THE CINDER PATH (28 page)

"It's all right, Nellie. It's going to be all

right, I'll look after you. From now on I'll look

after you."

"What's that, my dear?" He put his head

closer to her mouth.

"I... I was lonely . . . nothing to live for."

"Oh Nellie. Nellie." He now stroked the

clammy hand lying limply within his own. "You've got everything to live for; you're so young, Nellie, and so, so bonny . . . lovely." He spaced the words and

inclined his head

downwards with each one, then ended, "And you have friends who care for you."

When her head began to move agitatedly on the

pillow he said hastily, "Now, now, Nellie;

don't distress yourself, please."

She became still. Her eyes were closed and now from

under the compressed lids there appeared droplets of

water that weren't sweat.

"Oh, Nellie, Nellie, don't! Look."

He shook her hand gently and, his tone aiming to be

light, he said, "They'll throw me out; they told

me you had to be kept quiet and I hadn't

to distress you."

Her tear-filled eyes opened and she looked at

him a moment before she said, "You always distress me, Charlie."

"Oh! Nellie."

"Oh! Charlie." She smiled faintly now, but

even as she did so her face became awash

with tears.

He sat gripping her hands now unable to pour out the

words speeding from his mind because he was suddenly and vitally aware that their meaning would express emotions that would go far beyond words of comfort, and he couldn't... he mustn't allow this complication to come about.

"I'm ... I'm sorry, Charlie."

"Oh, Nellie; I'm . . . I'm the one who

should be saying that. I... I was utterly thoughtless; I should have written."

"Yes, you should." In the two admonitory

small movements made by her head he glimpsed for a

moment the old Nellie and he smiled at her as he

said, "It won't happen again."

"That a promise?"

"Definitely."

"Where are you now?"

"Outside Durham."

"For long?"

He paused before he said, "I'm not sure; you can

be sure of nothing in this war."

He was about to ask if her mother had been when the

door opened and the nurse standing there said simply,

"Please."

"Oh, not yet ... oh, Charlie."

He was standing on his feet now but still holding her

hands and he bent over her, whispering, "I'll be

back, Nellie."

When the look in her eyes told him that she

didn't believe him, he bent further forward and

placed his lips on hers; then looking into her eyes

again, he said, "I'll be back."

She said no more and he went from the room.

In the corridor he said to the night nurse,

"She's very ill, isn't she?"

"Oh"-the voice was airy-"she's not as bad as when they brought her in. She's lucky to be alive.

You know she tried suicide, don't you?"

He stared at the nurse. They said some of them were as

hard as nails and they were, especially when dealing with their own sex.

"Good-night."

"Good-night." The nurse's opinion of him was

expressed in her farewell. It was a certainty she

wasn't one of those who were impressed by an officer's

uniform.

He paused in the corridor. Nellie hadn't

noticed that he was no longer a private; but then she

was too ill, and anyway Nellie was the kind of

person who would lay little stock on rank.

What would he do if she died?

He didn't know except that her going would set the

seal on his ineffectiveness, the ineffectiveness that

stamped his whole makeup. Not one thing had he done

off his own bat. He had allowed himself to be led up

to or pushed into every situation in his life. There

was that one time he could have taken the initiative

by sticking to the gun that Nellie had fired. Had he

done so he knew now that his life from then would have been different. But what in effect had he done? walked

backwards out of the situation and, as he deserved,

fallen into a trap.

He was, he knew, one of those people who are dubbed

nice fellows, men who are never strong enough to alter

circumstances, men who surfed as it were on the waves

of other people's personalities, until finally being

dragged into self-oblivion by the undertow.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He looked at the night porter, and after a

moment's hesitation, he said, "Yes; when are the

visiting hours?"

"Saturday, sir, is the next one between two and

four; and Sunday the same time. But I think they

make allowances for uniform." He smiled.

"Thank you."

"Thank you, sir. Good-night."

"Good-night."

As he went down the hospital steps and walked

into the starlit night he thought in normal life men

are kinder than women, less hard. He'd had

evidence of it with his mother

and Betty . . . and Victoria. Yes, and even

Polly. But people would call Polly sensible, not

hard, And then those nurses back there, tough

individuals. He should hate women, yet the only

person he hated was Slater.

What about Major Smith?

Yes, what about Major Smith? Truth to tell

he didn't know how he felt about the man. He

thought he despised him rather than hated him.

Strangely, he saw him as a weaker man than

Slater. Yet he would have to be a strong type both

physically and mentally to hold his own with Victoria.

He had heard nothing from Victoria since that

particular night; she was likely waiting for a move

from him and sitting on hot bricks wondering what he

was going to do about her dear major.

He stood outside the iron gates and looked

up into the sky. Somewhere Zeppelins were dropping

bombs out of it; somewhere else the stars were being

outshone by the flashes of artillery, and all over

Flanders" fields men were lying staring sightless up into the heavens. Yet momentarily all this was being

obliterated by a flood of personal feeling, an

all-consuming feeling.

He walked on, boarded a bus, afterwards

walked on again. Then he entered the Officers'

Club in the centre of the city for the first time, and he did so without a feeling of embarrassment. He was not

merely SecondLieutenant Charles

MacFell, the grouts of the officers' hierarchy, he

was Charlie MacFell, who was vitally aware that he

was loving someone, really loving someone for the first time in his life, and that because of it he imagined he would never again be ineffectual.

T

caret HERE you are, sir, shining like Friday

night's brasses."

"What was that, Miller?" Charlie turned to his batman who was brushing him down. . . . He'd have

to make himself get used to this and not take the brush from the man and do the job himself.

"It's what me mother used to say, sir. Everyting

in wor house was cleaned on a Friday, and

we'd lots of brasses on the mantelpiece.

They used to shine like silver, and me mother used to say to wor lads, "Now scrub your faces till they

shine like Friday night brasses"."

Charlie smiled at the man. He was a nice

fellow was Miller, always cheery. He had been

assigned to him when he finished training and he felt

that he had struck lucky for he had been so

helpful. He was a real morale booster was

Miller.

"There you are, sir." The batman took two

paces backwards and surveyed his handiwork. "You

know, sir, I think you're the tallest

officer in the camp. What is your height, sir?"

"Six foot three and a half."

"Aw, good. Good."

"What do you mean, good?"

"Well, sir, Private Thompson is

betting on Captain Blacken, and . . . and he

said he could top you, sir. But you've done "im

by half an inch."

Charlie laughed. "I hope the half-inch

proves worth your while."

"Well, a dollar's not to be sneezed at, is

it, sir?"

"No, it isn't."

As the batman handed Charlie his hat and stick and

Charlie responded by saying, "Thank you", a

habit he found he couldn't get out of, there came a

knock on the door, and when Miller opened it, a

corporal stood there. Stepping smartly into the

room, he saluted Charlie, saying,

"Lieutenant Calthorpe's compliments, sir, and

would you meet him in number two room?"

Charlie hesitated a moment before saying, "Yes,

thank you. I'll be there." Then he looked at his

watch; the bus went in twenty minutes.

As he crossed the square some of the men

in his own platoon were walking towards the gates; their faces bright, they were laughing and joking among themselves.

Many of them, he knew, would be making for home,

others would have a blow-out in the first pub they came to.

Lieutenant Calthorpe was standing before a mirror

adjusting his tie. He didn't turn when Charlie

entered the room but, putting his face closer to the

mirror, he said, "Ah, MacFell, I'm

sorry an" all that but there's been a change in the time-table. I should've seen you earlier but I was held up. It's just this, I'd like you to change with

Radlett; he's coming into town with me.

He's got a little business to see to." He

turned round now, straining his neck out of his collar as he ended, "Rather important. Be a good fellow and

take over for him. Make it up to you tomorrow, the whole day off if you like."

There was a significant pause, then he turned

so smartly about that he almost overbalanced

Calthorpe's batman.

Standing outside the block, he looked towards the

far gate where Radlett was standing beside his car, but before taking a step in his direction he warned himself. Be

careful.

Radlett's unblinking round blue eyes looked

straight into his as he said, in that drawling twang that was so like Calthorpe's, "I'm sorry. It's

rotten luck, but what could I do? He wanted a

lift into town and transport that would get him back

. . . well, latish. He said he'd make it up

to you tomorrow. Of course I know, old fellow, that leave on a Sunday around here is equal to being drafted

into the cemetery."

Charlie made no reply, and Radlett added,

"You won't hold it against me, old chap, will you?"

"Oh no, certainly not." The tone was the same as that used by Radlett, and the

secondlieutenant stared at him for a moment, then

said, "Good. Good." But then he added, "Of course, if I were in your shoes I'd be flaming mad."

"Perhaps I am." He stared pointedly at

Radlett before turning abruptly away.

In rank he was the same as Radlett, yet he

knew that in the eyes of the lieutenant, the captain,

and the major, he was an outsider; not only had he

come up from the ranks but he was a conscript. To be

placed in only one of these situations would have been enough to stamp him as an outsider, but the double infamy was, he had been given to understand,

if albeit silently, an insult to the regiment.

Though it was likely this company wouldn't see

Flanders, still it was hard lines if it had to be the

recipient of the dregs of the army.

Oh, he knew the feeling that his presence created

in the mess all right, yet he had played it down

till now, but he'd had enough and he'd make this plain, at least with Radlett, when doubtless his attitude

would be passed on to the lieutenant.

All morning he had felt in a state of

excitement about seeing Nellie again. Three days

ago he had written to her and told her he'd be with

her some time over the week-end. It was a good

job, he thought now, that he hadn't stated an exact

time.

He made for his room again and when he opened the

door it was to find Miller sitting in his chair with his feet on the camp table and a mug in his hand.

So abruptly did the man get to his feet that

the tea splashed in all directions and Charlie

stepped quickly back, putting out his hand to ward off the splashes.

"I'm sorry, sir, I... I thought you had

gone, sir."

Charlie threw his hat on to the bed, and as he

took off his trench coat he said, "So did I."

"Something gone wrong, sir?"

Charlie looked at the batman. He was a man

old enough to be his father, and he smiled wryly at him as he said, "The lieutenant wanted the use of a car.

I don't happen to possess one."

"Aw, rotten luck, sir. He changed you over

with Lieutenant Radlett then, sir?"

"Yes, Miller, yes, that's what he did ...

Is any tea going?"

"Yes, sir. Oh yes, sir; I'll brew you

up one immediately." The man went to move away, then stopped and stared at Charlie and moved from one

foot to the other before saying, "Sir, can I speak me mind?"

Charlie's eyes widened slightly before he

nodded, saying, "Yes, yes, of course."

"Well, sir, it's like this. A man can be too

easy-goin', too soft, kind that is, and some folks

don't understand. You've . . . you've got to throw your weight about, not too much, you know, sir, but just enough to let them know you can't be sat on. And . . . and

I'm not talkin' about the men, sir, the platoon,

no, your platoon's all right, they understand and