After the Fine Weather by Michael Gilbert

hour.”
    “It’s going to be a case of hail and farewell,” said Charles. “She’s catching the midnight train for Rome.”
    “But–” said Laura.
    “Can he do that?” said Fiennes. “What about diplomatic privilege?”
    “I wouldn’t know,” said Charles. “But I’m not arguing about it. It’s an order from the boss. And I think, on this occasion, we’re going to do what we’re told.”
    They both looked at Laura.
    “Is there really going to be trouble?” she said.
    “I don’t know,” said Charles. “But I’m quite sure of this: that whatever does happen, you’ll only aggravate it if you’re here.”
    “All right,” she said. “I’ll get packed.”
    “Have you got somewhere you can stay in Rome?”
    “I’ll be all right.”
    As she went out, Fiennes said, “Talking about trouble, it looks as if something’s starting right now.”
    From the window they could see, beyond the black bulk of the railway station, red and orange flames and, lit by the flames, a billow of smoke.
    “Open the window,” said Fiennes.
    The two men stood at the open window and listened. The swelling sound of the mob came clearly to them through the frosty night air. Then a single shot. Then a burst of firing.
    “It sounds to me,” said Fiennes, “as if things were hotting up a bit. I’d better go and have a look.”
    “Don’t get involved in anything.”
    “Don’t worry. There are few people who can run faster than I can.”
    Charles sighed, and poured himself a drink.
    He and Laura were sitting down to a silent dinner when Fiennes returned.
    “Quite a party,” he said. “The crowd started by looting some Italian shops and then set fire to the Italian church. The police seem to have had orders not to interfere – or not to interfere too soon – anywhere. They fired a few shots in the air to show their zeal. A fire engine arrived, and got turned over. The only person who made any real attempt to keep the peace was Radler.”
    “The Socialist?”
    “I don’t know about his politics. But he’s got a voice like a foghorn. And plenty of guts. He got up on the fire engine and fairly let them have it.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He told them not to be bloody fools. And to go home before someone really got hurt. Good, sound stuff. The fire was nearly out by then, and it had started to snow. I don’t think there’ll be any more trouble tonight.”
    “I hope not,” said Charles. “We’ve got to get Laura to the station.”
    There was no trouble of any sort. The snow had stopped. They drove in silence through the empty streets, tyres squeaking occasionally in the thick drifts, which were beginning to pack down as the temperature fell.
    In the station waiting-room a small crowd was standing in front of a bulletin board. Charles went across, looked at it, spoke to one of the station officials, and came back.
    “Home to bed,” he said. “There are no trains into or out of Lienz.”
    “It must have been snowing pretty hard,” said Evelyn, “to block the line to Italy.”
    They were in the car and driving back to the flat before Charles answered this. He said, “It isn’t snow that is stopping the trains. A three-span culvert has been dynamited. They reckon it’ll take at least a week to repair.”

8
“Dear Department–”
     
    “Dear department,” Charles typed, using one finger of each hand and paying careful attention to spacing and alignment, “the situation here has deteriorated since my last telephone communication on Thursday. It is not known yet whether the destruction of the culvert at Garvas was the work of Italian saboteurs from the Trentino, but it is generally attributed to them. This, coupled with the snow which has fallen” – Charles looked out of the window of the consular office – “and is still falling, has isolated Lienz almost completely from the outside world.”
    He broke off once more. How was he to record, in the traditional language of the Foreign Service,