‘That would be Krug, sir. I’ll bring it right away.’
When they were once more alone, Charlie leaned closer to Amos and said in a low voice, ‘The constant shelling, the mustard gas, the hand-to-hand fighting, it was bleedin’ awful. But it was the bloody mud that got to us. Sometimes we sank knee-deep in it, and it slowed us down, I can tell you. One of my lads suddenly hit on the idea of using our rations to make a solid floor in the trenches.’
‘Rations?’ Amos’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.
‘That’s right … tins of Fray Bentos corned beef, our daily rations. Hundreds of tins went under our boots, helped to keep our feet dry, and at eye level, so we could see over the top of the trenches. Spot the Germans as they came at us. It was horrible, like glue, that mud, and then there was the incessant rain, the bombs exploding, the men dying all around us …’ Charlie let his voice fall away. He pressed his lips together, struggling to keep his emotions in check, but it was a struggle for him.
Amos, regarding him worriedly, noticed that Charlie’s dark eyes were suddenly moist, and he reached out, touched the younger man’s arm quietly, lovingly. ‘There, there, lad, take it easy. Perhaps we shouldn’t be talking about this –’
‘It’s all right, honest,’ Charlie cut in with swiftness. ‘It’s better to talk about it really, especially with an old friend like you. I know you understand how I feel, you always have.’
Amos said nothing, but thought that Charlie had never been through anything like this before, but then who had? It had been a war of such magnitude, horror and brutality that it defied description.
Charlie suddenly coughed behind his hand, and swallowed. Then before he could stop himself he went on talking. ‘I saw my men die around me, all of them. I lost the whole battalion. I’m the only survivor.’ His voice broke on these words, and he pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, sat back quietly, pushing the memories of his men away.
Amos, aware that Charlie was trying to control his distress, motioned to a waiter, and when he came to the table, Amos said, ‘Could we have some water, please? And the menus … we’ve been waiting for those. We’d like to order.’
Nodding, the waiter hurried off.
After a moment or two, Charlie turned to Amos and made a face. ‘Sorry, old mate, very sorry. Usually I’m fine, quite all right most of the time, and then suddenly I get upset, sort of overcome. My apologies. I didn’t intend to inflict this on you.’
‘You’re doing no such thing, don’t be daft,’ Amos answered, and then seeing a bevy of waiters descending on them, exclaimed, ‘Everything’s coming all at once.’
Within minutes they were alone again, and lifting their flutes of champagne; they clinked glasses. ‘Here’s to the future!’ Charlie said.
‘The future!’ Amos echoed, and took a sip.
A silence fell between them as they both scrutinized the menu, and then Charlie looked over the top of his, and said, with a smile, ‘Lots of delicious things to choose from, and I must confess, they all tempt me. A lot better than the grub I was getting in the army hospital at Hull. Bloody foul it was.’
Amos laughed, relieved to see that the old Cockney cheerfulness was surfacing in Charlie. ‘I must say it does read like a repast for a king. Well … I fancy the Colchester oysters, or perhaps the Morecambe Bay potted shrimps, and then saddle of mutton with redcurrant jelly, or roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.’
‘D’yer think they knows ’ow to mek Yorkshire pud ’ere? Me old muvver used ter say only the folks from up the Dales could do it proper, and that’s right, innit? No, this ain’t the place fer it.’
Amos burst out laughing. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all your Cockney, Charlie, seeing as how you’re speaking like an officer and a gentleman tonight.’
Charlie laughed with him and took a long swallow of his pink champagne, enjoying it. ‘Not only tonight, but all the time really. Didn’t you ever notice on our trips home before the war that Maisie and I were speaking differently, like this, not falling into Cockney slang at all?’
‘Come to think of it, yes, I did. But occasionally you sort of, well, lapsed, shall we say?’
‘Not often. However, there was a really good reason why we decided to speak properly, after we’d arrived in New York. And it’s this … they didn’t understand Cockney there. I mean, what Yank would know that apples and pears means stairs, and rosy lea is a cup of tea?’
‘That’s understandable. But let’s face it, a lot of the English don’t understand it either,’ Amos pointed out.
‘That’s because you’ve got to be born within the sound of Bow Bells to understand Cockney and speak it proper-like. And that’s St Mary-le-Bow Church where the bells are, but I know you know that. And listen, Mum once told me another fing, that rhyming Cockney slang was invented so that nobody else could understand it. Only Cockneys. It was a way to outwit the rozzers, coppers like you, Amos, and anybody else trying to listen in to a private conversation.’
‘A secret language! I’ll be buggered.’ Amos grinned.
So did Charlie, who announced, ‘You do manage to cheer me up, you really do. It’s the first time I’ve had a laugh in months and months.’
Before Amos could answer, the maître d’ came over to the table to take their order, and once he had left them alone, Amos leaned closer to his old friend. ‘I just wanted to say something, and it’s this. I’m here to help you, in whatever way you might need me. If I can help you in any way, you know I am ready, willing and able to do so. I don’t suppose you need money, because you were a successful actor, a star, but –’
‘No, no, I don’t need money!’ Charlie interrupted. ‘I have a good business manager in New York, and he’s done very well for me, taken my money and quadrupled it over the years. And Maisie’s money, too. A’ course, she doesn’t need money. After her father-in-law died last year, Liam inherited the title and quite a fortune. He was the only son, you see. I’m proud of her, Amos, because she’s been running that estate ever since she married Liam. Lord Dunleith was sick, and a bit decrepit, and she took over because Liam was at the front, and Lady Dunleith was dead. She’s quite remarkable, I think, our Maisie.’
‘I agree with you,’ Amos murmured, and pushed away thoughts of the past and things he had no wish to remember. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘What do you think you’ll do, now that the war’s over? Or are you just going to be a gentleman of leisure.’
‘That’s not for me, doing nothing!’ Charlie shook his head vehemently. ‘I can’t act anymore, not with this ruined face. But I could direct or produce, and perhaps I might even write for the theatre. Something will turn up.’
‘I know it will, you’ve always been very enterprising. But isn’t there anything you can do about the scarring? I mean once your face has properly healed?’
‘Maybe. One of the doctors at the hospital in Hull told me that skin can be grafted, and that there are certain new methods, special treatments being developed. I shall just have to wait until I’ve healed. Perhaps then I can see someone.’
At this point two waiters arrived with trays of food. There were Colchester oysters for Amos and paté for Charlie, which they promptly served, and then brought plates of toast and brown bread.
‘I’m glad we’re having dinner together tonight,’ Charlie remarked at one moment. ‘I couldn’t wait to see you. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve always made me feel tons better. It’s comforting to have a really close friend, someone you can trust.’
‘Yes, it is. And I can say the same for you, Charlie.’