Partisans (30 page)

‘Nothing, my dear. I promise you. Nothing. I was just wondering, although I'm sure I know why, how it came about that you went along with this underground deal with Colonel Lunz, something so completely alien to your nature. It was because it was your only way into Yugoslavia. If you had refused, he'd have refused you entrance. So I've answered my own question.' Petersen rose. ‘Wine, George, wine. All this talk is thirsty work.'

‘What is not common knowledge,' George said, ‘is that listening is even thirstier work.'

Petersen lifted his replenished glass and turned towards Harrison. ‘To your health, Jamie. As a British officer, of course.'

‘Yes, yes, of course.' Clutching his glass Harrison struggled to his feet. ‘Of course. Your health. Ah. Well. Extenuating circumstances, old boy. How was I –'

‘And a gentleman.'

‘Of course, of course.' He was still confused. ‘A gentleman.'

‘Were you being a gentleman, Jamie, when you called her a gullible liar, and an aider and comforter to us miserable lot? This lovely and charming lady is not only not that, she's something you've been looking for, something to gladden your patriotic heart, a true blue loyalist and not a true blue Royalist, a patriot in your best sense of the word, what you would call a Yugoslav. As dedicated a Partisan as one can be who has never seen a Partisan in her life. That's why she and her brother came back to this country the hard way, to give – as you would put it in your customary stirring language, Jamie – their services to their country, i.e., the Partisans.'

Harrison put down his glass, crossed to where Sarina was sitting, stooped low, lifted the back of her hand and kissed it. ‘Your servant, ma'am.'

‘That's an apology?' George said.

‘For an English officer,' Petersen said, ‘that is – as an English officer would say – a jolly handsome apology.'

‘He's not the only one who's due to make an apology.' Michael wasn't actually shuffling his feet but he looked as if he would have liked to. ‘Major Petersen, I have –'

‘No apology, Michael,' Petersen said hastily. ‘No apology. If I'd a sister like that, I wouldn't even talk to her tormentor, in this case, me. I'd clobber him over the head with a two by four. So if I don't apologise to your sister for what I've done to her, don't you apologize to me.'

‘Thank you very much, sir.' He hesitated. ‘May I ask how long you've known that Sarina and I were – well, what you say we are.'

‘From the first time I saw you. Rather, let me say I suspected something was far wrong when I met you in that Rome apartment. You were both stiff, awkward, ill at ease, reserved, even truculent. No smile on the lips, no song in the heart, none of the eagerness, the youthful enthusiasm of those marching off into a glorious future. Ultra-cautious, ultra-suspicious. Wrong attitude altogether. If you'd been flying red flags you couldn't have indicated more clearly that something was weighing heavily on your minds. Your pasts were so blameless, so your concern was obviously with future problems such – as became evident quite soon – how you were going to transfer yourselves to the Partisan camp after you had arrived at our HQ. Your sister lost little time in giving you away – it was in the mountain inn when she tried to convince me of her Royalist sympathies. Told me she was a pal of King Peter's – prince, as he was then.'

‘I never did!' Her indignation was unconvincing. ‘I just met him a few times.'

‘Sarina.' The tone was mildly reproving.

She said nothing.

‘How often must I tell you –'

‘Oh, all right,' she said.

‘She's never met him in her life. She sympathized with me about his club foot. Young lad's as fit as a fiddle. Wouldn't know a club foot if he saw one. Well, all this is of interest but I'm afraid only academic interest.'

‘Oh, I don't know,' Giacomo said. ‘It's of more than academic interest to me.' He was, as always, smiling, but in the circumstances, it was difficult to say what he was smiling about. ‘However, as a matter of academic interest, I'm totally in agreement with those kids – sorry, I mean Sarina and Michael. I don't want to fight – I mean I don't want to fight in those damned mountains; the Aegean and the Royal Navy will do me very nicely, thank you – but if I have to it'll be with the Partisans.'

‘You're like Jamie,' Petersen said. ‘If you're going to fight anybody it's going to be the Germans?'

‘I think I made that pretty clear to you back in the Hotel Eden.'

‘You did. It's still only a matter of academic interest. What are you going to do about it? How do you intend going about joining your guerrilla friends?'

Giacomo smiled. ‘I'll wait for a break.'

‘You could wait for ever.'

‘Peter.' There was a note of appeal, almost desperation, in Harrison's voice. ‘I know you owe us nothing, that you have no responsibility for us any more. But there must be a way. However different our philosophies, we're all in this together. Come on, Peter. We could settle our differences afterwards. Meantime – well, a man of your infinite resources and –'

‘Jamie,' Petersen said gently. ‘Can't you see the fence down the middle of this room. George, Alex and I are on one side. You five are on the other. Well, you, the von Karajans and Giacomo are. I don't know about Lorraine. It's a mile high, that fence, Jamie, and not for climbing.'

‘I see his point, Captain Harrison,' Giacomo said. ‘The fence is not for climbing. Besides, my pride wouldn't let me try it. I must say, Major, it's not like you to leave loose ends lying around. Lorraine, here. Doesn't she fit into a category? For our edification, I mean.'

‘Category? I don't know. And not to give you offence, Lorraine, but I don't really care now. It doesn't matter. Not any more.' He sat down, glass in hand, and said no more. As far as anyone could tell, Major Petersen had, for the first time in their experience, lapsed into a brooding silence.

It was a silence, punctuated only by the occasional glug-glug as George topped empty wineglasses, that stretched on and uncomfortably on, until Lorraine said suddenly and sharply: ‘What's wrong? Please, what's wrong?'

‘Speaking to me?' Petersen said.

‘Yes. You're staring at me. You keep on staring at me.'

‘Being on the wrong side of a fence doesn't stop a man from having good taste,' Giacomo said.

‘I wasn't aware of it,' Petersen said. He smiled. ‘Besides, as Giacomo said, it's no hardship. I'm sorry. I was a long long way away, that's all.'

‘And speaking of staring,' Giacomo said cheerfully, ‘Sarina's no slouch at it either. Her eyes haven't left your face since you started your Rodin the thinker bit. There are deep currents, hereabouts. Do you know what I think? I think she's thinking.'

‘Oh, do be quiet, Giacomo.' She sounded positively cross.

‘Well, I suppose we're all thinking one way or another,' Petersen said. ‘Heaven knows we've plenty to think about. You, Jamie, you're sunk in a pretty profound gloom. The bright lights? No. The white cliffs? No. Ah! The lights of home.'

Harrison smiled and said nothing.

‘What's she like, Jamie?'

‘What's she like?' Harrison smiled again, shrugged and looked at Lorraine.

‘Jenny's wonderful,' Lorraine said quietly. ‘I think she's the most wonderful person in the world. She's my best friend and James doesn't deserve her. She's worth ten of him.'

Harrison smiled like a man who was well-pleased with himself and reached for his wineglass; if he was wounded, he hid it well.

Petersen looked away until his eyes lighted casually on Giacomo, who nodded almost imperceptibly: Petersen smiled slightly and looked away.

Twenty more minutes passed, partly in desultory conversation but mainly in silence, before the door opened and Edvard entered. ‘Major Petersen?'

Petersen rose. Giacomo made to speak but Petersen forestalled him. ‘Don't say it. Thumbscrews.'

He was back inside five minutes. Giacomo looked disappointed. ‘No thumb-screws?'

‘No thumb-screws. I would like to say that they're bringing out a rack and that you're next. No rack. But you're next.'

Giacomo left. Harrison said: ‘What was it like. What did they want?'

‘Very humane. Very civilized. What you would expect of Crni. Lots of questions, some very personal, but I just gave them name, rank and regiment, which is all you're legally required to give. They didn't press the matter.'

Giacomo was back in even less time than Petersen. ‘Disappointing,' he said. ‘Very disappointing. They'd never have made the Spanish Inquisition. The courtesy of your presence, Captain Harrison.'

Harrison was away a little longer than either but not much. He returned looking very thoughtful. ‘You're next, Lorraine.'

‘Me?' She stood and hesitated. ‘Well, if I don't go I suppose they'll come for me.'

‘It would be most unseemly,' Petersen said. ‘We've survived. What's a lion's den to an English girl like you?'

She nodded and left, but left reluctantly. Petersen said: ‘How was it, Jamie?'

‘An urbane lot, as you say. Seemed to know a surprising amount about me. No questions that had any military bearing that I could see.'

Lorraine was absent for at least fifteen minutes. When she returned she was rather pale and although there were no tears on her cheeks it seemed clear that she had been crying. Sarina looked at Petersen, Harrison and Giacomo, shook her head and put her arm round Lorraine's shoulders.

‘They're a gallant lot, aren't they, Lorraine? Chivalrous. Concerned.' She gave them a withering glance. ‘Maybe they're just shy. Who's next?'

‘They didn't ask to see anyone.'

‘What did they do to you, Lorraine?'

‘Nothing. Do you mean – no, no, they didn't touch me. It was just some of the questions they asked . . .' Her voice trailed off. ‘Please, Sarina, I'd rather not talk about it.'

‘Maraschino,' George said authoritatively. He took her by the arm, seated her and proffered a small glass. She took it, smiled gratefully and said nothing.

Crni came in accompanied by Edvard. He was, for the first time anyone had seen, relaxed and smiling.

‘I have some news for you. I hope you will find it good news.'

‘You're not even armed,' George said. ‘How do you know we won't break every bone in your bodies? Better still, use you as hostage to escape? We are desperate men.'

‘Would you do that, Professor?'

‘No. Some wine?'

‘Thank you, Professor. Good news, at least I think it's good news, for the von Karajans, Captain Harrison and Giacomo. I am sorry that we have been guilty of a small deception but it was necessary in the circumstances. We are not members of the Murge Division. We are, thank heavens, not even Italians. We are just common-orgarden members of a Partisan reconnaissance group.'

‘Partisans.' There was no excitement in Sarina's voice, just incomprehension tinged with disbelief.

Crni smiled. ‘It's true.'

‘Partisans.' Harrison shook his head. 'Pon my soul. Partisans. Well, now. I mean. Yes.' He shook his head then his voice rose an octave. ‘Partisans!'

‘Is it true?' Sarina had Crni by the arms and was actually shaking him. ‘Is it true?'

‘Of course it's true.'

She searched his eyes as if searching for the truth, then suddenly put her arm around him and hugged him. She was very still for a moment then released him and stepped back. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I shouldn't have done that.'

He smiled. ‘There's no regulation that says that a young recruit, female, may not hug an officer. Not, of course, to make a practice of it.'

‘There's that, too, of course.' She smiled uncertainly.

‘There's something else?'

‘No, not really. We're terribly glad to see you.'

‘Glad?' Harrison said. ‘Glad!' The initial shock absorbed, he was in a state bordering on euphoria. ‘Nothing less than a merciful providence has sent you our way!'

‘It wasn't a merciful providence, Captain Harrison. It was a radio message. When my commanding officer says “move”, I move. That's the “something else” you wouldn't talk about, Miss von Karajan. Your fears are groundless. Military regulations don't allow me to shoot my boss.'

‘Your boss?' She looked at him, then Petersen, then back at Crni. ‘I don't understand.'

Crni sighed. ‘You're quite right, Peter. You, too Giacomo. No espionage material among this lot. If there were they wouldn't have to be hit over the head with the obvious. We're both Partisans. We're both in intelligence. I am the ranking subordinate officer. He is the deputy chief. I'm sure that makes everything clear.'

‘Perfectly,' George said. He handed Crni a glass. ‘Your wine, Ivan.' He turned to Sarina. ‘He doesn't really like being called Crni. And don't clench your fists. All right, all right, this is life in a nutshell. Decisions, decisions. Do you kiss him or do you hit him?' The bantering note left George's voice. ‘If you're mad because you've been fooled, then you're a fool. There was no other way. You and your hurt pride. You've got your Partisans and he hasn't to face a firing squad. Don't you know how to be glad, girl? Or is there no room for emotions like relief and gratitude in the minds of you spoilt young aristocrats?'

‘George!' She was shocked, less because of the words than the tone she had never heard before. ‘George! I am so selfish?'

‘Never.' His good humour instantly restored, he squeezed her shoulders. ‘It's just that I thought it would rather spoil the flavour of the moment if you were to give Peter a black eye.' He glanced sideways. Harrison, his forehead on his forearms on the table, was softly pounding the table with his fist and muttering to himself. ‘You are not well, Captain Harrison?'