Tandy replied: ‘Only seven. I travel light.’
Other taxis were off-loading other refugees – political refugees, religious refugees, racial refugees, and English wives with small children. The hotel would be crowded, but Roger Tandy did not seem concerned. He seated himself beside an outdoor table and said pleasantly to Harriet: ‘Come, my dear. Before we go in, we’ll have a little snifter.’
‘Hadn’t you better make sure of your room?’
‘No need. I booked well in advance. At my age one knows which way the wind is blowing.’
‘Better make sure,’ Guy said, and he sped into the hotel to confirm Tandy’s booking.
Tandy patted the chair beside him.
Harriet, overwhelmed both by his looks and his foresight, sat down. His face was plum-red and his moustache was the colour of fire. The two reds were so remarkable, it was some minutes before she noticed that the little snub nose, the little pink mouth and the small, wet, yellow-brown eyes were altogether commonplace.
The midday sun was hot. Tandy’s face broke out in globules of sweat. He threw open his greatcoat and unbuttoned the jacket of his cinnamon twill suit, and the sun gleamed on his waistcoat of emerald and gold brocade. His waistcoat buttons were balls of gold filigree. The eyes of passers-by, lighting first on Tandy’s waistcoat, became fixed when they saw that his greatcoat was lined to the hem with resplendent honey-golden fur. One of the passers-by was Yakimov. He was on his bicycle, his own greatcoat, looped up for safety, also displaying a fur lining, but the fur had been old when Yakimov was young.
Yakimov wobbled into the pavement, put out a foot and somehow managed to get down. ‘Dear girl,’ he called to Harriet, ‘is everything all right?’
She was reminded of her anxiety of the morning but felt this was no time to discuss it. In any case, she saw that Yakimov had stopped for one reason and one reason only. He meant to meet Tandy.
Introducing the two men, Harriet stressed Yakimov’s title. Tandy’s eyes grew sharp with interest.
‘Sit down, mon prince,’ he said, ‘and join us in a snifter.’
Yakimov sat down at once. His own eyes, large and tender, examined, with no hint of envy, the immense, well-fed figure of Tandy who was dressed as, in better days, he would have dressed himself. The waiter was recalled and Yakimov asked for a brandy. It came at once and as he put it to his lips his excitement was evident. It seemed a destined meeting and saying: ‘I must go and speak to Guy,’ Harriet left them to find each other.
Guy was among the crowd at the desk. ‘I want to tell you something,’ she said.
Giving one ear to her and the other to the cross-currents about him, Guy said: ‘Go ahead.’
‘No. Come over here.’ Exasperated by the fact he was worrying over Tandy’s welfare as he would never worry over his own, she pulled him out of the press and said: ‘I’ve something important to tell you.’
As Harriet told her story Guy’s attention was on the bright out-of-doors and the enticing prospect of Tandy and Yakimov who at that moment were joined by Alan Frewen. She held on to him, and speaking quickly, gave the substance of Pinkrose’s report.
Guy, frowning, said: ‘It’s not important, surely. No one’s going to take any notice of Pinkrose.’
‘Why not? He was appointed Director. They didn’t appoint him in order to ignore him.’
‘Perhaps not; but they must know the sort of man he is. I’ve seen reports that Inchcape sent on my work. They were excellent. First-class. If Pinkrose sends in this report – and, after what you said, he may realize he’s doing the wrong thing – it will be compared with the others. They don’t relate. Someone’s talking nonsense and it isn’t Inchcape.’
‘How are they to know it isn’t Inchcape?’
‘He’ll be called in. He’ll be consulted.’
‘He may be dead by then.’
‘I don’t think so. Inch always took good care of himself. He’ll be flourishing; and I know he’ll stand by me.’
‘Will he? I wonder!’
‘You’re making too much out of this.’ Impatient of her fears, he patted her shoulder and was ready to depart. ‘Come and talk to Tandy. I’ve always wanted to meet him.’
‘You go. I’ll come in a minute.’
Without waiting to wonder what there could be to detain her inside the hotel, Guy sped off like a child allowed out to play. When he was through the door, Harriet took herself to the dining-room where she had arranged to meet Charles. She was very late.
Charles, at luncheon, got to his feet and waited for her to defend herself. She cut at once through any likely accusations by saying: ‘I’ve lost my job.’
‘I didn’t know anyone could lose a job these days.’
‘It wasn’t incompetence. I had a row with Pinkrose.’
Charles, forced to laugh, motioned her to join him at the table.
She said: ‘I can’t stay. Guy is expecting me.’
‘Oh!’ His laughter came to a stop.
He sat blank-faced, while she told the story of the report and concluded: ‘You know, this could wreck Guy’s career with the Organization.’
‘I’m sure it couldn’t. There are more jobs than men …’
‘I’m thinking of the future when there’ll be more men than jobs.’
‘The future?’ Charles looked puzzled as though the future were some unlikely concept he had not studied before, then he glanced aside: ‘Yes, you must consider the future. You complain of Guy but you don’t intend to leave him.’
‘Do I complain of Guy?’
‘If you don’t, why are you wasting your time with me? You can’t pretend to love me?’
‘I don’t pretend anything. But perhaps I do love you. I would like to feel we were friends for the rest of our lives.’
‘Yes, indeed! You want me hanging around. You have a husband, but you must have some sort of cavaliere servente as well. There are a lot of women like that.’ Throwing his napkin aside, he got to his feet. ‘I can’t stand any more of this. I’m going up to my room. If you want to see me, you’ll find me there. If you don’t come, I’ll know you never want to see me again.’
‘This is too silly—’
‘If you don’t come, you never will see me again.’
‘An ultimatum?’ Harriet said.
‘Yes, an ultimatum.’ He marched off, attracting attention as he passed through the room. He was watched, Harriet saw, not only with admiration, but something near tenderness. She could imagine that for these people he presented an ideal image of the ally who, with nothing to gain, had made this foolhardy venture to fight beside the Greeks. She herself had seen him a symbol touching and poetic of the sacrificial victims of war. Now she knew him better she scarcely knew how she saw him. He passed through the door, angered and injured, and made off to nurse his injury somewhere out of sight.
One thing was certain: she would not go after him. She would make sure of that by joining Guy and the other men outside, but not at once. Lingering in the dining-room, she saw again his swift, exact movement out of the room and felt drawn to follow him. Not knowing what to do, she sat on as though expecting something or someone to make the decision for her. Or perhaps Charles would come back, rather shamefaced, and treat his ultimatum as a joke.
Instead, Alan Frewen came to look for her. He said they were all going round to Zonar’s. He did not ask what she was doing there, alone in the dining-room, sitting opposite someone’s uneaten meal, and she realized he did not need to be told. He asked nothing, and said nothing. He did not criticize his fellow men; nor did he wish to become involved in their problems.