The Alien (14 page)

Curiously enough, the knife was scarcely stained at all, Boris noted, as he dealt with it last of all. When he had finished he ran the tap for five minutes to clear any traces of blood from the waste pipe. It was unlikely that the police would call on him tonight, if at all, but routine precaution was important. He took the clean weapon and Stephen's revolver into his bedroom, to be ready at hand if any callers came to disturb his rest.

Then he went to bed and slept dreamlessly till dawn.

The dinner for Boris, suggested to Colin by John Carfax as a social introduction to that enigmatic alien, took place about a week later.

Margaret understood the implication because she was well aware of the kind of work Carfax did. As a counter-measure and a safeguard for Boris she invited her parents to meet him. They seldom visited London in the summer, since her father was now retired and both he and her mother were keen gardeners. But having heard an account of Boris's strange reappearance and still more peculiar behaviour since, their natural curiosity overcame their reluctance to travel from home in June. Margaret had warned them that the man was very much changed. This probably meant that Margaret had changed, as was only right and proper. They had no reason, besides, to feel any embarrassment on her behalf.

“It isn't as if the fellow had thrown her over,'' Sir Charles said to his wife. “Couldn't have got away after the Russians nabbed him.''

“It seems so dreadfully unfair,'' Lady Lang agreed. “After all, we were all supposed to be allies. I'm only thankful Margaret didn't insist on getting married and going out to Poland with him before the war started.''

“He decided that,'' her husband answered. “Knew what was coming. More than we did. Ostriches. I said so at the time. No better than ostriches.''

“If you had those doubts so strongly why didn't you press them at the time?'' Lady Lang insisted, not for the first time.

“Wanted to be an ostrich, like the rest,'' he answered. “But my voice wouldn't have had any effect. Not my job, anyway. Nothing would have, till Churchill took over. Too late then to bother. He knew it all.''

“I shall always be grateful to poor Boris for leaving her behind, though I've never dared say that to her. I always had a soft spot for him. Dear Colin is so reserved, bless him.''

She smiled her rueful smile of total disapproval, but Sir Charles only grunted in reply. He did not exactly like Colin, but he had not exactly liked Boris, either. Colin was doing well in his department. He had a gift for languages. He could have made a career in the diplomatic if he wasn't quite so stiff. There was some talk, even now, of sending him out east, somewhere. Better keep that under his hat, though.

In addition to her parents Margaret had asked Stephen and Ann to her party and to balance John Carfax, Louise was to dine with them. That still made them one woman short. She sent an invitation to Lady Cotville, who was always so interested in what went on in her neighbours' gardens. Margaret had been invited to tea with the elderly widow; it was time she made some return effort. Ten was a reasonable number to entertain at home. She refused to enlarge further Mrs. Ogden's burden of cooking in spite of Colin's suggestion that they might as well make it twelve while they were about it and get even with two more obligations.

“The more people we ask the easier it will be for Boris to avoid John. Which is exactly what you
don't
want, isn't it?''

“Oh, all right,'' Colin said, crossly. “Have it your own way, as usual.''

This was too childish to require an answer, so the party remained at ten.

The thundery weather of the week before had given place to several days of rain, followed on the morning of the party by a deliciously fresh, sunny morning that had developed into a burning noon and a clear evening with a cool breeze. Boris had enjoyed every minute of it, especially the prospect of a real dinner-party in Colin's house, at which Louise was to be present. She could not tell him who the other guests would be, but Stephen had rung up that morning to say that he and Ann would be there and to warn him that the older Langs had been invited. So it would have to be dinner-jackets, if he had one. If not he could hire; lots of people did.

“You are a good friend, Stephen,'' Boris told him, gratefully. “I have my own evening clothes. They pay me well at Sørensen's. I enjoy complete civilization once more.''

Louise herself opened the front door to him. She had dressed early in order to do precisely this, which she described to Margaret as “I save Mrs. Ogden to climb up the kitchen stairs.''

Boris was looking very fine in his dinner-jacket, with his raincoat hanging over one arm. Since the night of the storm he had not trusted the English weather, even in summer. Louise took his coat from him, threw it on a chair in the hall and led him into the drawing-room.

It was empty, the french windows on to the balcony were open, the curtains undrawn, the garden beyond, drained of colour, was dissolving into the blue mist of the evening sky. The setting sun burned the top branches of the cherry tree. In other uncurtained rooms in the houses round about a few lights shone with a paler fire.

Louise snapped on some lights, pulled the windows shut, drew the curtains across. She made for the door again but Boris caught her hand.

“Don't go! I must look at you. You are so beautiful tonight, my darling.''

She was wearing her one evening dress, so seldom needed before that day. It had a close-fitting, strapless pleated chiffon top and a full skirt of layers of chiffon, pale green over pale grey over silver satin. A ball dress, really, much too grand for a mere family dinner. But Boris had not seen it, nor had the Brentwoods, so she had put it on for their benefit, especially for Boris. He never took her to dances. So—

“You are enchanting in that dress,'' he repeated, drawing her gently closer.

“You are not to spoil my make-up.''

“I never spoil your make-up.''

He kissed her, very carefully, very slowly, very gently. His arms were still about her and his mouth lingering on hers when Margaret pushed open the half-closed door and came into the room.

Boris dropped his hands, stepped forward, greeting her politely. Louise, in a swirl of chiffon, disappeared. Boris held out his hand, took Margaret's, which had responded automatically, clicked his heels together and bent his head in his customary salutation. Margaret glanced at her hand as he released it; there was no stain of lipstick, she saw.

She was quite furiously angry; if she had not been struggling to control herself she would not have allowed him to kiss her hand. Now it was too late. If she burst out at him now it would be unpardonable rudeness.

“Do you smoke?'' she said, icily. “I never remember.''

“No, thank you.''

“Colin will be down in a minute. I must apologize for not being here to receive you.''

She moved to the mantelpiece and continued, without looking round, “But you managed to amuse yourself, I noticed.''

Boris did not answer at once. Then he said, “You are very angry with me. But it is not as you think.''

“Louise is in my care. These young
au pair
girls are very inexperienced. They are sent to learn English, but a lot of them just want to get away from home and have a good time. I feel responsible to some extent. Even nowadays, when promiscuity seems to have no importance one way or another.''

“It is not as you think,'' he repeated. “Louise is – experienced. We are two lonely people in this great city. We know exactly what we do.''

She would have interrupted him, but he held up his hand.

“Forgive me, but I must finish. Louise will stay with you – how long? Six months? One year? This she knows. Her fiancé in Switzerland was willing that she come here. He has a business. Her English will help him.''

Margaret was astonished, inclined to be shocked. She looked very handsome, Boris thought, and very English, standing there in her straight, admirably cut, dark blue dress; so simple, so plain, with the pearls and the good brooch, platinum and diamonds, that Colin had provided. He waited for her answer, knowing what it would be.

“She has never told me she's engaged! How
can
she behave like this? Deceiving the poor man in this absolutely shameless way.''

He noticed that she assumed rightly his embrace was not the first of its kind as far as Louise was concerned. He was glad she did not pursue this angle.

“I think it is most likely the fiancé too consoles himself for the separation.''

“And you? You take the situation as a matter of course?''

Her anger flared again, mixed now with jealousy fanning the worn embers.

“You are of the same generation as me,'' she said. “When we were young this sort of behaviour would have been unthinkable. I mean, so open, so indiscreet, involving friends of our own sort. In some circles, yes. The wilder ones, the so-called intellectuals, the leftish writers and artists, students probably, if they could afford it. Even with them it was less open, less displayed on purpose, less offensive; it was still believed to be against the rules. A matter of principle, not as now, taken as a matter of course, a trivial, unimportant—''

“Food,'' said Boris, gently, “is taken as a matter of course, not as a matter of principle, but it is very important, never trivial. I know this because I have been starving for many years in Siberia.''

“It isn't the same!'' Margaret insisted. “You degrade it by that comparison. Love is more than lust.''

“Oh yes. But you accuse me of lust, I think. And love is a necessary thing, too.''

“I was faithful to you for years,'' she went on rapidly, goaded into full confession. “Perhaps always until you came back. That was real love. Something you apparently don't understand. Perhaps you never will.''

“Poor Margaret,'' he said, sadly. “I think you deceive yourself.''

The door opened, Louise's voice, subdued and fearful, announced, “Sir Charles and Lady Lang,'' and Margaret's parents moved forward into the room, followed almost immediately by Stephen and Ann.

Lady Lang presented her cheek to Margaret, who offered her own in such a way that neither touched. Then the elder woman turned to Boris.

“You needn't tell me who this is,'' she said, all smiles and gracious friendliness. “Boris, you haven't changed an atom. Has he, Margaret?''

Boris kissed her hand. “Quite like the old days,'' she murmured to his bowed head, and meant all of the nostalgia she put into her voice. What a pity there had to be the war. He was such a splendid-looking man. Broader now, of course, lined a bit, as one would expect. But such an interesting face. And amusing, too. There was a little smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he looked at her, that meant he appreciated the absurd side of this reunion. Really, they had left it rather late in the day, but it was Charles's fault. Or was it really Colin's. Poor Colin. Such a contrast.

Sir Charles joined them. He stared at Boris for several seconds before holding out his hand. He was clearly moved and did not bother to conceal it.

“Thank God you managed to escape the brutes in the end, my dear boy,'' he said. “Afraid I blamed you for a time for not getting in touch with us again. After that we heard you were definitely killed in action.''

“I never believed it,'' said Margaret quickly.

“From whom did you hear that?'' Boris asked.

“Polish authorities over here. Red Cross confirmed later to the best of their knowledge. But of course when they nabbed you, you hadn't an earthly. Siberia, Margaret tells us. Unspeakable barbarians. Stupid lot, too.''

“Thank you,'' Boris said, quietly. He had always liked this man, who was to have been his father-in-law. Limited, passionate under a cool exterior, entirely honest and hard-working and now so stout, with white hair, looking much older than his wife. In 1938 she appeared to be older than he. But perhaps that was because he was so young himself at the time.

“Come off it, Father,'' Stephen rebuked, drawing near with Ann's hand in his. “This is no occasion for chewing over the past, is it, Boris?''

“I am pleased to find I have such – I have friends who remember me so long,'' Boris answered. “And I no longer feel the chains of my imprisonment.''

He spoke very simply, but with such manifest feeling that all the others felt instantly the most acute discomfort. Particularly at the reference to chains. Ann, however, made no pretence of ignoring his words. She slipped her free hand into his, pulling the other one away from Stephen. There were tears in her eyes.

“Darling Boris,'' she said, “how beautifully you said that.''

“Darling Ann,'' he answered, smiling down at her, “You are wonderful.''

“That's quite enough of that,'' said Stephen. “Why do you two always start flirting shamelessly in front of my face?''

“Would you have us flirt behind your back?'' Boris asked.

“He never gives me a chance of that,'' Ann retorted. “We might be an old married couple already. Honestly!''

“Bravo, Ann,'' laughed Boris, but he dropped her hand and turned again to Lady Lang.

Louise came into the room with a note, followed by Colin, who went distractedly from one to another of his guests, apologizing for his late appearance, but giving no explanation of it.

“Drinks!'' he groaned. “No one has a drink –
yet
!''

He looked towards Margaret but she was reading the note.

“Help me, Steve!''

The two men went over to a wide tray filled with bottles and glasses.

“Lady Cotville can't come,'' Margaret announced. “She might have sent this earlier. Now we're a man too many.''