As I got ready to go to St. James’s Street, I remembered that there had been a considerable period during which Harry never came to the club. One night, at the bar, several men were saying that they had not seen him for the devil of a time and one of them thought it strange, because his absence coincided with the period when there had not been any raids on London. Harry, therefore, had stayed away from the club during the time one would have expected him to be there frequently.
I left the flat, walked to Sloane Square, where I waited for a bus. It was extremely cold. The frost-pointed air penetrated clothes and made the skin tingle. A red rayless sun hung in a shroud-like sky. Everything was draped with the melancholy of a London Sunday afternoon. The King’s Road was weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable. Its whole aspect defied a bus to appear.
I glanced at my watch. Twenty past two.
At last a taxi, containing four American soldiers and two girls, invaded desolation. I hailed it—and they gave me a lift. They were bound for Piccadilly Circus. On arrival, each of the Americans and I paid the full fare—while the driver whistled: “There’ll always be an England.”
“Max!”
He took my arm and we began to walk along Piccadilly, but before we had gone fifty yards, he stopped and said:
“I can’t talk about her death! I can’t say a word about it. Not one word!”
“You knew Carol?”
“For years. You’ll see why I didn’t talk about her. I’m going to tell you things I never expected to tell any one. But you’ll understand, and you’re the only one who would.”
As we started to walk towards Hyde Park Corner, he said:
“The devil of it is that it starts so long ago. In the old days, Max, we had no end of friends. House always full of ’em. That’s probably why I told you nothing about the Nortons before the war. I’d known Mark for years. I knew Carol when she was ten—so that tells you. Anyway, remember I did know her when she was ten. It’s important, as you’ll see later.”
As he seemed to expect me to say something, I asked:
“Wasn’t Mark Norton very extravagant?”
“Was he not! Difficult to say whether he lent more or borrowed more, but he certainly borrowed all he could from every one he knew. He owed me a lot of money when he died. Still, if I’d wanted money, Mark would have given me any amount, even if he’d had to borrow to get it.”
When we reached Hyde Park Corner, he said:
“Let’s go into the park, then we’ll walk to Kensington Gardens. You’re not in a hurry?”
“Not in the least.”
“I’ll have to tell the story just as it comes. I’m too upset to do anything else.”
After a silence, he went on:
“My people were away when Mark died so suddenly. I was abroad. Soon after his death, the war came and, as you know, I had the devil’s own time getting back to England. When I did get back, I had plenty to think about, as I was ruined. Many people we knew had disappeared for one reason or other, Carol and her mother among them. I sold the house, left the district, then the A.R.P. job came along. You hadn’t time to think. Then France fell—the bombing started—and the balloon really went up.”
After a pause, he went on:
“I’m going to break a vow, Max. One I made long ago. I’ve got to break it, or I can’t tell you the whole story. After what I saw during the first bad raid on London, I vowed that whatever happened to mine or to me, I’d take it—and say nothing. And I’ve kept that vow—till now.”
We walked on in silence till we reached the Round Pond. There were very few people about. Already, the December day was sinking; the red disc of the sun had vanished.
For some moments, he gazed at the water.
“It will be a heavy frost to-night.”
“That’s certain.”
He turned, looked at me with an odd expression, then took my arm and we walked on.
“Sorry the story has such a build-up, but it would be nothing without its background. So get this: I was alone, absolutely alone, directly I had no raid duties. I’d lost every one and everything belonging to my old life. When people talk about my courage in the raids they forget that I’d nothing to lose. I did not care one damn what happened to me. That’s why I was brave.”
“Rubbish, Harry! Courage doesn’t come from logic. It’s something that wells up in you. Or doesn’t well up.”
“All right! Have it your own way, but that’s how it seemed to me. Remember, though, that I’m talking now about the time when the raids stopped. They stopped for quite a time—in fact, till the flying bombs started. Well, directly I had nothing to do, I made a lot of discoveries—a hell of a lot!”
“What sort?”
“The biggest was that you can’t be a spectator of a world war.”
“Why not? I’ve been one for over five years.”
“But—but you’re all right, Max.”
“All right?”
“Yes. You’re free. Most of the problems which haunt other people simply don’t exist for you. You have a great gift, and you just don’t need the things which most men half kill themselves to get. You’re the only man I’ve ever met who is free.”
“Good God! Sorry I interrupted. So you discovered that you could not be a spectator.”
“I certainly did. And the more I looked at things, the less sense I could find in them. The war, for instance. Presumably the reason we went into the war was to prevent Germany becoming dominant in Europe—and the end of it will probably be that Russia will be dominant in Europe. Unless, of course, we have a war with her—and plenty of people are talking about that. I could not make head or tail of anything. We fought Fascism in one place—and backed it in another. Every one wanted the war to stop—and every one was scared stiff of peace. There was a lot of talk about peace-loving nations, and class war was raging—or about to rage—in every one of them.”
Almost immediately, he went on:
“So I soon gave up international affairs. What I really realised was what had happened to me. Everything and everyone I had loved—had gone. I was alone, in a bed-sitting-room in Pimlico, with nothing to do. Well, one night, feeling at the end of things, I went into a café in Chelsea. It was empty except for a girl at a corner table. Carol! I damned nearly fainted!”
He lit a cigarette, then said:
“That’s the end of the build-up. Now, listen! It will soon be dark and it’s getting colder every minute, so what about going back to my room? You can have a drink, and I can finish the story.”
“Good idea. I’ve had about enough of this.”
Then I added involuntarily:
“You’re a damned good fellow, Harry!”
“You haven’t heard the end of the story. Let’s go. We can get a bus near here which will take us to Victoria.”
Half an hour later, when we were climbing the steep steps of an unseen house, he said:
“The people here have been jolly good to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.”
Then he said, as he opened a door:
“Here you are, Max. Never thought I’d live in a bed-sitting-room. Still, might be worse. It runs the length of the house and the bedroom part is hidden by that partition, thank the Lord!”
He lit the gas fire, produced a bottle of whisky, about a third full, then asked:
“What are you staring at?”
“Why the suitcases?”
“I’m clearing out. Tell you why later. Everything comes to an end: bed-sitting-rooms; bottles of whisky; and life. Sit down and smoke a cigarette.”