Read Online French Leave by Elizabeth Darrell - Free Book Online

continued in a fashion Max had no control over. Wisely limiting his alcohol intake by making the huge stein last a very long time, he was unable to escape the traditional beer garden singing and swaying with linked arms to the rhythm. Clare threw herself into it. Egged on by the birthday girl, whose plump attributes pressed hard against him when swaying, Max soon found himself enjoying the convivial celebration.
    When dusk arrived the coloured lights strung around the large garden came on, reflecting shimmeringly in the water lapping the parched grass on the bank. Before long, the river became too great a temptation to a youthful group, whose heedless imbibing had removed any sense of restraint from them. One after the other they left their table to run and jump into the water. This brought the team of waiters from the inn to remonstrate and order them out. They were having too much fun, however, and their defiant frolicking grew ever wilder.
    Max watched in some concern, knowing there was a strong current along this stretch. With the water level presently so low it was probably more sluggish, but the fully-clad bathers were too drunk to control their actions, which were irresponsible, if not actually risky.
    While some customers found the incident amusing, the older clientele were mostly disapproving and several had mobile phones to their ears. Max guessed they were calling the Polizei but, knowing the demands on them over any weekend were as heavy as those on George Maddox’s team, he did not believe they would attend an incident like this.
    Herr Blomfeld, the inn’s manager, strode down to the water’s edge to order the three men and girls out and off his premises. They were having too much fun to heed him. Short of wading in and physically removing them, there was nothing he could do.
    Then it happened. One of the lads stripped off his T-shirt and began swinging it wildly round and round above his head, chanting football slogans. The other two men followed suit, but one of them was too close to the girls and his sodden garment hit one of them in the face with such force it knocked her off her feet.
    Mere seconds passed before Max jumped up from the bench and began to run forward. The girl had not surfaced, but her friends were too helpless with laughter to notice. He heard shouts of alarm all around him as he reached the shallow bank and plunged into water rippling with rainbow colours reflected from the fairy lights.
    It was well past midnight when Max let himself into his room and stripped off his damp clothes. The housekeeper at the inn had done her best to iron his trousers dry enough to travel in Clare’s car, but they stank of the river, like his shirt and underpants. As he stood beneath the warm shower and washed that smell from his body and hair, he knew he would not row that river in future without remembering this evening.
    Clare had ruined her immaculate tunic and skirt by kneeling on the wet bank to resuscitate the unconscious girl, and she had insisted on calling an ambulance. Max could still picture her standing in muddy, crumpled clothes as she berated the youngsters for drinking to excess in such high temperatures. She had not minced words to explain in medical terms the reactions of brain and body to such stupidity.
    They had not said much during the drive back to base. It had seemed unnecessary. Walking together from the car park to their rooms, Clare had said quietly, ‘We can’t escape from what we are, can we?’
    â€˜Do you want to?’ he had asked curiously.
    â€˜I suppose not. Not deep inside.’ At her door, she had bade him goodnight, then added, ‘You’ve definitely gone up a rung or two, Max.’
    Clad in loose boxer shorts, Max lay on his bed gazing at the hazy full moon outside his window. It had been quite a day, yet the events of the evening had driven from his thoughts the problem of Private John Smith. And those of his relationship with Livya