Garden stared at the note, unable to take in its meaning. Obviously it came from a friend – anyone else would simply have turned him over to the police. But what stopped this friend from revealing himself? Since so many conflicting interests were apparently at work, could this be some kind of trap to place him in the hands, say, of one of Lepkin’s associates? Holding the note in his hand he went over to the communicating door and turned the handle. It was locked. ‘Ilona,’ he called. There was no reply. He knocked gently, but heard nothing. He ran out into the corridor and opened the door of her bedroom from there. The room was empty.
Advancing into the room with the probing step of one who looks for a mine under every floorboard, Garden went into the bathroom, opened a cupboard, even peeped under the bed. Ilona was not there, and it was as though she had never been there. The room, bare and cold, contained no trace of her presence but what could she have left, when she had brought no luggage? Something, surely, he thought as he looked round the empty room, something should remain to record the fact that only a few hours ago in this room they had argued and he had pushed her on to the bed and they had made love. But the bed was smooth, no pots stood on the dressing-table, there was nothing to say whether she had gone of her free will or been taken by force.
He stepped out into the corridor again and came face to face with a dark paunchy man who had been sitting near to him at luncheon. The man smiled, showing a set of perfect false teeth, and stuck out his hand. ‘Ah, we met at lunch. My name’s Belton, John Belton of the AGWP.’ There was a kind of nervous expectancy about the man. Garden nodded and moved to return to his room. ‘Ah, could I have a word with you privately?’ His false teeth clicked decisively. Unwillingly Garden led the way into his bedroom, putting the note into his trouser pocket.
The man offered a packet of cigarettes with a hand that shook slightly. He seemed at a loss how to begin. ‘What is the AGWP?’ Garden asked, and it was as though a floodgate had been opened.
‘The AGWP is the Amalgamated Groups for World Peace. Don’t confuse us, please, with any of these so-called “Peace Movements” which are really Communist organisations. We believe in world peace through absolute non-resistance to aggression on the part of all who are called to fight. My position with the party here is a semi-official one. The group sent me to report on the situation in this country, and the chances of establishing a Peace Group here which could work effectively with Peace Groups in Western Europe.’ He gulped and then said with a sudden clash of teeth, ‘They chose me, you see, because I speak the language. And of course I am one of our permanent officials.’
Garden said nothing. Belton puffed quickly at his cigarette. ‘I speak the language.’ He puffed again. ‘I read the papers.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘They say in the papers that an Englishman is behind this, ah, plot. A guerrilla leader during the war, or as they say now a spy who was placed in the guerrilla organisation. They are looking for him.’
Garden said impatiently, ‘What has all this got to do with me? My name is Charles Rose, and I am on holiday here with a friend.’
There were beads of perspiration on Belton’s forehead. His teeth clicked so loudly that they seemed about to fall from his mouth. He said apologetically, ‘No. Your name is Charles Garden. We met several times at Victims of Fascism Committee meetings before the war. You don’t remember me, perhaps, but I knew you as soon as I saw you. I never forget a face.’ The man said proudly, ‘Although I shouldn’t have recognised that photograph in the paper. And I was over here just before the end of the war driving a Peace Ambulance. I heard a good deal about you then.’
The Victims of Fascism Committee – had this man been on it? Well, perhaps. It was all so long ago. Looking at the weak and nervous face which seemed to him perfectly unfamiliar Garden said calmly, ‘You’ve made a mistake. My name is Rose. I don’t speak the language. And I don’t understand at all what you’re getting at.’
‘Garden is the man they’re after. I knew that as soon as I read the papers, and then there’s the photograph. They haven’t named him yet, but that’s because they never do name people until they’ve got hold of them. They want him for trial. Tortures, intimidation. They’ll make him admit things.’ Belton crushed out the stub of his cigarette. ‘I recognised you the moment I saw you. And it’s obvious anyway as soon as you put two and two together. Those queer clothes you’re wearing, and no luggage.’
Belton might be highly nervous, but he was not unobservant. ‘Our luggage is following on,’ Garden said, but the words so easily accepted by Trelawney sounded altogether false. ‘Supposing this fantastic story of yours were true, supposing I really were the man Garden, what then?’
‘Then don’t you see, you must go away at once.’
‘But we’ve only just joined this little group. I’m going to stay for a few days.’
‘I won’t permit it.’ The teeth clicked, Belton’s eyes watered with indignation. He dabbed at them hastily with a handkerchief. ‘They’ll arrest you, within a few hours they are certain to find you, and then they will arrest us too. We shall be subjected to indignities, brutalities, perhaps torture. Innocent people, you are sacrificing them – us. Why should we be a sacrifice to your lust for power? I won’t permit it, I say.’ The teeth clattered, the thin voice rose. ‘You will leave today and this woman of yours too, or I shall – I shall–’
Why, Garden thought with a shock of surprise, the man’s afraid for his own skin. ‘You will inform the People’s Police, will you, and give me up? That would be an act in the interest of peace, no doubt, a perfect example of non-resistance to aggression.’
‘You think I’m a coward, well perhaps I am. I’ve got a wife at home, she’s delicate, any shock to her – if I were arrested – I couldn’t afford to risk it. But it’s in your own interest too. It’s no good staying here. If I’ve recognised you somebody else will too. What about that man Trelawney? Surely he remembers you?’
‘He remembers that my name is Charles Rose, and you would be well advised to remember it too.’ Garden deliberately took the revolver out of his pocket and balanced it on his palm. ‘I may have some kind of unofficial mission over here. Trelawney believes that, I don’t see why you shouldn’t believe it. If, on the other hand, you insist that I am the man Garden, I should think you would feel rather uncomfortable. From what you tell me, Garden must be desperate. I doubt if he believes, like you, in absolute non-resistance to aggression.’
‘You think I’m a coward.’ Belton put both hands over his paunch. ‘But I’m thinking of others, I tell you, not myself.’
‘If I were really Garden, do you know what I should do?’ Garden pulled Belton forward by his shirt. Belton’s body quivered with fear. His arms hung down by his side. ‘I should hit you over the head with this revolver, knowing that you would offer no resistance. Then I should break your neck, which is a simple trick taught to every young soldier in unarmed combat training. Then I should toss your body over the balcony there, thirty feet down to the paving stones. I doubt if the doctors here would feel fussy over the means by which an English member of the AGWP met his death. Isn’t it lucky for you that I am simply Charles Rose, a harmless tourist? Don’t you agree?’ He released Belton, who staggered back against the wall and stayed there, tie pulled to one side, presenting an appearance at once pitiable and unpleasant, like a half-crushed spider. ‘To relieve your anxiety, let me say that I have changed my mind about staying with this band of brothers. You and I are – what shall I say? – not in perfect sympathy. By tomorrow morning I shall be gone.’ If one was going in for this kind of cloak and dagger stuff one might as well, Garden thought, do it wholeheartedly. ‘I needn’t say that a man like Garden has his friends. Anyone who informed on him would be a bad insurance risk.’ The revolver was still in his hand. He looked at it absently and put it back in his hip pocket.
Cautiously Belton straightened his tie and, skirting Garden, moved toward the door. Two feet away fr
om it he stopped. ‘I have your word that you will leave by tomorrow morning?’
Garden nodded. Feelings of sickness and self-disgust overwhelmed him.
‘Then I shall do nothing. Please don’t think I’m intimidated by your words. I know my duty, I hope I know my duty, and if it were necessary I would pass on the information in my possession to the authorities. But I have no wish to injure anybody in your difficult position.’
‘Get out.’
‘I wish I could convince you that I have at heart only the communal interest–’
‘Oh, get out, get out.’ Garden stood up. Belton had the door open, and was outside in a moment. Garden began to laugh. He stopped when he reflected upon his own behaviour. Could he have done anything more foolish than to frighten Belton, and then let him go free? Was not the course of action he had outlined a perfectly logical one? What foolish vacillation, what imaginary moral barrier, had led him to watch Belton walking out of the room carrying his destructive germ of knowledge, when he had justified the hole made in Lepkin’s head with the simple words: It was necessary?
And where was Ilona? As this thought throbbed in his mind, Garden became aware that he was not alone. Trelawney stood in the doorway, teeth drawn back in a grin, long arm extended toward the light switch. The room was bathed in mild yellow light and Trelawney advanced toward him, arms swinging. ‘What’s wrong, old man? You look a bit down in the mouth. Luggage not here yet?’ Trelawney’s eyes, which somehow gave the impression of being set very loosely in his head, looked curiously round the bedroom. ‘Been to the station?’
‘I’ve been asleep. How was the factory?’
‘Terrific, wonderful spirit the workers have got. Another year or two, and they’ll really have the cars rolling off the line.’ Trelawney spoke a little absently. ‘Lady Vi wasn’t too pleased by the absenteeism this afternoon. Solidarity’s the thing, you know. Crack solidarity and you’ve got a split, and we all know what a split means. You’d better come to the reception tonight.’
‘All right.’
‘Trouble is, clothes. Frankly, old man, you can’t come in those things. They just wouldn’t understand, they attach a lot of importance to these dos, there might be an incident. Anyway Lady Vi would bite your ears off. Hate dressing up myself, but I shall have to wear my one and only suit. We’d better try and do a spot of borrowing.’ Trelawney hesitated. ‘Nothing else worrying you, is there, old man? If it’s the old incog, don’t disturb yourself. Mum’s the word as far as I’m concerned. I remember you were over here doing a job years ago, isn’t that so? Of course, any beans you feel you can spill without upsetting the apple cart…’
Garden felt somewhat cheered. Trelawney was really such a very fine specimen. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said solemnly. ‘If I could tell you anything I would. Officially I’ve got no standing at all, I don’t exist. But there are occasions, if you understand me, when an unofficial figure is less compromising than an official one if things go wrong.’ All this had its miserable truth, he reflected.
‘Yes.’ Trelawney leaned forward, eyes rolling.
‘This spot of bother has messed things up a bit.’ With astonishment he heard himself using such Trelawneyan language. ‘It’s made my position a bit awkward in one way and another. Frankly I was pretty glad to join up with you and no questions asked.’
‘I get you, Steve.’
Garden warmed to his work. ‘I’m expecting a message from someone connected with the Foreign Ministry here – let’s call him X. If everything goes well he will arrange a meeting with his superior – and I’ll leave you to guess who that is.’
‘A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse,’ said Trelawney.
‘And when I get the signature of the gentleman concerned on a piece of paper, I shall go back by private plane.’ Garden wished this were true. ‘Lord knows what it may mean in the way of additional productive capacity if certain things are agreed,’ he added, with what he felt immediately as too high a comic flight.
It seemed that no flight could be too high. ‘Old man, I appreciate your confidence.’ Trelawney’s horse face was preternaturally solemn. ‘And if there’s anything I can do I shall be proud.’
‘If I have to leave suddenly I may ask your help.’
‘Anything, old man, anything.’
They should have clinked glasses, Garden felt. Instead they shook hands.
The door opened and Ilona came in with a large parcel in her arms. ‘Clothes, clothes, any old clothes for the rag and bone man,’ she called. Then she saw Trelawney and her face went crimson.
‘I’ve told Trelawney about our mission,’ Garden said hurriedly. ‘He’s going to borrow some clothes for me.’
‘Not necessary,’ she cried triumphantly. ‘I got some. I even got some brown paper, which was more difficult. Look.’ She took out of the parcel a shoddy-looking new brown suit, a striped shirt and a blue frock.
‘Where did you get them?’ Garden asked sharply. ‘What about coupons?’
She snapped her fingers. ‘Money talks louder than coupons, here and everywhere else.’ She held up the brown suit against Garden. ‘I had to guess your size, but it’s not bad. What’s the matter?’
Trelawney said heartily, ‘You’ve saved me from doing a borrowing act. We’re all meeting downstairs in half an hour to go to the reception. See you then.’
‘Just a minute.’ Trelawney turned at the door. Garden hung the trousers of the brown suit against his legs so that they looked inches short. ‘Will you see if you can do that borrowing act after all? I’m going to look a scarecrow in these clothes. I’m six foot tall, thirteen and a half stone.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ In Trelawney’s glance there was something shrewd, appraising or perhaps approving. Then he was out of the door and Ilona was in tears, beating at him with her fists, asking why he would not wear the clothes, crying out that he wanted to humiliate her.
Garden caught hold of her hands. ‘You’ve been very foolish. Listen while I try to explain. Why did you go out alone without saying anything to me?’
‘You were asleep. I knew you needed fresh clothes, and so did I. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Don’t you realise that they’re searching for us throughout this town? That one of the things they’ll look out for is that we may need some new clothing? It would have been risky enough to buy clothes if you had got hold of some coupons. To go into a national store and pay double the price – is that what you did?’ She nodded. ‘You must have been crazy.’
She began to cry again. The door opened, a hairy arm was thrust round it, a voice said, ‘Togs.’ The togs were a grey suit with a chalk stripe and a plain blue shirt, both unmistakably English. Garden tried them on and found that they fitted him fairly well. He rolled up the brown suit and put it in a cupboard.
Ilona was staring with longing at the cheap frock. ‘Am I not to wear the frock? It is a standard production, many thousands like them.’
‘No.’
‘Then I cannot go. These are filthy and there is no time to wash them.’ She fingered the blouse and skirt distastefully. ‘I should look more conspicuous in them than in the frock. But you say no. Very well, I stay here.’
‘You know damned well you can’t stay here. All right, wear the blasted frock, perhaps it doesn’t matter. It’s really me they want, not you.’
‘Thank you, thank you.’ The sudden gaiety of her mood delighted him. He showed her the note which had been pushed under the door. She was utterly bewildered by it. ‘Then there must be somebody else who is trying to help us. Who can it be?’
‘A British agent, perhaps. Or more likely one of the little sects like Lepkin’s, who’d like to use me as some kind of lever against the government.’
She slipped the new frock over her head. ‘How do I look?’
‘Delightful.’
‘But what shall we do? Meet Milo and Theo at nine o’clock or these people at ten?’
Garden told her.
Chap
ter Eight
The reception given by the Dravina Trades and Artists Co-operative was held in the Union Hall. It followed a well-known pattern. First the introduction of local figures, and conversation through interpreters. Trelawney was particularly strong here, pouring out a barrage of the right kind of questions. It seemed that there were now twenty-seven literary societies in the province compared with five before the Revolution, eighteen ballet companies instead of two, thirty-five dramatic societies instead of six. Nearly a thousand poems had been submitted from the province for the great national poetry awards. ‘Song of the Socialist Fatherland’ and ‘Hymn to the Revolution’ had been awarded prizes. Trelawney grinned round triumphantly with his yellow teeth, and the rest of the company were plainly impressed. They were right to be impressed, Garden thought, and wondered why he was not more impressed himself. This was part of the ideal for which he had worked, a people’s spontaneous expression of feeling about the new society they had created. There could be no doubt of the enthusiasm and sincerity of the prize-winners, who talked volubly in a manner that received scant justice from the translators, who rendered a three-minute speech with the phrase ‘I agree with you entirely’, or ‘I wanted to express the feelings of the people in our beautiful valley’. What was it that made the proceedings seem somehow a travesty of all that he believed in? Or was it simply that he no longer believed?
After the conversation the younger of the two poets, a young man with a fine leonine head unsupported by a chin, declaimed the ‘Song of the Socialist Fatherland’ for nearly half an hour. This time there was no translation, and some of the company showed signs of restlessness. This poem, again, was like many Garden had heard before. He translated passages in his mind:
The Broken Penny Page 17
