listen, Gerard. I’m thinking of returning to England. . .
Good.
But I’d like you to do something for me first. Would you go along to my flat, and ask the porter if anyone has been enquiring for me while I’ve been away?
Yes. Is that all?
That’s all. Just ask him if anyone has been enquiring, and who.
All right. What then?
If no one has been there, would you telegraph me here? Simply put: No one. If anyone has been enquiring, put: Please ring, and I’ll ring you tomorrow. Is that OK?
All right. You want to get details of anyone who’s enquired about you?
Yes.
Who are you trying to avoid?
Yes, I am trying to avoid someone. A rather unpleasant man. Can you do that?
All right.
You’ve got the address of the flat?
Yes. When will you ring back?
The same time tomorrow night—if anyone has enquired. Get full details, won’t you? You might also ask the girl on the switchboard. Do you mind?
No, not at all.
Good. You’ll go along there, won’t you? Don’t just phone.
No, I’ll go along.
Good. Let’s just recap. Go to my flat, ask the porter if anyone has been asking about me. Also ask the switchboard girl. If. . .
If no one, telegraph you: No one. If anyone, get details, and telegraph you: Please ring. OK? Better give me your address.
Oh yes, of course. It’s Pension Vevey, St Moritz. And I’m staying here under the name of Austin. Mr B. J. Austin.
Blimey! You are mysterious!
Not really. But don’t give my address to anyone else, will you?
Good lord, no! Who should I give it to?
Good man. . .
The pips sounded. Nunne said:
Bye-bye, Gerard. You got that address, didn’t you? Pension Vevey. V-E-V-E-Y. All right?
All right. Goodbye, Austin.
The rain had stopped, but the road was still wet and treacherous. He disliked riding on wet roads; the mudguards were inadequate, and the rain wet the bottoms of his trouser legs. He bent low over the handle-bars, and went into bottom gear to get up Haverstock Hill. Hills exhausted him; he usually wasted more energy swearing than pressing the pedals. A car came past, spraying him with muddy water; he stared after it with irritation and envy.
A clock struck the half hour as he turned out of Well Walk into the East Heath Road. He dismounted and walked up the hill.
He rang the doorbell, then leaned against the wall, perspiring and breathless. A light appeared on the other side of the glass panel. She stood there, smiling at him, looking cool and attractive.
Hello. Come in. You made it quickly.
I’m awfully sorry I’m late. . .
Don’t bother. Luckily, it was a cold supper. Yes, hang your coat up there.
She was wearing a black-and-green dress of some shiny material, that left most of her arms bare. She had the figure of a sum teenage girl. He looked at her with admiration as she preceded him into the kitchen.
I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen? It’s easier.
Of course not.
You haven’t eaten?
No. I fell asleep at about six. Austin rang me immediately after you’d rung.
Really? What did he want?
Oh. . . it seems rather odd. He wants me to find out if there are any messages waiting at his flat for him.
Strange. I wonder why he couldn’t have rung them directly?
Sorme dried his hands on a small tea-towel, then sat down at the table. She asked:
Soup?
Please.
As she stood over the stove, her back towards him, he could examine her figure at leisure. Her hips lacked roundness; they were almost a boy’s hips; but the slimness of her waist appealed to him. He was trying to imagine how she would look undressed, when she turned round. He looked away hastily. She placed the bowl of soup on the cork mat, leaning across him to do so. If he had leaned forward slightly, he could have kissed her upper arm. The smell of her body was clean, but unperfumed. He asked her:
Do you live here completely alone?
Yes.
No one at all?
She said, smiling:
I’m very seldom alone. There’s nearly always someone here. Members of the group usually come
Good.
But I’d like you to do something for me first. Would you go along to my flat, and ask the porter if anyone has been enquiring for me while I’ve been away?
Yes. Is that all?
That’s all. Just ask him if anyone has been enquiring, and who.
All right. What then?
If no one has been there, would you telegraph me here? Simply put: No one. If anyone has been enquiring, put: Please ring, and I’ll ring you tomorrow. Is that OK?
All right. You want to get details of anyone who’s enquired about you?
Yes.
Who are you trying to avoid?
Yes, I am trying to avoid someone. A rather unpleasant man. Can you do that?
All right.
You’ve got the address of the flat?
Yes. When will you ring back?
The same time tomorrow night—if anyone has enquired. Get full details, won’t you? You might also ask the girl on the switchboard. Do you mind?
No, not at all.
Good. You’ll go along there, won’t you? Don’t just phone.
No, I’ll go along.
Good. Let’s just recap. Go to my flat, ask the porter if anyone has been asking about me. Also ask the switchboard girl. If. . .
If no one, telegraph you: No one. If anyone, get details, and telegraph you: Please ring. OK? Better give me your address.
Oh yes, of course. It’s Pension Vevey, St Moritz. And I’m staying here under the name of Austin. Mr B. J. Austin.
Blimey! You are mysterious!
Not really. But don’t give my address to anyone else, will you?
Good lord, no! Who should I give it to?
Good man. . .
The pips sounded. Nunne said:
Bye-bye, Gerard. You got that address, didn’t you? Pension Vevey. V-E-V-E-Y. All right?
All right. Goodbye, Austin.
The rain had stopped, but the road was still wet and treacherous. He disliked riding on wet roads; the mudguards were inadequate, and the rain wet the bottoms of his trouser legs. He bent low over the handle-bars, and went into bottom gear to get up Haverstock Hill. Hills exhausted him; he usually wasted more energy swearing than pressing the pedals. A car came past, spraying him with muddy water; he stared after it with irritation and envy.
A clock struck the half hour as he turned out of Well Walk into the East Heath Road. He dismounted and walked up the hill.
He rang the doorbell, then leaned against the wall, perspiring and breathless. A light appeared on the other side of the glass panel. She stood there, smiling at him, looking cool and attractive.
Hello. Come in. You made it quickly.
I’m awfully sorry I’m late. . .
Don’t bother. Luckily, it was a cold supper. Yes, hang your coat up there.
She was wearing a black-and-green dress of some shiny material, that left most of her arms bare. She had the figure of a sum teenage girl. He looked at her with admiration as she preceded him into the kitchen.
I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen? It’s easier.
Of course not.
You haven’t eaten?
No. I fell asleep at about six. Austin rang me immediately after you’d rung.
Really? What did he want?
Oh. . . it seems rather odd. He wants me to find out if there are any messages waiting at his flat for him.
Strange. I wonder why he couldn’t have rung them directly?
Sorme dried his hands on a small tea-towel, then sat down at the table. She asked:
Soup?
Please.
As she stood over the stove, her back towards him, he could examine her figure at leisure. Her hips lacked roundness; they were almost a boy’s hips; but the slimness of her waist appealed to him. He was trying to imagine how she would look undressed, when she turned round. He looked away hastily. She placed the bowl of soup on the cork mat, leaning across him to do so. If he had leaned forward slightly, he could have kissed her upper arm. The smell of her body was clean, but unperfumed. He asked her:
Do you live here completely alone?
Yes.
No one at all?
She said, smiling:
I’m very seldom alone. There’s nearly always someone here. Members of the group usually come
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