‘He thinks you did him out of a coin or two,’ I say.
‘Really? What was he selling?’
‘Booze and girls.’
In the near distance, the machine guns start up and we both turn towards the eastern sky. A red light flowers there, probably some building near the Front hit and ablaze.
‘Well, I won’t be much help with the girls,’ Danny says. ‘But I might have a bottle or two we can share.’
The door proves stubborn but after a shove and a kick, we step into the web-strewn gloominess of the villa. Open doorways lead off the hall into a pair of reception rooms while a dusty staircase clambers to a second storey. It looks as if the family whose son taxied his way to an early grave stripped the house bare before they left.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Danny says when I place my boot on the first stair. He gives the riser a knock with his foot and the wood crumbles like a bad bit of trench wall. ‘Eaten through with rot. Let’s try in here.’
He leads the way into one of the reception rooms, where we find three iron cots with mattresses set up in front of an empty fireplace. Despite the reek of decay, this must have been an impressive space once upon a time. Now its past grandeur is only hinted at in the tongues of rich wallpaper lolling to the floor and the intricately-carved fireplace, wooden wildflowers cut out of the walnut mantelpiece. Danny discovers a rickety table in the other downstairs room and carries it, together with my writing case and my dinner, to the space between the beds. There he sets the table, spreading the white cloth I’d glimpsed earlier and pulling some cutlery from his pockets.
‘Feels dry enough,’ he says, testing one of the mattresses with his palm. ‘No chairs though, so this will have to do as both your bed and somewhere to sit.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking my seat. ‘So what’s on tonight’s menu?’
‘Curried mutton.’ He indicates the still-steaming bowl in front of me. ‘Best the field kitchen had to offer. I’ve already had mine and it was passable. I didn’t lose a tooth anyway. Oh, and as promised...’
From inside his tunic, he brings out two bottles of beer, which he uncorks and sets on the table. ‘Got ’em for a couple of pennies off an old girl in the marketplace. She looked like she could do with the money more than that dirty old pimp that brought you here. No, no,’ he says when I reach for my wallet. ‘My treat, sir.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Danny. And perhaps as it’s just the two of us here...’ I take a breath. ‘Why don’t you call me Stephen?’
‘Stephen,’ he echoes, that infectious smile spreading across his face. ‘Are you sure? Maybe these walls have ears.’
I can see he means it playfully. ‘I’m sure. As long as we keep it between ourselves. Out there,’ I gesture towards the door, ‘I’m still Lieutenant Wraxall. And while we’re at it, I think I owe you an apology.’
‘For what?’ he frowns, his smile broader than ever.
I shrug. ‘For being a bit out of temper earlier.’
‘No harm done,’ Danny says. ‘I understand that you were only trying to protect me. It was kind of you. But then kindness seems to come easily to you. You were very gentle with Private Murray earlier.’
‘I’m angry that his training sergeant has been so careless with him.’ I put down my spoon for a moment as the memory of Ollie Murray’s tortured feet comes back to me. ‘Some of these bloody instructors. All they do is scream and shout at their men, believing that instilling terror is somehow fulfilling their duty. They don’t understand the responsibility that comes with asking a man to fight for his country. The duty you have towards their welfare. The... What? Is something funny?’
Danny is looking at me, that impish grin on his face. ‘Not funny at all. I’m just glad you’re proving my point.’
‘What point?’
He picks up his bottle and chinks it against mine. ‘Second Lieutenant Stephen Wraxall is a very kind man.’
I take a sip of the warm oaty beer and wonder: if Danny is right, if I am kind, should that worry me? It was the kindness of Captain Danvers that got a man killed.
‘How is Private Murray?’ I ask.
‘Better,’ Danny says. ‘He’s eaten anyway.’
‘That’s good. We’ll check his feet again in the morning. It’ll be a tough day tomorrow but if we stay vigilant he should be all right.’
We lapse into silence as I eat. The mutton is tough but far from the worst meal I’ve had out here. Meanwhile Danny moves about the villa, finding a couple of old Tilley lamps and a canister of oil. He soon has the place dancing with light and is unrolling my sleeping bag onto one of the other cots. He glances at the third bed and I surprise myself by snapping at him.
‘Those will be taken by officers. I mean—’
‘It’s all right,’ he says, turning away. ‘I didn’t expect to sleep here. I’ve got myself set up in a tent with Ollie Murray and Percy Stanhope. Thought I should keep an eye on the boy tonight anyway.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ I begin, but he cuts in again.
