When war had broken out in August of 1914, Charlie had immediately booked passage on a ship from New York to Southampton, and had come home to England to be a soldier. ‘I’m determined to do my bit,’ was the way he had put it to Amos when he had first arrived in London, adding, ‘I want to stand up and be counted, fight for what’s right and just. So here I am, and I’m going to enlist in the British Army this week.’ And he had.
Charlie had come back to London alone; his sister Maisie had already left America the year before. In 1913 she had gone to live in Ireland with the man she had just married.
Amos had grown very proud of Charlie and Maisie, and of the success they had achieved over the years. Within a few months of arriving in New York, where Charlie had constantly insisted the streets were paved with gold, the two Cockney kids from Whitechapel had found work in the theatre. And eventually they had become stars on Broadway, as they had always wanted. And why not?
They could sing, dance, and act, and both were clever mimics, quite aside from being exceptionally good looking. Talent and looks. The best combination. It was really no surprise to Amos when Charlie’s letters kept arriving very promptly with news of their continuing triumphs.
They had sailed away from Liverpool in 1904; then their love of London lured them back. They made many visits home over the ensuing years, and Amos had been delighted to see them whenever they arrived on his doorstep.
It was a happy day for Amos when the famous letter came, announcing Maisie’s marriage to her young Irishman, who, as it turned out, was the eldest son of Lord Dunleith, an Anglo-Irish landowner with a splendid Georgian mansion called Dunleith and vast acres surrounding his county seat.
All of these thoughts were swirling around in his head as Amos tramped towards Trafalgar Square. There were a good many people circulating in the area, and especially around the statue of England’s greatest hero, Horatio Nelson. Revellers were singing and waving the Union Jack and dancing. Some were shouting, ‘We beat the Hun!’ Obviously they were celebrating because it was the end of the war, not because it was Christmas, which was still a week away.
At the other side of Trafalgar Square somebody let off a Catherine wheel, and bursts of sparkling lights rushed up into the night air. More and more fireworks began to explode for a wonderful display of colour and brilliance, and there was applause and laughter and more songs.
Unexpectedly, a clear soprano voice rang out above the din. The woman began to sing Land of Hope and Glory, and after the first verse other people joined in, and soon everyone was singing. Including Amos, who discovered he had a funny lump in his throat. He felt an enormous swell of pride, and realized he was as sentimental and patriotic as the rest of them were.
Eventually, he moved on, walking through the square, heading West to Piccadilly and the Ritz Hotel.
Thank God the fighting has ended, he thought. For the first time in history, a war had exploded and engulfed the entire world, destroying the old order of things. He understood that nothing would ever be the same again. But thankfully the world was at peace tonight, after four years of hell and millions of young men dead, mowed down before they had had a chance to live.
When he reached Arlington Street, just off Piccadilly, Amos crossed over to the other side where the entrance to the Ritz Hotel was located.
Nodding to the doorman, attired in a uniform of dark blue and black top hat, he pushed through the swing doors and entered the lobby.
Glancing at the large clock on the wall, Amos was gratified to see that he was not late. It was exactly seven o’clock. After depositing his overcoat in the gentlemen’s cloakroom, he went into the promenade area where English afternoon tea was served without fail every day of the week.
He stood glancing around, and a split-second later he spotted Charlie coming towards him. Slowly. He had an extremely bad limp and was using a walking stick, leaning on it heavily. A captain in the British Army now, having received many promotions, he looked very smart in his officer’s uniform and Sam Brown belt.
Amos lifted his hand in a wave, and Charlie waved back. Hurrying forward to meet him, Amos’s step faltered slightly as he drew closer to his old friend. But he quickly recouped, took a deep breath, and continued down the plush carpet, hoping Charlie hadn’t noticed.
Pushing a smile onto his face, Amos thrust out his hand when they came to a standstill opposite each other, and Charlie grasped it tightly, held on to it for a moment.
Amos felt his heart clench and he had to swallow hard. The young actor would never act again, not with that ruined face. One side was badly scarred by burns, the skin bright red, puckered, and stretched tightly over the facial bones. The scars ran from his hairline to his jaw, and looked raw.
As if he had read Amos’s thoughts, Charlie said evenly, ‘I’ll have to find a new profession, I’m afraid, Amos. But at least I got out alive, and you know what, the doctors thought they’d have to amputate my leg, but they didn’t. Somehow they managed to save it for me.’ His voice wavered slightly as he added, ‘I’ve been one of the lucky ones.’
Amos was choked up, but swiftly took control of himself, impressed by Charlie’s courageous attitude. ‘I know you’ve been to hell and back, but you’re home now. And you’re safe.’
Charlie smiled faintly. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, old friend. Come on then, let’s go to the restaurant, shall we? Have a drink, toast each other, and reminisce about old times.’
‘Best idea yet. And how’s your sister Maisie?’
‘She’s tip-top, very cheerful, feeling better because Liam is steadily improving, and every day. He was so shell-shocked he was like a zombie for a long time. Then he started weeping a great deal, and constantly woke up screaming in the night. And I know why … it’s the memories … they don’t go away.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Too many walking wounded who probably won’t ever get better. The walking dead, I call ’em. Might as well be dead, the kind of lives they’re going to have. Well, I shouldn’t say that, should I?’ He endeavoured to adopt a more cheerful tone, and finished, ‘Maisie’s a wonder, and she’s convinced that Liam will make a full recovery. She sends you her love, by the way.’
‘I received a Christmas card from her the other day, and she told me she hopes I’ll go and visit them at Dunleith. In fact, she suggested we go together.’
‘We’ll do it!’ Charlie announced, and nodded to the maître d’ who had come to greet them, and was waiting to usher them into the restaurant.
‘Good evening, Captain Morran, very nice to see you tonight.’ The man glanced at Amos, and smiled, ‘Good evening, Mr Finnister.’
Amos inclined his head. ‘Good evening,’ he replied, feeling certain that the maître d’ remembered him from the times he had come here for lunch with Edward Deravenel and Will Hasling.
They followed the head waiter across the room. When he showed them to a table near the window overlooking Green Park.
‘I’m glad I was able to get a room here,’ Charlie volunteered, looking across the dinner table at Amos. ‘The hotel seems to be very busy, no doubt because of the Armistice, and Christmas, of course. But I’m an old client and they were most obliging. I’m sure you remember that once we could afford it, Maisie and I stayed here whenever we came to London. Mostly to see you, Amos, you know.’ Without waiting for a comment, he rushed on, ‘Believe me, this place is a helluva lot better than the trenches. Take my word for it.’
‘I do. I can’t imagine what you boys went through over there. Nobody can. Hell on earth, I’m certain, and I’ve no doubt that it was bloody horrific –’ Amos cut himself