When Jimmy reminded him of the interview, Barrow rose from his seat and he said secretively:
‘Close the door Jimmy; close the door.’ And Jimmy wearily obeyed. ‘Look, I’d forgotten this one. It’s rather awkward. I don’t want to see him now. D’you think he knows?’
Jimmy did not help. He looked hostile, and Barrow continued, ‘D’you suppose he’s gathered we’re on to something?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest idea.’
Barrow nodded. He was upset by the idea of the interview, and he was fidgeting again, but this time not with impatience. He did not know which way to turn. He snatched at the air.
‘I say, perhaps it might be an idea if you were to tell him that this business had come out, and it’s clearly better that we didn’t have a talk now. It wouldn’t help. You needn’t tell him I consulted Charlie and you. But put him in the picture.’
Jimmy was amazed. He took a step forward, and his head was held slightly to one side.
‘Me, tell him, Colonel? Me?’
Barrow panicked a little. He fluttered. He looked back at Jimmy with eyes that had grown darker as his face grew pale. He gave a nervous little smile.
‘I thought it might be more tactful.’
‘Tactful!’
Another horrid little smile: Barrow cleared his throat.
‘You don’t think that’s a good idea?’
‘Colonel, for God’s sake.’
‘No. No, perhaps you’re right. Yes, of course. It was only a passing idea. Stupid of me. It would place you in an awkward position. I tell you what. Later. Tell him I’ll see him later.’
‘What time?’
‘Well, this afternoon.’
‘He’ll want a time.’
‘Five-thirty? Rather late perhaps, but …’
‘Five-thirty.’ Jimmy turned, but Barrow spoke again before he opened the door.
‘Jimmy, I say. I was rather surprised by Scott’s reaction. What?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He’s right, of course. Hadn’t expected him to take such an objective view. Jimmy, we must take an objective view. That’s essential. We can’t take any side other than the Battalion’s side. You see that?’
‘I understand that.’
‘I can assure you that’s what guides me. That’s true. The Battalion’s side.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Barrow’s shoulders dropped. ‘I say, I was thinking of nipping down to the Mess in ten minutes: get a cup of coffee. It’s been quite a morning.’
Jimmy looked him straight in the eye, and without mercy. Barrow went on:
‘Care to come?’
‘I’ve a lot on hand, sir.’
‘Oh.’ Barrow moved nervously back to his desk. ‘Of course. Righto. I’ll only be gone fifteen minutes.’
‘Colonel.’
THREE
A SOLDIER DOES not most need a brain to think with, nor yet an arm to strike with; he needs teeth to hang on with, and Jock had those teeth. He went all the way back home, that same Monday morning, and he washed and shaved. He brushed his hair, he put on his best tunic, pulling it tight under his belt so it had no creases, he stared at himself in his mirror, saw to it that his teeth were clean and he said ‘Resilience, boys, resilience.’ He put clean stockings on, and adjusted the bright red flashes on his garters. He dusted his brogues and polished the badge in his bonnet and said, ‘Aye, and we’re dead but we won’t lie down, come away then, come away.’ He polished the buttons on his coat and turned the collar neatly down, he pulled his bonnet over his eye, then with a swagger and a bright dash he swung down to the bridge, across the park, back to barracks.
He must have understood that they all knew as soon as he put his big nose through the door of the ante-room soon after one o’clock. He twitched his nostrils and his eye roved round the room. Officers were huddled over beers and pink gins. They glanced up at him and mumbled ‘good-morning’ or nodded with studied normality. Barrow had gone into lunch, but most of them were there talking and smoking. Jock gave a little smile as he strode up the middle of the room to the big log fire. Turning his back to it, he lifted up the pleats of his kilt, to warm his bare bottom.
‘A-huh,’ he said, ‘Dusty would you be so kind as to push that tit in the wall there, and we’ll see if I can get myself a drink.’
When the waiter appeared with a tray in his hand, Jock shouted at him across the room.
‘Good-morning, Corporal.’
‘Morning, sir.’
Jock eyed him. ‘You’re feeling the heat, Corporal?’
The Corporal smiled uncertainly: the other officers were all watching now.
‘It’s cold, sir.’
‘No wonder it’s cold, lad. You’re nude. Do up your collar button.’
‘Sir.’ The Corporal obeyed very quickly and Jock said:
‘And you can bring me one hell of a whisky.’
‘Sir.’
‘Steady, steady; wait there, laddie. What are you drinking, Charlie?’
Charlie hesitated, ‘Actually, thinking of lunch … you know …’ he mumbled on.
‘What are you drinking, eh? I’m asking something that’s a question of fact.’ Jock gave a little grin, and looked all round the room. ‘Not just a rumour,’ he said, and there was a little stir. ‘What’s in your hand?’
‘Pink.’
‘And one hell of a pink,’ Jock gave the order.
‘You, Jimmy?’
‘Bottle of beer.’
Jock turned to the waiter again: ‘And two bottles of beer in one can. C’mon, c’mon gents, make your orders. It’s too cold a morning not to have something to drink … Well, well; and what’s news today? Eh, is there no news?’ His head on one side. ‘Surely we’ve some bit of gossip, eh, MacKinnon?’
‘It snowed,’ MacKinnon said, rather frightened, and then he blushed. Jock gave a roar of laughter.
‘Plus ten for observation, lad,’ he said, but with a broad grin that would have made anything he said sound pleasant. It was as if the officers sitting there were tired members of some orchestra, and in the hands of the cleverest conductor. Slowly, with something less immediate than magnetism, more like a sort of suction, he was drawing life out of them. They all began to look up, and take notice. They stared at him as if it were the first time they had seen him; and perhaps more – as if it were the last time.
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