James Herbert - ‘48

‘D’you have any idea where Stern went to?’

‘I told you, he found us some better cookers, so obviously he got those from one of those big camping stores nearby. Potter went off on his own too, probably patrolling the streets looking for UXBs and incendiaries. He’s quite dotty, you know.’ She moved from the writing desk and stood at the end of the bed. ‘Why so pensive, Hoke? What’s troubling you now?’

Dogging the cigarette, I replied, ‘The city’s a dangerous place.’

‘The Blackshirts, you mean? I didn’t catch a glimpse of one. But then, it is a huge city. Anyway, I’m sure they assumed they’d killed us all when they set fire to the Underground station.’

I wondered. Would Hubble and his Looney-Tunes army think we were dead by now? The notion that he’d lost four valuable blood donors would have sent Hubble into a frenzy and I pitied the fool who’d broken the news to him that they’d fire-bombed the station. If only that were the case, if only Hubble believed we were gone for good…On my own travels that day I’d seen neither hide nor hair of any Blackshirts, although that wasn’t unusual; as Muriel said, it was a big city. Besides, I always kept off the beaten track, taking side streets rather than main thoroughfares. But heck, it was a pleasant enough thought on an otherwise grim day. Muriel took advantage of my sudden smile.

‘You’ll come, then?’

I blinked.

‘Our little celebratory dinner,’ she persisted. ‘You’ll join us downstairs?’

‘What’re you celebrating?’

‘Just being alive. Isn’t that enough?’

Sometimes I thought it was too much, but I didn’t say that ‘Okay, I’ll be there. But don’t get the idea I’ll be making any new friends.’

‘All I ask is that you be civil to Wilhelm.’ She left it at that

They’d found hundreds more candles from somewhere and had filled every nook and cranny with them so that the Pinafore Room resembled some holy shrine. They were supplemented by two or three oil lamps in strategic positions around the room, and the heat and waxy smell took some getting used to at first Behind the thick, rich drapes daylight was fading and, despite the candleglow, there were dark shadows in the room, especially in its corners. Warm scintillas of light reflected off tall glasses and cutlery set around the long table, and cedar panelling, studded with silver buttons, on the walls and central square column lent a soft ambience to the proceedings. It was a ritzy setting for a dinner party, an evocation of more pleasant times.

I paused in the open doorway, Cagney at my side, his nose in the air, sniffing out food.

Muriel was chatting to Wilhelm Stern before a tall mirror over an empty fireplace at the far end of the room, and an elegant couple they made, she in a slim floor-length gown that shimmered silver, cut high from shoulder to shoulder, with long tight sleeves, her hair once again held to one side but this time by a decorative comb, while he wore a dark evening suit, white handkerchief, probably silk, peeping from his breast pocket, his tie a deep grey worn against a white shirt. They’d made an effort for this evening’s soirée (clinging to the wreckage?) and I was relieved to see that Potter, who’d suddenly appeared at a double door on my left, hadn’t bothered to fancy himself up at all: he still wore his warden’s all-in-one outfit, although he’d brushed it down and his helmet was nowhere in evidence.

Spotting me, he called, ‘Grub’s up soon, son,’ and pointed a stubby thumb over his shoulder at the room behind. He gave me a broad, yellow-toothed grin. ‘There’s time for a pair o’teeth first, though. What can I get yer?’

I frowned.

Muriel wised me up. ‘Albert means an apéritif. As I’m sure he knows,’ she added, looking meaningfully at the warden and smiling. She turned her smile on me, but it had an uneasy edge to it, as though she was a little nervous.

As I walked the length of the table towards them Cagney trotted before me, his excuse for a tail wagging in anticipation of the food he could smell. He disappeared through the opening behind Potter and I heard Cissie’s muted cry of welcome. The mutt was getting used to people again too fast and that concerned me: I didn’t want him to lose his usual caution in case eventually it proved dangerous for both of us.

‘We’re using the Princess Ida Room as a makeshift kitchen,’ Muriel told me, and I remembered that all the names of the private dining rooms along this floor had something to do with Gilbert and Sullivan operas. ‘Cissie’s in there playing chef and I must get back to help before she starts getting cross.’ She eyed me up and down as she sipped her drink. ‘Thank you at least for putting on a fresh shirt.’

I checked her eyes for sarcasm, but she quickly looked away. My pants were a little wrinkled, my boots none too clean, and my torn leather jacket was thrown over one arm, pistol tucked inside. The shirt was fresh though, one of a bunch I’d picked out of a Regent Street menswear shop’s smashed window, none of which I’d gotten round to wearing until now. I guess it would’ve looked better with a tie, but ties never had been one of my things, even in peacetime. Muriel moved closer to me, away from the German.

‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked, but again she averted her gaze when I looked directly into her eyes. ‘Gin and tonic, a Martini, sherry…? We’re well stocked, as you can see.’

‘Scotch’ll do.’

‘Good boy,’ approved Potter. ‘Think I’ll join yer.’ He bustled over to a small, round dining table that was loaded with the hard stuff. Rubbing his fleshy hands together he cast his eye over the wide selection. He spied the Scotch, another bottle of his favourite Grouse. ‘Lovely,’ we heard him mutter.

‘Hoke…’

It was the German and there was a wariness in his approach. I laid my jacket over the back of a chair at the head of the long table, folded so that the concealed holster would be easy to reach, before facing him.

‘It is extremely foolish for us to regard each other as enemies,’ Stern said, his manner relaxed, but still that apprehensive cautiousness in his eyes. ‘In the war I was merely a navigator doing my job, as were you as a fighter pilot. I mean you no harm now and would’ – vould – ‘hope you no longer wish me any harm. We were airmen loyal to our own countries, but all that is in the past. We can no longer live that way. We should endeavour to live in peace and, as the British themselves say, let bygones be bygones.’ Speech finished, he offered me a hand to shake.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take to the idea of shaking the hand of someone I would eventually kill, so I ignored the offer. His pale eyes momentarily hardened, and then he smiled as he let his hand fall away.

‘So be it,’ he said coldly. ‘I have made an effort to be civil – or indeed, civilized – and I shall continue to do so. You will make up your own mind about how you regard me, but I must warn you, I shall always defend myself.’

‘Please, Wilhelm.’ Muriel looked anxiously from me to Stern. ‘This isn’t necessary.’

‘Have I not just tried to make that very point?’ He never took his eyes off me. ‘I will behave honourably, but Mr Hoke must decide for himself. I have offered the hand of friendship and he has rejected it, but still I will not be the one to make trouble.’

Potter arrived between us with two tumblers of Scotch in his hands, one of them held out to me. ‘Bottoms up,’ he said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t noticed the exchange between myself and the German.

‘Yeah,’ I responded, taking the tumbler and tipping it against my lips, my gaze still not breaking from Stern’s. We all turned when another voice called from the far end of the room.