‘Still, they are at Larissa?’ Harriet asked.
‘They may well be.’ Tennant bent towards Harriet, giving her a smile of surprising sweetness: ‘Please do not think I am withholding the truth from you. No one really knows anything. The train lines are cut in Macedonia. Telephone communication with the front has broken down. We are as much in the dark as you are.’
The mourners had arranged to meet in Alan’s office. At the bottom of Vasilissis Sofias the Pringles were passed by Toby Lush and Dubedat in the Major’s Delahaye. Toby gave them a cheerful wave and Harriet said: ‘Don’t you think that those two are putting a surprisingly brave face on things?’
‘What else can they do?’ Guy said.
‘Well, Pinkrose wanted us to bolt last night. Why didn’t they bolt?’
‘I don’t know, but they evidently didn’t. Perhaps they felt as we did about it.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘They aren’t such bad fellows, really.’
Harriet did not argue. She saw that having grown up without faith, in an inauspicious era, Guy had to believe in something and so, against all reason, maintained a faith in friendship. If he chose to forget his betrayal, then let him forget it.
Ben Phipps was already in the News Room. He sat in Yakimov’s old corner while Alan, behind his desk, talked into the telephone. He was saying as though he had said it a hundred times before: ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be rung up just as soon as transport is available. Yes, yes, something is being done all right,’ and putting down the receiver, said: ‘Can they take horses, dogs, cats, fishes? I don’t know! What does one do when one has to give up one’s home and all the dependent creatures in it?’ He rubbed his hands over his face and, eyes watering from lack of sleep, looked about him as though he scarcely knew where he was.
‘So nothing’s been arranged yet?’ Guy said.
‘No. Not yet.’
Ben got to his feet: ‘What about the poor old bastard in the bathroom.’
‘Yes, let’s get that over,’ Alan agreed. He edged himself out of his chair and waited while Diocletian came from under the desk with a scratch and a snuffle. As they left the office, the Pringles told the story of Pinkrose’s panic order the previous night. Had Pinkrose gone himself?
Alan said: ‘No, he rang this morning. He didn’t seem unduly alarmed.’
‘It’s odd,’ said Harriet, ‘that he’s not more alarmed. And it’s even more odd that Lush and Dubedat are taking things so calmly.’
Guy and Alan said nothing, but Ben Phipps stopped on the pavement, screwing up his face against the sunlight, and stared at his car, then swung round and blinked at Harriet: ‘It is odd,’ he said. ‘If you ask me, it’s damned odd,’ and, crossing to the car, he got in and drove away.
Alan looked after him in astonishment. ‘Where’s he off to?’
Guy said: ‘To his office, most likely. He’ll be back.’
‘He’ll have to hurry. Dobson has ordered the hearse for ten o’clock.’
They strolled to the Corinthian that was in ferment with the departing Poles and Yugoslavs. Though the ships were not due to sail before noon, the voyagers were shouting at porters, harrying taxi-drivers and generally urging their own deliverance with a great deal more flurry than was shown by the English who might not be delivered at all.
Six Yugoslav officers, their gold aflash, came at a run down the front steps, threw their greatcoats into a taxi and crying: ‘Hurry, hurry,’ threw themselves in after and were gone.
Some Greeks stood on the pavement, watching, silent, their black eyes fixed in an intent dejection.
Tandy, who usually took his breakfast out of doors, was not among those sitting round the café tables. Guy offered to find him, and Alan said: ‘Tell him to hurry. It’s nearly ten o’clock.’
Alan and Harriet felt it was scarcely worth sitting down and were still standing among the café tables when Guy returned. He was alone.
‘Well, is he coming?’ Alan asked.
Guy motioned to the nearest table. Harriet and Alan sat down, puzzled by Guy’s expression. It was some moments before he could bring himself to tell them what he knew. He said at last: ‘Tandy’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘To the Piraeus. He left early. Apparently he came down about seven a.m., asked for his bill and told them to fetch down his luggage and call a taxi. He mentioned to one of the porters that he was going on the Varsavia.’
Harriet looked at Alan: ‘Would he be allowed on?’
‘He might: one man alone. And he took the precaution of going early, did he?’ Alan laughed: ‘Didn’t want to be saddled with the rest of us.’
‘He forgot this.’ Guy opened his hand and showing the bill for Tandy’s valedictory dinner, said apologetically: ‘I’m afraid I hadn’t enough to settle it all, so I gave them half and thought …’
Alan nodded and took the bilclass="underline" ‘I’ll pay the rest.’
Tandy’s flight silenced them. They not only missed his company, but were absurdly downcast by a superstitious fear that without him they were lost. They waited without speaking for the hearse to arrive and Ben Phipps to return.
An hour passed without a sign from either and Harriet said: ‘Perhaps Ben Phipps has got on the Varsavia.’
Guy and Alan were shocked by her distrust of a friend. When Guy said: ‘I’m perfectly sure he hasn’t,’ Alan grunted agreement and Harriet kept quiet for a long time afterwards.
They were joined by persons known to them who, stopping as they passed, gave different opinions: one that the Germans would be held at Thermopylae; another that they could not be held, but would drive straight through to Athens. As usual, no one knew anything.
Vourakis, with a shopping basket in his hand, stopped and said: ‘Of allied resistance there is nothing but a little line from Thermopylae to Amphissia.’
‘An important line, nevertheless,’ Alan said. ‘We could hold on there for weeks.’
‘You could, but you will not. They will say to you: “Withdraw. Save yourselves, if you can. We want you here no more.” That is all we can say to our allies now.’ Vourakis spread his hands and contracted his shoulders in a gesture of despair. ‘This is the end,’ he said.
The others kept silent, not knowing what to reply.
‘I have heard – I do not know how true – that some members of the Government want an immediate capitulation. Only that, they say, can save our city from the fate of Belgrade.’
‘Royalists, I suppose?’ said Guy.
‘No. Not at all. The King himself is against capitulation and he has refused to leave Athens, though many say to him: “Fly, fly.” Believe me, Kyrios Pringle, there are brave men in all parties.’
Guy was quick to agree, and Vourakis stood up, saying his wife had sent him out to buy anything he could find. The Germans, people knew, would take not only the food but medicines, clothing, household goods, anything and everything. So they were all out buying what they could find.
He passed on. It was now midday and still no hearse and no Ben Phipps.
Alan went to telephone the undertaker’s office. He was told the hearse had gone to the funeral of an air-raid victim. The need these days was great, the servitors few. He returned to say: ‘The hearse, like death, will come when it will come.’
‘An apt simile,’ said Guy, and Harriet, growing restless, decided to go and buy some flowers.