The Balkan Trilogy (129 page)

Ben Phipps asked Alan where Yakimov lived. No one knew, but Alan thought it was one of the small hotels in Omonia Square. He said with the practicality of shock: ‘No point in taking him there; no point in taking him anywhere. If they’ll let us, the thing would be to leave him here. He’ll have to be buried first thing tomorrow. We may all be gone in twenty-four hours. Where’s Tandy? Tandy lives in the hotel: he’s the one to talk to the manager.’

But Tandy, unnoticed by any of them, had gone to bed.

‘Trust him,’ Ben said bitterly. ‘Not much bed for the rest of us. It’ll take all night to sort things out. When’s this damned raid going to end?’

The manager, his fury forgotten, returned with the police. They talked to Alan, making gestures of compunction and inculpability, and explained that the man who fired had intended only to frighten his victim. Yakimov’s death had been an error. The fact that he was an Englishman made the incident
particularly regrettable, but he had disobeyed an order twice repeated; and in these times there were so many deaths!

They looked at the body. They wanted to see Yakimov’s
carte d’identité
, his
permis de séjour
, his
permis de travailler
, and his passport. When all the papers had been found in different pockets of Yakimov’s clothing, his long, narrow corpse was rewrapped in its greatcoat as in a shroud, and the napkin rearranged over his face.

One of the police handed back Yakimov’s passport and gave a salute and a little bow. The English would be troubled no further. The victim was free to go to his grave.

The manager agreed to let the body rest for the night in one of the hotel bathrooms. The four friends followed as it was carried away from the terrace and placed on a bathroom floor. As the door was locked upon it, the all clear sounded. The manager, offering his commiserations, shook hands all round and the English party left the hotel. Alan, hourly expecting an evacuation order, had decided to spend the night in his office. Ben Phipps, on his way to Psychico, dropped the Pringles off at the Academy.

A message was waiting for Guy on the pad in the hall. He was to ring Lord Pinkrose at Phaleron no matter how late his return. Harriet stood beside him as he dialled the number. The Phaleron receiver was removed at once and Pinkrose asked in an agitated scream: ‘Is that you, Pringle? The Germans are less than six hours from Athens. They’ll be here by morning. If you’re wise, you’ll go at once.’

‘But how can we go?’ Guy asked. ‘There are no ships.’

‘Get down to the Piraeus. Board anything you can see.
Make
them take you.’

‘We’ve been ordered to stand by …’ Guy protested, but Pinkrose was not listening. His receiver was replaced.

‘Is that what he intends doing himself?’ Harriet asked. ‘Do you think he’s going to the Piraeus to get on to any ship he can see?’

‘God knows. Let’s pack our things and think about it.’

The upper corridor was in darkness. No light was showing
under any of the bedroom doors. They met no one whom they could ask for guidance. The silence was such, the building might, for all they knew, have emptied in their absence.

As they got their belongings together, Harriet asked: ‘Why do you think he warned us like that?’

‘I suppose he feels some responsibility for us. He’s still my boss, you know.’

‘I wish he hadn’t bothered.’

Their indecision was painful. Guy hung over his books, sorting out those that could be left behind and collected one day, when the war was over. Harriet threw her things pell-mell into a suitcase, then fell on to her bed and, lying there, eyes closed, felt herself sinking down into the darkness of the earth.

‘Well, what do we do now?’ Guy asked.

Rousing herself, she saw him standing in the middle of the wide, bare floor, his shirt-collar open, his shirt-sleeves rolled up. He was holding a book she knew well; the book that six months before he had picked out of the wreckage of their Bucharest flat. He was trying to look undaunted by events, but the droop of his face told her that he was as tired as she was and had no more answer than she to the problems that beset them. He presented an unruffled front to life, but she saw he was as much at sea as she was.

They had learnt each others’ faults and weaknesses: they had passed both illusion and disillusion. It was no use asking for more than anyone could give.

War had forced their understanding. Though it was, as Guy said, a pre-war marriage, it had been a marriage in war, and the war had not ended yet. For all they knew it would not end in their lifetime. Meanwhile, they were still alive and still together; and they must face their commitments. She had chosen to make her life with Guy and would stand by her choice. The important thing, she thought, was that in a final contingency, they should not fail each other.

She asked: ‘What do you want to do?’ He sighed. She held out her arms to him and he crossed the room and sat on the
edge of the bed, saying: ‘Do you want to go down to the Piraeus now? Do you want to force your way on to some boat that is not meant for us? There are hundreds of English people here, some with children – they have as much right to go as we have. If everyone scrambled down to the docks and fought their way on to boats reserved for Yugoslavs and Poles, there’d be chaos. We don’t want to make things worse for others. I feel we should take our chance with the rest. I don’t believe they’ll abandon us.’

‘Neither do I.’

She put her arms round him and he lay down beside her. Too tired to undress, they slept, each holding the other secure upon the narrow bed.

Next morning, all the inmates of the hotel were sitting round the breakfast table, subdued, but scarcely more subdued than usual. Guy said: ‘Someone told us last night that the Germans were only six hours from Athens. He seemed to think they’d be here by morning.’

‘They’re not here yet,’ Tennant said. He smiled and, knowing things were too far gone for rebuttal, said slowly: ‘But your informant was partly right. We heard that German parachute troops had dropped on Larissa, but that didn’t mean they were coming straight here. They’ve still got to negotiate the pass at Thermopylae, the old invaders’ bottleneck. Of course, it’s not as narrow as it was. When the Spartans held it against Xerxes it was only twenty-five feet at the narrowest point. Now … how wide is it, would you say?’ Tennant turned to consult his colleagues.

‘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 bill: ‘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.

In case they came to look for her, she said she would go to the flower shop beside the Old Palace, but when she reached the corner she hurried into the gardens through the side entrance and went to the Judas grove. As Alan had promised, the trees had blossomed for Easter. She stood for a full minute taking in the rosettes of wine-mauve flowers that covered the leafless wood, devouring them in mind like someone who gazes into a lighted window at a feast, then she hurried to the shop and bought carnations for Yakimov.