Toby spluttered and shifted his feet, but in the end had to speak. ‘There’s going to be an evacuation ship. It’s all arranged. Dubedat told me to tell you he’s wangled berths on it for the pair of you.’
‘Has he? Why?’
‘It’s your chance, don’t you see? There’s nothing here for you: no job, no money, nowhere to live, and now the Italians invading. You’re jolly lucky to be getting away.’
‘And is Gracey going?’
‘Yes, we’re losing him, sad to say.’
‘And you and Dubedat?’
‘No, we’d go if we could, but we’ve got to hold the fort. The ship’s not for us chaps. The old soul used his influence and they stretched a point because he said you’re stranded.’ Laughing nervously, his moustache stirring, damp, beneath his nose, Toby added; ‘I’d rather go than stay.’
‘You surprise me. The news is unusually good. I’ve been told the Italians are putting up no fight at all. There’s a whole division trapped in a gorge of the Pindus mountains and they’re not even trying to fight their way out.’
‘Oh, you can’t believe those stories. The Greeks’ll say anything. The I-ties may be stopped for the moment, but they’re bound to break through. They’ve got tanks, lorries, big guns, the lot. Once the break comes, they’ll be down here in a brace of shakes. We don’t want to stay here, but we’ve got a job to do.’
‘You had a job to do in Bucharest, but you bolted just the same.’
‘Oh, I say!’ Toby had been searching his pockets and now, finding a match, he began digging about in the bowl of his pipe. ‘Play fair!’ he said. ‘The old soul’s put himself out for you. And you’re lucky to be going.’
‘But we’re not going.’
Toby’s eyes bulged at her. ‘You are, you know. It’s orders. You saw that letter. Dubedat’s boss here now and if Guy’s sensible he won’t make trouble. If he reports for work in Cairo, we’ll stay mum. Not a word about his coming here against orders. The old soul promises. Now be sensible. It’s the only boat. The last boat. So hand over your passports and we’ll do the necessary.’
Harriet repeated: ‘We’re not going,’ and went upstairs while Toby shouted: ‘We’ll ring the Cairo office. We’ll complain …’
Guy had gone to the room where Harriet found him sprawled on the bed, a book in his hand, an air of detachment hiding his anticipation of a new betrayal.
‘We’re ordered on to the evacuation boat. Dubedat’s command.’
‘Is that all?’ Guy laughed and dropped the book.
‘It’s the last boat. If we don’t go, we’re stuck.’
‘We couldn’t be stuck in a better place.’
8
The night before the ship sailed, Cookson gave a farewell party for Gracey. Yakimov was among the invited.
‘Who was there?’ Harriet asked him next day.
‘Everyone,’ said Yakimov.
Harriet felt excluded because she had imagined herself and Guy to be part of English life here; now it seemed they were not. But when the ship had sailed a different atmosphere began to prevail. Uncertain who had gone and who had not, the survivors met one another with congratulations and, like veterans left behind to stem an enemy advance, they felt a new warmth towards one another.
At the same time, the situation had changed. The ship had no sooner gone than the streets were jubilant with the news that the Alpini Division trapped in the Pindus had surrendered to a man. The Greeks had taken five thousand prisoners. People said to one another: ‘Even Musso can’t make the I-ties fight.’ The Greeks, who had fought but imagined the fight was hopeless, now began to see the enemy as a pantomime giant that collapses when the hero strikes a blow.
On top of all this excitement, British airmen began to arrive at Tatoi and Eleusis and appeared in the streets just when the Greeks were buoyant with triumph and hope.
Guy and Harriet, invited to Zonar’s by Alan, saw the young Englishmen, pink-faced, and sheepish, pursued and cheered by admirers in every street. Walking up to the café, they met a crowd running down the road with a bearded English pilot on their shoulders. As he was carried towards Hermes Street, the Greeks shouted the evzone challenge of ‘Aera! Aera!’ and the pilot, his arms in the air, shouted back: ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.’
A woman on the pavement told everyone that that was the very pilot who had shot down an Italian bomber over the Piraeus. The statement was accepted as fact and there was applause among the Greeks seated outside Zonar’s. When the Pringles joined Alan, a man nearby, hearing them speak English, asked: ‘What is the “yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum”?’
‘It is an old English battle-cry,’ Alan replied and as his words were repeated around, the applause renewed itself.
The pilot was now out of sight, but before enthusiasm could die down, a lorry-load of Greek soldiers stopped on the corner. The men were perched on bales of blankets and heavy clothing donated by the Athenians who were giving all they could give to the troops now fighting in rain and sleet. At the sight of the lorry, people went out to seize the soldiers by their hands. Harriet, carried away by the ferment, lifted Alan’s glass and ran with it to the road, where she held it up to the men. One of them, smiling, took it and put it to his lips, but before he could drink, the lorry drove off taking both man and glass.
Harriet said: ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You could have done nothing more fitting,’ Alan assured her. ‘The Greeks love gestures of that sort,’ and added: ‘As this is our first meeting since the ship sailed, let’s drink to the fact you’ve stayed in spite of everything. And, I think, wisely. It’s my belief we’ll see the weak overcome the strong, the victims overcome the despoilers.’
They drank and Harriet said: ‘Now, I suppose, Dubedat really is in charge?’
‘No,’ said Alan. ‘There was an interesting little incident at the party. With everyone watching, Gracey required Dubedat to return the letter that appointed him Acting-Director, having decided the School should close until a new Director be appointed.’
‘Still, Dubedat might be appointed Director.’
‘He might. Who can say? And here’s another contender for the title. Guy said he would like to meet him again.’
Ben Phipps, crossing University Street, had lost his cheerful air but, seeing Alan, he waved and hurried to the table. He looked over the company with an alert gaiety, but the disguise was carelessly assumed and the man himself seemed to be a long way behind his manner.
He said: ‘’Fraid I can’t stay long. I’m dining at Phaleron and I’ve had trouble with the car. Had to leave it at Psychico.’
‘I suppose you’ll have time for a drink,’ Alan said with an ironical sharpness that caused Phipps to try to connect with his genial mask. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘don’t get shirty. I’m none too bright. I’ve still got a bit of a hangover as a result of the great Farewell.’
The two men were talking about Cookson’s party when Mrs Brett passed on her way into the café with her friend Miss Jay. She stopped to say she had just moved from the hotel.
‘I’ve a flat of my own now. I’ll be giving parties, you wait and see! Splendid parties. You’ll come, won’t you?’ she demanded of Alan, then jerked her head round to the Pringles: ‘And you two?’ She ignored Ben Phipps, who gazed over her head as though she were unknown to him. When she had finished describing the wonders of the new flat, she gave him a venomous glance and said: ‘So we’ve got rid of Gracey! I hear there were great rejoicings down at Phaleron! Obviously I wasn’t the only one glad to see the back of him.’
Taking this to himself, Phipps now turned to Miss Jay and asked smoothly: ‘How did you enjoy the Major’s party? I saw you having a good tuck-in at the buffet.’