Read Online Ormerod's Landing by Leslie Thomas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie Thomas
Tags: Fiction
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world, yes,' acknowledged the man. 'But for us, no. Here we never like to hurry these things.' He turned to go but paused at the door. 'If you would like to see Magna Carta this afternoon, I can arrange it,' he offered. 'It's something everybody should see.'
I was touched at the real generosity. 'Thank you,' he said. 'If I've got time, I will.'
The man nodded and continued nodding as if he were unable to stop. 'I'm the first room along the corridor,' he said before leaving the room. 'Just knock quietly. I'll hear you. We don't make a lot of din here.'
Bemused, Ormerod watched him shuffle and nod away. He felt a kind of envy. How peaceful it must be sorting out the Boer War. He stood up and looked through the grubby window at the extravagant trees. The driver was right. It was just like wallpaper. Someone came into the room behind him and he turned unhurriedly. It was the ATS girl. He could see at once that she knew why he was there because she was regarding him with a sympathetic sort of hero-worship. No one had ever looked at him like that before. 'Penny for your thoughts,' she said after she had smiled.
'Hardly worth that much,' he smiled back. I was just thinking that somebody is going to have a job clearing up all the leaves around here.'
'You're right,' she said. 'But it's a quiet job isn't it? You wouldn't know there was a war on. Not here.' She paused, then said, almost with embarrassment: 'They're waiting for you now. Will you follow me?'
He went after her, watching her tight, khaki-clad backside moving two yards ahead. A brief thought of his wife made him momentarily homesick. He would have to forget that. He had telephoned her several times from Ash Vale but she was always formal to the point of stiffness on the telephone. How was the police course going? Would he be getting extra allowance for being away? Could he fix the kettle when he got home because it had gone wrong again, please? It was hardly a romantic marriage.
The girl showed him into yet another grubby chamber where
49
two men in neat suits, like bank clerks, stood staring at a wide map of Normandy on the wall. As he came in one brushed his hand across the map. 'Couldn't tell whether that was a small town or a house fly,' he smiled weakly at his colleague. They seemed surprised to see Ormerod standing behind them and both came forward with bogus diffidence to shake his hand.
'Jolly glad to meet you,' said the first clerky man. He wore a grey suit with some sort of significantly striped tie and had the kind of pale wispy hair that is almost as good as being bald. The other man was wearing a pin-striped suit with another kind of significantly striped tie and his dark hair had been sleeked down as if it had been painted to his head. 'Sit down, please,' said the second man. 'Might as well get some rest while you can, eh?'
Ormerod was getting familiar with the type. He sat down heavily. The first man took some kind of form and showed it to the second. 'AF G 146,' he intoned. 'That's right, isn't it Charles?'
'Think so, Gerry. Probably do anyway.'
Even in that moment they seemed to have forgotten Ormerod was sitting there, and that he was the subject of the interview and a great deal of what was to come after it. They looked up and smiled, almost surprised smiles as thought they had just noticed him. 'Interesting name, Ormerod,' said the grey-suited Gerry. 'O-R-M-E-R-O-D,' he spelt it out and then recited, 'Ormer - a mollusc, tough shell-fish adhering to rocks, makes good eating. Rod - as in the Rod of Aaron or rod, pole or perch, or a fishing rod.'
'Rod, pole or perch,' said the striped Charles reflectively. 'Fishing rod ... There's a good Times crossword clue there somewhere.'
'Damned difficult to compile, crosswords,' said Gerry. Once more they seemed to have completely forgotten Ormerod. He sat looking spiritually shattered while they gossiped like fifth formers at their desks. 'Much easier to solve them.'
They looked up together as if their
I was touched at the real generosity. 'Thank you,' he said. 'If I've got time, I will.'
The man nodded and continued nodding as if he were unable to stop. 'I'm the first room along the corridor,' he said before leaving the room. 'Just knock quietly. I'll hear you. We don't make a lot of din here.'
Bemused, Ormerod watched him shuffle and nod away. He felt a kind of envy. How peaceful it must be sorting out the Boer War. He stood up and looked through the grubby window at the extravagant trees. The driver was right. It was just like wallpaper. Someone came into the room behind him and he turned unhurriedly. It was the ATS girl. He could see at once that she knew why he was there because she was regarding him with a sympathetic sort of hero-worship. No one had ever looked at him like that before. 'Penny for your thoughts,' she said after she had smiled.
'Hardly worth that much,' he smiled back. I was just thinking that somebody is going to have a job clearing up all the leaves around here.'
'You're right,' she said. 'But it's a quiet job isn't it? You wouldn't know there was a war on. Not here.' She paused, then said, almost with embarrassment: 'They're waiting for you now. Will you follow me?'
He went after her, watching her tight, khaki-clad backside moving two yards ahead. A brief thought of his wife made him momentarily homesick. He would have to forget that. He had telephoned her several times from Ash Vale but she was always formal to the point of stiffness on the telephone. How was the police course going? Would he be getting extra allowance for being away? Could he fix the kettle when he got home because it had gone wrong again, please? It was hardly a romantic marriage.
The girl showed him into yet another grubby chamber where
49
two men in neat suits, like bank clerks, stood staring at a wide map of Normandy on the wall. As he came in one brushed his hand across the map. 'Couldn't tell whether that was a small town or a house fly,' he smiled weakly at his colleague. They seemed surprised to see Ormerod standing behind them and both came forward with bogus diffidence to shake his hand.
'Jolly glad to meet you,' said the first clerky man. He wore a grey suit with some sort of significantly striped tie and had the kind of pale wispy hair that is almost as good as being bald. The other man was wearing a pin-striped suit with another kind of significantly striped tie and his dark hair had been sleeked down as if it had been painted to his head. 'Sit down, please,' said the second man. 'Might as well get some rest while you can, eh?'
Ormerod was getting familiar with the type. He sat down heavily. The first man took some kind of form and showed it to the second. 'AF G 146,' he intoned. 'That's right, isn't it Charles?'
'Think so, Gerry. Probably do anyway.'
Even in that moment they seemed to have forgotten Ormerod was sitting there, and that he was the subject of the interview and a great deal of what was to come after it. They looked up and smiled, almost surprised smiles as thought they had just noticed him. 'Interesting name, Ormerod,' said the grey-suited Gerry. 'O-R-M-E-R-O-D,' he spelt it out and then recited, 'Ormer - a mollusc, tough shell-fish adhering to rocks, makes good eating. Rod - as in the Rod of Aaron or rod, pole or perch, or a fishing rod.'
'Rod, pole or perch,' said the striped Charles reflectively. 'Fishing rod ... There's a good Times crossword clue there somewhere.'
'Damned difficult to compile, crosswords,' said Gerry. Once more they seemed to have completely forgotten Ormerod. He sat looking spiritually shattered while they gossiped like fifth formers at their desks. 'Much easier to solve them.'
They looked up together as if their
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