Simon Called Peter - Robert Keable (ready to read books .txt) 📗

Donovan is, and she'll wait for it. She's that sort. Besides, if Donovan was that officer with the matron, he's probably got other fish to fry."

Peter waited for no more, but plunged into the press again. As he emerged, he crossed the track of his friend, who was steering about with cakes. "Hullo, padre," that individual said; "you're a smart one, you are. Let's take those girls out to dinner. They'll come all right."

Peter mumbled something, and went on with his tea towards the corner. The other's readiness and effrontery staggered him, but he wasn't going to give himself away.

"You're a brute!" said Julie promptly. "Where have you been?"

"It's where have you been, you mean," retorted Peter. "I thought I was to take you in to tea. When last I saw you, you had Donovan in tow."

"And you had Tommy. Don't you like her?"

"Awfully," said Peter; "I think she wants something now. But do come across to our side. Aren't you going soon?"

"Yes, when we can get away. Remember, everyone is watching. You go on out, and we can meet you below."

"Right," said Peter; "I'll collect Donovan."

He found him after a bit, and the two made their adieus and thanks.

As they went down the steps, Jack outlined the campaign. "I just joked to her about dinner," he said, "but I think they'll rise. If they do, we'll go to Travalini's, if they dare. That girl of yours is up to anything: she knows a thing or two. You've some nerve, old thing."

"Nothing to yours," retorted Graham, still not at all sure of himself. "But, look here, what about Travalini's? I don't know that I care to go there."

"Oh, it's all right, old dear. You haven't a vast collar on now, and you
ought to see life. I've seen scores of chaplains there, even old Arnold.
I'll look after your morals. Come on; let's get out and across the road.
We shall see them coming down the steps."

The hospital fronted on to the sea and the promenade that once was so fashionable. The sun was setting, blood red, over the Channel, the ships at anchor looking dark by contrast. But there was still plenty of light, and Peter was inwardly conscious of his badges. Still, he told himself that he was an ass, and the two of them sauntered slowly townwards.

In a few minutes Jack glanced back. "They're coming," he said, and as the girls crossed on to the pavement behind them, turned round. "Good for you," he said. "You got out quicker than I thought you would. Shall we tram or walk?"

"Walk, I think," said Julie; "it's topping here by the sea. I want to get a pair of shoes, and the shop's not too far. Besides, you can buy shoes by artificial light, which won't do for some things. Tommy bought a hat the other night, and she nearly had a fit in the morning. She's keeping it for the next fancy-dress stunt."

She ran on, and, despite Peter, Donovan annexed her. They set off gaily ahead, Julie's clear laugh coming back now and again. Peter felt depressed and angry. He told himself he was being let in for something he did not want, and he had not much to say. To make conversation, he asked about South Africa.

It appeared the girls came from Natal. Miss Raynard was enthusiastic, and he gathered they had been trained together in Pietermaritzburg, but lived somewhere on the coast, where there was tennis all the year and moonlight bathing picnics in the season, and excellent river boating. He could not catch the name, but it was not too far from Durban. He said, in the end, that he had always wanted to visit South Africa, and should certainly come to Natal….

They turned off the promenade into a boulevard lined with the usual avenue of trees. It was dusk now, and looked darker by contrast with the street lamps. Small tram-cars rushed by now and again, with clanging bells and platforms crowded before and behind, and there were plenty of people in the street, Julie turned abruptly.

"I say, Tommy," she said, "Captain Donovan wants us to go out to dinner. What do you say? My shoes can wait, and we needn't be in till eight-thirty. It's not more than six now. It will be a spree."

"I'm game; but where are we going?"

"I suggest Travalini's, padre," said Donovan.

"Not for me;" said Miss Raynard; "it's too public and you seem to forget,
Captain' Donovan, that we are forbidden to dine with officers."

"Nobody is likely to give us away, Tommy," said Miss Gamelyn.

"I'm not going to take the risk in uniform. Let's go to a quiet hotel, or else to some very French place. That would be fun."

"A jolly good idea," cried Donovan, "and I know what will just fix us up.
Come on."

Tommy smiled. "Probably it will fix us up. Tell us about it first."

"It's absolutely safe," Donovan protested. "It's quite French, and we shall get one knife and fork each. There's a cinema on top, and billiards underneath, and practically no officers go. A Belgian Captain I came out with took me. He said you could 'eat well' there, and you can, for the cooking is a treat. I swear it's all right."

"Lead on," said Julie; "we'll trust you," and she manoeuvred so that her half-section was left with Donovan.

The four walked briskly through the dusk. "Don't you love France in the evening?" demanded Julie.

"Yes," said Peter, but dubiously. "I don't know it much yet," he added.

"Oh, I do. Even a girl can almost do what she likes out here. I've had some awful fun in Havre. I think one ought to take one's pleasure when one has the chance, don't you? But some of these girls give me the hump; they're so narrow. They can't see you with a man without imagining all sorts of things, whereas I've had some rattling good pals among men out here. Then they're so afraid of doing things—the girls, I mean. Do you know I went to Paris when I came up here from Boulogne? Had absolutely the time. Of course, nobody knows, so don't speak of it—except Tommy, of course."

"How did you do it?" demanded Peter, amused.

"Well, you see, I and another girl, English, were sent over by Boulogne, as you know, because you saw us on the boat, and we were supposed to come straight here. In the train we met a Canadian in the French Air Service, and he put us wise about changing, and so on. But it appeared you have to change at Amiens in the middle of the night, and he said the thing was to sleep in the train and go right on to Paris. Then you got twenty-four hours there, and left next day by the Havre express. The girl was horribly scared, but I said we'd try it. Nothing happened at all. We had a carriage to ourselves, and merely sat still at Amiens. When we got to Paris we simply walked out, bold as brass. I showed our tickets at Havre and told the French inspector we had overslept. He merely told us the time to leave next day. We went to an hotel, and then strolled up the Avenue de l'Opera. And what do you think? Who should I see but an old dear of a General I knew out in South Africa who is in the French Red Cross. He was simply delighted to see us. He motored us out to the Bois in the afternoon, dined us, and took us to the theatre—only, by Jove! I did curse that other girl. She was in a ferment all the time. Next morning he had a job on, but he sent a car for us with a subaltern to put us on the train, and we went to the R.T.O. this time. He couldn't do enough for us when he heard the name of General de Villiers and saw his card. We got into Havre at midday, and nobody was a penny the wiser."

Peter laughed. "You were lucky," he said; "perhaps you always are."

"No, I'm not," she said "but I usually do what I want and get through with it. Hullo, is this the place?"

"I suppose so," said Peter. "Now for it. Look as if you'd been going to such places all your life."

"I've probably been more often than you, anyhow, Solomon," said Julie, and she ran lightly up the steps.

They passed through swing-doors into a larger hall brilliantly lit and heavy with a mixed aroma of smoke and food. There was a sort of hum of sound going on all the time and Peter looked round wonderingly. He perceived immediately that there was an atmosphere about this French restaurant unlike that of any he had been in before. He was, in truth, utterly bewildered by what he saw, but he made an effort not to show it. Julie, on the other hand, was fairly carried away. They seated themselves at a table for four near the end of the partition, and she led the party in gaiety. Donovan hardly took his eyes off her, and cut in with dry, daring remarks with a natural case. Tommy played a good second to Julie, and if she had had any fears they were not visible now.

"What about an appetiser?" demanded Donovan.

"Oh, rather! Mixed vermuth for me; but Tommy must have a very small one: she gets drunk on nothing. Give me a cigarette now, padre; I'm dying to smoke."

Peter produced his case. "Don't call him 'padre' here," said Donovan; "you'll spoil his enjoyment."

"A cigarette, Solomon, then," whispered Julie, as the other turned to beckon a garçon, flashing her eyes on him.

Peter resisted no longer. "Don't," he said. "Call me anything but that." It seemed to him that there was something inevitable in it all. He did not formulate his sensations, but it was the lure of the contrast that won him. Ever since he had landed in France he had, as it were, hung on to the old conventional position, and he had felt increasingly that it was impossible to do so. True, there seemed little connection between a dinner with a couple of madcap girls in a French restaurant and religion, but there was one. He had felt out of touch with men and life, and now a new phase of it was offered him. He reached out for it eagerly.

Julie leaned back and blew out a thin stream of smoke, her eyes daring him, picking up the little glass as she did so.

"Here's to the girl with the little grey shoes," she chanted merrily.

"Don't Julie, for Heaven's sake!" pleaded Tommy. "He'll be shocked."

"Oh, go on," said Peter; "what is it?"

"Captain Donovan will finish," laughed Julie.

"'Deed I can't, for I don't know it," he said. "Let's have it, little girl; I'm sure it's a sporting toast."

"Who eats your grub and drinks your booze," continued she.

"Shut up, Julie," said Tommy, leaning over as if to snatch her glass.

"And then goes home to her mother to snooze," called Julie breathlessly, leaning back.

"I don't think," ejaculated Donovan.

Julie tipped down the drink. "You knew it all the time," she said. And they all burst out laughing.

Peter drank, and called for another, his eyes on Julie. He knew that he could not sum her up, but he refused to believe that this was the secret behind the eyes. She was too gay, too insolent. What Donovan thought he could not say, but he almost hated him for the ease with which he kept pace with their companions.

They ordered dinner, and the great dish of hors d'oeuvres was brought round by a waiter who seemed to preside over it with a fatherly solicitude. Julie picked up an olive in her fingers, and found it so good that she grumbled at only having taken one.

"Have mine," said Donovan, shooting one on to her plate.

"Thanks," she said. "Oh, heavens! I forgot that patch on my left cheek—or was it my right, Solomon? Let's see."

She dived into her pocket, and produced a tiny satin beaded box, "Isn't it chic?" she demanded, leaning over to show Donovan. "I got it in the Nouvelles Galeries the other day." She took off the lid, which revealed its reverse as a tiny mirror, and scrutinised herself, patting back a stray lock on her forehead.

"Oh,