Well… perhaps. Are you going to be home this evening?
There was a perceptible hesitation. Finally she said: Yes… What time?
He wondered why she sounded so dubious, and felt chilled:
I don't mind. Make it some other time if this evening's not convenient. Would you prefer to make it next week?
He had decided abruptly that if she put him off he would not contact her again.
But her voice answered quickly:
No, do come this evening. I was simply wondering whether anyone else is likely to come. But I don't think so. Come round at about seven, if you like.
Thank you. I can't make it at seven. Austin's ringing me.
I thought he was abroad?
He is. He's ringing me from Switzerland.
Really! Well, come afterwards then. I'll expect you.
She hung up while he was still thanking her. Again he had difficulty in suppressing the irritation. He went upstairs swearing under his breath. All people are swine. In his room, he put two shillings in the gas, and relit it. He poured more tea from the flask, and tasted it. It was too strong. He put on the record of Prokoviev's fifth symphony and lay on the bed. Before the first side was half played, he had fallen asleep.
He woke up suddenly in the dark, and peered at his watch. The luminous hands seemed to be indicating eight o'clock. He fumbled to the light switch. It was precisely eight o'clock. The room was hot. He slipped his feet into slippers and hurried downstairs.
There was no one about. He went down to the basement flat and knocked. When no one replied, he opened the door a fraction; the room was in darkness. He swore obscenely under his breath. As he started back up the stairs, the phone started to ring. He snatched it before it had time to ring a second time. The woman's voice said:
Is Mr Sorme there, please?
Speaking.
Oh! This is Gertrude Quincey. Are you coming over?
Yes. I'm awfully sorry, but I fell asleep. I think Austin must have rung and got no reply. No one seems to be in.
Oh dear…
Don't worry. I'll start out immediately. See you in half an hour.
Good. I'd put some food out for you…
Thanks awfully. See you soon.
He hung up, and glared at his watch. His hair felt tousled and his eyes were still myopic with sleep. Almost immediately the phone began to ring again. A woman's voice said:
Is Mr Sorme there?
Speaking.
Would you hold on a moment? I have a personal call from Switzerland for you.
Thanks.
Nunne's voice sounded surprisingly clear and close.
Hello, Gerard!
Hello, Austin.
Hope I haven't kept you waiting? I've been trying to get through for the past bloody hour.
No. I've only just woken up.
Good. How are you, dear boy?
I'm OK. What's the idea of spending a fortune on long-distance calls?
Well… It's not really important. I want you to do me a favour.
Certainly. What have you done — forgotten your tooth brush?
Nothing as bad as that! Can you hear me clearly?
Yes, very clearly.
Good. You sound rather far off. Now listen, Gerard. I'm thinking of returning to England…
Good.
But I'd like you to do something for me first. Would you go along to my flat, and ask the porter if anyone has been enquiring for me while I've been away?
Yes. Is that all?
That's all. Just ask him if anyone has been enquiring, and who.
All right. What then?
If no one has been there, would you telegraph me here? Simply put: No one. If anyone has been enquiring, put: Please ring, and I'll ring you tomorrow. Is that OK?
All right. You want to get details of anyone who's enquired about you?
Yes.
Who are you trying to avoid?
Yes, I am trying to avoid someone. A rather unpleasant man. Can you do that?
All right.
You've got the address of the flat?
Yes. When will you ring back?
The same time tomorrow night — if anyone has enquired. Get full details, won't you? You might also ask the girl on the switchboard. Do you mind?
No, not at all.
Good. You'll go along there, won't you? Don't just phone.
No, I'll go along.
Good. Let's just recap. Go to my flat, ask the porter if anyone has been asking about me. Also ask the switchboard girl. If… If no one, telegraph you: No one. If anyone, get details, and telegraph you: Please ring. OK? Better give me your address.
Oh yes, of course. It's Pension Vevey, St Moritz. And I'm staying here under the name of Austin. Mr B. J. Austin.
Blimey! You are mysterious!
Not really. But don't give my address to anyone else, will you?
Good lord, no! Who should I give it to?
Good man…
The pips sounded. Nunne said:
Bye-bye, Gerard. You got that address, didn't you? Pension Vevey.
V-E-V-E-Y.
All right?
All right. Goodbye, Austin.
The rain had stopped, but the road was still wet and treacherous. He disliked riding on wet roads; the mudguards were inadequate, and the rain wet the bottoms of his trouser legs. He bent low over the handle-bars, and went into bottom gear to get up Haverstock Hill. Hills exhausted him; he usually wasted more energy swearing than pressing the pedals. A car came past, spraying him with muddy water; he stared after it with irritation and envy.
A clock struck the half hour as he turned out of Well Walk into the East Heath Road. He dismounted and walked up the hill.
He rang the doorbell, then leaned against the wall, perspiring and breathless. A light appeared on the other side of the glass panel. She stood there, smiling at him, looking cool and attractive.
Hello. Come in. You made it quickly.
I'm awfully sorry I'm late…
Don't bother. Luckily, it was a cold supper. Yes, hang your coat up there.
She was wearing a black-and-green dress of some shiny material, that left most of her arms bare. She had
