A tickling, and over ‘his hand, thin and Rather brown, the fringe of a shawl came dangling. Why! With an effort he climbed out of an abyss of dreams. Fleur was standing beside him. Pretty, bright, her eyes shining, speaking quickly, excitedly, it seemed to him.
‘Here you are, then, Dad!’ Her lips felt hot and soft on his forehead, and her eyes – What was the matter with her? She looked so young – she looked so – how express it?
‘So you’re in!’ he said. ‘Kit’s getting talkative. Had anything to eat?’
‘Heaps!’
‘This canteen –’
She flung off her shawl.
‘I’m enjoying it frightfully.’
Soames noted with surprise the rise and fall of her breast, as if she had been running. Her cheeks, too, were very pink.
‘You haven’t caught anything, have you – in that place?’
Fleur laughed. A sound – delicious and unwarranted.
‘How funny you are, Dad! I hope the strike lasts!’
‘Don’t be foolish!’ said Soames. ‘Where’s Michael?’
‘Gone up. He called for me, after the House. Nothing doing there, he says.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Past twelve, dear. You must have had a real good sleep.’
‘Just nodding.’
‘We saw a tank pass, on the Embankment – going east. It looked awfully queer. Didn’t you hear it?’
‘No,’ said Soames.
‘Well, don’t be alarmed if you hear another. They’re on their way to the docks, Michael says.’
‘Glad to hear it – shows the Government means business. But you must go up. You’re overtired.’
She gazed at him over the Spanish shawl on her arm – whistling some tune.
‘Good night!’ he said. ‘I shall be coming up in a minute.’
She blew him a kiss, twirled round, and went.
‘I don’t like it,’ murmured Soames to himself; ‘I don’t know why, but I don’t like it.’
She had looked too young. Had the strike gone to her head? He rose to squirt some soda-water into a glass – that nap had left a taste in his mouth.
Um – dum – bom – um – dum – bom – um – dum – bom! A grunching noise! Another of those tanks? He would like to see one of those great things! For the idea that they were going down to the docks gave him a feeling almost of exhilaration. With them on the spot the country was safe enough. Putting on his motoring coat and hat, he went out, crossed the empty Square, and stood in the street, whence he could see the Embankment. There it came! Like a great primeval monster in the lamplit darkness, growling and gruntling along, a huge, fantastic tortoise – like an embodiment of inexorable power. ‘That’ll astonish their weak nerves!’ thought Soames, as the tank crawled, grunching, out of sight. He could hear another coming; but with a sudden feeling that it would be too much of a good thing, he turned on his heel. A sort of extravagance about them, when he remembered the blank-looking crowd around his car that afternoon, not a weapon among the lot, nor even a revolutionary look in their eyes!
‘No body in the strike!’ These great crawling monsters! Were the Government trying to pretend that there was? Playing the strong man! Something in Soames revolted slightly. Hang it! This was England, not Russia, or Italy! They might be right, but he didn’t like it! Too – too military! He put his latchkey into the keyhole. Um – dum – bom – um – dum – bom! Well, not many people would see or hear them – this time of night! He supposed they had got here from the country somewhere – he wouldn’t care to meet them wandering about in the old lanes and places. Father and mother and baby tanks – like – like a family of mastodons, m – m? No sense of proportion in things like that! And no sense of humour! He stood on the stairs listening. It was to be hoped they wouldn’t wake the baby!
Chapter Five
JEOPARDY
WHEN, looking down the row of faces at her canteen table, Fleur saw Jon Forsyte’S, it was within her heart as if, in winter, she had met with honeysuckle. Recovering from that faint intoxication, she noted his appearance from farther off. He was sitting seemingly indifferent to food; and on his face, which was smudged with coal-dust and sweat, was such a smile as men wear after going up a mountain or at the end of a long run – tired, charming, and as if they had been through something worth while. His lashes – long and dark as in her memory – concealed his eyes, and quarrelled with his brighter hair, tousled to the limit of its shortness.
Continuing to issue instructions to Ruth La Fontaine, Fleur thought rapidly. Jon! Dropped from the skies into her canteen, stronger-looking, better knit, with more jaw, and deeper eyes, but frightfully like Jon! What was to be done about it? If only she could turn out the lights, steal up behind, lean over and kiss him on that smudge above his left eye! Yes! And then – what? Silly! And now, suppose he came out of his faraway smile and saw her! As likely as not he would never come into her canteen again. She remembered his conscience! And she took a swift decision. Not tonight! Holly would know where he was staying. At her chosen time, on her chosen ground, if – on second thoughts, she wanted to play with fire. And, giving a mandate to Ruth La Fontaine concerning buns, she looked back over her shoulder at Jon’s absorbed and smiling face, and passed out into her little office.