The Balkan Trilogy (124 page)

But, the days passing, she found it impossible to keep from Guy the fact the Sasha was alive.

She said suddenly: ‘Who do you think I’ve seen?’

Guy replied at once: ‘Sasha Drucker.’

‘
You’ve
seen him? Where?’

‘In the street.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘He told me he was just leaving. His uncle had managed to charter a private plane that would take them to Lydda. I meant to tell you. I forgot.’

‘Did you find him changed?’

‘Yes. Of course, he’s been through the sort of experience that would change anyone. I was glad to know he was safe and well.’

‘Yes. Yes, so was I.’

And by an unspoken consent neither mentioned Sasha again.

It took the Germans forty-eight hours to break through the Greek defences and occupy Salonika.

Vourakis, a journalist who sometimes came to see Alan, told them in the News Room that the Yugoslav southern army had withdrawn, leaving the Greek flank exposed.

‘But the advance was halted. It was halted by Greek cavalry. Real cavalry, you understand! Men on horseback.’

‘For how long?’ Alan asked.

Vourakis shook his head sadly. ‘Why ask for how long? It would be like blocking a howitzer with a naked hand. And there were two forts that held the pass till the area could be evacuated. A hundred men stayed in the forts. They knew no one could rescue them, no help could come to them: they knew they must die. And they died. The forts were destroyed and the men died. It was a Thermopylae. Another Thermopylae.’

Everyone was moved by the sacrifice of the men in the Rupel Pass forts, but the Germans had no time for Greek heroics. Riding over the defenders who had become the wonder of the war, they came with an armoured force which was described by refugees as ‘more powerful than anything the world has ever seen’.

Nothing was known for sure. The news was blocked. As a precaution against panic, the authorities had decided that no one should know anything. The fall of Salonika had been expected, they said. It was inevitable from the first. They might even have planned it themselves. Whether expected or not, no one had been warned and the English who managed to get away left the town as the German tanks came in.

Harriet said to Alan: ‘A friend of ours went up to Salonika. An army officer. What do you think would happen to him?’

‘Oh, he’d have his wits about him: he’d get away.’

Which was exactly what Harriet did not think. She could imagine Clarence, with his self-punishing indifference, remaining till it was too late. But there may have been someone to harry him into a car and drive him to the Olympus line. An imitation officer, he would then be returned to Athens, so they perhaps would see him again one day – a man saved in spite of himself.

The refugees brought all sorts of stories. Now that everyone was dependent upon rumour, there was no telling truth from lies. Some people said the German tanks would reach Athens in a week and some said in a couple of days. They all said that Yugoslavia would not last the night.

Guy, meeting train after train, all packed with refugees, saw the Yugoslav officers arrive, brilliant in their gold braid. He was always picking up someone whom he had seen somewhere before, but he could get no news of his friend David Boyd.

Pinkrose returned to the office in high spirits. He came into the News Room smiling and his parted lips revealed what few had seen before – his small, neat, grey-brown teeth. No one smiled back. It was not much of a day for high spirits.

Beaming, excited, he said to Alan: ‘I was surprised, most surprised … Yes, I was
most
surprised not to see you at the lecture.’ When Alan neither explained nor excused his absence, Pinkrose went on: ‘Ah, well! You were the loser, Frewen. You were the loser. You missed an excellent party. Yes, yes, an excellent party. The buffet was a splendid sight. The Major certainly lays things on. And it was a glittering party. I must say it was, indeed, glittering. The Major said to me: ‘Congratulations, my dear Pinkrose, you’ve collected the cream.” Dear me, yes! Indeed I had. I can’t pretend I knew everyone, but my eye lit on some very handsome ladies, and their praises were such that I blushed; I positively blushed. Even if my little talk did not interest you, Frewen, you would have enjoyed the food. It was delicious. I haven’t eaten such food for many a long day.’

Yakimov gave a sigh, his expression almost vindictive with hunger.

Pinkrose, tittering and wriggling gratified shoulders, said: ‘I think I gave a fillip – yes, definitely a fillip – to Greek morale.’

‘Badly needed,’ Alan said.

‘No doubt.’

‘Last night the Germans occupied Salonika.’

‘Surely not? Is this official?’

‘Not yet, but …’

‘Ah, a
canard
merely.’

‘I think not. The Legation said someone rang at day-break and told them German tanks were coming down the street. After that, the line went dead.’

‘Dear me!’ Pinkrose lost his smile. ‘Grave news, indeed!’

Yakimov, glooming over the Major’s hospitality, noticed nothing, but Harriet and Alan observed that Pinkrose was taking the news extraordinarily well. They waited for him to absorb it, then clamour, as he had done in the past, for immediate repatriation. Instead, he said firmly: ‘We can do nothing, so we must keep calm. Yes, yes, it behoves us to keep calm. Our Australian friends are holding the coast road and,
by all accounts, they’re the fellows for the job. The Germans won’t get past
them
in a hurry.’ He smiled again but, noting the bleak faces of Alan, Yakimov and Harriet, lost patience with them all: ‘I’ve made my contribution,’ he said: ‘Now I must leave it to others. Several ladies said my lecture was an inspiration. They said it would spur the men to greater efforts. I must say, I don’t see what else I can do.’

‘Why not go to Missolonghi and die, dear boy!’

Pinkrose had moved off before the words were spoken, yet they reached him. He stopped, looked round and fixed Yakimov in amazement.

Immediately Yakimov’s spirit fell. He said in terror: ‘Only a little joke,’ he pleaded.

Pinkrose went without a word.

Eyes moist, lips trembling, Yakimov said: ‘D’you think the dear boy’s piqued?’

‘He didn’t look too pleased, did he?’ said Alan.

‘It was only a little joke.’

‘I know.’

‘What d’you think he’ll do?’

‘Nothing. What can he do? Don’t worry.’

But Yakimov did worry. Throughout the morning, pondering his folly, he repeated: ‘Didn’t mean any harm. Little joke. Look how he treated your poor old Yak! Telling me about food when I haven’t had a meal for months!’

‘Don’t take it to heart. Worse things are happening at the front. I keep thinking of that proverb: “Better a ship at sea or an Irish wife than a house in Macedonia.”’

Yakimov looked pained. ‘Not a nice thing to say, dear boy. M’old mum was Irish.’

‘You’re right. It wasn’t “Irish”. I’ve forgotten what it was. Probably “Albanian”.’

Nothing would amuse Yakimov. He refused to be comforted. Something in Pinkrose’s face had aroused his apprehensions and, it proved, with reason. At mid-day the office boy entered and said that Lord Pinkrose wished to see Mr Frewen in his office. Surprised by this summons, Alan
pulled himself out of his chair and went without a word. Yakimov gazed after him in fear. When he returned, his sombre face was more sombre, but he did not look towards Yakimov and he seemed to have nothing to say. After a while, when marking on a hand map the disposition of the British troops in Greece. he said casually: ‘Yaki, I have to tell you: the job’s at an end. Pinkrose wants you to leave at once.’

‘But he can’t do it,’ Yakimov wailed, his tears brimming over.

‘I’m afraid he’s done it. He telephoned the Legation and told them that there was nothing for you to do. We have to stop the News Sheet, so there’ll be nothing to deliver. And …’ Alan lifted his head and looked at Harriet: ‘I’m afraid he also said that you must go. The work is minimal now. That’s a fact. There wasn’t much I could say to the contrary.’

Yakimov sobbed aloud: ‘Yaki will starve.’

‘Come on,’ Alan said. ‘Pull yourself together. You know we won’t let you starve.’

‘And what about Tandy? I’ve told him I’m indispensable. What will he think?’

Alan took out a five-drachma piece. ‘Go and buy a drink,’ he said.

Harriet and Yakimov left together. Harriet had seen her work coming to an end and accepted dismissal with the indifference of one who has worse to worry about, but Yakimov bewailed his lot so loudly people turned and looked after them in the street.

‘It’s too bad, dear girl; it really is. Thrown out on m’ear just as I was making such a success of things. How could anyone do it, dear girl? How
could
they?’

This went on till Zonar’s came in sight, then, glimpsing Tandy in his usual seat, Yakimov’s complaints tailed away. His resilience, that had carried him through the shifts and disappointments of the last ten years, reasserted itself and he began to replan his life. ‘Have a friend in India; dear old friend, ’n fact. A Maharajah. Very tender to your Yak. Always was. When the war started he wrote and invited me to his
palace. Said: “If there’s a spot of bother in your part of the world, you’ll always be welcome at Mukibalore.” Charming fellow. Fond of me. Suggested I go and look after his elephants.’

‘Would you like that?’

‘It’s a career. Interesting animals, I’m told. Got to think of the future. Your Yak’s becoming too old to rough it. But I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘They’re large, you know, elephants. Lot of work, washing’m down.’

‘You’d have boys to do that.’

‘Think so? You may be right. I would, as it were, administrate. I’d do
that
well enough. Got to get there, of course. D’you think they’d fly me as a V.I.P.? No, probably not. Must have a word with Tandy. Now, there’s one that knows his way around!’ They had stopped on the corner and in his enthusiasm Yakimov become hospitable. ‘Come and have a snifter, dear girl.’

‘Not just now.’ Leaving Yakimov in jaunty mood, she wandered on with nothing to do and nowhere to go, but restless with the anxious susceptiveness of someone who has lost something and still hopes to find it. She had heard nothing from Charles and this time she had no hope that, meeting, they would be drawn together again. He would not forgive her. She had nothing to gain by meeting him. Their relationship, without reason, had destroyed itself, yet she longed to come face to face with him. Although she looked for him among the mid-day crowds she was startled, when she saw him, into a state of nausea.

He was standing beside a military lorry in Stadium Street. The lorry was one of a convoy preparing to move off. Harriet, on the opposite pavement, watching him examining a map of some sort, expected him to feel her presence and cross over to her, but she soon saw there was no time for subtleties of that sort. One of the drivers spoke to him. There was a movement among the men. In a moment he would be gone. She ran across the road. Perturbed and breathless, she managed to call his name. He swung round.

‘You’re going?’ she asked.

‘Yes. We’re off, any minute now.’

‘Where will you go? Have you been told? Alan says the English forces are at Monastir.’

‘They were, but things are happening up there. We won’t know anything till we get to Yannina.’ Speaking with even detachment, he smiled formally, a guarded, defensive smile, and moved a little away as though on the very point of taking his departure; but she knew he would not go. This was the last moment they would have here, perhaps the last they would ever have. He could not leave until something conclusive had been said.

‘Is there any chance of your coming back to Athens?’

‘Who knows?’ He gave his brief ironical laugh. ‘If things go well, we’ll drive right through to Berlin.’ He moved towards her, then edged away, suspicious of the attraction that even here gilded the air about them. He wanted to turn his back upon the deceptive magic.

‘I may not see you again, then?’ she said.

‘Do you care? You have so many friends.’

‘They aren’t important.’

‘They only seem to be?’

The argument was ridiculous. She could not carry it on, but said: ‘It was difficult. Among all these alarms and threats, coming and goings, no one has a private existence. When it is all over …’ She stopped, having no idea when it would be over and knowing time was against her. To interrupt a spell was to break it. Whether they met again or not, they had probably come to an end.

The convoy was ready to start. The driver of the first lorry climbed to his seat and slammed his door shut. The noise was a hint to Charles: he must get his farewells over and return to duty.

‘Good-bye, and good luck,’ Harriet said. She put her hand on his arm and for a second his composure failed. He stared into her face, anguished, and she was appalled to realize he was so vulnerable.

There was no time to waste now. He said: ‘Good-bye’ and, crossing the pavement, swung up beside the driver and shut himself in. He could now look down on her from a safe distance, apparently unmoved, smiling again.

Some Greeks had gathered on the pavement to watch the convoy set out. As the first lorry started up, a woman threw a flower into the cabin, the valediction to valour. Charles caught it as it came to him and held it up like a trophy. The lorry moved. The last thing Harriet saw was his hand holding the flower. The second lorry obscured the first. The other lorries followed, driving eastwards, making for the main road to the north.

She went after them, returning the way she had come, and watched them as they went into the distance. With the last of them out of sight, she no longer had any reason for going in that direction, but she had no reason for going in any other. She had been left alone with nothing to do and no reason for doing anything.

Her sense of vacancy extended itself to the streets about her. It was a grey, amorphous day in which people and buildings had lost identity, dissolving with every other circumstance, into insipidity. The town had the wan air of a place in which human life had become extinct. The streets seemed empty: left there without object or purpose, she felt as empty as the streets.