“The Bosche is strong,” said Mathis. “It is easy to say that the Allies must win, but they yet have the fighting to do. And do we yet know whom we are going to fight or where? There is a front in the East as well as in the West. We do not yet know the truth. When that is known the war will be over.”
“It is not for us to ask questions,” said his wife.
His lips twisted and in his brown eyes was the bitterness of years. “You are right. It is not for us to ask questions. And why? Because the only people who can give us the answers are the bankers and the politicians at the top, the boys with the shares in the big factories which make war materials. They will not give us answers. Why? Because they know that if the soldiers of France and England knew those answers they would not fight.”
His wife reddened. “You are mad! Naturally the men of France would fight to defend us from the filthy Bosche.” She glanced at Graham. “It is bad to say that France would not fight. We are not cowards.”
“No, but neither are we fools.” He turned quickly to Graham. “Have you heard of Briey, Monsieur? From the mines of the Briey district comes ninety per cent. of France’s iron ore. In nineteen fourteen those mines were captured by the Germans, who worked them for the iron they needed. They worked them hard. They have admitted since that without the iron they mined at Briey they would have been finished in nineteen seventeen. Yes, they worked Briey hard. I, who was at Verdun, can tell you that. Night after night we watched the glare in the sky from the blast furnaces of Briey a few kilometres away; the blast furnaces that were feeding the German guns. Our artillery and our bombing aeroplanes could have blown those furnaces to pieces in a week. But our artillery remained silent; an airman who dropped one bomb on the Briey area was court-martialled. Why?” His voice rose. “I will tell you why, Monsieur. Because there were orders that Briey was not to be touched. Whose orders? Nobody knew. The orders came from someone at the top. The Ministry of War said that it was the generals. The generals said that it was the Ministry of War. We did not find out the facts until after the war. The orders had been issued by Monsieur de Wendel of the Comité des Forges who owned the Briey mines and blast furnaces. We were fighting for our lives, but our lives were less important than that the property of Monsieur de Wendel should be preserved to make fat profits. No, it is not good for those who fight to know too much. Speeches, yes! The truth, no!”
His wife sniggered. “It is always the same. Let someone mention the war and he begins to talk about Briey-something that happened twenty-four years ago.”
“And why not?” he demanded. “Things have not changed so much. Because we do not know about such things until after they have happened it does not mean that things like it are not happening now. When I think of war I think also of Briey and the glare of the blast furnaces in the sky to remind myself that I am an ordinary man who must not believe all that he is told. I see the newspapers from France with the blanks in them to show where the censor has been at work. They tell me certain things, these newspapers. France, they say, is fighting with England against Hitler and the Nazis for democracy and liberty.”
“And you don’t believe that?” Graham asked.
“I believe that the peoples of France and England are so fighting, but is that the same thing? I think of Briey and wonder. Those same newspapers once told me that the Germans were not taking ore from the Briey mines and that all was well. I am an invalid of the last war. I do not have to fight in this one. But I can think.”
His wife laughed again. “Ha! It will be different when he gets to France again. He talks like a fool but you should take no notice, Messieurs. He is a good Frenchman. He won the Croix de Guerre.”
He winked. “A little piece of silver outside the chest to serenade the little piece of steel inside, eh? It is the women, I think, who should fight these wars. They are more ferocious as patriots than the men.”
“And what do you think, Mr. Kuvetli?” said Graham.
“Me? Ah, please!” Mr. Kuvetli looked apologetic. “I am neutral, you understand. I know nothing. I have no opinion.” He spread out his hands. “I sell tobacco. Export business. That is enough.”
The Frenchman’s eyebrows went up. “Tobacco? So? I arranged a great deal of transport for the tobacco companies. What company is that?”
“Pazar of Istanbul.”
“Pazar?” Mathis looked slightly puzzled. “I don’t think …”
But Mr. Kuvetli interrupted him. “Ah! See! There is Greece!”
They looked. There, sure enough, was Greece. It looked like a low bank of cloud on the horizon beyond the end of the golden line of Makronisi, a line that was contracting slowly as the ship ploughed on its way through the Zea channel.
“Beautiful day!” enthused Mr. Kuvetli. “Magnificent!” He drew a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I anticipate very much to see Athens. We get to Piræus at two o’clock.”
“Are you and Madame going ashore?” said Graham to Mathis.
“No, I think not. It is too short a time.” He turned his coat collar up and shivered. “I agree that it is a beautiful day, but it is cold.”
“If you did not stand talking so much,” said his wife, “you would keep warm. And you have no scarf.”
“Very well, very well!” he said irritably. “We will go below. Excuse us, please.”
“I think that I, too, will go,” said Mr. Kuvetli. “Are you coming down, Mr. Graham?”
“I’ll stay a little.” He would have enough of Mr. Kuvetli later.
“Then at two o’clock.”
“Yes.”
When they had gone he looked at his watch, saw that it was eleven-thirty, and made up his mind to walk round the boat deck ten times before he went down for a drink. He was, he decided as he began to walk, a good deal better for his night’s rest. For one thing, his hand had ceased throbbing and he could bend the fingers a little, without pain. More important, however, was the fact that the feeling of moving in a nightmare which he had had the previous day had now gone. He felt whole again and cheerful. Yesterday was years away. There was, of course, his bandaged hand to remind him of it but the wound no longer seemed significant. Yesterday it had been a part of something horrible. To-day it was a cut on the back of his hand, a cut which would take a few days to heal. Meanwhile he was on his way home, back to his work. As for Mademoiselle Josette, he had had, fortunately, enough sense left not to behave really stupidly. That he should actually have wanted, even momentarily, to kiss her was fantastic enough. However, there were extenuating circumstances. He had been tired and confused; and, while she was a woman whose needs and methods of fulfilling them were only too apparent, she was undeniably attractive in a blowzy way.
He had completed his fourth circuit when the subject of these reflections appeared on the deck. She had on a camel hair coat instead of the fur, a green cotton scarf round her head in place of the woollen one, and wore sports shoes with cork “platform” soles. She waited for him to come over to her.
He smiled and nodded. “Good morning.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Good morning! Is that all you have to say?”
He was startled. “What should I say?”
“You have disappointed me. I thought that all Englishmen got out of bed early to eat a great English breakfast. I get out of bed at ten but you are nowhere to be found. The steward says that you are still in your cabin.”
“Unfortunately they don’t serve English breakfasts on this boat. I made do with coffee and drank it in bed.”
She frowned. “Now, you do not ask why I wished to see you. Is it so natural that I should wish to see you as soon as I left my bed?”
The mock severity was appalling. Graham said: “I’m afraid I didn’t take you seriously. Why should you want to find me?”
“Ah, that is better. It is not good but it is better. Are you going into Athens this afternoon?”