Authors: Nevil Shute
Landfall
Si vous entrez dans une
public house
, n’offrez jamais de pourboire à la
barmaid
, car c’est une dame …
A
NDRE
M
AUROIS
: C
onseils à un jeune
Français partant pour l’Angleterre
T
HE
car, a chilly little open sports two-seater, drew away from the dim bulk of the dance-hall. It accelerated with a crescendo of noise quite disproportionate to its performance and made off down the sea front, its one masked headlamp showing a feeble glimmer in the utter darkness. Presently it took a turning through the park towards the town. The steady rumble of the engine became intermittent; then there was a crashing report and a sheet of yellow flame from the exhaust-pipe. It drew up to a standstill underneath the trees.
In the cramped seat the driver was conscious of the girl’s shoulder pressed against his own; only his heavy coat prevented him from feeling the warmth of her thigh. He turned to her. “I don’t know what’s the matter with it,” he said. “It won’t go any more.”
She said: “Oh yes, it will. Start it up again.”
He said: “I’ll try if you like. But I don’t think it’ll go. It does this sometimes.”
“Go on and start it.”
He pushed the starter. The lights, already dim, went down to a dull red glow and the worn engine turned feebly. “It won’t go,” he said, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice. “It’s the rain or something.”
She stirred beside him. “I can get a bus from the corner.”
He said: “Don’t go. There’s a horse coming in a minute.”
“What horse?”
“The horse that’s coming to tow us home. It won’t
be long now. You can give it a lump of sugar, but you must hold your hand flat. Otherwise you lose a finger.”
There was a light rain falling. In the darkness beneath the flapping fabric of the hood she stared at him. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“The horse. You can stroke its nose, if you like. I’ll hold it for you.”
“Where are you going to get a horse from?”
He said: “It’ll turn up. We’ve only got to sit here for a little while, and it’ll come.”
“I’ll sit here till the next bus comes.”
“All right. What’s your name?”
She hesitated. “You want to know everything, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s not much to ask. You’re going to spend the night with me, and you won’t tell me your name.”
She was startled and upset. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She fumbled for the handle of the door.
There was laughter in his voice. “Well, you said you’d stay here till the next bus came. It’s after half-past twelve—there won’t be any more till morning. So you’ll have to sit here all night. I do think you might tell me your name.”
She relaxed. “You do say the most awful things!”
“What have I done now? You’ve done nothing but pull me up all evening.”
“You know what you said.”
“I know. I asked you to tell me your name, and you won’t tell me. I believe you’re an enemy alien and you think I’ll put the police on you.”
“I promise you I’ll take you home the minute the horse comes. In the meantime, I do think you might tell me who you are.”
She giggled. “You’ve seen me often enough.”
“I know I have. That’s what’s worrying me.”
“I know who you are.”
He turned to her, immensely conscious of her presence. “Do you?”
She nodded. “You come from Emsworth aerodrome. They call you Jerry, don’t they?”
“Oh—yes. Everybody calls me Jerry. How did you know that?”
“Never you mind. What’s Jerry short for? Gerald?”
“No—Chambers. Roderick Chambers. But you may call me Jerry.”
She turned her head. “You do say horrid things.”
“Well, you said that one. Tell me, what
is
your name? I’ve told you mine.”
She relented. “Mona Stevens.”
“Mona.” He paused, and then he said: “That’s rather a nice name.”
She was pleased. “It is, isn’t it? I mean, there aren’t so many Monas about. Better than being called Emily, or something of that.”
He turned to her. “Tell me, where do you work?”
She laughed at him. “Think hard.”
“I am thinking. You aren’t the old charwoman who cleans out my bedroom, by any chance?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I thought not. It’s a pity.”
She turned the subject. “I know what you had for supper tonight,” she said.
He stared at her. “What did I have?”
“Steak and chips, and then you had a bit of Stilton cheese. And you had about three half cans of bitter.”
He said, astonished: “You’re clairvoyant.” She shook her head. “Then you smelt my breath.”
She turned her head away. “Don’t be so rude.”
He thought for a minute. “Well then, you were in the ‘Royal Clarence’ tonight, anyway.” Recollection came to him in a wave. “Of course. You work at the ‘Royal Clarence’—in the snack-bar.”
She mocked him. “Aren’t you ever so quick?”
He said weakly: “I knew that all the time, of course. I was just pulling your leg.”
“You do tell stories.”
“No—honestly. You don’t think I’m the sort of chap who goes to the Pavilion to pick up girls, do you?”
“Well, what else did you go to the Pavilion for?”
He said loftily: “I went there to dance.”
She bubbled into laughter. “I’d like to have seen you dancing with them other officers you came in with.”
“You don’t quite understand. We had a party all fixed up; the ladies were to meet us there. There was Ginger Rogers and Merle Oberon and Loretta Young—oh, and several others. Greta couldn’t come.”
She said a little doubtfully: “I don’t believe you. What happened to them?”
“They didn’t turn up. So then I looked around and you were the only person in the room I knew, so I asked you if you’d dance with me.”
“You do tell ’em. You never recognised me at all.”
He said: “You hurt me very much when you talk like that.”
“It’ld take a hatpin to hurt you.”
A little shift of wind blew a few drops of rain from off the dripping hood in on to the girl. “Here,” she said. “It’s raining in all over me. Go on, and take me home.”
“The horse will be here in a minute—then we’ll all go home together. You can have a ride on it, if you like. Look, I’ve got a rug here.” He reached round to the little space behind the seats, dragged a rug out between their shoulders, and arranged it over her. It was quite necessary to reach round her back to do so; she moved a little closer to him and his arm remained around her shoulders.
She said: “What do you do out at the aerodrome?”
He said: “Fly aeroplanes.”
“That’s what them wings on your chest mean, isn’t it?
“That’s it. I carry them as spares.”
“Are you a squadron-leader, or something?”
He said: “Or something. I’m a flying officer.”
“What sort of things do you do when you go flying? Have you shot down any Germans?”
“They don’t come near these parts, thank God. All we do is to go out over the sea and report what ships we see.”
“It must be frightfully exciting.”
“We get bored to tears.”
He turned to her; they drew a little closer. “You’ve not been at the ‘Royal Clarence’ very long, have you?”
“Six months. You don’t notice, that’s what’s the matter with you.”
He said: “We won’t go into that again. What did you do before that?”
“Worked in the corset factory—Flexo’s. I got there when I came away from school, and stayed there ever since. But that’s no kind of life, in the factory all day. I was always on to my old man about it, and last year he said, well, I was twenty-one and I could please myself. So then I went to Mr. Williams at the ‘Royal Clarence’ because my uncle knows him at the Darts Club, and he spoke to the manager for me. So then I started in the snack-bar.”
“It’s more fun there, I should think, than making corsets all day long.”
“Ever so much. But then I wasn’t on the corsets. I was on bust bodices.”
He said innocently: “What’s the difference?”
“Why—a bust bodice is what you …” She checked herself. “You know well enough what it is. You’re just being awful.”
In the warm darkness underneath the rug his arm
reached round her shoulders and his hand lay at her side. He moved his fingers. “Honestly, I don’t know what it is. Is this one?”
“No, it’s not. Give over, or I’ll get out and walk home.”
“I only wanted to find out.”
“Well, look in the papers. There’s pages of them in the advertising.”
“I don’t read the advertisements. I think they’re low.”
“Not half so low as what you’re doing now. Give over, or I will get out and walk. Really and truly.”
“It’s raining—you’ll get soaked.”
“That’ll be your fault.”
“You’ll get double pneumonia, and die. You’ve not got enough clothes on to go wandering round the streets at this time of night, in a howling blizzard.”
“Never you mind what I’ve got on—it’s nothing to do with you.”
“Have it your own way. I was going to buy you a beautiful ermine cloak trimmed with—with birds of paradise. Still, if you take that line, I’ll have to get you something else. What about a stick of Southsea rock?”
“You do talk crazy. I don’t believe you’ve got a stick of Southsea rock, nor an ermine cloak, either.”
He said: “I’ve got a cigarette.”
With a number of contortions they managed to light cigarettes without disturbing the position of his arm, which lay around her shoulders; their movements shuffled them closer together. For a few minutes they sat smoking quietly.
A figure loomed up on the pavement beside Chambers, a figure in a tin hat and a dripping raincoat. It paused beside the little car; from the driver’s seat the young man recognised an air-raid warden on his rounds.
The warden said: “I should move on and go home now, if I was you. Getting a bit late, isn’t it?”
Chambers said: “I can’t. The car’s broken down. We’re waiting here till a horse comes along to tow us home.”
“You don’t suppose I’ll swallow that one, do you?”
“Well, the lady did. If it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for you.”
The warden coughed, and spoke in to the car. “I should make him take you home now, miss.”
The girl did not speak. Chambers said: “I think you’d better go away and leave off bothering us.”
The warden thrust his thumbs into his belt. He was fifty-six years old, and an accountant in his working hours. He said: “No parking allowed on these common roads after black-out. We got to keep them clear in case of fire-engines, and that. You’ll have to move along. You can park in the station yard if you’re going on all night.”
He had played his trump card, and he knew it. Reluctantly Chambers reached out to the starter switch; the engine turned feebly and began to fire on three cylinders; presently the fourth chipped in. The pilot withdrew his arm from the girl’s shoulders. “I think he’s got us there,” he said. “We’ll have to go.”
She nodded. “He’s got a nerve,” she said in a low voice. “Nothing to do with him.”
Chambers said, equally low: “It’s not worth a row. Besides, he’s right about these roads. There’s a notice up about it.”
He let in the clutch and the car moved away. The girl drew the rug about her and sat a little more erect. They drove into Portsmouth in the utter darkness, a town without street lights or lit windows. The dim light of his one shaded headlamp lit the road immediately before them; everything else was black and silent.
He found her house at last, a building at the corner of a shabby street. It seemed to be a second-hand furniture
shop in rather a poor way; he drew up by the side door of the shop.
She said: “I had a lovely evening, ever such fun. Thank you ever so much for bringing me home.”
