Thread: Bringing Him Back {Gypsy and Alan23}

With the sensitivity to currents that had always stood Noel in good sense as a writer, he could immediately pick up that Delilah was fighting hard to keep a lid on her residual embarrassment. If nothing else, the fact that she was wearing the white coat - an item normally outside of her wardrobe - told its own story. He decided that not mentioning the incident at all would be the best course, and was glad that she had given him an easy conversational opening, enabling him to take the discussion into safer waters. Bradley? Yeah, he's a great guy, isn't he? We had a real laugh telling stories about the wart! Did you know he used to play Court Tennis at College? Bradley, I mean, not the wart. He seemed amazed that anyone but him had ever heard of the game. Noel smiled grimly. Well, one thing I'd sooner not do is talk about that story I told you earlier. Frankly, pretty one, I've said about as much about that as I really ever want to. I had to force my poor old battered mind into other channels just to forget the conversation. In fact, the other channels to which he referred had consisted - before Bradley had distracted him in such a welcome manner - of thinking about Delilah's legs, which had been revealed by her unfortunate fall, though naturally he was not going to mention that. But I did do something though - look. He showed her the scratch pad, on which he had been making notes for the never-to-be-written new novel. Turning over some pages, he revealed a sketch he had been making. That of a lean, cadaverous looking man, with a pointed goatee beard and a lugubrious expression. Done from memory, obviously. That's 'Mr Noir' as well as I could capture him. Note the Gitane hanging out of his mouth and the right-way-round swastika ear-ring... the symbol of light, not the evil thing the Nazis made it into. That's how I'll always remember him, puffing on those Orinoco tobacco cigarettes and with that ear-ring. Still, you want a story. Hmmm, well... let me give you a memory. He went into a long narrative, arranged in such a way he might have written it as an episode in one of his novels, though it was a real and very vivid memory. Aout his mercenary service, and two soldiers who hated each other so much they regularly fought fist and boot fights in a roped off area of the camp. About the action where one of them had been wounded, and the unit had been ordered to retreat, until the other soldier assisted by Noel, though he did not mention that had dodged and weaved their way through enemy fire to chair the injured man back to safety. Two days later, the rescuer had visited the man hed saved in hospital, and within a few minutes the makeshift ward had echoed to the sound of their screaming at each other as they renewed their feud! As he came to a close, he noticed that Bradley was walking by them, returning from a trip to the pot of coffee that was kept permanently simmering in a corner of the room. He touched Noel on the shoulder as he passed. Noel knew what he was going to say before he even said it, and with a small pang he recalled that while highly intelligent, Bradley sometimes lacked both discretion and sophistication, properties both of his youth and his condition! Yeah, I see what you mean, he said, flicking his eyes to Delilah and back to Noel. She IS the prettiest girl on the whole staff, isn't she? Much better looking that Cindy the cleaner. Bradley then went on his way, back to the table where he had been sitting with Jarrod, another one of the younger inmates, and resumed the chess game he had been involved in, totally unaware of the possible bombshell he had dropped!