Trouble in the Wind by Richard Townshend Bickers

Trouble in the Wind by Richard Townshend Bickers

Author:Richard Townshend Bickers [Bickers, Richard Townshend]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2016-04-11T20:00:00+00:00


Eight

Visiting hours at the military hospital near Folkestone. Aird chafed at the constraints of hospital confinement, but still felt too listless to want to do anything but lie or sit comfortably and read. He would prefer to be doing this at home.

He kept thinking angrily about the futility of Garton’s death. By the time he had recovered consciousness and the effects of severe concussion and morphia had worn off, it was too late to report what they had found in the big wood. The weather had deteriorated too much to permit another reconnaissance; for two days. In the meanwhile the enemy’s terrible gun had maintained its bombardment. Garton was only one among hundreds who had died because of it in one way or another.

Now, with his left arm and right ankle in plaster, his four cracked ribs tightly bound, wounds in both legs in bandages — the stitches had been removed the day he arrived in England — he was in pain as well as mental anguish.

Reading “Punch”, amused by the drawings and articles, aware subconsciously all the time of his deep pleasure at being home in his own country, he also became aware of an intrusion: of movement in the ward; and forced himself not to look towards the double doors at the far end. He concentrated all his attention on the magazine. Each time his thoughts drifted he remembered his grievance against Drascombe: who had behaved like a prep school prefect, giving him some tedious chore in punishment for breaking a rule. A punishment which had killed Garton.

He heard high heels approaching his bed. He recognised the footfall. He looked up at Rose.

She was smiling at him, carrying a big shopping bag,

“Andrew darling.” She stooped to kiss him. He put an arm around her and wouldn’t let her go. He kissed her again until she laughed and protested, drew up the one chair beside his bed, held his hand and went on smiling at him.

“Poor darling. Does it hurt dreadfully?”

“Doesn’t hurt at all, now you’ve come. You look marvellous, darling.”

“I’ve brought you some things.”

She delved into her basket. Grapes appeared, a box of chocolates, several magazines, a couple of novels, some crystallised fruit.

“A cornucopia.” He held her hand once more, looking at her with love.

“How long are they going to keep you here?”

“They’ll be glad to get rid of me as soon as they can. They need the bed. Two or three days more, I expect.”

“It’ll take ages for you to get properly well again.”

“I’ll manage with a crutch.”

“You won’t be able to dance.”

“No worse than without one, I suspect.”

“Rot. You’re a very good dancer. Never mind, we’ll go to all the theatres.”

“I was rather hoping you’d come down to Cornwall for a week or two. We can spend some time in London later.”

“Oh, darling!”

“Really, I won’t be able to get about much for quite a while.”

“Nonsense. I’ll help you.”

“I really think a little laziness …”

“But the country is so boring, darling, unless one’s hunting or shooting.”

“Well, you can do both while I look on.



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