‘Of course he would have to have a passport in another name, but these things can be arranged. Clarence had a whole department at work forging papers for the Poles. He must know someone who would help.’
‘Darling, you’re wonderful!’ she said, delighted by this suggestion, ‘I didn’t believe you would give the matter a thought.’ She caught his arm, filled with all her old admiration for him and said: ‘Will you speak to Clarence?’
‘Better if you speak to him. He’ll do anything for you.’
She was not sure of that. She felt some misgivings, but the very simplicity of the solution seemed to have extinguished the problem. It was as though a lock that would not open had fallen off in her hand.
Outside, the rejoicings, in which they had no part, were still going on. Listening to them, she felt that here she and Guy had no part in life. They existed off dangers peculiar to their small community. Even the problem of Sasha – which had been, like the secret cache of an alcoholic, something to which to resort in desperate times – was gone. What purpose was left to them? She felt a longing for England where the danger might be greater, but was shared by all.
David called in and the three sat on the balcony. There was a great deal of calling for the King. Plaudits greeted every arrival at the palace. Someone in the crowd was letting off fireworks. Guardist vans were relaying a radio speech in which Horia Sima described the coup d’état as yet another New Dawn.
‘Dear me!’ said David. ‘We seem to be getting a new dawn every day. But that,’ he snuffled, ‘is, after all, in the nature of things.’
A rocket went up: a very small one that petered out on a level with the balcony. David snuffled again. ‘Do you realise,’ he said, ‘that in less than two months, Rumania has lost forty thousand square miles of territory? And with it, six million of her population? The drop in national income will be in the region of five hundred million sterling. Not a self-evident cause for rejoicing, would you say?’
Behind the palace the sky was aflame. Soon drifts of cloud, fine as smoke, dampened the autumnal fire and lights came on in the royal apartments. The sunset grew bleary. The bugle sounded from the palace yard. Harriet felt comforted by its familiarity. Kings came and went, and the nations fell, but men and horses must have rest.
17
Next morning the gaiety was gone and only a few peasants wandered about the square.
Bella, as she had promised, rang Harriet and described how the previous night the Guardists, grown drunk on the day’s adulation, had marched through the ghetto area shouting threats to the Jews.
‘We don’t want all that again,’ she said.
This surprised Harriet who had never discovered in Bella much concern for the Jews. Bella explained that she was worried on her own behalf. In this country of dark-haired Latins, the Jews, contrary as ever, were notably blond or red-haired. As a result, Bella had always been suspect. So apparently, was Guy, the more so as he was reputed to favour his Jewish students.
Bella said: ‘It’s no good telling people that in England it’s the other way round. They don’t want to believe you. They hate the thought of Jews having dark hair. It’s different, of course, with educated Rumanians: the sort we mix with. They’ve travelled and seen for themselves. But these Guardists are riff-raff. They know nothing. They’re ignorant as dirt.’
‘What about Antonescu? Isn’t he red-haired?’
‘Yes, he’s got Tartar blood, but they all know who he is. No one’s likely to make a mistake about him. It’s different for me. Last time they caused trouble, I never went out alone. You’d better be careful.’
‘But I am dark,’ said Harriet.
‘Well, you’d better keep Guy indoors.’
Before Bella rang off, Harriet suggested they might meet for coffee somewhere. Bella said: ‘Not today. Not just yet. Better let things settle a bit.’ She was willing to visit Harriet, but it was another thing to be seen in her company.
Harriet, when she went out shopping, sensed misgiving in the streets. The meat shops were empty. All the stocks for the coming week had been sold to mark yesterday’s rejoicings – and now the rejoicings were over. When would there be more meat? Who could tell? What were people to eat this week-end? No one knew. People were asking what had, in fact, happened? They had exchanged one dictator for another: the known for an unknown who might bring the Iron Guard in his wake.
As though to enhance the anticlimax, Sunday was declared a Day of Atonement. Bucharest must atone for its slaughter of Codreanu and his comrades; for its pro-British past; and its frivolity. The church bells tolled from dawn till late at night. Cinemas, cafés, restaurants, even the English Bar, were closed. Every Rumanian, wherever he might be, was required to kneel down at eleven in the morning and pray to the Guardist martyrs for forgiveness. Processions of black-clad priests, heads bowed, trailed around all day in the glutinous heat.
The gloom was enlivened for the Pringles by a telephone call from Galpin. He wanted Yakimov. Yakimov was not in his room.
‘Where’s he got to?’ Galpin angrily demanded.
Harriet did not know. For the first time, it occurred to her that she had seen nothing of him since Thursday evening. ‘Wasn’t he in the bar yesterday?’ she asked.
‘No. Look here!’ Galpin’s tone was severely accusing. ‘He’s got five thousand of mine. And I paid his fare to Cluj.’
‘He won’t get far on five thousand.’
‘He’d better not try,’ Galpin said and his receiver was violently replaced.
Harriet went to ask Despina when she had last seen Yakimov. Despina, having been on the roof when he returned from Cluj, had seen nothing of him since the morning of his departure. She said his bed had not been slept in.
Harriet, puzzled, began to wonder whether indeed Yakimov had returned; or whether his brief appearance in the shadowy room had been but a conjuration of the evening’s drama.
When she spoke to Guy he said confidently: ‘Yaki wouldn’t go without telling us.’
‘Then where is he?’
Before Guy had found an answer to this question, Galpin came thumping on the door of the flat. He pushed his way in, apparently imagining the Pringles were hiding Yakimov. ‘He’s had my money,’ shouted Galpin, ‘and I want my news.’
In Yakimov’s room, Galpin threw open the cupboards and pulled open the drawers so Harriet saw that, apart from some scraps of cast-off clothing, all Yakimov’s possessions had gone. Even his sable-lined greatcoat was missing from its hook. ‘He wouldn’t take that if he were coming back,’ she said.
‘The bastard!’ Galpin shouted. ‘He’s vamoosed. If I ever see him again, I’ll scrag him.’
When Galpin had gone, Guy said consolingly: ‘He’ll be back.’
‘Well, he won’t be back here,’ said Harriet with decision. ‘I want this room for Sasha.’
Guy, torn between the claims of his two protégés, looked disconcerted.
Harriet said: ‘It is much safer for all of us to have Sasha inside the flat.’
Guy agreed. Suddenly enthusiastic, throwing all doubts aside, he said: ‘But of course the boy must have the room. He can’t spend the winter on the roof. What does he do all day? I haven’t had time to see him lately. Is he still studying?’
‘He reads and draws, but he’s lazy. Down here you can keep an eye on him and he can have the wireless. He’s fond of music.’
Guy nodded. ‘He used to play the saxophone. We must do something for him. I wish we could borrow a gramophone.’ Suddenly beset by the urgency of Sasha’s case, he said: ‘Let’s bring him down straightaway,’ and sped off as he spoke. When he came back with Sasha, he was more elated by the move than the boy himself.