The Balkan Trilogy (114 page)

Alan laughed: ‘I expect you know as well as I do.’

‘Would he stand for an interview?’

‘He might.’

‘Where’s he now?’

‘Probably half-way to Cyprus.’

‘Thanks for telling me. Come on, I’ll give you a lift back.’

When Ben dropped Harriet and Alan at the office, Guy arranged to pick her up again at seven o’clock. He and Ben were taking her to supper at Babayannis’.

Even octopus was scarce now. At Babayannis’ the menu offered lung stew and the laced up intestines that had given Harriet a chronic stomach disorder.

Guy said: ‘What does it matter? There’s plenty of wine!!’

Both men preferred drink to food; but Harriet would rather eat than drink. Made irritable by hunger, she felt she had been imprisoned long enough by Phipps and Guy; and she was further irritated by Guy’s folly. Everything said seemed to confirm it. In the past she had complained because she did not have enough of Guy’s company. Now she had too much.

Hacking away at the grey, slippery intestines, she heard Phipps repeat again Hemingway’s reply to Fitzgerald’s observation: ‘The rich are different from us.’

‘He said,’ said Phipps gleefully, ‘“Yes, they have more money.”’

She fixed Phipps in a rage and said: ‘I suppose you agree with Hemingway?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I don’t. I think his answer exposes both Hemingway and his limitations. He simply didn’t know what Fitzgerald meant.’

‘Indeed!’ Ben Phipps smiled indulgently: ‘And what did he mean?’

‘He meant that the rich have an attitude of mind which only money can buy.’

‘I can’t say I’ve noticed it.’

‘You should have noticed it. You hung around Cookson long enough.’

‘Cookson amused me.’

‘And you amused Cookson. I’m told you were the Phaleron court jester.’

‘I certainly laughed at him and his money.’

‘That was one way of defending yourself.’

‘Defending myself?’

‘Surely you know laughter is a defence? We laugh at the things we fear most.’

‘She’s joking,’ Guy said, but Ben Phipps knew she was not joking. He lost his indulgent air. His expression hardened and she saw him control, but only just control, the impulse to insult her.

He disliked her as much as she disliked him, so why should she waste her life here, acting as audience to a man she despised? As for Guy, sitting there uneasily smiling, he seemed at that moment merely a gaoler who hemmed her in with people who did not interest her and talk that bored her. She had found no release in marriage. It had forced her further back into the prison of herself. Acutely conscious now of the passing of time, she felt she was not living but was being fobbed off with an imitation of life.

As the evening went on, Phipps returned, inevitably, to the sources of the world’s mishap and Harriet, listening, reached a point of conscious revolt. At the mention of the mysterious Zoippus Bank, she broke in on him: ‘There is no Zoippus Bank. There never was and never will be a Zoippus Bank. I’m quite sure no Jew ever financed Hitler. I know the Vatican was never involved with Krupps and Wall Street and Bethlehem Steel …’

‘You know fuck all,’ said Ben Phipps.

Harriet met the hatred of his small eyes, and said with hatred: ‘You
ugly
little man!’

His mouth fell open. She could see that she had hurt him.

Guy was hurt, too. In shocked remonstrance he said: ‘Darling!’

She jumped up, near tears, and hurried through the crowded restaurant. Guy caught her as she was leaving the front hall. He said: ‘Come back.’

‘No.’ She turned on him, raging: ‘Why do you drag me round to listen to Ben Phipps. You know I can’t bear him.’

‘But he’s my friend.’

‘Charles Warden was my friend.’

‘That was different …’

‘I don’t think so. You want Phipps’s company; I prefer Charles.’

‘But you don’t need Charles. You have me.’

Harriet did not reply to that.

Pained and puzzled, Guy reasoned with her: ‘Why do you dislike Ben? He’s much more amusing than the people you
do
like. I find Alan Frewen a dull dog; and as for Charles Warden! He’s a pleasant enough fellow, but he takes himself too seriously. He’s quite immature.’ Guy looked to her for agreement and when she did not agree, said: ‘But he’s good-looking. I suppose that means something to you?’

‘He is good-looking, it’s true; but that has nothing to do with it. In fact, when I first saw him, I thought he had a vain, unpleasant face.’

‘You don’t think so now?’

‘No.’

Guy lowered his head, frowning to hide his distress, and asked: ‘Do you want to leave me?’

‘Good heavens, no; there’s no suggestion of such a thing.’

Guy’s head dropped lower. Miserably embarrassed, he said: ‘I suppose you want to have an affair with him?’

‘Really!’ Harriet was appalled at such a question. An unanswerable question at that! ‘It’s out of the question. As though one could, anyway – life being what it is! The impermanence of things; and the fact one has no time, no opportunity! But there never was any question … It was simply that I was lonely.’

‘You’re not lonely now. You’re always out with Ben and me.’

‘Ben bores me.’

‘Darling, you know I don’t want to deprive you of anything.’

‘What is there to deprive me of? Charles isn’t here for long. It’s just that I would like to see him.’

‘Very well. But come back to the table. Be nice to Ben. He knows he’s ugly. No need to rub it in. Tell him you’re sorry, there’s a good girl?’

‘I am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt him.’

‘Come along, then.’ Guy took her hand and led her back into the restaurant.

22

The raids were more frequent now: a sign, Ben Phipps said, of impending events. Some mornings it was scarcely possible to get into Athens between the alerts. On one of these mornings, walking from the metro station at Monastiraki, Harriet came upon two British tanks. They had stopped just inside Hermes Street and the men were standing together in the road.

There had been snow during the night. The pavements were wet; the light, coming from the dark, wet sky had the blue fluorescence of snow-light, yet a tree overhanging a garden wall was in full blossom.

Harriet was not the only one who stopped to look at the tanks. Some of the people seemed mystified by their sand-coloured camouflage and the insignia of camels and palms. To Harriet they were familiar, but in a recondite, disturbing way as though they belonged to some life she had lived long ago. The young Englishmen also came out of the past. They all looked alike: not tall, as she remembered the English, but strongly built, with sun-reddened faces and hair bleached blond. When they became aware of her, they stopped talking. They looked at her, rapt, and she looked back, each remembering the world from which they had come, too shy to speak.

She made off suddenly. In the office the atmosphere was emotional and even Miss Gladys was moved to speech. To Harriet and to anyone who entered, she said: ‘Our lads are arriving. Our lads are arriving. Isn’t it great! I was in the know, of course. Oh yes, I’ve known all along. Lord Pinkrose let something drop, but not accidentally. Oh, no, not accidentally! He often says something to show that he trusts me.’

Ben Phipps, when he came in, did not wait to hear the whole of this speech but hurried through to the News Room, leaving all the doors open so, noisy and voluble, he could be heard shouting: ‘We’ve had it now. We’ve issued a direct challenge to the Boche.’

He had just come from the Piraeus where he said troops were disembarking and supplies were being off-loaded on to the very steps of the German consulate.

‘Does the Legation know this?’ Alan asked.

‘I telephoned them, but what can they do? The Greeks aren’t at war with the Germans; at least, not yet. And there the stuff is, for all to see. The Italians are bombing it and the German Military Attaché is making notes. When I arrived, he was counting the guns. He gave me a nod and said: “
Wie gewöhnlich – zu wenig und zu spät!
”’

‘Is this true?’ Alan asked.

‘It would be damned funny if it were.’

‘I mean, is it true the Germans are watching the disembarkation?’

‘It certainly is. Go and see for yourself.’

Alan put his hand to the telephone, paused and took it away again.

‘Nothing to be done,’ Phipps said. ‘The usual army cock-up. But what does it matter? We don’t stand a chance.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Alan said. ‘It’s amazing what we can do in a tight corner. But whatever happens, it’s better to suffer with the Greeks than leave them to struggle on alone.’

In the exhilaration of expectation and preparation for action that might, after all, succeed, Harriet felt justified in contacting Charles. She wrote: ‘I want to see you. Meet me at one o’clock,’ and gave the note to a military messenger in the hall.

Charles, waiting, unsmiling, at the side entrance, met her with a strained and guarded look of inquiry.

Fearing she had behaved unwisely, she said: ‘I am going to the Plaka. Will you come with me?’

He did not reply but followed her through the crowds that
were out to see the British lorries and guns coming into the town. ‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ she said.

‘I suppose it is exciting for you.’

‘But not for you?’

‘To me, it means I won’t be here much longer.’

They came into the square where Byron had lived. Tables and chairs had been placed outside the little café but no one could sit in the bitter wind that cut the tender, drifting branches of the pepper trees. Having come so far, Charles suddenly asked: ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the dressmaker. I hoped you’d translate for me; my Greek isn’t very good.’

He grew pale and stared at her in resentful accusation: ‘Is that why you wanted to see me? You simply wanted to make use of me?’

‘No.’ She was wounded by his reaction. She had supposed he would see the request as a gesture of intimacy, would know at once that it was an excuse for summoning him: ‘Don’t you want to do something for me?’

His expression did not change. For some minutes he was silent as though he could not bring himself to speak, then burst out: ‘Where is this dressmaker?’

‘Here. But it doesn’t matter. Let’s go to Zonar’s and see if we can get a sandwich.’

He neither agreed nor disagreed but turned when she turned and walked back with her towards University Street. Because she had been misunderstood, she did not try to speak but, glancing once or twice at his severe profile, she wondered what attached her to this cold, distant and angry stranger. This of course was the moment to break away, and yet the attraction remained. Even seeing him detached and unaccountable, she still had no real will to leave him.

Half a dozen Australian lorries had parked on Zonar’s corner and the men had climbed down. Some were drinking with newly made Greek friends: others were lurching about between the outdoor tables, occasionally knocking down a chair, but still sober and reasonable enough. The Greeks
seemed delighted with them but Charles came to a stop and, shaken out of his sulks, said: ‘We’d better not go there.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘It’s out of bounds to other ranks, which makes things awkward for me. But, worse than that, they’re drinking, so there’s likely to be trouble. I don’t want you mixed up in it.’

‘Really! How ridiculous!’

He caught her arm and led her away protesting. Laughing at him and refusing any longer to be restrained by his ill-humour, she said: ‘If you won’t go there, we’ll go to the dressmaker!’

She walked him back to the Plaka where a young Greek woman was making her two summer dresses. Charles translated her instructions with a poor grace, then said: ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’ She half expected when she left to find he had gone, but he stood in the lane beside a flower-shop. He had been buying violets and, seeing her, he held the bunch out to her. She took it and put it to her mouth.

She spoke through the sweetness of the petals: ‘We mustn’t quarrel. There isn’t time.’

‘No, there certainly isn’t.’ Giving his ironical laugh, he asked: ‘Now where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t mind where we go, but don’t be cross.’

‘We might get something to eat. It’s too late for luncheon but, if we go to the Corinthian, I know one of the waiters. He’ll find something for us.’

Racing back to the square, dodging the crowds on the pavements, Charles held to her, pulling her along, caught up in the inspirited air of the city centre where so much was happening. They were both elated as the enchantment of their companionship renewed itself.

How much longer was he likely to stay in Athens? He did not know. The Mission was to be absorbed into the Expeditionary Force, but he still had his work at the Military Attaché’s office and would remain until his detachment arrived. That could be within a few days, or not for two or three weeks. No one seemed to know when the different units
would turn up. Hurriedly organized, its contingents mixed and withdrawn from different sectors, the campaign was in some confusion.

One thing only was certain – there was no certainty and very little time.

The lorries, crowding in now from the Piraeus, were trying to find their way to camps outside Athens. Several, having gone astray, had made their way into Stadium Street and one after another stopped to get directions from Charles. Each time, as the Englishmen talked, a little crowd gathered to watch. A girl threw a bunch of cyclamen up to the men who leant over the lorry side. At this the men began to call to the passers-by and more flowers were thrown, and a fête-day atmosphere came into the streets. Suddenly everyone was throwing flowers to the men and calling a welcome in Greek and English. All in a moment, it seemed, fear had broken down. British intervention might indeed mean that Greece was lost, but these men were guests in the country and must be treated as such. Then the men, who had been bewildered by the suspicion, the unexpected winter weather, the fact the girls would not look at them, were reassured and began good-naturedly to respond.

Amidst all the shouting and waving and throwing of flowers, Harriet held on to Charles and said: ‘It’s fun not to be alone.’