The Alien (2 page)

So now, as she stood looking down at Margaret's bowed head and self-absorbed misery, she could not help saying in a regrettably cold voice, “Doesn't Colin need you upstairs?''

Margaret jerked up her head.

“I wish he did!'' she cried. “I wish he had ever needed me for anything. It might have helped. It might have prevented—''

She mastered herself, staring up into Ann's young face to search for any recognition there of her own plight or Colin's. She saw a kind of shrinking sympathy, mingled with incomprehension.

“He's so
unhappy
!'' Ann said, trying to imagine what she would feel if Stephen suffered some grief he could not bring himself to share with her.

“Does that make it any easier for me?'' Margaret whispered.

“You? Didn't you like them? Aren't you sorry, too? Don't you share even that?''

Ann was furious with herself for uttering these schoolroom platitudes, but what was there to say?

Margaret did not answer, only dropped her face in her hands and began to whimper. This was too much for Ann. She was a warm-hearted girl; she had, so far, missed any searing loss. She knelt down by the older woman and comforted her with another string of words remembered from books, from the nursery, from exchanges between her mother's friends, from any second-hand experience of grief that had come her way. Presently Margaret lifted her head and found her handkerchief in the pocket of the fur coat she had not ceased to huddle about her.

“You're very sweet, Ann,'' she said jerkily. “I hope you're really in love with Stephen. You'll need to be, marrying into the Navy. Left alone so often, for so long. But if you love him it'll make – all the difference.''

The difference I am meant to understand being, Ann thought, that she doesn't and never has loved Colin. Poor old Colin.

A crisp incisive voice from upstairs called, “Margaret!''

“I'm here,'' she answered, not raising her own voice at all.

Heavy steps sounded on the uncarpeted stairs. They came to an abrupt halt in the hall.

“Stephen! What on earth are you doing out there? Isn't it cold enough for you without having the front door wide open?''

Stephen could be heard stepping back. The door was closed.

“Sorry. I was looking at the cars. Hope they'll start. Also at that trawler in the bay. She's making ready to move, I think.''

“Looking?''

There was a pause. Margaret got slowly to her feet and began to move towards the door.

“Yes. I borrowed these glasses. I hope you don't mind.''

“I'm afraid I do mind.'' Colin's voice grated unpleasantly. “Those binoculars belonged to my father.''

“I'm sorry,'' Stephen said quietly. He felt he had nothing to be sorry about, except perhaps upsetting Colin.

“The next time you want to borrow my things I'd be obliged if you would ask me first,'' Colin insisted.

“I've said I'm sorry.''

Margaret, who had waited just inside the room until this moment, now went out into the hall.

“You called me, Colin?'' she asked, ignoring Stephen, the binoculars now dangling by their strap from Colin's fingers and the whole childish dispute.

“Yes. That furniture in the second spare room, the small one. Is it likely to be any use to Stephen? If not I'll put it in the sale.''

“I thought we decided—''

“You decided to ask Stephen. I thought that was what you came down to do. Apparently he was too busy with my binoc—''

“Oh, for heaven's sake!'' Margaret said, on a note of desperation.

“Ann!'' Stephen called into the room. “Run up with Colin and Margaret, darling, and look at some more furniture. You'll know best if we're likely to want it or not.'' He turned to Colin and said with an effort, “I really do feel most terribly grateful to you for giving us first choice on—''

But Colin had turned his back and was already half-way up the stairs.

“I've annoyed him,'' Stephen whispered to Ann as she passed him. “I can't cope.''

He went back into the drawing-room. A few minutes later, bored with having nothing to do, not prepared yet to rejoin Colin and feeling colder than ever after his visit to the parked cars and inspection of the Russian ship, Stephen went across the hall and into the former dining-room. It might help, he thought, to check the labels in that room and the study next to it. If Colin was going to cross-check the job they had been doing the whole afternoon they were going to miss dinner at the hotel. He felt that this would be a major disaster. At that moment what he longed for most was a double Scotch with a minimum of soda.

“Tea's ready, sir,'' Mrs. Ogden's voice reached him.

“They're all upstairs,'' he answered, moving into the hall. He shouted up the stairs, “Tea, all of you!'' in a loud voice.

At that moment Mrs. Ogden screamed. Stephen was with her in an instant.

“It was a face!'' the old woman told him, one hand at her neck, gasping. “A horrible face at the window!''

Stephen, relieved of his fear for her, could not prevent one raucous laugh. It was quite the right treatment, however, for Mrs. Ogden.

“It's no laughing matter,'' she said with dignity, if still a little breathless. “A man's face it was, staring in. With a great black beard on him.''

“There's no one there now,'' Stephen pointed out very reasonably. But he moved across to the window and as he reached it the lighthouse beam crossed the front of the house and he saw, beneath the window in the red glare the black sprawled body of a man.

“You're right, by God!'' he said quickly to Mrs. Ogden. “There
is
someone lying out there. Poor devil of a tramp, I shouldn't wonder.''

He hurried out into the hall, shouting as he went, first for Ogden, then Colin.

It took all three men to bring the unconscious figure into the house. He was tall, bulky, with a seaman's heavy jersey and serge trousers inside great sea boots. He was soaked to the skin in sea water, smelling of the sea and of oil. As far as they could tell, with the black hair plastered low on his forehead and the black beard covering the lower half of his face, he was not an old man, though his grey pallor did not suggest youth.

“Not on the floor,'' Colin panted, sensibly. “Pull out a row of plain chairs, Ogden. Not the upholstered ones. Too much draught on the floor,'' he explained, looking at Stephen.

“Quite,'' the young man answered shortly. Colin's unnecessary remarks and silly care for his furniture had flared his smouldering irritation. Another bloody delay, he told himself. God, would they ever get back into Higlett that night?

He felt Ann's hand slip into his.

“Who is it? How did you find him?'' she asked quickly.

“Mrs. Ogden. Saw him looking in; just before he collapsed, poor chap.''

“Where is Mrs. Ogden?'' Colin said, impatiently. He and Ogden had stretched the limp body on the row of chairs and moved the oil heater close.

“Gone up with Margaret to get out some blankets to put over him,'' Ann said. “Can't we at least take off those boots? Before the ambulance—''

“What ambulance?'' Colin asked coldly. “The telephone was disconnected a fortnight ago.''

“Oh, then—''

“It's up to us,'' Stephen said. “Got any brandy in the house, Colin? Gin? Anything?''

“No.''

“Right. I've got a tot in the car. I'll get it.''

“I'll warm up this hot water again,'' Ann said. “Take too long to make fresh tea. The pot seems pretty good. Why did he have to come here, poor mutt, where we haven't even got a hot-water bottle handy?''

“Yes – why?'' said Colin, slowly.

He was staring down at the man's jersey, at the broad chest that began to rise and fall now with deep breaths and shuddering sighs. For across it in letters that had once been white and now were dirty yellow with age and oil was the word, JIHИH in Cyrillic letters. And this, he had made it his business to discover that morning in Higlett, was the name of the trawler that had taken shelter under St. Jude's Head and was, Stephen had told him, just now putting out to sea.

Stephen, hurrying back into the room with his flask, found his brother-in-law standing quite still, staring down at the rescued man. The latter, on the other hand, was moving his head from side to side, opening and shutting his hands. He seemed to be in some danger of falling off his narrow berth.

“Hadn't we better prop him up a bit?'' Stephen said. “What are you looking at?''

“The name on his jersey. The name of his ship.
Lenin
.''

“Oh, that's what it means, is it? I wondered when I saw it on the trawler's stern as she moved off.''

“You saw—?''

“Through the – through your glasses,'' Stephen explained. “Don't know their alphabet, but of course I noticed his jersey was the same. Anyway, there isn't any other ship in the bay. Look out, he'll be off there in a second!''

Stephen's embarrassment was relieved by their patient, who suddenly opened his eyes, lifted his head and began to struggle into a sitting position. The two men helped him up and while Colin steadied him Stephen poured a generous tot into one of the cups on the tray and Ann, who was back with the kettle, added some hot water.

“Down the hatch,'' Stephen said cheerfully, holding the cup to the man's lips. The seaman took it from him and though his hands shook violently, managed to hold it as he drank. When he had emptied it he held it out to Stephen, saying a few unintelligible words in a hoarse voice.

“Polish,'' said Colin.

“Polish for what?'' Stephen demanded.

“He said ‘God bless you','' Colin answered, gruffly.

“Poor devil. Lucky we were still here.''

“My fault, that, wasn't it?'' Colin said, with a bitter little smile.

“More brandy?'' Ann asked firmly, determined to stop this futile, unseemly bickering. “Or tea this time?''

“No – understand,'' the man said slowly.

She held up the flask, pointing to it first, then to the teapot. He shook his head at the latter, but turned his eyes to the flask and nodding his head vigorously, said “
Da
–
da
.''

“He says yes,'' Colin translated. “Russian this time.''

“So I gathered,'' Ann answered, laughing and pouring more brandy into the cup. A slow grin spread over the seaman's face.

Stephen turned to Colin, saying in a tone of exaggerated admiration, “I say, old boy, you don't half know your Iron Curtain lingoes, do you?''

Colin flushed angrily, but already Stephen's attention had moved back to the recovering victim, whose colour had changed remarkably for the better, whose eyes had brightened and who was smiling with open pleasure at Ann's half-anxious, half-pleased face close above his own.

It was the expression in his eyes, Stephen said afterwards, that brought recognition. The light flashed in his mind when the eyes widened and brightened as they used to do, as he had seen them do so many times at Margaret's approach when he himself, a boy at home on holiday from school, had found his sister was engaged to a friendly, exciting, inspiring foreigner, who apparently adored her. Her arrival on the scene had always heralded his own easy dismissal.

“You're Boris!'' he cried. “You must be. Boris – Sudenic.''

He remembered the surname with difficulty. After all these years he wondered at himself for remembering it at all. He had so seldom used it.

The man turned, reluctantly, it seemed; puzzled too and uncertain of himself.

“You
know
him?'' Colin said, an incredulous note in his voice. “You can't know him! What makes you think—?''

But Stephen had gone closer, taking Ann's place, bending down towards the stranger to show him his own face.

“You're Boris. I know you're Boris. Your voice, the way you look, everything. You needn't be afraid of us. You must recognize me. Have another look. Who am I?''

“Stepan,'' the man said, getting to his feet. “Stev-en, Steven Len – Leng—''

“Stephen Lang.''

They were clutching one another, laughing, patting one another's backs, swaying as the big Pole's uncertain balance pulled Stephen from side to side. Then Boris collapsed sitting on one of the chairs he had left and Ann saw that tears were falling from his eyes to mingle with the other brine still dripping from his hair and beard.

“Who is he?'' she cried. A reunion seemed utterly fantastic, impossible.

Stephen laughed. He was feeling almost hysterical. The surprise, the flood of old memories sweeping through him was too much, added to the day's frustration and discomfort.

“Ann,'' he said, loudly, “allow me to present to you the
ci-devant
Lieutenant Boris Sudenic, former aide to the Polish military attaché in London. Boris, this is my fiancée, Ann Phillimore.''

Once more Boris staggered to his feet, took Ann's hand and bent automatically to kiss it, but stopped short, took back his own hand, looked at it with disgust, touched his beard and muttered in French, “
Mille pardons
, Mademoiselle.'' He shook his head, struggling on in English, “I – sorry. So – wet – so—''

He turned to Stephen, clasped him once more in a great bear hug and said earnestly, “The little Stephen!
Wonderbar!
To be – married – and to one so – beautiful.''

He made another little bow in Ann's direction and once more Stephen saw the steady blue eyes light up with pleasure and boyish admiration.

All this time Colin had stood a little way off, not moving, not speaking, but watching intently every move the stranger made, noting every word he spoke. Ogden, too, when the recognition stopped him as he was leaving the room, stayed frozen by the open door, too astonished to move.