He resumed his interrupted progress towards the parrot. Watching him, it used claws and beak to move itself ungracefully across the back of its cage. Then it forgot about him and clung there without stirring. After calling it by its name several times without any result, he moved away again and looked idly at some of the pictures. Most were portraits. Several of these, whether true likeness or not, seemed in the half-light to show such an ugly face that it was hard to imagine how they had survived the death of the sitter at latest, unless by the intervention of some close relative. The one above the chimneypiece, rendering a man in middle life whose pop- eyed petulance the artist had perhaps tried, not very hard, to represent as authority, was a case in point. It hung a little askew after being disturbed by the climber there and he straightened it. On the shelf below it he noticed a framed photograph. Although its tones were in over-violent contrast, he could make out enough of the face of the girl in it to be fairly sure it was better-looking than the surrounding average. Faintly and, he felt, untraceably, it reminded him of somebody. He put it down.
Suddenly Churchill felt sure he was going to have to hang about here all night, forgotten or ignored by Ross-Donaldson and Lady Hazell, with nothing whatever to do, nothing to read and in any case-he fiddled vainly with the switches beside the door-no light to read by. He drained his gin and tonic and poured another: much faster drinking than his normal tempo. But that tempo itself had recently been quickening, ever since, in fact, he and the other S1 officers had been fully informed of the nature of Operation Apollo.
He did not want to think about this now. Carrying his fresh drink, he moved towards the hall, then changed his mind and walked to the far corner of the room. Here, next to the staircase, he found a door, then a dining-room with a long table but no chairs, then a kitchen. This had a normal light in it. It was clean and tidy, although thinly stocked with food and means of preparing it. The refrigerator contained nothing but a lot of ice-trays and seven or eight tins of tomato juice. Apart from this, it appeared that Lady Hazell lived on eggs, black coffee and various spices. The racing page of a newspaper was spread on the table. Churchill stood reading this and sipping his drink for a few minutes. Then he heard Ross-Donaldson call his name from the drawing-room.
'You weren't very long,' said Churchill when he reached him.
'No,' said Ross-Donaldson. Looking just the same as usual, he was gazing at one picture or another. 'Where have you been?'
'In the kitchen. You know, hanging about.'
'Did you notice any coffee there?'
'As a matter of fact I did. Lots of it.'
'I think I could do with a cup. Would you like some?'
'Well yes, but…'
'Oh, sorry, of course. It's the second door on the left along the upstairs passage. And I would be really honestly grateful if you didn't prolong the after-play unduly. Don't feel you have to rush it, but it'll take us an hour to get back to camp and into bed and I've got this arms inspection at nine hundred hours. Have a good time.'
It was not until now that Churchill really believed that the expedition was going to have some point as far as he was concerned. Mounting the shadowy staircase he felt pleased and excited, confident that he could take in his stride any unfamiliarities or momentary enigmas presented by what was in store for him.
Lady Hazell was lying in the middle of a very large bed with the covers up to her chin. Under the usual dim glow, it looked as if everything in the room was made of silk or velvet, but before Churchill could check on this impression she spoke to him.
'The thing is,' she said, 'for you to take all your clothes off now and then come and get into bed. It's much the best way.'
He did as he was told. Once in bed he very soon found that she too had nothing on. Her body was delightfully warm, and also well shaped in detail, firm, carefully looked after, healthy: or just young. He remembered faintly that he had expected her to be beyond him in one way or another, responding far too much or not at all, but her movements were those of someone whose mind was effectively on what they were both doing.
It was fine; it was successful; it was over. Lady Hazell stroked the back of his neck and smiled at him. She said,
'Is it James or Jim or Jimmy or something quite different?'
'James.'
'I've suddenly come over terribly sleepy, James. It's only about eleven. Not my usual form, I can tell you. Would you think it was awful of me if I sort of threw you out?'
'Not in the least.'
He got out of bed.
'The bathroom's through there. You can talk to me from it.'
This bathroom was radically unlike the one he had been in earlier. There was a bright red carpet that his toes sank into and wallpaper depicting colonnades and ornamental fountains. The bath was made of a beautiful pale green marble. There were two different kinds of lavatory paper. He said over his shoulder,
'Do you live here on your own?'
'I have been for the last few months. I've been making do with Mrs. Stoker. She lives just down the road. She comes up every morning and does my breakfast and washes up the glasses and tidies round, and then she goes back and does my lunch and Mr. Stoker carries it up here on a tray. He cleans out Sadie's cage and things too. And in the evenings I have a few drinks and don't usually bother. But it'll be different after tomorrow.'
'Why, what's happening then?'
'Well, tomorrow my great friend comes back. She's called Cathy. She's been away being ill but she's all right again now. You must come over again and meet her.'
Churchill went back into the bedroom and started dressing. Lady Hazell had apparently fallen asleep. He wished that those men had not been in the house when he arrived, and that he had come on his own. At this stage it was clear to him that he would not be making another visit here. If he did, he would probably like it less. Or he might like it more, in which case he would mind about the other men more. Or, possibly, he might find himself
