Mrs Harris Goes to Moscow (15 page)

Drying her eyes Liz asked, ‘Do you know Geoffrey well?' and then answered the question herself.
‘But of course you must. He is a most important writer and would know everybody.'

Another side look thrown at Mrs Butterfield told Ada that Violet was nearing the point where her safety valve would go. Whatever happened the important thing was that this girl and her superiors, whoever they were, should continue to believe that the blood coursing through her veins was as blue as the Danube was reputed to be.

Rescue came again from the charming girl and Ada Harris now fully understood the agony of Mr Lockwood at losing her and for an instant fell prey to all the old longings and fantasies of reuniting them. Liz looked at her watch and said, ‘Oh dear, I've been neglecting my duties. We must be at the grand reception as quickly as possible, but first we shall move you to the Rossia. It is only a few blocks. I will make sure that your suite is ready.' She picked up the receiver of the telephone, which instrument reacted no differently than ever it had before and after a wait the girl banged down the receiver, said something expletive in Russian and then ‘I'll call from the desk by the lift. Wait here, I'll be right back,' and she was flying down the hall.

No sooner had the door closed when Mrs Butterfield's mouth was open and Ada was just in time to rush across the room and put her hand across the orifice pointing up to the ceiling as she did so, as well as to the lamp and other articles of furniture
which were surely bugged. She dragged Mrs Butterfield over to the window where they both leaned out. There was some roar of early evening traffic from the street below while the jangling of the great church bells provided the cover for Violet Butterfield's speech.

‘What's all this abaht, Ada? 'Oo's this Lady Char and all this kowtowing to 'er? You ain't no lady. Not that you ain't a lady, luv, but what's all this got to do wif me waitin' on yer and you bein' tyken for an 'igh mucky-muck and the letter bein' for this girl and changin' hotels? One minute we're in the nick and about to get hung like I told you we would and the next it's me Lady Char and 'er lady-in-waitin' goin' to a reception. Me mind's in such a muddle I don't know where I am.'

There not being much time Ada tried to make it short and concise. ‘Listen to me, luv,' she said, ‘you've got to keep yer 'ead on yer shoulders now or they will tyke it off for you. There's been a muddle which, from what I've seen since we got 'ere, I'd say was typically Russian. You know them forms we filled out and I wrote down me profession, Char Lady. Well, somebody got it turned around and made it Lady Char and has got us in with the nobs, photers and all. As long as they think that, nothing can 'appen to us. I'm the one they're in a mix-up about so just let me do the talkin' while you stand about and if I arsk you to 'and me a 'andkerchief or
me lipstick, try to do it grycefully and don't forget to call me milady even if it kills yer.'

Footsteps were heard down the hall and they quickly went away from the window as Lizzie burst in on them. ‘It's all prepared for you,' she cried, ‘and the Assistant Vice-Commissar is already there and waiting for you to make his apologies.'

‘Loverly,' said Mrs Harris, and then to Mrs Butterfield, ‘Pack me bag, Violet, and don't be long about it.'

‘Yes, milady,' Mrs Butterfield managed to say, but from her looks Ada knew that her approach to the safety valve was not far away.

The effect upon Mrs Harris and Mrs Butterfield of the fabulous mountain of glass and marble known as the Hotel Rossia after the tatty hotel to which they had been assigned was staggering. The building covered an area of something like thirty-three acres, was twelve storeys high, boasted of three separate lobbies, three thousand two hundred rooms, nine restaurants, the biggest ballroom in the world and ninety-three elevators. The effect of the great marble pillars, the gilt and the plush was stunning even though the sharp eye of Mrs Harris noted that the carpets were already becoming threadbare and the furnishings showing more signs of wear and tear than one would expect from such a grandiose hostelry. And of course Mrs Butterfield's first
immediate report after they had entered their suite was ‘There's no loo paper.'

But the two-room suite itself was elegantly furnished, the view was stupendous, many of the amenities worked as they should and before they had been there a few minutes a young man in a smart uniform appeared and made a graceful speech of apology on behalf of the Special Branch for International Culture for the fact that they had been missed at the airport. The fool who had mixed up their papers had already been detached from his position and sent to some far north and highly uncomfortable post of the Union and every effort would be undertaken to make up for whatever discomfort they might have suffered and as for the arrest they would receive a written apology.

And he glanced at his watch and said, ‘If I might beg you to hurry, for the reception begins in half an hour and the doors will be closed. Fortunately, the Hall of Congress is close by.'

Ada Harris was now so attuned to her friend that she knew Violet was about to inquire ‘Reception? What's all this about a reception? 'Oo's it for?' and thus was able to forestall her with ‘Lay out me silk afternoon dress and patent leather shoes, will you please, Violet. And put on your best suit yourself. I gather you are to be allowed to accompany me,' and received a barely audible ‘Yes, milady.'

The ecstatic Liz, who at this point had thought
no further into the future than that her lover still loved and wanted her, went off saying she would return for them in twenty minutes. She had barely left when Violet was off with, ‘Now then, milady,' with slightly too much accent upon the milady, when again Ada cut her off, this time with her fingers to her lips as she pointed to the ceiling, the pictures on the walls, the telephone, two or three lamps, call buttons for maids, etc. Mrs Butterfield managed to get it in one since the fact that they had been moved into a grand luxury hotel did not at all preclude that it probably would be equipped with even more sophisticated instruments to keep tabs on the guests which as Liz explained later was indeed the case. An entire room in the basement of the giant hostelry was one vast recording studio to take down on tape conversations as well as visual shenanigans of any kind from the rooms so Mrs Butterfield quickly concluded with ‘I'll 'ave you all fixed up and ready in a jiffy.'

Blimey
, Ada thought to herself,
for a country that ain't supposed to care about knick-knacks and gew-gaws and everybody 'aving no money, some of these Russians don't do too badly for themselves. Cor, just look at this plyce.

They had been ushered into the great hall of the Palace of Congress illuminated by gigantic chandeliers suspended from the two-storey high ceiling. There were golden chairs, silken curtains, a vast
buffet table covered with troughs of caviar, whole sturgeons, meats and roast game birds of every variety with drinks to match. Somewhere unseen an orchestra was playing soft music and the room was aglitter with uniforms on the breasts of which gleamed stars and bars and rows of medals. There was a rustle from women's dresses which had obviously not come from the shelves of the Gum store. From the cut of the clothes of many of those circulating the entire diplomatic corps must have been present. There was a roar of conversation, much laughter and a clinking of glasses.
They couldn't do a better job at Buckingham Palace
, Ada thought, and guided by Liz who had produced the tickets and credentials for their entrance, they were moved along towards the centre of the great hall where there appeared to be a receiving line. She whispered, ‘We'd better go on the line first for you will wish to pay your respects after which we can have something to eat.'

As they started off Mrs Harris felt a touch at her elbow and a voice she recognized saying, ‘ 'Ello, luv, what are you doin' 'ere? Oh, I forgot, it's a Commie country where charring rates tops in society.'

Ada turned and saw that it was their erstwhile friend, Mr Rubin. He had a tumbler half filled with gin in his hand and was quite obviously half seas over. Ada trembled for fear he might give the game away but then realized that he would probably not
even remember her name. ‘We've come because we were arsked, but what are you doin' 'ere?'

Mr Rubin's face took on a most wily expression. He put one finger to the side of his nose and leaning close to Mrs Harris said, ‘I'm 'ere because I'm so bloody important they 'ad to 'ave me. I'm the most important bloke in the joint. I got a secret. It's such a blowser I got three cops on me tail, but I've given 'em the slip.'

‘Why?' asked Mrs Harris. ‘ 'Ave you done some-fink?'

‘ 'Ave I done somefink?' repeated Mr Rubin, who by then had imbibed enough to go cockney all the way. ‘Nuffink like this has ever 'appened before. A real blockbuster. You've 'eard of Top Secret. Well, this one's topper than any of 'em. We've got a deal. They made up their minds. Wait till I tell you about it.'

Mrs Harris had practically forgotten about Mr Rubin and his problems and inquired, ‘ 'Oo's made up their minds to wot?' and then she added, ‘If it's so secret you ortn't to tell me.'

‘Hah!' snorted Mr Rubin. ‘If you arsk me it's so bloody silly nobody would believe it if you did tell 'em. 'Ere's to it.' He raised his glass, swallowed half its contents and then leaning even closer to Mrs Harris whispered, ‘The biggest bulk sale of Rubin's Grade A Soft-as-Silk toilet tissue – say “soft-as-silk and you know it's Rubin's” – in the history of the
bloomin' world. They've taken the lot. Three hundred and eighty million rolls. Every scrap we 'ad. Cleaned us out and put in an order for more. Top, top, top, top! Biggest secret.'

Mrs Harris was pleased for the little man but the practical side of her was irritated and she said, ‘Oh, come off it with all that secret stuff. 'Ow you gonna keep a sale that big quiet?'

Mr Rubin's eyes, already incandescent with alcohol, now took on a reinforced glitter as he finished the tumbler, took Ada by the arm and pulled her close to him. ‘Birdseed,' he whispered. ‘Me and my company's agreed not never to let anybody know. It'll be shipped into the country in containers labelled Fenway's Bird Seed. Fenway's is out of business so there's nobody to squeak. Three hundred and eighty million rolls. How about that now?'

Ada had a good look at Mr Rubin and saw that while he was not half but actually three-quarters seas over he was telling the truth. Curiosity made her ask, ‘What became of the other feller, the one that didn't want to buy?'

‘Diggin' ditches somewhere up around the Harctic Circle. His doctor recommended exercise and a cooler climate. Yer carn't afford to guess wrong in this country. When this shindig is over come up to room 701 and we'll 'ave a drink on it.'

As he released Mrs Harris's arm and strayed off, three large uniformed Russians from whom he had
apparently escaped for a minute appeared at his side, smiling, but Ada saw that they were crocodile smiles, and they took his empty glass away from him. They were obviously guarding him. It was true then that Mr Rubin had indeed become a highly important personage.

The meaning of it all and the need for such stringent secrecy was not entirely clear to Mrs Harris except that the exile imposed upon the poor man who had guessed wrong added to the revulsion that had been building up against the cruelty and viciousness of those who held this country in their grip.

At which point she felt her elbow taken again but this time it was Mrs Butterfield who was behind her in what now turned out to be the reception line that they had joined. Mrs Butterfield said, ‘I fink I'm going to faint,' and then thought to add, ‘milady.'

Irritably, since she was still under the spell of her anger, Ada said, ‘Oh for gawd's sakes, Vi, what's the matter now? Carn't you keep your hair on for a minute?'

Violet replied, ‘Tyke a look at 'oo we're going to meet.'

Mrs Harris did. The reception line about ten people ahead took a small curve to the right and, flanked on one side by a tall, greying man in striped trousers and black tail coat and on the other by a Russian general constructed on the lines of the
well-known brick edifice and with so many medals they occupied both sides of his chest, stood a handsome, slender, blond, rather youngish looking man in a lounge suit.

Ada turned to Vi and whispered, ‘Oh my gawd, Vi, you're right. I might faint meself. It's 'is 'ighness the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Philip. I'd forgot 'e was 'ere. 'Eaven 'elp us, Vi, what are we goin' to do and say?'

Mrs Butterfield replied, ‘I just 'opes I don't fall over when I does me bobs and I ain't sayin' nuffink. You said you was going to do all the talkin', milady.'

The line moved up another ten feet. Three more ahead of them and they would be face to face with the husband of the Queen of all the British.

And then Mrs Harris found herself standing before the pleasant looking man gazing into a pair of rather quizzical blue eyes and hearing herself announced as ‘Your Royal Highness, may I present Lady Ada Char from London.' She was now staring straight into those eyes and something happened inside the Mrs Harris which was her, the only thing ever that she had been able to be and that was herself. She made her little bob and then blurted out, ‘Beggin' yer 'ighness' pardon but it ain't really so. I ain't no lady. I'm just ordinary Ada 'Arris from Battersea, 'ere on a 'oliday. Me work's charrin' and they got it muddled on me papers and I 'opes you'll forgive me.'

The Duke suddenly broke into a broad grin. ‘Ada Harris,' he said. ‘Don't I know you? Haven't I seen photographs of you when you were elected to Parliament? I'm delighted to meet you,' and he held out his hand genially.