Free Heirs of Ravenscar by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page B

one of the lucky ones.’
    Amos was choked up, but swiftly took control of himself, impressed by Charlie’s courageous attitude. ‘I know you’ve been to hell and back, but you’re home now. And you’re safe.’
    Charlie smiled faintly. ‘Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, old friend. Come on then, let’s go to the restaurant, shall we? Have a drink, toast each other, and reminisce about old times.’
    â€˜Best idea yet. And how’s your sister Maisie?’
    â€˜She’s tip-top, very cheerful, feeling better because Liam is steadily improving, and every day. He was so shell-shocked he was like a zombie for a long time. Then he started weeping a great deal, and constantly woke up screaming in the night. And I know why … it’s the memories … they don’t go away.’ Charlie shook his head. ‘Too many walking wounded who probably won’t ever get better. The walking dead, I call’em. Might as well be dead, the kind of lives they’re going to have. Well, I shouldn’t say that, should I?’ He endeavoured to adopt a more cheerful tone, and finished, ‘Maisie’s a wonder, and she’s convinced that Liam will make a full recovery. She sends you her love, by the way.’
    â€˜I received a Christmas card from her the other day, and she told me she hopes I’ll go and visit them at Dunleith. In fact, she suggested we go together.’
    â€˜We’ll do it!’ Charlie announced, and nodded to the maître d ’ who had come to greet them, and was waiting to usher them into the restaurant.
    â€˜Good evening, Captain Morran, very nice to see you tonight.’ The man glanced at Amos, and smiled, ‘Good evening, Mr Finnister.’
    Amos inclined his head. ‘Good evening,’ he replied, feeling certain that the maître d ’ remembered him from the times he had come here for lunch with Edward Deravenel and Will Hasling.
    They followed the head waiter across the room. When he showed them to a table near the window overlooking Green Park.
    â€˜I’m glad I was able to get a room here,’ Charlie volunteered, looking across the dinner table at Amos. ‘The hotel seems to be very busy, no doubt because of the Armistice, and Christmas, of course. But I’m an old client and they were most obliging. I’m sure you remember that once we could afford it, Maisie and I stayed here whenever we came to London. Mostly to see you, Amos, you know.’ Without waiting for a comment, he rushed on, ‘Believe me, this place is a helluva lot better than the trenches. Take my word for it.’
    â€˜I do. I can’t imagine what you boys went through over there. Nobody can. Hell on earth, I’m certain, and I’ve no doubt that it was bloody horrific –’ Amos cut himself off as a waiter appeared at the table.
    Charlie looked at Amos and asked, ‘Would you like champagne? Or something stronger?’
    â€˜I’ll have whatever you’re having, Charlie, thanks very much.’
    â€˜Then it’s champagne.’ Charlie said to the waiter, ‘I’d like a bottle of pink champagne, the best in the house.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜Rations?’ Amos’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.
    â€˜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