The Burning Shore

The Comte de Thiry, with a vista of forty thousand hectares of lush farming land before his eyes, gave his rapturous approval to the wedding, and shook hands with Michael as though he were wringing an ostrich's neck.
Anna hugged Centaine to her bosom. My baby! she wheezed, slow fat tears seeping out of the creases around her eyes and coursing down her face. You are going to leave Anna. Don't be a goose, Anna, I will need you still. You can come with me to Africa, and Anna sobbed aloud.
Africa! and then even more dolorously, What kind of wedding will it be? There are no guests to invite, Raoul the chef is in the trenches fighting the boche, oh, my baby, it will be a scandalous wedding! The priest will come over, and the general, Michel's uncle, has promised, and the pilots from the squadron.
It will be a wonderful wedding, Centaine contradicted her.
No choir, sobbed Anna. No wedding feast, no wedding dress, no honeymoon. Papa will sing, he has a wonderful voice, and you and I will bake the cake and kill one of the suckling pigs. We can alter Mama's dress, and Michel and I will have our honeymoon here, just the way Papa and Mama did. Oh, my baby! Once Anna's tears had started, they would not that readily be dried.
When will it be? The comte had not yet relinquished Michael's hand. Name the day."Saturday, at eight in the evening."So soon! wailed Anna. Why so soon? The comte struck his thigh as inspiration came to him.
We will open a bottle of the very best champagne and perhaps even a bottle of the Napoleon cognac! Centaine, my little one, where are the keys? And this time she could not refuse him.
In their nest of blankets and straw they lay in each other's embrace, and in halting sentences Michael tried to explain the new squadron orders to her. She could not fully comprehend their dreadful significance. She understood only that he was going into dire peril and she held him with all her strength.
But you will be there on our wedding day? Whatever happens, you will come to me on our wedding day? Yes, Centaine, I will be there."Swear it to me, Michel."I swear it. No! No! Swear the most dreadful oath you can think of.
I swear it on my life and on my love for you."Ah, Michel, she sighed and pressed against him, satisfied at last. I will watch for you as you fly by each dawn and each dusk, and I will meet you here each night. They made love in a frenzy, a madness of the blood, as though they were trying to consume each other, and the fury of it left them exhausted so that they slept in each other's arms until Centaine woke, and it was late. The birds were calling in the forest and the first light filtered into the barn.
Michel! Michel! It is almost half past four. By the light of the lantern she checked the gold watch pinned to her jacket.
Oh, my God, Michael began pulling on his clothes, still groggy with sleep, I'll miss the dawn patrol-'No. Not if you go directly. I can't leave you. Don't argue! Go, Michel! Go quickly.
Centaine ran all the way, slipping and sliding in the mud of the lane, but determined to be on the hill for the squadron take-off, to wave them away.
At the stables she stopped, panting and clutching her chest to try and control her breathing. The chdteau was in darkness, lying-like a sleeping beast in the dawn, and she felt a rush of relief.
She crossed the yard slowly, giving herself time to catch her breath, and at the door she listened carefully before letting herself into the kitchen. She slipped off her muddy boots and placed them in the airing cupboard behind the stove, then she climbed the stairs, keeping close to the wall so that the tread would not squeak under her bare feet.
With another lift of relief she opened the door to her cell, crept in and then closed it behind her. She turned to face the bed, and then froze with surprise as a match flared and was touched to a lantern wick, and the room bloomed with yellow light.
Anna, who had just lit the lantern, was sitting on her bed, with a shawl around her shoulders and a lace nightcap on her head. Her red face was stony and forbidding.
Anna! Centaine whispered. I can explain, you haven't told Papa? Then the chair by the window creaked and she turned to find her father sitting in it and staring at her with his single malevolent eye.
She had never seen such an expression upon his face.
Anna spoke first. My little baby creeping out at night to go whoring after soldiers. He is not a soldier, Centaine protested.
He is an airman.
Harlotry, said the comte. A daughter of the house of de Thiry behaving like a common harlot. Papa, I am to be Michel's wife. We are as good as married to each other. Not until Saturday night, you are not. The comte rose to his feet. There was a dark smudge of sleeplessness under his one eye and his thick mane of hair stood on end.
Until Saturday, his voice rose to an angry bellow, you are confined to this room, child. You will remain here until one hour before the ceremony begins."But, Papa, I have to go to the hill- Anna, take the key. I place you in charge of her. She is not to leave the house. Centaine stood in the centre of the room looking around her, as though for escape, but Anna rose and took her wrist in a powerful calloused hand and Centaine's shoulders slumped as she was led to the bed.
The pilots of the squadron were scattered in dark groups of threes and fours amongst the trees at the edge of the orchard, talking softly and smoking the last cigarettes before take-off, when Michael came clumping down the duckboards, still buttoning his greatcoat and pulling on his flying gauntlets. He had missed the preflight briefing.
Andrew nodded a greeting as he joined them, making no mention of Michael's late arrival or of the example to the new pilots, and Michael did not apologize. They were both acutely aware of the dereliction of his duty, and Andrew unscrewed his silver flask and drank without offering it to Michael; the rebuke was deliberate.
Take-off in five minutes, Andrew studied the sky, and it looks like a good day to die. It was his term for good flying weather, but today it jarred on Michael.
I'm getting married on Saturday, he said, as though the ideas were linked, and Andrew stopped with the flask halfway back to his lips and stared at him.
The little French girl up at the chateau? he asked, and Michael nodded.
Centaine, Centaine de Thiry You crafty old dog! Andrew began to grin, his disapproval forgotten.
So that is what you've been up to.
Well, you have my blessing, my boy. He made a benedictory gesture with the flask. J drink to your long life and joy together. He passed the flask to Michael, but Michael paused before drinking.
I'd be honoured if you would agree to act as my best man. Don't worry, my boy, I will be flying at your wingtip as you go into action, I give you my oath on it. He punched Michael's arm and they grinned happily at each other and then marched side by side to the green and yellow machines standing at the head of the squadron line-up.
one after another the Wolseley Viper engines crackled and snarled and blue exhaust smoke misted the trees of the orchard. Then the SESas bumped and rocked over the uneven ground for the massed take-off.
Today, because it was a full squadron sweep, Michael would not be flying as Andrew's wingman, but as leader of B flight. He had five other machines in his flight, and two of his pilots were new chums and would need protecting and shepherding. Hank Johnson was leadingC flight and he waved across as Michael taxied past him, and then gunned his machine into his slot behind him.
As soon as they were airborne, Michael signalled to his flight to close the formation into a tight ! and he followed Andrew, conforming to his slight left-hand turn that would carry them past the hillock beyond the chateau.