He pointed to the ribbon of the Military Cross.
“I managed to get away with some machine guns out of a tight corner. It was only when we were scooting back that I discovered we had been left in the air. I thought the battalion was quite up close. If I hadn’t, I should probably have bolted. These things are all flukes.”
“What a proud man your father would have been,” said Baltazar.
“By the way, yes,” said Godfrey. “I was forgetting. You were a friend of my father’s.”
“It’s a great misfortune that he never met you,” said Baltazar.
“He disappeared before I was born,” Godfrey remarked drily.
“I know. That’s why I wrote to you in some diffidence. I had no idea how you regarded your father’s memory. I hope you appreciate my feeling that I might be treading on delicate ground.”
Godfrey waved an indulgent hand. “Oh, that’s all right, sir. My father was a distinguished and romantic person, and I’m rather interested in him than otherwise.”
Baltazar drew a great breath of relief. At any rate he was not execrated by the paragon of sons. “I see,” said he, his features relaxing, for the first time, into a smile. “Like any other ancestor, he’s part of your family history.”
“Something of the sort. Only perhaps a bit nearer.”