“You need to be more discreet on this side,” said Second Lieutenant Rose. “You know it’s prohibited over here now. I’ve shown you the order. Be grateful it’s only me that saw you. I’d be confiscating it, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s my own old Kodak and my fingerprints are all over your misdemeanor.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Francis. “That was silly of me. I’ll be careful. I know the rules. I wouldn’t get you in a bother.”

“Don’t look so contrite,” said Rose. “Go and stand with your brothers. I’ll take this one. You can send it home. Something for your girls.”

Francis knocked his cap to a jaunty angle and put his arm around Harry. He could feel the pressure of Francis’s fingertips and his pent-up laughter. “Smile for the dickey bird, boys!”

Rose grinned from behind the lens. “Something for posterity.”

Chapter Four: Harry

Chapter Four

Harry

Boulogne-sur-Mer, August 1921

FRANCIS HAD PHOTOGRAPHED THE RAILWAY STATION TOO, ALL EXOTIC Gothic and sandbags back then. He had said that it looked like a church organ, Harry remembers. Taking in the detail of the building again, this time through the viewfinder of his own camera, it seems both oversized and over-grand now; the passage of time has left it looking like it’s overstating its claims. There are crenulations, rampant lions, and medieval affectations; corner turrets, stepped spires, and classical statues with swords and crowns of laurel leaves. The sandbags are gone, but as the shutter of his camera clicks, Harry fully expects to turn and see Francis there at his side.

He buys himself a coffee in the cheerless station café and watches as birds lunge through the wires and cables above. Starlings cut curves through the crosshatching.

“It’s our amphibious portrait artist again, isn’t it?”

Her feet stop by his table. He looks up and a drawing of a girl with sad eyes and a Forget Me Not locket animates into a crease of smile.

“Mrs. West—I hadn’t expected to see you again.”

“Likewise, but I’m glad to cross paths with you, Mr. Blythe. My train doesn’t leave for another half hour. Would I be making a nuisance of myself if I were to join you for a coffee?”

“Of course not.” In truth, he would be glad of a voice other than the ones in his head. He pulls a chair out for her. “I’m sorry, I should have asked you where you were traveling on to.” He puts his hand up for the waiter.

“Arras. The eleven-thirty train.”

“That makes two of us. I would be happy to have some company for the journey.”

He watches as the waiter shuffles cups and saucers on his tray and sorts through the small change.

“I was grateful to you for drawing my picture. We all were. Like I said, I would gladly have paid you.”