there you are! Does everybody know Lieutenant Davis? He hasn’t been with us all that long. He’s the interpreter attached to the regiment.’
The young man nodded to them all, not making eye contact, and Clara moved her chair a little to accommodate him.
‘How long will you be with us, Lieutenant?’ asked Evelyn, summoning a waiter.
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I go where I’m told to,’ he said.
‘We’ve run out of copies, I’m afraid, but I’m sure Mrs Treherne will let you look over her shoulder.’
‘Of course,’ said Clara. ‘Here.’ She held her book near him. He sat hunched forward, and his uniform made stiff folds across his chest. Clara smiled at him. ‘ The Tempest ,’ she said.
‘Yes, I remember. I saw the noticeboard.’
They were near the end of Act One, and took Davis’s arrival as a signal to pause. Deirdre Innes giggled. ‘I must say,’ she said to Lieutenant Castle, who was next to her, ‘you’re attempting a rather masterful Prospero!’
Deirdre Innes was flirting, thought Clara, and Castle’s attempt at masterfulness – if he had made one – had been entirely unsuccessful.
‘Ought we to move inside?’ asked Evelyn. ‘It’s a little dim out here, but rather suits the play, don’t you think?’
They all agreed to stay outside. Deirdre Innes made a show of shivering inside her wrap and holding her book nearer Castle – or the light behind him.
‘Do you know the play, Lieutenant Davis?’ asked Evelyn.
‘We did it at school.’
‘Well, jolly good, then. You can read Gonzalo.’
Clara didn’t think Davis wanted to read Gonzalo, but Evelyn was irresistible.
‘Carry on,’ she said leaning towards him, and staring over her spectacles.
Davis had a biggish, aquiline nose, and hair that fell forward. He peered at Evelyn, and his eyes, which were surprisingly large, were fearful. She nodded. He glanced down to the text and – without even the benefit of a cocktail – began.
‘“Beseech you, sir, be merry,”’ he cleared his throat several times, ‘“you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss…”’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I –’ and then he stopped again, blinking down at the page.
This wasn’t shyness. They had all been shy. This was some form of discomfort that stopped them all, and Clara recognised it. Lieutenant Davis was staring downwards, as if bewildered by his own silence. Clara said, ‘Poor man, he’s only just arrived. Shall I?’
Evelyn was grateful to her, and in her gratitude didn’t argue that it was a man’s role, but said, ‘Clara. Please,’ and Clara began,
‘…for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe…’
The waiter brought Davis a drink. He took it and drank it down.
The little party of readers continued, quite a few cocktails were drunk, and it became what Evelyn had wanted, a Very Jolly Time, but Davis, and Clara beside him, had another experience, of shared, unspoken sympathy that was mysterious and comforting.
When the play had ended, they smiled at each other.
Clara said, ‘I’d better go and find my husband,’ and got up.
He stood up too, while around them their fellow readers gathered bags and glasses and prepared to go inside. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, which, coming out of sleeves that were a little too short, were long-fingered.
‘Are you all right?’ said Clara, thinking it was odd to be talking to a man who was younger than her.
‘Much better, thanks,’ he said, and grinned at her.
‘Oh, good,’ she said, and she walked away to find Hal.
The SIB had got their information from Loulla Kollias, not because of the near drowning or because of the beating the Turkish Auxiliary Policeman had given him, which was not severe, but because of the very kind words from the interpreter, Davis, that
The young man nodded to them all, not making eye contact, and Clara moved her chair a little to accommodate him.
‘How long will you be with us, Lieutenant?’ asked Evelyn, summoning a waiter.
‘Oh, I’m not sure. I go where I’m told to,’ he said.
‘We’ve run out of copies, I’m afraid, but I’m sure Mrs Treherne will let you look over her shoulder.’
‘Of course,’ said Clara. ‘Here.’ She held her book near him. He sat hunched forward, and his uniform made stiff folds across his chest. Clara smiled at him. ‘ The Tempest ,’ she said.
‘Yes, I remember. I saw the noticeboard.’
They were near the end of Act One, and took Davis’s arrival as a signal to pause. Deirdre Innes giggled. ‘I must say,’ she said to Lieutenant Castle, who was next to her, ‘you’re attempting a rather masterful Prospero!’
Deirdre Innes was flirting, thought Clara, and Castle’s attempt at masterfulness – if he had made one – had been entirely unsuccessful.
‘Ought we to move inside?’ asked Evelyn. ‘It’s a little dim out here, but rather suits the play, don’t you think?’
They all agreed to stay outside. Deirdre Innes made a show of shivering inside her wrap and holding her book nearer Castle – or the light behind him.
‘Do you know the play, Lieutenant Davis?’ asked Evelyn.
‘We did it at school.’
‘Well, jolly good, then. You can read Gonzalo.’
Clara didn’t think Davis wanted to read Gonzalo, but Evelyn was irresistible.
‘Carry on,’ she said leaning towards him, and staring over her spectacles.
Davis had a biggish, aquiline nose, and hair that fell forward. He peered at Evelyn, and his eyes, which were surprisingly large, were fearful. She nodded. He glanced down to the text and – without even the benefit of a cocktail – began.
‘“Beseech you, sir, be merry,”’ he cleared his throat several times, ‘“you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss…”’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I –’ and then he stopped again, blinking down at the page.
This wasn’t shyness. They had all been shy. This was some form of discomfort that stopped them all, and Clara recognised it. Lieutenant Davis was staring downwards, as if bewildered by his own silence. Clara said, ‘Poor man, he’s only just arrived. Shall I?’
Evelyn was grateful to her, and in her gratitude didn’t argue that it was a man’s role, but said, ‘Clara. Please,’ and Clara began,
‘…for our escape
Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe
Is common; every day some sailor’s wife,
The masters of some merchant and the merchant
Have just our theme of woe…’
The waiter brought Davis a drink. He took it and drank it down.
The little party of readers continued, quite a few cocktails were drunk, and it became what Evelyn had wanted, a Very Jolly Time, but Davis, and Clara beside him, had another experience, of shared, unspoken sympathy that was mysterious and comforting.
When the play had ended, they smiled at each other.
Clara said, ‘I’d better go and find my husband,’ and got up.
He stood up too, while around them their fellow readers gathered bags and glasses and prepared to go inside. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, which, coming out of sleeves that were a little too short, were long-fingered.
‘Are you all right?’ said Clara, thinking it was odd to be talking to a man who was younger than her.
‘Much better, thanks,’ he said, and grinned at her.
‘Oh, good,’ she said, and she walked away to find Hal.
The SIB had got their information from Loulla Kollias, not because of the near drowning or because of the beating the Turkish Auxiliary Policeman had given him, which was not severe, but because of the very kind words from the interpreter, Davis, that
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