‘They thought we’d get through to Berlin,’ Harriet said.
Phipps gave a snort of bitter laughter: ‘No foresight. No preparations. No plans. And now no ships.’ Biting his thumb, he muttered through his teeth with the morose rage of one who realizes that his blackest criticism of authority was never black enough.
There was a long silence at the end of which Guy mildly asked: ‘Meanwhile, what news, if any?’
‘We’ve admitted a strategic withdrawal along the Aliakmon Line.’
‘What do you think that means?’
‘Only that the Jerries are coming hell for leather down the coast road.’
Tandy grunted and pulled out his splendid wallet. He put a note on the table to pay his share of the drinks and said: ‘Not much point in saving drachma now. If things fold up here, it won’t be much use anywhere else. How about coming to my hotel for a valedictory dinner?’
‘How about it, dear boy!’ said Yakimov, joyfully taking up the invitation. He and Tandy began at once to rise, but Alan Frewen had not arrived and the others were unwilling to go without him.
Eager to be off, Yakimov persuaded them: ‘He’ll be at the office. We’ll pick him up on the way.’ They went to the side entrance of the Grande Bretagne and, finding it shut, walked on to the Corinthian, where the refugees were ordering their departure. Although the passengers for the Polish and Yugoslav ships – among them the gold-braided Yugoslav officers – were not due to embark until next morning, they were having their heavy luggage brought down and heaped ready at the hotel entrance. The English party, making a way through the hubbub, saw Alan Frewen sitting in a corner, alone except for the dog at his feet.
Ben Phipps, carrying his anger over on to Alan, said: ‘Look at him, the bastard! He’s avoiding us.’ He caught hold of Guy to prevent him from approaching the lonely man, but Guy was already away, dodging between chairs and tables in his eagerness to rescue Alan from solitude.
Alan looked discomforted when he saw the friends to whom he could offer so little hope, but assumed a confident attitude when Ben Phipps at once accused him: ‘Don’t you realize we’re stranded? Don’t you realize that nothing’s been done?’
Alan said soothingly: ‘There’ll be something tomorrow.’
‘Nothing today, but something tomorrow! What, for instance? Where are they going to find it?’
Alan checked him, speaking with the quiet of reason: ‘You know the problem as well as I do. The explosions wrecked everything in the harbour. Thousands of tons of shipping went to the bottom, so there’s a shortage of ships. You can’t blame the Legation for that. The water-front was wiped out. Dobson tells me it’s absolute desolation down there.’
‘Is Dobson in charge of the evacuation, supposing there is evacuation?’
‘No, but he’s been down to the Piraeus to look around. He’s doing his best for you all.’
‘A last-minute effort, I must say. This situation should have been foreseen weeks ago.’
‘If it had been, we’d have chartered ships; and they’d’ve gone to the bottom with the rest.’
‘So nothing has been done, and nothing will be done? Is that it?’
‘Plenty’s being done.’ Glancing at Harriet’s pale face, then back to Phipps, Alan said: ‘For God’s sake, have some sense!’
Tandy had not stopped to listen to this discussion. As though unconcerned in it, he strolled on to the dining-room and Yakimov, who could not bear to let him out of sight, said to Alan: ‘Do come, dear boy. We’re all invited. Friend Tandy is standing treat.’
Alan nodded and Yakimov hurried ahead. Though not the bravest of men, he still had more appetite than the rest of them, and apparently felt that while he remained in the lee of Tandy’s large, sumptuous figure, he had nothing to fear.
They were served with some sort of stewed offal which tasted of nothing at all. Alan gazed at his plate, then put it down in front of the dog.
‘Dear boy!’ Yakimov murmured in protest, but the plate had already been licked clean.
The second course comprised a few squares of cheese and dry bread and Alan left his share for Yakimov.
Jovially chewing cheese, Yakimov added: ‘How is the noble lord these days?’
‘No idea,’ Alan said. ‘He hasn’t been in for a week. The office is empty except for the Twocurrys. Mabel of course, doesn’t know what’s going on, and Gladys isn’t telling her.’
‘So you’re in charge? Then how about getting your Yak back on the payroll?’
Alan’s face collapsed in its odd, pained smile: ‘I’ll see what can be done,’ he promised.
The air-raid sirens sounded and the dining-room became silent as the diners sat tense, awaiting the raid that would reduce Athens to dust. The minutes passed and all that could be heard was the distant thud of the Piraeus guns.
Alan sighed and said: ‘Just a reconnaissance buzzing around.’
‘What do they hope to find?’ Tandy asked.
‘They think we might send reinforcements. They don’t know how little we’ve got.’
‘Perhaps we will send something.’
‘We’ve nothing to send.’
They went up to the terrace and waited for the All Clear. A waning moon edged above the house tops, casting an uneasy, shaded light that accentuated the clotted darkness of the gardens. The raid had brought the city to a standstill. No one moved in the square and there was nothing to be seen but a group of civic police standing, shadowy, among the shadows.
Tandy was exercising himself. Marching with a military strut, he went from one end of the terrace to the other, and Yakimov trotted at his side. Tandy lit one of his Turkish cigarettes. Yakimov, though he hated Turkish cigarettes, felt bound to imitate his companion. So they walked backwards and forwards, filling the air with a rich Turkish aroma.
Harriet, seated by the rail, watching them as they reached the end of the terrace, turned in unison and came towards her with their long coats sweeping out behind them, was reminded of other wars, remote if not distant, when aristocratic generals conferred on fronts that were not demolished in a day.
Both men were tall but Tandy, topped by the big fur hat that in battle would be an object of terror, looked too large for life. Harriet felt sorry for Yakimov, the fragile ghost, bowed with the effort of keeping up with his monstrous companion. When they came near her, she called him to her. He paused. She lifted the edge of his coat, admiring the lining: ‘A wonderful coat,’ she said. ‘It will last a lifetime.’
‘Two lifetimes, dear girl, if not three. M’poor old dad wore it, you know, and the Czar gave it a bit of wear before it was passed on. I wonder, did I tell you the Czar gave it to m’poor old dad?’
‘I think you did.’
‘Magnificent coat.’ Yakimov stroked the fur then turned to Tandy, who was stopped beside him, and happy to share this admiration, said: ‘Yours is a fine coat, too, dear boy. Where did y’get it? Budapest?’
‘Azerbaijan,’ said Tandy. ‘Azerbaijan,’ breathed Yakimov and, putting his cigarette to his lips, he caught his breath in awe.
Their voices had carried on the noiseless air and the police were looking up. As Yakimov drew on his cigarette, they shouted a command which no one but Alan Frewen understood. Yakimov drew again and the command was repeated.