Yakimov brought out his ‘Quel débâcle!’ joke and showed an inclination to sit and talk, but Inchcape walked about the room with such a show of impatience that it eventually came to Yakimov that he was not wanted. When he went, Inchcape swung a chair round, sat astride it and said: ‘They’re trying to get us out. They want us to go.’
‘Who wants us to go?’ Guy asked. ‘The prefectura or the Legation?’
‘The Legation. They’re trying to thin out the British colony. They want to get rid of what they call the “culture boys”.’
‘Because of this Dobrudja business?’ Harriet asked.
‘That among other things. Dobson had the cheek to suggest we’ve outlived our usefulness here. He said: “You must realise that having you around means extra work for us.” That’s all they’re worrying about.’
‘Do you mean it’s a definite order?’
‘An attempt at one.’ Inchcape lit a cigarette and stamped angrily on the match. ‘But they can’t expel us without good reason. Their first move is to get us to close down the English Department. Once they do that, they can say: “What is the point of your being here?” I’m determined to stay open.’
Guy nodded his support and Harriet wondered if any mention had been made of the Propaganda Bureau, which, inactive in its heyday, was now moribund. Before she could ask, Inchcape stubbed out his cigarette, two-thirds unsmoked, into a saucer, and said: ‘When I was summoned to the Legation this morning, I insisted on seeing Sir Montagu.’
‘What happened then?’ Guy asked.
Inchcape, his hand shaking, lit another cigarette. The war between nations was forgotten. He was waging his old war against the Legation. ‘I was called in, ostensibly about these notices to quit which we keep getting. Dobson said: “We think it would be better if the summer school closed down.” I refused to discuss it with him. I demanded to see one of the top brass. They tried to fob me off with Wheeler. In the end, believe it or not, I got in to the old charmer himself. And what do you think he said? “Summer school?” he said. “What summer school?” I told him that before we could stop work we’d have to get a direct order from our London office. That’s not likely to come in a hurry. No one at home has any real idea of what’s going on here.’
‘And –?’
‘The old boy blustered a bit. I stood firm. So he said: “If you stay, you do so at your own risk. I don’t guarantee to get one of your fellows out of here alive.”’
‘What about Woolley and the other businessmen?’
‘He said they could look after themselves. They’ve got cars. When the time comes, they can drive into Bulgaria. He said: “You chaps without cars won’t find it so easy. The trains will be taking troops to the frontier. The civilian aircraft will be commandeered by the army. There won’t even be a boat if Constanza’s in Russian hands.” I said it was a risk we were prepared to take.’ Inchcape looked for confirmation to Guy.
Guy said: ‘Of course.’
‘Why?’ asked Harriet.
‘Because we have a job to do,’ Guy said: ‘While we’re of any use here, we must stay.’
‘Exactly,’ said Inchcape. He sat down again, calmed by Guy’s support. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘there’s the Cantecuzeno Lecture in the offing. Pinkrose is being flown out. He’s getting a priority flight to Cairo. That’s not granted to everyone. I shall certainly be here to welcome him.’
‘What else did Sir Montagu say?’
‘He tried persuasion. “You can only speak for yourself,” he said. “The other men should be consulted.” I said: “I know my men. I can speak for them.” “Nevertheless,” he said, “they should get together and discuss the situation. Let Dobson have a word with them!” I could see the wily old bastard thought I’d keep you in the dark, so I said: “Very well. I’ll call a meeting this very evening. Anyone can attend. I know my men, I know what they’ll say.”’ Inchcape gazed intently at Guy, who again nodded his support. Inchcape stood up, satisfied: ‘The staff-room at six, then.’
‘Can I come?’ Harriet asked.
Inchcape looked round, surprised that she should feel concerned in this. ‘If you like,’ he said, then he turned to Guy again. ‘Alert the others. Dubedat, Lush and the old ladies. I think you’ll find they’re all behind us. No one wants to lose his job.’
By six o’clock the haze was lifeless and yellowish, like a thin smoke over the inert streets. The heat was stale and without fervour. The shops, though open, seemed asleep.
In the Calea Victoriei one pavement baked in the honey-yellow sun, the other was Prussian blue. Harriet walked in the shade until she reached the German Propaganda Bureau and there, before crossing the road, she paused. The map of France had appeared and disappeared in less than a month, but the map of the British Isles had remained so long, people were losing interest in it. Harriet was the only one looking in the window. She said to herself: ‘They’ll never get there,’ and saw that among the towns ringed with flames was the one where she had been born – a town she hated. Her eyes filled with tears.
On the other side of the road the gipsies, rousing themselves from behind their great baskets, were squirting their flowers with water from old enema bulbs. The sweet and heavy scent of tuberoses hung about the University steps. ‘Doamna, doamna,’ screeched the gipsies as Harriet made her way up.
When she passed into the building’s gothic gloom, she could hear Guy’s voice. He was still in the lecture-room. She went back to sit on the balustrade and watch the street waking up. When the students came out she was surprised that they dispersed so quickly. She waited, expecting more to come, but instead Guy came out to look for her.
She said: ‘Why are there so few students?’
‘Numbers have dropped off,’ he admitted. ‘It’s quite usual. Some of them get bored. Come along. The meeting has begun.’ He hurried ahead of her down the long main passage that was too narrow for its height, and opened the common-room door. Inchcape was saying: ‘… a ridiculous state of affairs. The fact is, the Legation’s trying to close down the summer school. I’ve called you all here to discuss it. After all, it’s your bread and butter.’
Elegant in a grey silk suit, he was sitting on the common-room table with one foot latched into a chair-rung. He smiled as he mentioned the malapert Legation. Apparently his rancour had gone, but his hands were gripping the back of the chair and he watched intently as the Pringles took their seats.
Clarence, stretched in the arm-chair from Guy’s office, slid an oblique glance at Harriet as she sat down beside him. Frowning, he slid lower in the chair and began biting the side of his right forefinger. Toby caught her eye and grinned as though a particular understanding existed between them. The three women teachers watched Guy warmly. Dubedat kept his gaze fixed on Inchcape who, as soon as the room was settled again, said: ‘I happen to have good news up my sleeve. It came in just before I left the Bureau.’ As everyone fixed him expectantly, he smiled, holding the situation a moment before he said: ‘When our friend Dobson arrives, we may find the Legation has changed its tone.’
Harriet wondered, was it possible that the war had ended? Miraculously and yet, of course, unsatisfactorily. No, the war couldn’t end with the enemy unbeaten.
‘I’ve just heard,’ Inchcape went on, ‘that last night the R.A.F. bombed Berlin.’
‘Why, that’s splendid!’ Guy said. Everyone murmured agreement, but they had clearly expected more.
‘It is splendid. It means we’re hitting back,’ said Inchcape. ‘This is the first time the German civilian has tasted this war. It is only a question of time before we’re keeping them so busy in the west, an eastern front will be out of the question.’