The Talisman

by Allan Jones

  Paul set his drink down and opened the letter. “Dear Captain Klaussen,” he read. “Firstly, I want to apologise for the conduct of my countrymen at Ramsgate. Treating you like that was appalling! I tried to reason with them, but it was like talking to a brick wall. When the platoon found out what had happened, they were fuming and were all, to a man, ready to go after the MPs and effect a rescue; it was all I could do to hold them back! Rescue you and then what? When I got back to barracks, I went to my CO, but he was no help. I took some leave and haunted the corridors of the War Ministry, making a frightful nuisance of myself, banging on doors and hollering into telephones. They must have thought me demented. Finally, they chucked me out, amid promises to look into it. I came a couple of times to the prison, but they wouldn’t let me in. I thought of throwing a brick through a jeweller’s window even. They wouldn’t even tell me how you were or what was happening My CO gave me such a rollocking when I got back; thought he was going to bust me back to private at some point, but he didn’t. Then my uncle (my real unclethis time) came to see me and I told it all to him. Since my father died, he’s sort of taken me under his wing, so he really listened. He didn’t say anything at first, promised to sleep on it, and next day he made a phone call. That’s how Hutchison came to hear of you. My uncle has kept me informed of your progress and I am pleased that things have at last turned out well. I am being posted overseas in a day or two, so I won’t be able to see you as I had hoped. I wanted once again to thank you, firstly for my life, and also for all the things I learned from you. Perhaps I’ll make a good officer yet.

  I wish you good fortune in this war. May you achieve all your goals and may we meet again when it is all over, god willing. I leave you in the capable hands of Carter and Clarke; they are under firm orders to look after you and teach you everything they know of roguery. Best Wishes, Edward Johnson.”

  Paul put down the letter and sipped his drink, thinking of Lieutenant Johnson. Clarke came over, topped up his glass and sat down. “What’s ’e say, sir... er, I mean Paul?” Paul handed him the letter and Clarke read it, his lips moving as he read. Finally, he handed it back.“’E’s a good bloke an’ no mistake; bit unsure of himself, though ’e don’t need to be. ’E did all right in the end.”He lowered his voice and added, “We reckon it wuz down to ’im that me and Carty landed up ’ere.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Paul said.

  They drank in silence for a while, watching the dancers, then the record ended and Clarke leapt to his feet with a cry of: “My turn now, Carty! You’ve ’ogged ’er long enough…um, if that’s all right, Miss?”

  Amelia disengaged herself, smiled at Clarke, and held out her arms, while Carter obliged with a new record. It was a slow waltz, and though Clarke held her a little tentatively, he danced well enough. As she danced and chatted with him, she watched Paul as he talked with Carter. He was at ease with these men, relaxed in their company, laughing at their jokes, huddling conspiratorially when sharing gossip, trading banter and insults. Whether it was the drink or not, she began to relax and started to really enjoy herself. The afternoon wore on. She spent most of it dancing gaily with one or other of the sergeants. Paul remained seated, drinking steadily. Occasionally, he watched her: her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the feline grace with which she moved. She caught his eyes a couple of times and beamed at him happily.

  Presently, tired of dancing for a while, she sat and drank with them, listening to their stories. It was all very cosy, very intimate. She realised that she had only known each of these men for such a short time and yet she was enjoying their company and just being here, with them, accepted.

  Carter looked at his watch. “Fancy a bite to eat?” he asked no-one in particular.

  “Now you’re talkin’,” Clarke said.

  “We shan’t bother with the mess hall, eh? We’ll ring an’ have some brought up, if that’s all right wiv you two? Sarn’t’s privileges.”

  “Fine with me; don’t want to break up the party,” Paul said.

  Clarke went to the telephone, whilst Carter cleared a table and set some seats around it. Amelia helped to organise a tablecloth and some cutlery, while Paul refreshed their drinks.

  The meal was a stew with boiled vegetables floating in it. Carter teased Amelia that it was a “Badger’Otpot”:one that he had trapped specially yesterday. Amelia didn’t believe him, but thought to herself that she didn’t care. Judging from what she had read in the manual on how to live off the land, she reckoned that they would all be eating odd things in the not-too-distant future.

  The meal over, Clarke produced some cigars and cigarettes. Paul selected a cigar, and, though she had never smoked herself, Amelia helped herself to a cigarette to feel included. She smoked, barely inhaling, so that she would not make a fool of herself by coughing.

  “Been at the Colonel’s cigars again, Nobby?” Carter remarked.

  “Bad for ’is ’ealth; doin’ ’im a favour,” Clarke replied.

  “Nothing’s sacred. Shame,” Carter sighed, pulling a long puff on his cigar and blowing a smoke ring.

  Amelia got up to look at the records and, selecting one, she called over, “Paul, you haven’t danced with me yet. You can dance, can’t you?”

  “Yeah! Go on, let’s see what yer made of,” Clarke said.

  Carter also teased him as he got to his feet, with mock reluctance, and joined her. Amelia snaked her arms round his neck, compelling him to hold her around her waist, instead of the more formal stance. The music began and they swayed to its gentle rhythm. Amelia rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, lost in the moment and the sensations she was feeling, his closeness. She breathed in his musky smell.

  The sergeants sat in silence, sipping their drinks, watching as if they were at a performance. Hard-bitten characters though they were, they were each moved by the sight of these two young people lost in each other. They danced on obliviously, not noticing that Carter had to change the record twice.

  Paul’s hand slipped down and rested on her bottom. She felt she ought to protest, but she didn’t, not even when he began to slowly caress and gently squeeze. She smiled inwardly as it occurred to her that he might notice her lack of knickers. Carter looked at Clarke and nodded his head towards the door. Taking the hint, Clarke picked up a couple of bottles and followed him to the door. Paul had his back to them. Amelia watched them go, smiling at them over his shoulder and fluttering her fingers at them. The movement caused Paul to look round and he nodded to them as they left with smiles and winks.

  As soon as the door closed, Amelia reached up and kissed him, slowly and languorously. He squeezed her bottom harder and held her tighter. He planted little kisses on each of her eyes, then on her neck, then sought her lips again and kissed her passionately.

  Her breath quickened to match his as she returned his kiss. His other hand found her breast and he cupped it and squeezed it gently, eventually finding her nipple and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, feeling it harden beneath the thin frock. She held tightly on to his neck, afraid she would fall as her legs began to tremble and weaken. He undid the buttons of her dress and slipped his hand inside. His touch was electrifying and she began to tremble as his hand moved from one breast to the other, delighting each in turn.

  She kissed him as if her life depended on it, wanting every bit of him, every taste, every sensation. His hand left her breast and moved slowly down her stomach. He paused to insert the tip of a finger into her navel, then his hand moved lower still. He reached her pubic hair and he stroked it gently, sending her wild with desire.

  Suddenly, a wave of panic rose up in her, and she couldn’t ignore it. She disengaged herself and pushed him away in confusion.

  The look of surprise on his face was almost childlike. Then the door burst open and a sergeant, his arms full with a busty WAC, fell through the door, only to snap quickly to attention, releasing the WAC hurriedly. “Sorry, sir, thought no-one…”

  Amelia was glad
her back was towards the door as she hastily buttoned herself up. She was blushing furiously.

  Glancing at Amelia, Paul replied, “It’s all right, Sergeant, we were… just leaving.” He stooped to pick up a bottle and two glasses, then steered Amelia towards the door. “The room’s yours,” he said, as they left and closed the door smartly behind them.

  Amelia felt flustered and couldn’t look at him for a while. What the hell had she been thinking? He must think her a frightful trollop, behaving like that, and after only just meeting him! He lifted her chin and smiled at her, then drew her to him, and sought her lips. Despite herself, she kissed him back and relaxed a little. He held up the bottle and wiggled it. “A nightcap?” he asked gently.

  “No… I… Paul… I… Not tonight, please, it’s too quick, too unexpected… I can’t cope.”

  The hurt on his face shocked her and she added hurriedly, “Another time though, yes?” Then she kissed him tenderly, feeling his tension drain.

  He held her and whispered, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself, you overwhelm me so.”

  “Let’s get our bearings first, shall we? There’ll be other times.”

  “Yes.”

  “Besides,” she laughed, “we would have been caught.”

  “There is that,” he replied with a grin.

  “We’d better get a good night’s rest. I’ve got a cross-country run tomorrow, first thing,” she informed him.

  “Do you? I don’t, I’m in a stuffy classroom all day. Damn! I assumed, I supposed, we’d all be doing things together. We’ll meet tomorrow and compare timetables, shall we?”

  They moved off, her hanging on his arm. At the top of the stairs they stopped and faced each other.

  “Well, OK then, goodnight,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Paul, see you tomorrow.”

  He poured whisky into a glass and offered it. “That nightcap,” he said with a rueful smile.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll think of you as I’m drinking it.”

  “Amelia, are you sure it’s all right? I haven’t offended…”

  She cut him off, placing a finger on his lips, and smiled at him. “It’s very all right, Paul, believe me.”

  He pulled her to him and they kissed tenderly once more; then, reluctantly, he let her go. She gave a wan smile, turned and walked slowly away. He watched her go. She paused at the corner and blew him a kiss, and disappeared from view. Silently he hurried to the corner, and, holding his breath, he peered round in time to see her enter her room. He straightened up and smiled to himself. Now at least he knew where her room was!

  Amelia closed the door and leant on it. She let her breath out with a whoosh and tried to control her emotions. She failed!

  She was caught between an urge to laugh and whirl round the room in delight, and a dread feeling of guilt, for she knew that tonight, in her sleep, Bill would come to her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Amelia woke to a thumping on her door. She called out, and a voice called for her to be in the mess hall in twenty minutes. She groaned and pulled back the sheets and swung herself to sit on the bed. Her head ached from the whisky of the night before and her mouth was dry. Sure enough, she had suffered a fitful night’s sleep, her dreams invaded by Bill, and then by Paul. Their faces had merged; first one, then the other were there, then both, till she couldn’t tell one from the other. She cupped her face in her hands, trying to recall, as the dreams slipped from her memory faster than she could hang on to them. Then, rubbing her eyes, she got up and padded into the bathroom.

  She examined her face in the mirror. Fortunately, she didn’t look as bad as she felt. She gazed into her own eyes and pondered the night before. What had she been thinking of? It must have been the drink. She felt awful now. In the cold light of day, things took on a very different perspective. What on earth was she to do when she saw Paul again? It was stupid. She couldn’t afford to get involved; and anyway, she was here because of Bill.

  His memory was still very much alive within her. It would be betrayal; it wasn’t right, she couldn’t, she mustn’t. She got herself ready for the run she knew was ahead, having to roll up the waistband of the baggy shorts they had provided several times to make them look anything like decent. She remembered that Paul was not scheduled for this run and was relieved: she would have time to think. She brushed her teeth, drank a lot of water, pulled on her plimsolls, and, feeling only slightly better, made her way to the mess hall.

  By contrast, Paul had slept well. He had lain awake for a time, thinking of her, and trying to analyse feelings that had long lain dormant in him. He smiled at himself as he shaved. When had he last done that? There was a spring in his step as he padded back into the room to dress. He hadn’t felt so good in years! He was hoping to catch her in the mess hall before she left for the run, and hurried his preparations.

  When he got there, he was disappointed to learn that he had just missed her; the lorry taking them to the starting point had just left. He helped himself to a mug of steaming hot tea and sat, warming his hands with it. He preferred coffee, but this was something else he would have to get used to. He sipped his tea as doubts crept over him: should he really be here, should he have done what he did, had he offended her? Would she avoid him from now on?

  Normally, he would never have done such a thing, moved so fast; but he had been swept away. He brooded still further: did the British really trust him or were they playing a deadly game with him, using him? He went over those long sessions with Hutchison, remembering that they had been the worst of all the interrogations, but subtly so. He felt he had come out of it all OK, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  Should he leave her alone? What chance was there anyway, with this war? He didn’t know what to do. Perhaps it was best to do nothing. See how she was when they next met; play it by ear. He finished his tea, and, glancing at his watch, resolved himself to the business at hand.

  He pulled the plan of the building from his pocket and found the room he needed: a class on use of enemy weaponry, firearms and laying of explosives. The enemy weapons he was already familiar with, but he relished the idea of the explosives part. Here, at last, was something he could get his teeth into.

  He didn’t see Amelia for three weeks after that! He tried not to think of her, but she stole into his thoughts often and unbidden. At nights, lying in his bed, he stared at the ceiling and rehearsed scenarios in his head: what he should say to her next time, how he would behave. Perhaps his crude actions in the sergeants’ mess had frightened her off; maybe she was avoiding him. He thought of going to her room, but his courage deserted him. He felt stupid and ashamed of himself. What if? God! There were so many “what ifs”.

  He looked at his watch. It wasn’t late. Maybe she was in the bar he had heard of but hadn’t visited yet. He resolved to go and look; if she wasn’t there, then there would still be company of sorts, and he couldn’t sleep anyway. He dressed in some slacks and a white shirt, pulled on his battered brogues and left the room in a state of nervous anticipation that he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. He was trotting down the stairs when Clarke appeared at the bottom.

  “Evenin’, sir,” he said, “and where might you be off to at this hour?”

  “It’s not that late, Nobby,” Paul replied.

  Clarke coughed and lowered his voice. “Sarn’t Clarke if you please, sir, while we’s in public.”

  “Yes, sorry, Sergeant. I was going to the bar; care to join me?”

  “Sorry,sir, still on duty, then an early start in the mornin’.I see you’re with unarmed combat an’ the like. Feelin’ fit?”

  “Not too bad. Promise you won’t batter me about too much.”

  Clarke gave him a wolfish grin.“Can’t promise anythin’; you’re with Jack,” he said. “You’ll ’ave to take yer chances like the rest on ’em. Go easy on you an’ ’e wouldn’t be doing ’is best for yer, would ’e?”

  “Have you seen Miss Du-Clos by any chance?”

  “
Aha! Thought that’s what you were about!” Clarke replied.

  “Well, have you?”

  “Well, she ain’t in the bar, if that’s what you were thinkin’.”

  “Come on, do you know where she is?”

  “She’s taken to goin’ off on walks by herself. My guess is you’ll find her by the lake in yonder direction.” He pointed.

  “Thanks, Sergeant,” Paul said, and made to leave, but Clarke grabbed his arm, perhaps a little too forcefully.

  “Bit of advice, sir, don’t you sneak up on ’er; she’s been learnin’ a few things off Carty… taken to it like a good’un. She’ll as like break yer arm an’ throw yer in the lake if you surprises ’er, see what I mean? She’s a natural she is; best we seen for a long time, man or woman.”

  “Is that all you mean, Sergeant?” Paul was aware of Clarke’s tightening grip on his arm.

  Clarke let Paul go. “Well, just remember that me an’ Carty are very fond of’ er, an’… we sort of look out for her, see. We’s like a couple of elder brothers, you get my drift?”

  Paul stepped closer and lowered his voice.“Nobby, you needn’t worry on that score. I’m glad you and Jack feel like that; so do I. I won’t do anything to hurt her, I promise you.”

  Clarke looked hard at him for a while, then smiled and slapped Paul’s shoulder. “Needed to be said. Best you be off then, an’ don’t stay up too late or Carty’ll make mincemeat of yer in the morning. You’ll need all your strength an’ yer wits about you.” He turned and clumped away in his heavy boots.

  Paul watched him go, and with mounting excitement, hurried to the main door and went out into the moonlit night. It was a warm evening and he had begun to sweat a little as he neared the lake. Careful to walk on the gravel to warn of his approach, he scanned the distance for her. She was sitting on the bank, her arms round her knees, gazing at the rippling water. She turned her head as he approached. “I knew it was you coming,” she said.