James Herbert - ‘48

‘How d’you get out of the hotel? Past all those dead people, I mean. Weren’t you afraid?’

‘Of what? Empty shells? You think I’m scared of ghosts too?’ From the glint behind those unshed tears in her eyes I guessed Muriel had offered some kind of explanation, maybe even some excuse, for last night. ‘No, I’m more afraid of maniacs still dropping bombs or lunatics trying to steal my blood.’

‘I can ease your mind as far as one of those threats is concerned. Let me show you the safest place to be in the hotel when the bomber comes over again.’

I led her across the street and through the brick, zigzag barrier protecting the Savoy ’s River Room windows and back entrance, Cagney immediately rousing from his doze to follow us. Inside the gloomy entrance hall I picked up the flashlight I always left in a corner by the stairway in case of emergencies or my own late-night arrivals, then took her downstairs to the hotel’s vast basement area. We entered a long room on the left of the hallway and I played the flashlight over pink-curtained bunk-beds, all of them numbered.

‘Sleeping quarters for the rich and famous,’ I explained. ‘At the first sound of an air-raid siren, Savoy guests were ushered down here for their own safety.’

I moved the light on, showing Cissie the discreet alcoves, heavy drapes across them turning their interiors into small but private chambers. ‘For your royalty, big shots, even princes and princesses. If they were gonna shelter from the bombs, they were gonna do it in comfort.’

I picked out a bust resting on a pedestal at the far end of the room. ‘Abe Lincoln,’ I told her. ‘This place is dedicated to him. The Yanks who came here looked on it as another tiny state of the Union wedged between the Strand and the Thames. A lot of work for the US was carried out down here, and a lot of bridges built between your country and mine.’ I shone the light up at the ceiling and around the pillars. ‘It’s reinforced with thousands of feet of steel tubing and timber beams, all strengthened by concrete. The place is bomb-proof, Cissie, so if you get scared next time that damn crazy starts blitzing us again, just get yourself down here. Safest place in town.’

I felt her shiver beside me.

‘Thanks for the tour,’ she said, ‘but can we leave now? There’s something horrible about this room.’

I turned the flashlight on her and saw her eyes were wide and constantly moving, as if she expected something to jump out at her from the dark at any moment.

‘I thought you weren’t afraid of ghosts.’

She was already backing away. ‘I’m not, but it’s like the Underground station down here, it feels like a mausoleum. Hoke, have you looked behind those curtains?’

She had a point. It was one thing to be surrounded by the dead, but another to be enclosed with them, especially in the dark. I began to feel uneasy myself.

I followed her from the Abraham Lincoln Room and we climbed back to ground level. She became calmer standing in the light from the entrance doors, but I could tell she was still agitated. Could be I’d made a mistake taking her down there, because it had only underlined the fact that we were holed up in one huge tomb, and whether Cissie believed in spirits or not, the idea had to be a mite unnerving. Y’see, I’d forgotten how accustomed I’d become to living with the dead all around me. These people, save for Potter, weren’t used to the new cities yet.

‘How long have we got to stay here?’ Cissie demanded to know.

I’d been trying to make things easier for her, so I guess I got a little irritated by her tone. ‘Lady, you can leave whenever you like.’

‘But…’ she started to say, ‘but surely…’

I was stone-faced.

‘Surely we’ll stay together.’ Her hands were held towards me, palms facing, more in exasperation than pleading. ‘We need each other, Hoke, can’t you understand that? Could you really go on living by yourself, with only…only a dog for company?’

Cagney, who’d stayed in a sunny spot by the entrance, cocked his head. He looked from Cissie to me, as if waiting for the reply.

‘Cagney’s been enough so far,’ I shot back. ‘He doesn’t gripe and he doesn’t need nurse-maiding. Yeah, I’ll stick with the mutt.’

She left me then, stomping up the stairs, head and shoulders stiff with suppressed – outrage, resentment, good old-fashioned pique? I didn’t know which – and I had to resist the urge to call her back. Cagney made a noise deep in his throat, a kind of drawn-out groan, and rolled his eyes at me.

‘Quit it,’ I snapped, and went back out into the sunshine.

Muriel was waiting for me when I eventually got back to the suite. She was standing by the window, a hand parting the net curtain so she could watch feeble strands of smoke rising from somewhere across the river, another piece of real estate damaged in last night’s explosions. She dropped the curtain and hurried towards me as I closed the door.

‘I’ve been so anxious,’ she said and stopped a few steps away when she saw the dust in my hair and clothes. ‘My goodness, what have you been up to? You look so…dirty.’

I’d left Cagney outside where he could guard the corridor, a position he was well used to by now, so I didn’t have to contend with his growling suspicion of this stranger in the room. Again I wondered at his swift acceptance of Cissie, particularly as I hadn’t been there to make the introductions in the first place. I remembered I was still rankled with the girl, so any credit I gave her was limited. Tossing my jacket onto the bed and ignoring Muriel’s question, I headed straight for the bathroom. She followed me in.

Muriel started the shower for me as I tugged off my undershirt and I heard her gasp when she saw the massive bruising on my chest and the inflamed edges of the gunshot nick showing around the dressing. She took in some of the other cuts and bruises on my arms and body, shaking her head in sympathy as she did so.

‘Does it hurt badly?’ It was a dumb question and she knew it. ‘Do you have any pain-killers that I can get for you?’ she added quickly.

I shook my head and took her by the elbow. ‘I’m gonna take my shower alone,’ I told her.

‘Let me help. You must be sore all over.’

Yeah, I was sore, and I ached too, some of that from the day’s work I’d just done, but I didn’t need anybody’s help to wash myself. ‘I’d like some privacy, Muriel.’

Disappointment, hurt – I guess both were in those grey-blue eyes of hers. ‘Can’t I stay and talk to you? Last night-’

I cut her off. ‘Last night, was last night You needed me, and I wanted you – last night Today’s another day, kid.’ Bogart couldn’t have put it better.

Now she looked stunned. ‘I don’t understand,’ was all she could think of to say.

‘Look, you came to me for one thing last night and you got it.’ I’d never spoken to a girl like that before and I think I was almost as shocked as Muriel, although my anger covered it. Not only had the world changed, but I had too. I didn’t back off though, and the English Rose before me wilted under the blast. ‘You think you fooled me with all that stuff about seeing ghosts? Christ, I knew what you wanted soon as I opened the door. You and your friend, you just want a man around to look out for you, keep you out of danger, keep you fed. Well you picked the wrong guy, y’hear me? Maybe you better start cosying up to your friend Vilhelm. Sure, he’ll take care of you. Didn’t you know he’s the new Master Race?’

‘Why are you so angry?’ she pleaded. ‘What have I done?’

Why? The heck of it was that I didn’t know myself. Maybe I was scared of getting involved with other people after I’d spent so long looking out for myself. Was I angry at their intrusion, the sudden burden of having all these people around me? Or in truth, was I plain ashamed of myself for taking this girl to the same bed Sally and I had first made love in? I felt my face redden and it wasn’t through rage. Yeah, that was it, or at least a big part of it. Maybe it was foolish, but I felt I’d betrayed the one love of my life, someone I’d sworn eternal love for, no matter what Stupid kid’s stuff? No, not really. Despite the war going on, and both of us knowing that we could die the next day or even that night, we’d made promises to each other that we vowed to keep. Not only had I broken my part of the deal, but I’d done it in the very bedroom Sally and I had honeymooned in. Although I’d had pangs of guilt at the time – all of them easily overwhelmed by the moment itself – the real sense of what I’d done had hit me with its full force when I’d opened the door to Suite 318-319 and found Muriel standing there. Sure I was mad, madder than hell, but not at Muriel, not at Cissie, not at any of them (‘cept Stern, but that was different). I was mad at myself. And I was ashamed. The combination was bad.