Page 13 of These Old Lies

“The lip tint looks good. Goes with those ridiculous eyelashes.” Charlie’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

This was why Ned had invited Charlie to Claridge’s. Ned needed Charlie’s blunt conversation, his laughing smile as he danced, the way he saw everything of Ned, and complimented him for it.

“The ladies will be wondering where we’ve got to.”

Charlie turned with him. “I still haven’t seen you dance. Think you’re up to the Lindy hop?”

“Bastard.”

6 A Room with a View

St. Riquier, August 1916 / Charlie

To call the tavern a brothel was an insult to whorehouses. It did, however, have a roof, something that the owner argued was wine, and a number of rooms where one could enjoy local entertainment in private. In other words, it felt like the Leicester Hippodrome Circus to Tommies like Charlie.

Whatever triumph the 1st London Territorial had felt in June after moving the trench lines was long lost in the never-ending slog of July. The French called the Somme the meat grinder for a reason. Troops endlessly went over the top, over and over again, until there was no one left. Now the division was apparently ‘on rest’, if you ignored the daily marching and training.

At least they could spend their evenings like this, though. Charlie was currently nursing a glass of possibly the weakest beer he’d ever tasted while teasing Matthews with Henderson and, for some inexplicable reason, Smythe.

Henderson made a soft whistle when the officers strolled in. “The brass have decided to see how the enlisted fuck tonight.”

“They are going to double the price,” Smythe grumbled.

“It’s not like it matters,” Charlie intervened. “You hardly had a chance with any girl here.”

For his part, Charlie was trying to ignore that Ned was leaning against a wall, sipping a beer and looking like a piece of art compared to the rest of the scruffy patrons.

Henderson dismissed them both with a wave of the hand. “We spend enough time under Lieutenant Pemberton’s thumb. I don’t know why he decided to come here too. If that fucker asks us to dig one more latrine, I swear to God a bayonet is going up his arse.” Charlie leaned over and clinked glasses.

Ned’s conversation looked to be a fun-house mirror version of Charlie’s. Four officers, drinking and making jokes. Lieutenant Pemberton was at the centre—all charisma, confidence, and blond hair—holding court. Ned was at the edges, laughing along, although Charlie noted that when he did speak, the others stopped to listen. And that Pemberton’s eyes flashed in anger.

Careful, mate, you don’t have a friend there, Charlie thought to himself. But Ned knew his own business, so Charlie turned back to discuss football with Henderson.

???

Charlie climbed the stairs at the tavern. The prices might have indeed doubled tonight, but he was pretty sure he could negotiate a roll in the sheets with the lovely Emilie if he promised to be quick.

He was just getting to the top stair when he saw a tall, black-haired man in an officer's uniform go into the first door on the left.

Ned.

Charlie shrugged to himself. He was a bit surprised, but there was no reason why he should be. Ned could make the most of his evenings as any other man in uniform, although Charlie hadn’t thought the tavern had options that swayed in Ned’s direction.

“Corporal Villiers!” Charlie groaned internally at the sound of Lieutenant Pemberton’s voice. “Should have known a man like you would know his way around an establishment like this.”

Pemberton was clinging to the bannister like it was holding him up, which, based on the slurring of his words, it was. The man was completely sozzled.

“I like discovering the joys of France, sir.'' Charlie turned around, hoping to convey that this was the conversation’s conclusion.

The other two officers, another junior officer by the name of Jefferson and a wet-behind-the-ears ensign that Charlie didn’t know, had also made it to the top of the stairs, stumbling all the way.

“Now, now, now.” Pemberton was still gesturing towards Charlie as if trying to remember what he wanted to say. “You didn’t happen to see Pinsent, did you?”

Charlie shook his head. Maybe it was just a desire to piss Pemberton off, but he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.

“Does he even know Pinsent?” interjected Jefferson, who was also swaying pretty strongly. “Big son of a bitch, black hair.”

“Sure, I know the lieutenant, posh as all get-out.” Charlie tried to give them his own version of a happy drunk. “Any particular reason you’re looking for him? If a man’s upstairs here, he may not want to be disturbed.”