The refugees brought all sorts of stories. Now that everyone was dependent upon rumour, there was no telling truth from lies. Some people said the German tanks would reach Athens in a week and some said in a couple of days. They all said that Yugoslavia would not last the night.
Guy, meeting train after train, all packed with refugees, saw the Yugoslav officers arrive, brilliant in their gold braid. He was always picking up someone whom he had seen somewhere before, but he could get no news of his friend David Boyd.
Pinkrose returned to the office in high spirits. He came into the News Room smiling and his parted lips revealed what few had seen before – his small, neat, grey-brown teeth. No one smiled back. It was not much of a day for high spirits.
Beaming, excited, he said to Alan: ‘I was surprised, most surprised … Yes, I was most surprised not to see you at the lecture.’ When Alan neither explained nor excused his absence, Pinkrose went on: ‘Ah, well! You were the loser, Frewen. You were the loser. You missed an excellent party. Yes, yes, an excellent party. The buffet was a splendid sight. The Major certainly lays things on. And it was a glittering party. I must say it was, indeed, glittering. The Major said to me: ‘Congratulations, my dear Pinkrose, you’ve collected the cream.” Dear me, yes! Indeed I had. I can’t pretend I knew everyone, but my eye lit on some very handsome ladies, and their praises were such that I blushed; I positively blushed. Even if my little talk did not interest you, Frewen, you would have enjoyed the food. It was delicious. I haven’t eaten such food for many a long day.’
Yakimov gave a sigh, his expression almost vindictive with hunger.
Pinkrose, tittering and wriggling gratified shoulders, said: ‘I think I gave a fillip – yes, definitely a fillip – to Greek morale.’
‘Badly needed,’ Alan said.
‘No doubt.’
‘Last night the Germans occupied Salonika.’
‘Surely not? Is this official?’
‘Not yet, but …’
‘Ah, a canard merely.’
‘I think not. The Legation said someone rang at day-break and told them German tanks were coming down the street. After that, the line went dead.’
‘Dear me!’ Pinkrose lost his smile. ‘Grave news, indeed!’
Yakimov, glooming over the Major’s hospitality, noticed nothing, but Harriet and Alan observed that Pinkrose was taking the news extraordinarily well. They waited for him to absorb it, then clamour, as he had done in the past, for immediate repatriation. Instead, he said firmly: ‘We can do nothing, so we must keep calm. Yes, yes, it behoves us to keep calm. Our Australian friends are holding the coast road and, by all accounts, they’re the fellows for the job. The Germans won’t get past them in a hurry.’ He smiled again but, noting the bleak faces of Alan, Yakimov and Harriet, lost patience with them alclass="underline" ‘I’ve made my contribution,’ he said: ‘Now I must leave it to others. Several ladies said my lecture was an inspiration. They said it would spur the men to greater efforts. I must say, I don’t see what else I can do.’
‘Why not go to Missolonghi and die, dear boy!’
Pinkrose had moved off before the words were spoken, yet they reached him. He stopped, looked round and fixed Yakimov in amazement.
Immediately Yakimov’s spirit fell. He said in terror: ‘Only a little joke,’ he pleaded.
Pinkrose went without a word.
Eyes moist, lips trembling, Yakimov said: ‘D’you think the dear boy’s piqued?’
‘He didn’t look too pleased, did he?’ said Alan.
‘It was only a little joke.’
‘I know.’
‘What d’you think he’ll do?’
‘Nothing. What can he do? Don’t worry.’
But Yakimov did worry. Throughout the morning, pondering his folly, he repeated: ‘Didn’t mean any harm. Little joke. Look how he treated your poor old Yak! Telling me about food when I haven’t had a meal for months!’
‘Don’t take it to heart. Worse things are happening at the front. I keep thinking of that proverb: “Better a ship at sea or an Irish wife than a house in Macedonia.”’
Yakimov looked pained. ‘Not a nice thing to say, dear boy. M’old mum was Irish.’
‘You’re right. It wasn’t “Irish”. I’ve forgotten what it was. Probably “Albanian”.’
Nothing would amuse Yakimov. He refused to be comforted. Something in Pinkrose’s face had aroused his apprehensions and, it proved, with reason. At mid-day the office boy entered and said that Lord Pinkrose wished to see Mr Frewen in his office. Surprised by this summons, Alan pulled himself out of his chair and went without a word. Yakimov gazed after him in fear. When he returned, his sombre face was more sombre, but he did not look towards Yakimov and he seemed to have nothing to say. After a while, when marking on a hand map the disposition of the British troops in Greece. he said casually: ‘Yaki, I have to tell you: the job’s at an end. Pinkrose wants you to leave at once.’
‘But he can’t do it,’ Yakimov wailed, his tears brimming over.
‘I’m afraid he’s done it. He telephoned the Legation and told them that there was nothing for you to do. We have to stop the News Sheet, so there’ll be nothing to deliver. And …’ Alan lifted his head and looked at Harriet: ‘I’m afraid he also said that you must go. The work is minimal now. That’s a fact. There wasn’t much I could say to the contrary.’
Yakimov sobbed aloud: ‘Yaki will starve.’
‘Come on,’ Alan said. ‘Pull yourself together. You know we won’t let you starve.’
‘And what about Tandy? I’ve told him I’m indispensable. What will he think?’
Alan took out a five-drachma piece. ‘Go and buy a drink,’ he said.
Harriet and Yakimov left together. Harriet had seen her work coming to an end and accepted dismissal with the indifference of one who has worse to worry about, but Yakimov bewailed his lot so loudly people turned and looked after them in the street.
‘It’s too bad, dear girl; it really is. Thrown out on m’ear just as I was making such a success of things. How could anyone do it, dear girl? How could they?’
This went on till Zonar’s came in sight, then, glimpsing Tandy in his usual seat, Yakimov’s complaints tailed away. His resilience, that had carried him through the shifts and disappointments of the last ten years, reasserted itself and he began to replan his life. ‘Have a friend in India; dear old friend, ’n fact. A Maharajah. Very tender to your Yak. Always was. When the war started he wrote and invited me to his palace. Said: “If there’s a spot of bother in your part of the world, you’ll always be welcome at Mukibalore.” Charming fellow. Fond of me. Suggested I go and look after his elephants.’
‘Would you like that?’
‘It’s a career. Interesting animals, I’m told. Got to think of the future. Your Yak’s becoming too old to rough it. But I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘They’re large, you know, elephants. Lot of work, washing’m down.’
‘You’d have boys to do that.’
‘Think so? You may be right. I would, as it were, administrate. I’d do that well enough. Got to get there, of course. D’you think they’d fly me as a V.I.P.? No, probably not. Must have a word with Tandy. Now, there’s one that knows his way around!’ They had stopped on the corner and in his enthusiasm Yakimov become hospitable. ‘Come and have a snifter, dear girl.’