“Oh, she was happy, all right. She really enjoyed working here. She said that it helped her get over all kinds of traumas. It was like starting all over, you know? That’s why I’m so worried about her.”
“I’m not sure that I can help you. She seemed perfectly cheerful to me. But one morning she didn’t turn up, so what could I do? I couldn’t tell the police, could I, because she didn’t actually exist, not as far as this world’s concerned. I just assumed that she’d sorted herself out, packed her bags, and gone back home to the bosom of the family.”
Nancy said, “She hasn’t been home, and nobody’s heard from her.”
Frank Mordant tugged at each of his fingers in turn, popping the knuckles. He didn’t take his eyes away from Nancy for a moment. “This looking for Julia … it’s just an excuse, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re running away, too, aren’t you? Julia was running away from some rotten relationship, and she wanted some peace and quiet and gainful employment. What are you running away from, darling?”
“I’m not your darling.”
Frank Mordant reached over and patted her thigh. “Oh, you are in this world. Especially if you want to get ahead. They haven’t heard of women’s liberation, and they probably won’t, not for another forty years. A woman’s place is in the home, cooking the meals and changing the nappies and clearing out the hearth. Either that, or typing.”
Nancy tried to smile, even though she felt that her lips were anesthetized. “You’re right, I guess. I’m just looking for a kind of retreat. Someplace to heal my wounds and get my head back together again.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that. And if you want a job … I think I can find you a vacancy in a day or so. I gather you can type? And use a rotary-dial telephone? And what do you know about circuit-breakers?”
“You’ll really give me a job?”
“That’s what you came for, isn’t it? All this sob story about Julia. I’m sure that Julia’s all right, wherever she is. And you’ll be the same, once you’ve worked here for three or four months. It’s a different life, believe me. Slow, sedate. And the money’s not bad. I can help you to find a flat, if you want me to.”
“I don’t have any money. Well, I do. I have an Amex gold card. But nothing that anybody will accept over here.”
“Yes. Very jolly.”
Frank Mordant took hold of her left hand, lifted it up, and examined her watch. “That’s a Maurice Guerdat. What do you think that’s worth?”
“I don’t know. Two or three thousand dollars.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a brown snakeskin wallet. “Here you are … I’ll give you thirty quid for it.” He took out two ten-pound notes, a five-pound note, and five ones.
“You’re going to give me thirty pounds for a three thousand dollar watch?”
“Barter, we call it. I had to do the same, when I first came here. I flogged off everything I owned, practically. Watches, clocks, rings, you name it. And don’t turn your nose up at thirty quid. Don’t forget that you can buy a nice little semi-detached house for three hundred and fifty.”
Nancy wasn’t sure. Josh had bought her this watch when she first agreed to live with him. But she guessed that he would understand, especially if she managed to bring Frank Mordant back with her. Reluctantly, she took it off, and handed it over.
“Right, then,” said Frank Mordant. “All you have to do now is find yourself somewhere to live. I’ve got a little place of my own, on top of a pub in Chiswick. My current secretary, Sandra, is living there at the moment, but she’s leaving us the day after tomorrow. So, if you’re interested …”
“It sounds perfect. Do you know where I can stay in the meantime?”
“Here.” Frank Mordant took out a pen and wrote “The Sheffield” on a corner of Electronics News. “It’s a small hotel halfway along Drogheda Street in Fulham. I know the owner, Mrs Watson. She’ll take care of you.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Don’t mention it. I always like to think of myself as something of a Good Samaritan.” He stood up, and held out his hand. “Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find out anything more about Julia for you. It would be rather jolly if you were reunited, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes. Very jolly.”
The receptionist rang for a taxi. “Fulham, is it?” the cab driver asked her, as she climbed into the back.
“No. Take me to the British Museum.”
“You’re the boss.”
Cromwell Road was heavily congested with traffic and it took them nearly forty-five minutes to reach Bloomsbury. The morning was warm and windy and in the middle of London the air glittered with golden needles of dried horse manure. Nancy saw two Watchers along the way, one of them standing on the corner in Knightsbridge and the other in Leicester Square. She raised her hand across her face in case the Hooded Men had issued a description of her.
She paid the cab driver and he gave her a handful of big bronze pennies and chunky little threepenny bits. She crossed the street to the British Museum and walked around to the entrance where Simon Cutter had taken them to see John Farbelow. As she approached it, however, she saw that there was some kind of commotion going on. The street was crowded with people, and five white ambulances were drawn up along the curb.
She slowed down. Over the heads of the crowd she saw the tall black hats of Hooded Men and their dog-handlers. There were seven or eight of them at least. Her heart beating quickly, she crossed back over to the opposite side of the street and hid herself behind a postbox. It was difficult to see what was happening. Somebody started shouting and screaming and then abruptly stopped. The Hooded Men came through the crowd and everybody shrank out of their way. They stood together, surrounded by their dog-handlers, as if they were waiting for something.
An old woman in a yellow floral print dress came and stood close to Nancy and shook her head. “That’s the way to deal with them,” she said. “Show them the sharp end, that’s what I say.”
“What’s going on?” Nancy asked her.
“Subversives, that’s what I heard. The Hoodies went in to arrest them, and they put up a fight.”
Nancy felt a growing sense of dread. She had come here to make sure that Josh had been successfully rescued. She prayed to every spirit of life and good fortune that he hadn’t still been here, with John Farbelow’s people, when the Hooded Men arrived.
There was a murmuring from the crowd, and then a spontaneous burst of applause. Two ambulancemen came up the steps from the museum basement, carrying a canvas stretcher. At first Nancy couldn’t see very well, but then the crowd parted a little, and she caught a glimpse of a young man, his clothes drenched in blood. One hand swung loose, and blood dripped from his fingertips and made patterns on the pavement.
Two more ambulancemen appeared, carrying another body, a girl this time. Nancy’s first impression was that her hair was ginger, but then she realized that it was blonde, and soaked in blood. The girl had been cut with a sword across the bridge of the nose, so that her face had almost been sliced in half.
The procession went on, and after twenty minutes the ambulancemen had brought up eighteen bodies, each grisly new appearance greeted by more applause, and even shouts of “hooray!” Nancy still hadn’t seen anybody who looked like Josh, or John Farbelow, but she thought that she recognized the Chinese-looking girl who had first opened the door for them, and one or two others.
After all the ambulances had driven away, their bells shrilling, the Hooded Men dispersed the crowd and went marching off to a sharp, aggressive drumbeat. Nancy walked down to Oxford Street, where she hailed a taxi to take her to Fulham.
She felt seriously frightened now, and physically sick with guilt. Of course she had understood that John Farbelow and his band of young subversives had been running a risk, trying to rescue Josh – but she had never thought that the Hooded Men would react with such savagery.