then—if I’m not simple,” he challenged her directly.

“Why d’you want to know about him?” Now she couldn’t help being suspicious.

“Because I’m not simple. I like to know all about the opposition before I make
my
pass, Lady Alexandra.”

“Oh …” She was vastly relieved by his frankness. “So that’s the way the wind blows! And I’ve been stupid again, haven’t I!”

“A bit. But tell me, anyway.”

“There’s nothing to tell. He’s much too honourable—and high-powered—for me … He’s just an acquaintance of David Audley’s, that’s all—high-powered, like David … and also weird … also like David—“

“Weird?”

“Funny.”

“Funny?”

“I don’t mean funny ha-ha … but sort of … contradictory.” She nodded into the valley. “Like, he’s mad about rugger—he’s gone all the way to Cahors today to talk about rugger with these Frenchmen who are also bonkers about the silly game.” She looked at Roche suddenly, and he realised that she’d shifted from the Frenchman to Audley. “And that’s pretty weird, isn’t it—the way these Frenchmen in the south play rugger—I never knew that until I met David Audley.”

“Indeed?” He shrugged. “But I don’t quite see how that’s … contradictory. Lots of people play rugger.”

“Ah!” She pointed at him quickly. “But you don’t play rugger, do you? Hockey’s your game, you said?”

“Yes. But—“

“But you know about it. And you know about cricket and soccer and tennis—who’s good, and who’s playing who, and all that sort of thing … I know, because I’ve got all these cousins—Roland’s got a rowing blue, and Jimmie played for the Occasionals, and Jake had a county cricket trial last year—“

The Perownes come up like mushr
ooms
…
positively hordes of cousins
—

“—I
hate
sport, personally,” continued Lexy vehemently. “It’s boring, and they all get drunk and sing dirty songs. And all I get to do is cut sandwiches and serve tea. But I know what they’re like—it’s all
balls
—“

Roche fought to hold in position whatever expression was on his face.

“—balls, balls,
balls
—just so long as they can kick them, or hit them, or throw them—big ones, little ones, white ones, red ones, all shapes and sizes … it doesn’t matter which is their special sport—if they’re mad about one sport, they
know
about the others, what’s what, and who’s who … the British do, anyway … Roland does, and Jimmie and Jake—and you too, David—“ she drew a quick breath “—
but David Audley doesn
’
t
!”

He couldn’t maintain his look of polite interest any longer. Incredulity and incomprehension had to take over.

She observed his discomfort. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m getting at, have you, darling?”

“Not a lot—no,” admitted Roche.

She nodded. “I’m not surprised. It takes one to spot one.”

“One—what?”

She laughed. “You know, when Mike was up at Oxford he played everything. I mean, when he was at Harvard, before that, he played football—American football, where they all dress up in the most extraordinary way and do even more extraordinary things to each other … But when he came to England, he played English games—rugger and cricket, and suchlike, and if you give him the chance he’ll talk about them non-stop. All about deep square legs, and kicking for touch … it’s
ghastly
to hear the way he goes on—it’s so
boring
. But they’re all like that, I tell you—all except David Audley.”

A surfeit of sporting cousins had clearly scarred Lady Alexandra for life. “I’m still not with you, Lexy.”

“No? Well, you just watch David Audley’s face when anyone else talks about sport. He gets that glazed look of his.”

Lexy herself usually had a slightly glazed look, as though she didn’t quite understand what was happening to her, or what had just happened. But also she had already put on record that ‘it takes one to spot one’, whatever that meant.

“Darling—he
hates
sport, just like me—that’s what I think. Even rugger, which is the only game he plays—I honestly think he’s bored with that too … and as for all the rest… he simply doesn’t care to know anything about them. It’s all a great big façade.”

“
Clubbable?
”

“
Yes and
no …
And I rather think I mean
‘
no
’
—“

And then Stocker had gone off at a tangent, without trying to answer what he didn’t understand, into the equally unsatisfactory labyrinth of Audley’s finances.

“
Anyway
—“ Lexy grabbed the word with special emphasis, as if she was using it to haul herself away from her own private experience “—
anyway
, that’s David all over: he just never quite fits… like, he absolutely hates the army, but he’s terribly proud of the Wesdragons—the regiment, Father’s regiment … and he hates the jolly old Establishment even more—that’s the only time he swears, when he talks about them—but when Davey— Davey Stein—when Davey pitches into the British Empire, because of Palestine, and all that, David gives him both barrels and waves the flag like my Great-Aunt Maggie, who was in Amritsar when they shot all those Indians, and still swears by General What’s-his-name who gave the order to open fire—it’s positively hilarious … and yet, at the same time, he likes the Arabs—And then, to top it off, he thinks the Israelis are really rather super, the way they give everyone the two-finger sign—including all Mother’s State Department friends in Washington. Oh—and he likes the Egyptians—he’s terribly unfashionable there—“

“And the Russians?” The sixty-four thousand dollar question.

“Oh … they’re the New Barbarians, darling—just inside tanks instead of on innumerable little shaggy ponies. You’ll hear all about them tonight, I shouldn’t wonder,” Lexy waved away the whole might of the Red Army with a slender and very dirty hand. She stopped abruptly as she focussed on her own hand. “My God! just look at me … I’m absolutely filthy again—I don’t know where it comes from, but I seem to attract dirt!” She lifted her face towards him. “Is my face dirty, David?”

Roche pretended to examine her features critically. All that was needed was soap and water, for under the clumsily-applied make-up and the soot from the boiler was a complexion not far short of Steffy’s.

“Well?”

“A bit of touching up maybe,” he said diplomatically.

Lexy examined her hands again. “God! Just look at the time!” She stared round in sudden panic. “It’s even starting to get dark—and I’ve been blethering on—and Jilly’s supper’s still in the oven! We must get back, David.”

Roche didn’t want the blethering to stop. “But Steffy—“

“Damn Steffy!” She turned away, down the hillside.

“And you were just getting interesting—“

“About David Audley?” She flung the name over her shoulder as he plunged after her. “Don’t waste your time trying to understand David— nobody does! It’d take a lifetime, and I’m certainly not volunteering for the job—“ Her voice faded as she drew away from him. “I don’t have a lifetime to spare, anyway—“

And neither did poor bloody Roche, thought Roche.

Depending on how much lifetime he had left, of course …

“
WE
’
RE NOT GOING
to wait for Steffy,” announced Lady Alexandra. “I’ll just get my bag, and then David can escort us through the Wild Wood by the short-cut. With him along we shalln’t have to worry about those swarthy rapists.”

Roche frowned at her. “What rapists?”

“No rapists,” said Jilly. “Honestly, Lexy—you’re the limit!”

“Well, they could be rapists for all you know.”

“Rapees, more like, if you have anything to do with them!” Jilly turned with a shake of her head from Lexy to Roche. “There are these gypsy-types we’ve spotted in the wood—“

“Saw them again yesterday, too—skulking up behind the old dovecote, down towards David’s place,” said Lexy firmly. “And I’ve seen them further afield, too.”

“They won’t be the same ones,” snapped Jilly.

“They were the same ones. It was when Steffy and I were collecting the bread. I saw them.” Lexy didn’t budge.

“And they were following you?”

“That I can’t say, they were stationary at the time. But they were the same ones, because they’ve got an old motor-bike and a couple of battered old pop-pop mopeds they swan around on.”

Jilly sighed. “Well, they’re a bit slow, getting down to the job then! We’ve each been on our own here often enough!”

“They’re casing the joint,” said Lexy airily. “I think we ought to tell La Peyrony—or, better still, David Audley. He’ll sort them out!”

“I’ve no doubt he would! And you’re the sort of person who gets innocent youths lynched during the sorting process.” Jilly turned to Roche again. “They look about sixteen years of age, and they’re about half Lexy’s size put together—and a quarter of David Audley’s—and a hundredth as dangerous. And they’re probably from down south, just looking for casual work and living rough meanwhile, poor kids.”

Another thing about Jilly, thought Roche, was that she didn’t scare easily. Although she hardly came up to Lady Alexandra’s shoulder, it wasn’t Jilly who needed protection, it was Lexy.

But it was also Lexy for whom he was supposed to be making a play, although he had not done much with his opportunities so far, he remembered.

He looked around the area of the cottage with a suitably protective air. The steep-pitched dark-grey slate roof of the Peyrony mansion could be seen through the trees to its left, but otherwise it was enclosed by thick woods on either side of the roadway. As a holiday-house it had a Perrault fairy-tale look, with its browny-pink pantiles and tiny windows set in dormers and thick stone walls. But as a refuge for three pretty girls in a foreign country, with strange young males in the woods roundabout, it had its disadvantages: other than the Peyrony place, there didn’t seem to be another house in sight.