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Authors: Jackie French
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suppose either of you can speak French?’ Midge asked. ‘Or at least speak it better than I can?’
Fred grinned. ‘Inky-pinky parley-voo, and that’s about the strength of it. Hey, I saw the captain go by a minute or two ago, but. I reckon he speaks the lingo like a native.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ ordered Harry. ‘The lady’s waiting. Go get him.’
Fred gave an ironical salute and ducked through the door again.
‘Don’t mind him.’ Harry’s voice was suddenly serious. ‘Been months since we spoke to a sheila. Reckon it’s gone to his head. You’re really from New Zealand? What are you doing here?’
‘Some friends and I run the canteen at the railway station,’ Midge explained. ‘And yes, I really am from New Zealand. Glen Donal. It’s up country from Christchurch on the South Island. Do you know it?’
He shook his head. ‘Geography isn’t my strong suit, miss. Sheep country, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what do you know? We’ve got sheep. Merinos.’
Suddenly Glen Donal seemed so close she could smell it. ‘We have merinos too! Lincolns as well, for the fat lambs, but the wool clip is—’ She broke off as another man came into the shop.
‘Miss Macpherson, is it? I’m Gordon Marks, Captain Marks. Private Randall here said that you needed some help.’
She looked at him gratefully, liking what she saw. Dark hair under his cap. Tall—were all these Australians tall?Or maybe she’d just been seeing French and Englishmen for so long…
‘Would you mind? You speak French?’ Then, as he nodded, ‘I’ve been trying to tell Madame here that the baker hasn’t been delivering all the bread that we’ve ordered. I…we…run the canteen at the station. We give him a hundred kilos of flour each baking, but he’s only been giving us a hundred kilos of bread.’
‘Sounds fair—’ began Fred.
‘Thank you, Randall. I’ll handle it from here.’
The young man grinned. ‘Officers only, eh? Come on, Harry. We’re not wanted.’
‘I…well, thank you.’ Midge was strangely sorry to see the two privates go. Was it the talk of home, of sheep—sanity in an insane world?
‘Our pleasure, miss.’ Harry sketched a vague salute.
Midge watched them leave, then turned to Captain Marks. ‘They were kind,’ she explained.
‘They’re good men. Now, this flour?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. A hundred kilos of flour should give us nearly two hundred kilos of bread, because the flour is mixed with water and water is heavy. I think he thinks we’re fools and he can cheat us.’
‘Does he now? Let’s see what we can do.’
Midge watched. Two minutes of talk later the woman fetched the baker. After five minutes of argument, Captain Marks turned back to her. ‘He says, one hundred and fifty kilograms.’
‘ Cent quatre-vingt-dix !’ 2 said Midge
‘ Cent quatre-vingts !’ 3 the baker replied.
‘ D’accord . 4 Captain Marks, would you mind telling him that we will weigh the loaves, so there is no point trying to cheat us. And the bread must be made from firstclass flour—the actual flour we give him. No potato flour or bran or acorn flour. We will check that too.’
Another exchange of French, then he smiled down at her. ‘I don’t think he’ll try to cheat you again.’
‘He’d better not,’ said Midge. She began to tug her gloves on.
Captain Marks hesitated. ‘Look, I know we haven’t been properly introduced…’
‘Yes, we have. Private—what was his name—Harrison introduced us very nicely. Well, almost.’
He smiled at that. ‘Well then, as we’ve been almost introduced, I wonder if you’d care to join me for a cup of coffee? There’s a café a few doors down.’
It was as though the world suddenly shifted. For months Midge had spoken to thousands of men a day. But this was different. One man and her…She felt a flush stain her neck. Like a schoolgirl, she thought. What would Aunt Harriet say?
She thought of her bed waiting for her in the
Fred grinned. ‘Inky-pinky parley-voo, and that’s about the strength of it. Hey, I saw the captain go by a minute or two ago, but. I reckon he speaks the lingo like a native.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ ordered Harry. ‘The lady’s waiting. Go get him.’
Fred gave an ironical salute and ducked through the door again.
‘Don’t mind him.’ Harry’s voice was suddenly serious. ‘Been months since we spoke to a sheila. Reckon it’s gone to his head. You’re really from New Zealand? What are you doing here?’
‘Some friends and I run the canteen at the railway station,’ Midge explained. ‘And yes, I really am from New Zealand. Glen Donal. It’s up country from Christchurch on the South Island. Do you know it?’
He shook his head. ‘Geography isn’t my strong suit, miss. Sheep country, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what do you know? We’ve got sheep. Merinos.’
Suddenly Glen Donal seemed so close she could smell it. ‘We have merinos too! Lincolns as well, for the fat lambs, but the wool clip is—’ She broke off as another man came into the shop.
‘Miss Macpherson, is it? I’m Gordon Marks, Captain Marks. Private Randall here said that you needed some help.’
She looked at him gratefully, liking what she saw. Dark hair under his cap. Tall—were all these Australians tall?Or maybe she’d just been seeing French and Englishmen for so long…
‘Would you mind? You speak French?’ Then, as he nodded, ‘I’ve been trying to tell Madame here that the baker hasn’t been delivering all the bread that we’ve ordered. I…we…run the canteen at the station. We give him a hundred kilos of flour each baking, but he’s only been giving us a hundred kilos of bread.’
‘Sounds fair—’ began Fred.
‘Thank you, Randall. I’ll handle it from here.’
The young man grinned. ‘Officers only, eh? Come on, Harry. We’re not wanted.’
‘I…well, thank you.’ Midge was strangely sorry to see the two privates go. Was it the talk of home, of sheep—sanity in an insane world?
‘Our pleasure, miss.’ Harry sketched a vague salute.
Midge watched them leave, then turned to Captain Marks. ‘They were kind,’ she explained.
‘They’re good men. Now, this flour?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. A hundred kilos of flour should give us nearly two hundred kilos of bread, because the flour is mixed with water and water is heavy. I think he thinks we’re fools and he can cheat us.’
‘Does he now? Let’s see what we can do.’
Midge watched. Two minutes of talk later the woman fetched the baker. After five minutes of argument, Captain Marks turned back to her. ‘He says, one hundred and fifty kilograms.’
‘ Cent quatre-vingt-dix !’ 2 said Midge
‘ Cent quatre-vingts !’ 3 the baker replied.
‘ D’accord . 4 Captain Marks, would you mind telling him that we will weigh the loaves, so there is no point trying to cheat us. And the bread must be made from firstclass flour—the actual flour we give him. No potato flour or bran or acorn flour. We will check that too.’
Another exchange of French, then he smiled down at her. ‘I don’t think he’ll try to cheat you again.’
‘He’d better not,’ said Midge. She began to tug her gloves on.
Captain Marks hesitated. ‘Look, I know we haven’t been properly introduced…’
‘Yes, we have. Private—what was his name—Harrison introduced us very nicely. Well, almost.’
He smiled at that. ‘Well then, as we’ve been almost introduced, I wonder if you’d care to join me for a cup of coffee? There’s a café a few doors down.’
It was as though the world suddenly shifted. For months Midge had spoken to thousands of men a day. But this was different. One man and her…She felt a flush stain her neck. Like a schoolgirl, she thought. What would Aunt Harriet say?
She thought of her bed waiting for her in the
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