A Greek girl sat at the Library desk. She welcomed them pleasantly but seemed shocked when Guy asked if he could see the Director.
‘The Director is not here,’ she said.
‘Where can we find him?’ Harriet asked.
The girl dropped her gaze and shook her head as though the Director were too august a figure to be lightly discussed. ‘If you wait,’ she said to Guy, ‘you may be able to see Mr Lush.’
Guy said: ‘I would rather make an appointment to see Mr Gracey.’
‘I don’t think it is possible. You would have to consult Mr Lush. But I could make an appointment for you to see Mr Dubedat.’
‘Is Mr Dubedat here now?’
‘Oh, no. Not at the moment. He’s very busy. He’s working at home.’
‘I see.’
Harriet murmured: ‘Let’s go.’
Guy looked nonplussed: ‘If we go,’ he said, ‘we’ll only have to come back. As we’re here, we might as well wait and see Toby.’
Guy wandered off round the shelves, but Harriet remained near the door, waiting to see how Toby Lush would behave when he caught sight of them. The two men, Lush and Dubedat, had come to Bucharest from different occupied countries and Guy had employed each in turn. They had become close friends and without consulting Guy or anyone else, they had left together, secretly, fearful of the threatened German advance.
Harriet could hear Toby scuffing in the passage before he entered. He blundered against the door and fell in with it, his hair in his eyes, his arms full of books. He bumped against Harriet, stared at her and recognized her in dismay. He looked round suspiciously, saw Guy and dropped the books in order to grip his pipe. He sucked on it violently, then managed to gasp: ‘Well, well, well!’
Guy turned, smiling with such innocent friendliness that Toby, restored, rushed forward and seized him by the hand.
‘Miraculous,’ gasped Toby, his big fluffy moustache blowing in and out as he spoke. ‘Miraculous! And Harriet, too.’ He swung round as though he had just become aware of her. ‘When did you get here, you wonderful people?’
As Guy was about to reply, Toby shouted: ‘Into the office,’ and rushed them from the Library before they could speak again. Inside the room marked ‘Chief Instructor’, Toby placed them in chairs and seated himself behind a large desk. ‘Now then,’ he said, satisfied, and he examined them, his eyes protruding with the joviality of shock.
‘Who’d’ve thought it!’ he spoke as though doubtful of their corporeality. ‘So you got away, after all?’
‘After all what?’ Harriet asked.
Toby treated that as a joke. While he whoofed with laughter, his coarse-featured, putty-coloured face slipped about like something too soft to hold its shape, and he clutched at his pipe, the only stronghold in a world where anything might happen. He was still dressed in his old leather-patched jacket, the shapeless flannels which he called his ‘bags’ and his heavy brogues, but, in spite of his dress, his manner suggested that he had become a person of consequence. The first greetings over, he sat back importantly in his chair and said to Guy:
‘So you’re on your way to the mystic east, eh? The mystic Middle East, I should say?’
‘No, we want to stay here. Can you arrange for me to see Gracey?’
‘Oh!’ Toby looked down at his desk. ‘Um.’ His head dropped lower and lower while he gave thought to Guy’s request, then he said in an awed tone: ‘Mr Gracey’s a sick man. He doesn’t see anyone in the ordinary way.’
‘What about the extra-ordinary way?’ Harriet asked.
Toby cocked up an eye, took his pipe from his mouth, and said solemnly: ‘Mr Gracey’s injured his spine.’
He pushed his pipe back through his moustache and started to relight it.
‘Who is doing his work while he is unwell?’ Guy asked.
‘Um, um, um, um.’ Toby, sucking and gasping, was forced to abandon one match and light another. ‘No one,’ he said at last and added, ‘really’.
‘Who is in charge then?’
‘It’s difficult to say. Mr Gracey doesn’t do any work but he likes to feel he’s in control. You understand!’
Guy nodded. He did understand. ‘But,’ he said, ‘he must have a deputy. He could never run this place on his own.’
‘Well, no,’ Toby struck another match and there was a long delay while the pipe lighting went on. At last, amazingly, a thread of smoke hovered out of the bowl and, shaking out the match, he leant forward confidingly: ‘Fact is, when we arrived here, Mr Gracey was in a bit of a fix. His two assistants had beetled off leaving him … well …’ Toby gave Harriet a nervous glance before he completed his sentence: ‘… in the lurch.’
‘Why?’
‘It was one of those things. I don’t know the details, but you know what it’s like: a misunderstanding, a few heated words. … Such things happen! Anyway, they took themselves off.’
‘How did they manage it? The Organization is a reserved occupation.’
‘They were transferred. One of them had influence – his father was an M.P. or something. Bit of dirty work, if you ask me. They wanted to go home but they were sent to the Far East. Mr Gracey applied for two new assistants; the London office had no one to send. They’d had their quota. He was told he’d have to wait and keep things going with locally employed teachers. He had two or three Greeks and a Maltese chap, but no one who could give a lecture. That’s how it was when we turned up.
‘You saved the day in fact?’ said Harriet.
‘In a manner of speaking, we did just that.’
Guy asked: ‘Who gives the lectures now?’
‘Dubedat gives some. As a matter of fact …’ Toby guffed and after a pause said with triumphant coyness: ‘I give the odd lecture myself.’
‘On what?’
‘Eng. Lit. of course.’
Guy seemed at a loss for comment and Harriet said: ‘It looks as though Gracey will be glad to have Guy.’
Toby’s face tautened in a wary way: ‘Don’t know about that. Can’t say.’ He stared down at the desk and mumbled: ‘Numbers’ve been dropping off … not much work for anyone these days … local teachers had to be sacked … very quiet here …’
Harriet broke in: ‘It’s pretty obvious from what you say that someone’s needed to pull the place together.’
‘That’s for Mr Gracey to decide.’ Toby sat up and gave Harriet a severe look. In an attempt to exclude her from the conversation, he turned in his seat and stared directly at Guy. ‘Mr Gracey had this accident but he won’t admit defeat. You’ve got to admire him. He’s doing his best to run the place from his sick-bed, if you know what I mean. You can’t just say to a man like that: “You aren’t up to it. You need someone to pull the place together.” Now, can you?’ He frowned his emotion and Guy, touched by the appeal, nodded in sympathetic understanding. There was a long condoling pause broken by Harriet.
She wanted to know: ‘When can Guy see Mr Gracey?’
Toby straightened up and put his hands on the table as though forced by Harriet’s lack of tact to demonstrate his authority: ‘I could …’ He hesitated and gave a last suck at his pipe before committing himself: ‘I could get you an interview with Dubedat.’
‘Are you serious?’ Harriet asked.
Toby ignored her and spoke directly to Guy: ‘I can’t say exactly when he can see you. It mightn’t be for a day or two. He’s up to his eyes. He’s practically running things here, you know! But I’m sure he will see you.’ Toby nodded assuringly, then got to his feet. ‘Where are you staying?’ He noted down the name of the hotel, then shot out a large, soft hand. ‘We’ll keep in touch.’ He paused, sucked, and added: ‘And I’ll do what I can for you. I promise.’