The Stranger Came (74 page)

They
were
no
more
than
half
a
mile
ahead
when
she came
in
sight
of
them,
but
beginning
to
hurry
she
made
no
impression,
even
after
a
bit
seeming
to
fall
further
behind.
It
would
be
Maitland,
she
knew,
setting
the
pace.
I should call out
,
she
thought;
and
then,
what would happen if I called: ‘Mr Clarke!’ Would Monty Norman turn round? If I called, ‘Your friend Georgie Clarke is here!’ –
But
she
wouldn't
have
the
courage.
Anyway
they
had
stopped
heads
together,
now
were
moving
on,
but
more
slowly,
lingering
along.
In
a
moment,
they
would
hear
her
footsteps
or
one
of
them
would
look
round.
The
sound
of
her
breath
hurried
in
her
ears.

'Mr
Rintoul!'
she
called.

She
wakened
out
of
a
dream
and
it
was
dark.
It
wasn't
a
frightening
dream
just
strange,
and
she
lay
under
the
weight
of
her
husband's
arm
piecing
it
together
and
then
thinking
about
how
the
two
men
had
turned
and
that
the
name
she
had
called
out
might
have
been
heard
by
them
as
'Maitland!'

People
heard
what
they
expected
to
hear,
she
knew
that.
Stumbling
in
her
haste
over
the
rutted
track,
she
had
begun
a
sort
of
apology
as
soon
as
she
was
near
enough.
'I
didn't
think
you
would
come
this
way.
The
woods
are
still
muddy,
of
course,
though
it's
so
cold.
I
couldn't
stay indoors.’

The
men
had
been
walking
side
by
side,
but
the
track
was
too
narrow
to
take
three
abreast.
Maitland
had
her
and
Norman
go
in
front
of
him.
His
voice
from
behind
them
said,
'Alfried
Krupp
had
a
torture
chamber
in
the
basement
of
the
company's
headquarters.’
When
she
looked
round,
he
smiled
at
her.
'I'm
talking
about
during
the
war,
of
course.’

Talking
about
the
war.
If
that
was
all!
Past
history.

Between
shoulder-high
banks
like
walking
down
the
bed
of
a
ditch,
they
came
to
a
place
where
they
were
forced
out
on
to
the
frozen
surface
of
the
burn.
Maitland
was
wearing
heavy
walking
shoes
with
ribbed
soles
that
let
him
step
confidently.
He
took
her
by
the
arm.
Beside
them,
Monty
Norman's
thin-soled
city
shoes
slid
under
him
treacherously.

'Did
you
ever
hear
that
speech
by
Oswald
Mosley
–
"there
comes
a
time
in
the
lives
of
great
nations?"
Those
extraordinary
snarling
vowels
ranting
on
about
destiny.
They
tell
me
street-corner
orators
are
spouting
that
stuff
again.
Don't
you
find
that
extraordinary?'
As
he
spoke,
she
watched
the
breath
puff
from
his
mouth
like
the
white
smoke
that
came
with
each
boom
from
a
cannon.
'That
conference
hand-out
reminded
me
of
it.
A
sentence
like
that
is
a
collector's
item.
"Those
of
us
in
industry,
the
privilege
of
leadership.”
And
for
syntax
as
much
as
semantics.
How
much
of
a
balance
sheet
do
you
need
before
you
can
get
away
with
talking
about
"destiny"?
Without
anybody
laughing,
I
mean?'

'Laughing?
How
far
before
we
get
back
to
the
road?'
Monty
Norman
ran
the
two
questions
into
one.
He
hates
this,
Lucy
thought.

'Not
far.
Or
instead
of
"laughing"
you
might
as
well say
"weeping.”
Did
you
know
the
SS
contracted
to
provide
labour
from
Auschwitz
to
Siemens?
Not
just
the
lampshades
were
made
of
skin
in
those
days,
eh?
And
BMW
got
its
workers
supplied
from
Dachau.
The
camp
at
Dachau.
In
the
Thirties
the
Party
used
to
run
trips
to
Dachau
for
the
industrialists-
a
way
of
saying
thanks
for
your
help – picnics
on
the
grass.
And
I.
G.
Farben
was
so
hard
on
its
slaves
that
the
SS
complained
–
they
told
the
directors,
“Please,
the
supply
isn't
infinite.”
Infinity –
another
big
word.
Do
you
think
businessmen
use
it
too,
like
"destiny"?
Without
laughing,
I
mean.
Heads
held
high.
Jowls
quivering.
Wouldn't
you
think
so?'
In
the
way
she
knew
so
well,
he
leaned
across
her
with
a
little
bark
of
interrogation.
'Hmm?'

'Like
you
say,
there
was
a
war
on.’
Badgered
into
responding,
Monty
Norman
spat
out
the
words
in
a
nasal
whine,
his
accent
quite
altered.

And
Maitland
had
stopped,
pulling
her
to
a
halt
with him,
and
thrown
back
his
head
laughing.
'"A
war
on!"'
he
mimicked.
'A
war
on
…
My
mother
said
the
village
grocer
in
those
days
made
the
women
stand
in
line,
grumbled
at
them,
shut
up
shop
when
the
notion
took
him,
quite
apart
from
overcharging
.
She
got
so
angry
one
day,
she
said
to
him,
“Wait
until
the
war's
over,
no
one
will
come
near
you
then.”
“War
over,”
he
said,
“do
you
think
I'll
bloody
well
be
here
when
the
war's
over?”'