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  ‘Of course you are. Great. I’ll see to everything. Everything. I feel a lot easier in my mind now.’

  ‘Whiter than white?’

  ‘That kind of thing. You know your way around the unit’s Free From Infection facility, do you? The Service thinks of everything, doesn’t it?’

  In the middle of the following week, Ian had another letter from Lucy. This time he collected it for himself. She said in her bold, big handwriting that she admired unstintingly the dignified way he had reacted to her previous, possibly unkind letter. ‘No, not just possibly unkind, Ian, undoubtedly unkind.’ His silence and refusal to whine or protest or wheedle in reply had touched and impressed her, as they would have impressed any discerning woman. She thought of him now as ‘really quite noble’. It would be absurd, even unpatriotic and cheap – despicable – to cast him off merely because he had to serve the country. After all, he hadn’t volunteered. He’d been conscripted. It would be unjust to punish him for that. She’d like to go back on what she said previously. It had been thoughtless and negative. ‘Please forget it, Ian. Please. I send all my love. And I’ll be there to see you strut at the pass-out parade. Yours ever, and I mean it, Lucy xxx.’

  He thought this letter pretty good. She put her excuses in a clear, convincing fashion. She’d probably make a very good feature writer for the women’s page in one of the main newspapers.

  Later that day he was called in to see the Adjutant, Training. He sported a Distinguished Flying Cross and two bars ribbon, white with diagonal purple stripes plus two silver circles for the second and third awards. ‘Sit down, Charteris,’ he said. ‘The news is good. Congratulations! In the normal run of things you’d have taken second place on the passing-out list to OC Bain of Green. Strictly, as to workaday points tally, he leads. If this were the army he’d undoubtedly get the Sword. We do things differently, though. We try to look beyond mere totted-up achievement marks. We think of the spirit of the Service, the character of the Service, its … well, yes … its aura. Part of Bain’s score comes from Green’s extremely dubious victory in the war exercise. When I say “extremely dubious” I don’t mean that the victory itself was not won. But it is the method that’s in question. While, mathematically, Bain is out ahead, we don’t feel he has abided by the standard gentlemanly, fair-play requirements of an officer, and – here is the chief matter – definitely not of an officer who gains the Sword, and who will return to instruct new courses of cadets in the ethos of leadership, its deeper nature, as well as its practicalities, which we certainly do not undervalue.

  ‘But we have a certain discretion in making the award, and a certain wider responsibility. The Group Captain has thought it over and considers, on reflection, that it would be quite wrong to allow Bain to succeed, in the circumstances. Quite wrong. In the circumstances. We would be rewarding sharpness and mere trickery – rewarding, in fact, disorder masquerading as supreme competence. That would not – cannot – do, Charteris. You, therefore, are our Sword of Honour man. Congratulations!’ He came from behind his desk. Ian stood. They shook hands.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Ian said.

  ‘There’s a wisdom and remarkable far-sightedness to the Group Captain. A splendid ability at taking the overview.’

  ‘I hope I deserve them.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, absolutely sure you do. The Group Captain has a brilliant eye for future leadership talent – embodiments of that ethos I spoke of. You’re National Service, I know, but do you ever think of signing on for a full RAF career?’

  ‘Probably not, sir.’

  ‘Pity. Some people do very well, you know. A good Service spell can put you in touch with all sorts. I was on a night fighter station with a chap called Townsend, Peter Townsend. Before you could say “Six-Oh-Five Squadron” he was equerry to the King, deputy Master of the Household. All right, you’ll identify a touch of flunkydom about all that, but these are not posts on offer at the Labour Exchange. Think about it, do.’

  The Adjutant went back to his desk. He spoke confidingly now, like a worldly uncle. ‘To other, more personal matters. I was sorry to hear about the finale letter from your girlfriend. My wife, too, felt a great deal of sympathy when some of her chums mentioned it. The unpleasant news has spread, as you’d expect.’

  ‘Broadcast, sir.’

  ‘Yes. The umpire heard it all, of course. But my wife asked me to tell you not to be too upset. “There are other fish in the sea.” Those were her exact words: “There are other fish in the sea.” And that’s true, in my experience.’

  ‘I think so, sir.’

  ‘The town here is not without interest. But, clearly, one should be aware of risks – be aware of them, but not squashed by them.’ Ian thought of the DFC and the bars. They’d have come from managing risk, though not the kind of catch-a-packet or crabs risk he meant now. ‘This is me speaking for the moment, not my wife,’ the adjutant said. ‘One must be careful and … well … basically alert, in a corporeal sense. But these are things that can be seen to, given a little forethought.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. You understand. You won’t have told her about the … well, the publication of her letter in that rather improper fashion? Perhaps you are no longer in touch, which would seem to be the result of such a letter.’

  ‘No, I haven’t told her.’

  ‘Good. Nothing to be gained by it.’

  ‘There’s been a further letter, sir.’

  ‘Ah. From Lucy? I have her name right, have I? Did someone mention an E, also?’

  ‘My girlfriend is Lucy, yes,’ Ian replied.

  ‘Ah! Making everything fine again, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I did wonder, of course. The time-span. Weeks. They can be like that, especially if confronted by silence. They find silence very unnerving. They like to hear a cry of pain. This confirms to them they have behaved properly. If it doesn’t come, they start worrying, reacting. They wonder whether the man they’ve cut off really wanted to be cut off, and hasn’t replied to the cutting-off letter in case she takes pity on him and reinstates things. So, they think they’d better reinstate things, anyway, because they only wanted to cut him off if it smashed him up for a while being cut off.’

  ‘Women?’

  ‘I don’t say they’re sadistic. Not all. There’s Mother Theresa and Mary Magdalene. But most women long to be prized, and causing hurt to a man proves to the dears they have status and power. Did you give her some silence? Wise. Panic in them follows. They’re so changeable. I’ll tell my wife. She’ll be pleased. Not surprised.’

  After the passing-out parade there was a drinks and snacks party in the Mess for newly commissioned officers, their visitors and camp staff. Postings were listed on a board outside the Mess. At the start of proceedings, Ian had received the Sword from an air-vice-marshal, here to preside at the cavalcade. Ian led the march past. He reckoned he did the difficult salute with his Sword reasonably all right, and kept his stride moderate so short-arses behind could stay in step.

  In the Mess now, Ray Bain came over to talk to Lucy and Ian, Lucy tall, composed, hard-headed, at ease with everyone, and closer to being beautiful than at any time Ian could remember. Of course, he realized he might value her looks more now because he’d almost lost her. The Adjutant and his wife probably had things blandly wrong. There were not plenty of fish in the sea, not like Lucy, anyway. He’d been able to give her the big ignoral treatment only by accident: Bain had sat on her letter for a week. Ian didn’t think he could have stayed unresponding if the get-lost letter hadn’t got lost like that, or held up. Didn’t Hardy build half his plot in Tess of the D’Urbervilles on a letter that failed to get to someone on time? If Lucy’s letter had reached him the day after posting, he would have felt he had to argue, even plead, by return – although the rational side of him might consider her right, and there seemed too many difficulties in their love life.

  He introduced Lucy and Bain to each other. Her attendance here
would show him she must have changed her mind about ditching Ian. He wouldn’t know, though, whether she’d heard the letter was promulgated in Korean English on the wheels-up warning system to Whites, Greens and the umpire, and from them to who knew where? As Ian had said to the Adjutant, he hadn’t told her. And he hadn’t told Bain he hadn’t. Let him guess.

  Emily and Frank Stanton were together on the other side of the room. Chatting to guests. She didn’t come over, but silently mouthed ‘Congrats!’ as between conspirators. She gave a discreet, low-level thumbs-up. He had won. She had won?

  ‘Didn’t Ian and the Sword make a grand sight out there?’ Bain asked. ‘As if they were made for each other.’ He did a quick all-elbows imitation of the Sword carrying posture at the march past. ‘If I may say so, Lucy, I believe the thought of you inspired him to greater efforts, motivated him, for the whole time we’ve been here, and so he pipped me into second place. But no hard feelings. Or only a few! Wonderful to meet you at last. He constantly spoke of you throughout the course to anyone who’d listen and some who wouldn’t. When a few of us went out on the town he’d invariably stay behind, saying, No thanks, lads, he’d rather remain in camp. We guessed he wanted to write to you, or read over again letters you’d sent to him. I’d see one in his pigeon hole next to mine – B and C, you know, Bain, Charteris – woman’s handwriting on the envelope, and I’d know Ian would be so pleased and happy. I felt some envy, I can tell you.’ Bain had obviously decided Lucy was ignorant of the snowscape broadcast. So he could fantasize; so he could spout his lies with a benevolent, constructive, lovey-dovey intent.

  ‘What’s your posting, Ray?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Attached to K-4 as starters.’

  ‘K-4? What and where is that?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘An airfield,’ Bain replied. ‘Mainly Yank. Well, the war’s mainly Yank, on our side. I report there, if we and the Americans are still holding it, which I’m warned is not at all certain, then get sent where most needed.’

  ‘An airfield in Korea?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s Korea, isn’t it, Ray? Airfields are K-coded there,’ Ian replied.

  ‘North Korean ground troops target our fields,’ Bain said.

  ‘Not a picnic,’ Ian replied.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Someone here mentioned it,’ Bain said.

  ‘And mentioned it,’ Ian said.

  ‘But what does it mean?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Not a picnic,’ Ian said.

  ‘Oh, do stop stiff-upper-lipping, will you?’ Lucy said.

  ‘Yes, it does make sipping the drinks difficult,’ Bain said.

  A couple of months later Ian heard from an Air Ministry officer visiting the OCTU that Bain was back in Britain short of both legs from above the knee. There had been a night battle for an airfield and its control tower. ‘One of the K spots out there, you know. Bain and his unit held on. This was quite a little victory in its own way,’ the Ministry air commodore said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he got recognition. I gather he did well when he was here.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Came out second in his intake.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ian said.

  ‘They sent him to somewhere offering a real challenge. He was considered up to it. That must have made him proud and fulfilled. And so he went to K-4, and then to an even tougher spot. He’s a credit to the training here. Know him, did you?’

  ‘My intake. A different course.’

  ‘Ah, so the fact you’re here on the staff … Did you beat him into second place?’

  ‘It was touch and go.’

  ‘These things are always chancy. And do you get on all right with the top people here – Group Captain Stanton? His wife, Emily? An impressive woman. Some unspecified government work. Very unspecified, yes?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Formidable couple. She’s a strength to him. He produces the goods, such as Bain.’

  And, as the Air Ministry bigwig had guessed, Bain did get recognition. Ian took a phone call from him. Male voices clattered and boomed behind Bain’s. It sounded as though he might be in a big common room with several other wounded men and a couple of three-sided telephone booths. Charteris found he didn’t want to visualize it too fully. ‘Guess what – they’re giving me a gong,’ Ray Bain said, ‘so show some due respect, would you, please?’

  ‘Great, Ray.’

  ‘Distinguished Service Order.’

  ‘That’s high. Brilliant, Ray.’

  ‘Yes, brilliant. There are one or two others here who are getting similar.’

  ‘Great, Ray.’

  ‘Yes, great. Do you know what I’d like?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’d really like it if you could be at the Palace for the presentation. It’s going to be quite a do, I hear. I should think they’d give you a day’s leave for that kind of thing, wouldn’t they – hero alumnis of the outfit? We’re entitled to invite parents, spouse and children, or a couple of friends in lieu. I haven’t got a spouse or children, so you could come, in lieu. Perhaps bring Lucy? You see, Ian, I have the feeling that you’re really very much part of it.’

  He tried again not to visualize Bain in a wheelchair making the call from the get-together room. What would those nice girls in the town make of him now? Ian wondered how he could be ‘very much part of it’. Or no, he didn’t wonder; he had an idea why Bain could see him as ‘very much part of it’. This wasn’t an idea that Ian felt all right about. He hadn’t felt all right about it since he first heard what had happened to Bain. ‘That’s very kind of you to ask me, Ray,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if Lucy can make it. In any case, I’d be honoured to come.’ He let rip with some falsity. He wanted the grotesqueness confirmed: ‘But I don’t understand what you mean when you say I was part of it.’

  ‘Very much part of it,’ Bain said. ‘But for you, I might not have been sent out there and given the chance to filch a medal. If things had gone the other way, I’d have been an OCTU instructor with no hope of combat, except maybe umpiring night attack exercises, which we both know a bit about! I’m not running down the instructors there, but it’s a limited scene, a rather academic and abstract scene, isn’t it, Ian? Suppose I’d been there, Sword-proud and stay-at-home, you might have gone to shovel up decorations in K country, instead.’

  ‘I doubt the last bit.’ God, Ian felt dazed, sickeningly troubled. What was the flavour of this conversation? Could it possibly be taken straight or did enough irony, rancour and bitterness lie in the words to sink the fleet? Were there bad and crippling wounds behind them? Did Ray Bain have in mind that letter on fine notepaper lifted as a ploy from Ian’s pigeon hole? There’d been no sender’s address or letterhead, but it had come in an unstamped envelope, because E, the writer, must live in quarters on the camp. An E, domiciled on the station, equipped with classy notepaper and most likely, from the letter’s style, a woman. Ray had made guesses: congratulated Ian on his correspondent. The note promised to do whatever E could for Ian, as if he were very special to her.

  And Ian was very special to her, though not in the way Ray probably thought of it. Did the ‘whatever she could do for Ian’ include fixing the Sword of Honour by biased, repentant pillow talks with E’s husband, the unit’s commanding officer, so ensuring Ian Charteris a staff place here at a hearteningly safe distance from K dangers and the absence of picnics, where DSOs could be won and lives or half legs lost?

  ‘That deep midwinter attack and defence exercise we had,’ Bain said. ‘Almost an absolute model for a scrap I was in out there – though without those control tower elements in poor taste, of course. This is what I mean when I say you were part of the real action, and a factor in my luck at finding situations where I might shine.’

  ‘Where are you now, Ray?’ It would presumably be some hospital or recuperation centre, perhaps full of shattered veterans in wheelchairs or worse, some setting the loss of a limb, or limbs, against a gong award and
calculating whether on the whole they were in credit.

  ‘I’ll get the Palace people to send you the invitation then,’ Bain replied. ‘It will be really great to see you and introduce you to my parents. Naturally, I’ve told them plenty about you. How’s Lucy?’

  ‘She’s fine. Everything’s fine there.’

  ‘Great.’

  Ian had received another letter on excellent-quality notepaper from Emily Stanton. He was a commissioned mentor member of the camp retinue now and the letter didn’t go into a pigeon hole but was brought to him in his room. She wrote: ‘Of course you’ll remember an officer cadet who was in training at the same time as you, called Raymond Bain – red hair, pushy, runner-up in the Sword list. Well, Frank has it on the grapevine that he’s to be presented with the Distinguished Service Order for bravery in Korea. Isn’t this wonderful news in so many ways? I can almost forgive him for that disgraceful trick he pulled during the mock attack, when he loud-speakered those messages from me and your girlfriend. Yes, almost. The word was bound to get around, wasn’t it? Frank and I will be going to the award ceremony in Buck House. It’s a special invitation from Royalty to mark the good work done here by Frank and his team, as so magnificently exemplified by Bain. We’ll certainly pass him your best wishes and congratulations. E.’

  She’d most probably discover soon from her husband that Ian had asked for leave to attend as well. No mention of injuries again. Off and on Ian allowed himself to think that maybe the air commodore had this huge detail wrong: but much more off than on. You wouldn’t get to his rank if you made mistakes of that size. Perhaps not to talk about wounds was ingrained practice, a way of hanging on to good morale. Focus on the positive: in this case, Ray’s DSO.

  EIGHT

  The air commodore hadn’t made a mistake. From a back row of the audience chairs in the high, cream and gold ballroom at Buckingham Palace, Ian watched as Ray Bain’s name was called and he went forward in his wheelchair and stopped in front of the Queen. Lucy hadn’t been able to come: newspaper duties. The Queen bent to talk to Ray briefly and seemed to laugh at something he said. Did he mention how he’d paraded not so long ago with fixed bayonets to mark her accession? Then an attendant handed her the medal and she pinned it on his tunic. Decorous applause. Bain wheeled expertly away. He learned fast at most things. Another name was called. An army sergeant marched the few steps and received his medal. He looked undamaged.