Read Dust On the Sea for Free Online Page A

it.’ He spoke with unusual vehemence, and Blackwood saw him touch his side, where he had been wounded.
    When he had gone into hiding. He allowed the thought to continue. When he had run away, and had left the wounded to their fate.
    Gaillard swung away from the window, the mood apparently changed. ‘We’ll fly to Alexandria, via Gib of course, just in case the whole show’s gone sour on us. Some of those duffers at the top don’t realise what it’s like – they’re still fighting the Zulus, not an enemy which has been preparing and training for years, just for this! Take the Japs, for instance. Now they
know
how to fight, no messing about, and no white flag of surrender when the going gets rough and the other side forgets to play by the rules! God, what
soldiers
!’
    Blackwood heard the front door open and felt a draught stirring beneath the chair.
    She walked across the room and put some parcels on the table.
    â€˜Thought you might be hungry. Just needs grilling.’ She looked at Blackwood directly for the first time. ‘I’ve arranged a car for you.’ She touched the front of her battledress blouse as if feeling for something. ‘Tomorrowat eight. The usual place.’ Then, for a second, her reserve seemed to falter. ‘I hope everything goes well for you, Captain Blackwood.’
    He stood. ‘I’ll get a cab for you. It’s dark, and there’s a raid going on.’
    She smiled briefly. ‘There usually is.’ She shook her head. ‘There will be a car waiting for me.’
    Gaillard said rudely, ‘I’m going to pump the bilges.’ He glanced at Blackwood and grimaced. ‘Then we’ll eat, eh?’
    He followed her to the door, and out into the darkness. It was cold, but the air seemed somehow less damp.
    She turned slightly, and he sensed that she was looking at him.
    â€˜I can manage on my own now, thank you.’
    He heard a car start up, and wanted her to stay. He said, ‘What exactly do you do in this outfit?’ It sounded clumsy, and stupid.
    â€˜This and that. Nothing too dangerous.’
    Was she laughing at him? Putting him on the same level as Gaillard, and probably all the others who made passes at her?
    Then she said, ‘I read about your father. He must have been a fine man.’
    â€˜Yes. We loved him very much.’ It came out, just like that, and he could hardly believe he could have spoken so openly, so proudly. He felt her grip his wrist, her hand like ice.
    â€˜Remember him like that. Don’t change just because of . . .’ She twisted away, in control again as a large car drew up beside them.
    Then she turned and looked up at the flats, or perhaps at him.
    â€˜Have a nice meal. I tried to find something you might like.’
    He was still staring after her when the car had turned into the next street.
    It was an uncomfortable meal, for all that. Gaillard seemed unusually restless, and left the table several times to make telephone calls, and to switch on the nine o’clock news.
    The girl had brought two healthy-looking steaks, and when Blackwood had commented on this in some surprise Gaillard had replied offhandedly, ‘Rations? Not likely. You can get anything you want in London, if you’re prepared to pay for it!’
    He had tried to listen to the news bulletin, but it seemed like any other. The Eighth Army was still advancing in North Africa; a strategic withdrawal had been made somewhere else. The Royal Air Force had carried out a heavy raid over marshalling yards and U-Boat pens in France.
Thirty of our aircraft failed to return.
All in the same unemotional, well-modulated voice, as if it were a cricket score.
    Gaillard had said suddenly, ‘I have to go out. Don’t wait up.’ He had patted his pockets as if to reassure himself of something. ‘Someone will be in to clean up after we’ve gone tomorrow.’ He had gone, banging