‘So we’ve eaten his food?’ said Harriet.
Phipps said: ‘I expect he’s got more in the basket.’
Guy, overwhelmed, praised the generosity of the Greeks and their tradition of hospitality. He talked for a long time and at the end Harriet said: ‘And they are poor. If you are really poor, you can’t refuse to sell anything.’
‘He did not sell Diocletian’s food. It was a gift.’ ‘Yes, if you are poor you sell things or you give them away. What you cannot do is keep them.’
Guy regarded her with quizzical wonder before he said: ‘Why aren’t you a Progressive? You recognize the truth yet don’t subscribe to it.’
‘I disagree. Truth is more complex than politics.’
Guy looked to Ben Phipps but Ben was not taking on Harriet. Instead, he bawled out:
‘A petty bourgeois philistine,
He didn’t know the party line.
Although his sentiments were right,
He was a bloomin’ Trotskyite.
Despite great mental perturbation,
Persistent left-wing deviation
Dogged his foot-steps till at last,
Discouraged by his awful past
And taking it too much to heart, he
Went and joined the Labour Party.
The moral of this tale is when in
Doubt consult the works of Lenin.’
Thinking he was having a sly dig at her, Harriet was not much pleased by this song, but Guy was delighted. Phipps, encouraged, passed into a gay, satirical mood and began to entertain the company. He lifted the edge of Yakimov’s coat and after examining the lining, whistled and said: ‘Sable, by Jove! Always thought it was rabbit.’
In no way offended, Yakimov smiled and said: ‘Fine coat. Once belonged to the Czar. Czar give it to m’poor old dad.’
‘Thought you were English?’
‘Certainly I am. Typical Englishman, you might say. Mother Irish.’
‘And your father?’
‘Russian. White Russian, of course.’
‘So you’re against the present lot? The Soviets?’
A wary look came over Yakimov’s face. ‘Don’t know about that, dear boy. Lot to be said for both lots.’
Phipps stared at Yakimov with mock severity then said: ‘This story about you doing undercover work? I suppose there’s no truth in it?’
Gratified by Phipps’s interest, Yakimov murmured: ‘Not in a position to say.’
‘Um. Well, if I were you, I’d issue a denial.’
‘Really, dear boy? Why?’
‘I just would, that’s all. British Intelligence isn’t popular here. The Italians took exception to their activities. It’s my belief, if those goofs had kept out, there’d’ve been no attack.’
Yakimov’s eyes grew moist with disquiet. He said: ‘Wish you’d elucidate, dear boy,’ but Phipps merely nodded with the threatening air of one who knows much but will say nothing. Yakimov sniffed with fear.
‘Don’t tease him,’ said Alan.
Bored and dispirited, they watched the rain plop heavily into the sand and the sea, jaundiced and viscous, move an inch forward and inch back. With the same viscous and inane slowness the afternoon crawled by. Cold and bored, they remained on the rickety verandah chairs because there was nothing else to do, nowhere to go. Yakimov said suddenly: ‘Athens, the Edinburgh of the south!’
It was so long since he had roused himself sufficiently to exercise his wit that the others looked at him in astonishment. He smiled and subsided and for a long time no one spoke.
Alan broke the silence to say that his friend Vourakis had told him a curious thing. The Greek people were saying that someone had run to Athens with the news of the victory of Koritza and, crying ‘Nenikiamen’, had fallen down dead.
‘I’ve heard that before,’ said Ben Phipps.
‘We’ve all heard it before,’ said Alan. ‘After the victory of Marathon the runner Phidipides ran with the news to Athens and, crying “Nenikiamen”, fell dead.’
‘It is possible,’ Guy said, ‘that the Marathon story had no more truth than the Koritza story.’
‘It is possible,’ Alan nodded. ‘But it is not a question of truth. This war, like other wars, is collecting its legends.’
The rain drummed on the slats above their heads, its rhythm breaking every few minutes when an overflow pipe released a gush of water. At last the fall slackened. The light was failing and they had to get to their feet and go.
As they reached the bus stop, a car came hooting behind them.
The car, a Delahaye, slowed down by the kerb and a head covered with wild, straw-coloured hair, shouted: ‘Hello, there!’
The car stopped and Toby Lush jumped out. ‘What brings you all to Phaleron?’ He ran at Guy, slipping on the wet road, almost falling headlong in his eagerness to clinch the meeting. ‘What a bit of luck, meeting you! Come on. Get in. Room for everyone.’
Yakimov and Ben Phipps, needing no second invitation, got themselves into the back seat, but Guy, though he found it impossible to snub Toby, had no wish to be driven by him.
Alan said: ‘There isn’t room for the dog. I’ll take the bus.’ He limped off, and Guy looked after him.
‘Get in. Get in.’ Toby seized Guy’s arm and manoeuvred him into the front seat. ‘Three in front,’ he shouted, then caught Harriet’s elbow: ‘Come along now. In there beside Guy.’
He was more than usually excited and, when under way, told them he had been helping to prepare the villa for the Major’s party. ‘They’re laying out the buffet. Gosh! Wait till you’ve had a dekko! You’re all coming, aren’t you?’ He was hilarious as though he had won a prize which, in a way, he had. The prize was Guy, and Toby had not captured him without reason.
‘Jolly glad you got that job,’ he said. ‘No one better fitted for it.
Jolly
glad. We’re both jolly glad. I don’t mean the old soul wasn’t put out. He was a bit, you know! Stands to reason; but what he said was: “If it’s not to be me then I’m glad it’s old Pringle.”’
Guy gave an ironical: ‘Oh!’ but it was an amused and good-natured irony, and Toby, encouraged, went on: ‘You’re opening
in the new year aren’t you? You’ll be needing teachers? Well, what I wanted to say is: you can rely on the pair of us. We’ll help you out.’ His tone of open-hearted friendliness suggested that all was forgotten and forgiven.
Guy said ‘Oh!’ again and laughed. Harriet thought it likely enough that Dubedat and Toby Lush, when the School reopened, would be installed there as senior teachers.
‘Perhaps you think we behaved like a couple of Bs,’ Toby said. ‘Well, we didn’t. I’d like you to know that. We’d’ve done what we could for you but Gracey was dead against you. So we couldn’t do a thing.’
‘Even though Dubedat was in charge?’ Harriet asked.
‘That was all my eye.’ Toby blew out his moustache in disgust: ‘The old soul was hamstrung. He daren’t make a move without consulting Gracey.’
‘And why was Gracey dead against Guy? Because somebody told him that Guy neglected his work in order to produce a play?’
‘Look here!’ Toby Lush exploded in an injured way. ‘We told him the play was a smash hit. We said H.E. was in the royal box and every seat was sold. It was Gracey who disapproved – and I can tell you why! He was jealous. He couldn’t bear someone to do something he hadn’t done himself.’
‘Couldn’t he produce a play?’ Guy asked.
‘He’d be terrified to take the risk. Suppose it didn’t succeed! Besides, he was too damned lazy.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Harriet asked.
‘There’s such a thing as loyalty.’
‘Then why mention it now?’
‘Oh, I say!’ Toby now was both injured and indignant. ‘You can’t blame us. Look how the old soul’s been treated. He worked like a black doing Gracey’s job for him and what’s he got to show? We’re loyal. We’re loyal all right but …’
‘You weren’t loyal to Guy.’ Harriet broke in but Guy had had enough enmity and he talked her down, assuring Toby that both he and Dubedat would get all the work they wanted when the School re-opened.
When he dropped Guy and Harriet at their hotel, Toby shot out his hand in a large liberal gesture that bestrode all the disagreements of the past. ‘See you tonight,’ he said.
Guy explained that they could not go to the Major’s party because they had committed themselves to Mrs Brett.
‘Why not go to both?’ said Toby and as Ben Phipps and Yakimov joined in persuading him, Guy said: ‘I suppose we could.’
‘Right. I’ll pick you up,’ Toby said, gasping with importance. ‘’Fraid I won’t be able to take you to old Ma Brett’s. This is the Major’s car. Got the loan of it to run a few errands for him. See you later, then.’
Guy was surprised that Harriet showed no particular pleasure at this change of plan.
‘You’re not going to please me,’ she said. ‘You’re going to please Toby Lush and horrid little Phipps.’
He had to laugh: ‘Darling,’ he pleaded: ‘Don’t be so unreasonable.’
When Toby returned for the Pringles, Dubedat was sitting in the front seat. Guy, to reassure him, greeted him affably, but Dubedat sat with his shoulders hunched and did not even grunt. He had renounced his fine social manner and was as sullen as he had ever been. He made no attempt to talk in the car and the Pringles, when they came into the lighted hall at Phaleron, saw his face set again in lines of discontent. Toby, who had been chatting happily with Guy, wanted to stay with the Pringles but Dubedat was having none of that. Calling Toby to heel, he marched him off to another room and Harriet said: ‘You didn’t get much change out of that one.’
‘I certainly didn’t. I’m afraid he thinks I’ve somehow done him out of a job.’
‘He probably thought it was his by rights. He thinks everything is his by rights. If he doesn’t get it, he’s been done out of it. That accounts for his resentful expression.’
Guy laughed and squeezed her arm. ‘You’re a terrible girl!’ he said.
The Pringles were early but the rooms were already
crowded. Yakimov came pushing through to them with a dejected air. ‘Nice state of affairs,’ he complained. ‘First here, I was. First on the green, and the butler said no one’s to touch a sliver till the Major gives the word. He’s standing guard over the grub. Not like the Major at all. If we wait for the whole mob to arrive, there won’t be enough to go round.’ He had left the dining-room in disgust but could not stay away for long. ‘Come and have a look,’ he said to Harriet. ‘Must say, it’s a splendid spread.’
Guy had found Ben Phipps, so Harriet went willingly to the dining-room where the hungry guests, packed about the buffet, were doing their best to hide their hunger.
Yakimov, crushed against Harriet, whispered: ‘Most of them were here on the dot. Usually it’s a case of first come, first served, but last time they’d wolfed the lot in the first fifteen minutes. S’pose there’ve been complaints. I recommend standing here beside the plates. Soon as we get the nod, grab one and lay about you.’
‘Where does it all come from?’ Harriet asked in wonder.
‘Mustn’t ask that, dear girl. Eat and be thankful. My God, look at that!
Cream
.’
As more people came in, those at the centre were so pressed against the buffet they could scarcely keep their feet.
Trembling in an agony of anticipation, Yakimov said to the butler: ‘Dear boy, there’ll be a riot soon.’ The butler began to look for the Major.
Harriet noticed Guy beckoning her to join him in the doorway. As she moved, Yakimov said: ‘Don’t go. Don’t go. They’re just about to give the word.’
‘I’ll come straight back.’
Guy gripped her wrist and said in fierce indignation: ‘Who do you think is here?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The Japanese consul.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ben pointed him out.’
Ben Phipps, standing behind Guy, looking more amused
than indignant, said: ‘Last Christmas the Major invited the German minister, an old pal of his. He went round saying “What’s a war between friends?” The British diplomats were furious and Cookson got his knuckles rapped.’
Pulling Harriet from the room, Guy said: ‘Come on. We’re going.’
‘Not yet. Let’s eat first. And we haven’t seen anything.’ She looked round at the sumptuous dresses of the rich Greek women, the hot-house flowers, the laurel swags decorating the marble pillars and said: ‘I don’t want to go yet.’ As she spoke, she saw Charles Warden. He was looking at her and, catching her eye, took a step towards her. Impulsively, she moved away from Guy, who held to her, saying: ‘Get your coat. I’m not staying here.’
‘But we’re not at war with Japan.’
‘I won’t remain in the room with the representative of a Fascist Government. Besides, we’re due at Mrs Brett’s.’
Ben Phipps was looking the other way. Before Harriet could say more, Guy led her firmly to the alcove where she had left her coat. The Major, still welcoming the incoming guests, looked perplexed by the departure of the Pringles. ‘Surely you are not going so soon?’ he protested.
‘I am afraid we must,’ said Guy. ‘Mrs Brett has invited us to supper.’
‘Oh!’ The Major caught his breath in a snigger at the mention of Mrs Brett, but it was a peevish snigger. He could not bear that anyone, not even young people like Guy and Harriet, should leave his party to go to another.
They had scarcely entered the house when they were outside it again. Harriet, feeling as peevish as the Major, said: ‘Mr Facing-both-ways stayed on.’
‘
Who?
’
‘Your friend Phipps.’
‘You’re always wrong about people.’
‘I don’t think so. I never liked Dubedat and I was right. I was doubtful of Toby Lush …’
‘You’re doubtful of everyone.’
‘Well, you do pick up with the most doubtful sort of people.’
Guy made no reply to this but, keeping his hold on her, hurried her to the bus stop where a bus was preparing to depart. The bus carried them away but Harriet’s thoughts remained with the radiant dresses, the splendid villa – and with Charles Warden.
Mrs Brett’s flat on the slopes of Lycabettos was equipped with two small electric fires. Electric fires had become valuable possessions, not to be bought at any price now. The guests, delighted to find the rooms warm, were still discussing the fires when the Pringles arrived.
Mrs Brett was shouting in self-congratulation: ‘Aren’t I lucky! Yes, aren’t I lucky! The girls left them behind. I opened a cupboard and there they were. I thought: “What sensible girls to spend their pennies on things like this instead of silly fripperies.”’