From the landing another flight of stairs wound upward to the attic where Meg slept. Hugh could just remember the time when the room had belonged to a maid. On the right was the big bedroom at the front, where his parents slept; Stephen had the room opposite. Hughs was farther down the landing towards the back of the house, next to the bathroom over the scullery.
His room was small and cold, but at least it was his alone. He shut the door behind him and closed the curtains. He was crying again now no one could see him softly and wearily. His body ached. As he shrugged himself out of his jacket, his teeth began to chatter.
Usually his mother gave him a hot-water bottle when he came to bed; such luxuries were out of the question tonight. His pyjamas felt clammy. He pulled them on and rolled gingerly into bed.
It was obviously impossible to lie on his back. He discovered that lying on his side was almost as bad. The problem with lying on his front was that it brought the weight of the bedclothes on to his back. On the other hand, without the blankets he stood no chance whatsoever of warming up.
Hugh had forgotten to switch out the light, but for the moment he lacked the energy to get out of bed again. There was a line of lead soldiers deployed on the mantelpiece. Soldiers were a little babyish, but he still enjoyed playing with them in private. Major Hugh Kendall (VC and bar) was leading a daring patrol through no mans land, attended by his faithful batman, Hiawatha the Red Indian. Hiawatha was Hughs oldest soldier; most of his paint was gone and his costume looked a little incongruous beside the Great War uniforms of the rest of the patrol. But Hiawatha always had to be included. Perhaps he was working as a secret agent and was therefore in disguise; Major Kendalls job was to infiltrate him through the enemy lines.
Hugh tried to make the story continue in his mind, but it was no use. Instead he found himself thinking about the war his father had said was coming. With luck his father might get killed. He hugged the thought guiltily to himself.
The hours slipped slowly by. Every quarter of an hour, chimes from the clock in the drawing room filled the house. His mother spent hours cleaning that clock. It was in the form of a black marble triumphal arch, upon which two modestly attired cupids were frolicking; it had been a wedding present to his parents.
There were other sounds that signified the passage of time. Hughs room was directly over the kitchen. He could hear the clatter of pans and plates as the meal was prepared; and occasionally the scrape of a chair and the murmur of conversation. From half-past seven onwards, there was nearly half an hour of silence: everyone was in the dining room. Suddenly he felt very hungry.
Food would have warmed him, as well as satisfied his hunger. The cold seemed to be seeping into his bones. His muscles were stiffening up. With immense effort he wriggled out of bed, knowing that to leave his light on was to risk another beating. Before getting back into bed, he picked up Hiawatha. As he lay there shivering, the little lead figure grew warm in his hand.
At a quarter-past nine, he heard footsteps shuffling down the landing. It was Megs bedtime and she was coming to use the bathroom. There were familiar sounds the running of water, the flushing of the cistern and the small explosion as she drew back the bolt.
Her steps paused outside his door. Hugh heard the faint creak of the door knob rotating. Meg came into the room and closed the door behind her with great care. She tiptoed slowly across the floor to the bed. Hugh tensed and then relaxed. He began to cry again, this time with relief: at least someone cared enough about him to come and see him.
The springs groaned as Meg sat on the edge of the bed. She bent down and her long dark hair brushed his cheek. Hugh stretched out his hand and felt the thick flannel of her dressing gown. Her breath was fresh with toothpaste.
Are you all right? she whispered. How many did you get?
Eight. Hugh felt a certain pride in this. It hurts all over. And Im starving.
I managed to save you a bit of bread.
He crammed the bread into his mouth. It tasted delicious. He also ate some fluff which the bread must have picked up from Megs pocket. He swallowed the last mouthful with regret.
Where are they? he asked.
Father and Mother are in the dining room. Stephens gone out, the lucky devil. We havent been allowed to mention your name all evening.
Whats going to happen to me?
How should I know? Megs weight shifted on the mattress. Can I come into bed with you? Im freezing.
Hugh made room for her. She slid into bed beside him. He felt embarrassed, which was odd because they had often cuddled up together to keep each other warm; but for some reason they hadnt done it as much in the last couple of years. Meg used to want to play Mothers and Fathers, which he thought was a girlish game.
His sister gurgled with laughter. Your feet are like ice. Here, put them against my legs. As she spoke, she put an arm around him. He felt the warmth spreading from her body to his.
Its all right for Stephen, Meg said. He can get away from it. He said he was going to the pictures, but I bet hes going drinking. Father would kill him if he knew what Stephen gets up to. I wish I was a boy.
Hugh sniffed. Its not much fun.
Not like you, silly. Like Stephen. Did you know he started smoking? He buys those Turkish cigarettes, the oval ones. And since he started work at the bank hes hardly ever at home. In the evening he usually goes out.
Where does he go? Hugh didnt really want to know, but it was comfortable to have Meg whispering in his ear. He didnt want to give her an excuse for going.
Im sure he goes to parties and shows and restaurants. Megs voice was bitter. I know he sees a lot of people he knew at school. Especially Paul Bennet: you know the one his fathers filthy rich and theyve got a Rolls-Royce. The friends Stephen chooses always have pots of money have you noticed that?
Hugh snuggled closer to his sister. His shoulder was against her breasts. He was beginning to feel drowsy. When she spoke again, her whisper was so low he could hardly catch what she was saying.
You know Mary? Shes awfully nice shes in my form at school and we do everything together. She saw Stephen and Paul on Sunday, in Richmond Park. They were with girls. Mary said they had their arms around their waists. She said the girls looked terribly common and you know flashy.
Hugh wasnt quite sure what she meant, but he grunted encouragingly. Meg sounded strangely breathless, as if she found the subject absolutely fascinating. He forced himself to find a question to keep the conversation going.
Are you going to go out with chaps when you grow up?
Meg wriggled beside him. Of course I am. Theyll be rich, too perhaps theyll have titles. Theyll take me to nightclubs, you know, and well drink champagne and dance very close to one another. She made a sound which was halfway between a sob and a sigh. The trouble is, I never get a chance to meet anyone. Father keeps us cooped up like prisoners. He never lets us invite anyone home. Marys people are always having parties. And her brothers bring their friends. They had a tennis tournament last summer and Mark (thats her elder brother) brought a friend from Oxford. He was called Gerald and looked like Robert Donat. He kissed Mary, in the summer-house. And it was a proper kiss, too, not just a peck on the cheek.
Hugh wondered what a proper kiss was: presumably it was a peck on the mouth.
Sometimes, Meg hissed in his ear, I feel so jealous of Mary I could burst. She knows such a lot about men already. Her arm tightened around Hugh. I say, she said casually. Eight must have hurt an awful lot. Can I see it?
Its dark, Hugh protested sleepily. We cant put the light on again. Besides
He stopped, aware he couldnt put his other objection into words, even to himself. In any case, he didnt want to offend Meg.
She seemed to understand what was in his mind. Dont be an idiot. Youre my little brother I used to help bath you. Anyway if its dark, I wouldnt see anything. I could just touch.
If you like. Hugh tried to make himself sound indifferent. But be careful: its jolly painful.
Megs free hand moved slowly down his spine. She hesitated when she came to the top of his pyjama trousers. He had left the cord untied in the hope that it would be less painful. Her hand slipped underneath.
Hugh winced as her fingers gently touched the line of welts. His fathers aim had been good: most of the strokes had fallen on the same spot. She touched one of the scabs and sucked in her breath sharply.
It bled quite a lot, Hugh said proudly.
You poor darling.
Megs hand moved on. It cupped one of his buttocks for an instant, and then stroked the top of his thighs. Where she touched the welts, it was painful; but elsewhere it made Hugh tingle. He felt a warmth growing inside him. Her hand slipped down between his legs.
Suddenly they both heard footsteps coming along the landing.
Hugh and Meg held their breath. They knew it must be their mother she walked slowly and lightly, while their fathers step was brisk and heavy. As his mother reached the door of his room, Hugh clutched Hiawatha so tightly that one of the Indians arms bent beneath the strain.
But the footsteps passed on to the bathroom. As soon as the bolt shot across, Meg began to wriggle out of bed. In her haste she scraped a fingernail across one of the scabs; Hugh nearly cried out. A long, bare leg rubbed against Hughs arm. Meg put on her slippers and bent down to Hugh.
Dont make a sound. Ill wait behind the door until shes gone back downstairs.
Next door, the lavatory flushed. His mothers footsteps paused outside Hughs door, but moved on after a few seconds. Hugh didnt know whether to be relieved or hurt: his mothers fear of his father was greater than her desire to comfort him.
Meg waited a moment and then left without even saying goodnight. Hugh half-wished she would come back to bed, despite the risks. Her visit had made him both warmer and happier. He stirred in the bed; he was suddenly conscious of his body as something outside himself. He realized that other people could give it pleasure as well as pain.
Well survive, old fellow, he whispered to Hiawatha. The enemy may have won the battle, but he hasnt won the war.
There would be a respectful grin on the usually impassive face of his batman. Yes, sir. The men are all in good spirits. Permission to kip down?
Granted, Hugh said. He laid Hiawatha beneath the pillow, but kept his hand on top of him.
Hiawatha may have gone to sleep at once, but it took Hugh much longer. His drowsiness seemed to have gone. He heard his parents come to bed just after eleven. Neither of them came in to see him.
The last thing he was aware of was the clock downstairs striking midnight.
Alfred Kendall always went into the office on Saturday mornings. The journey by train and bus from Twickenham to the City marked the transition from the problems of home to the problems of work. Sometimes he could distract himself from them with a newspaper or a thriller, but not today.
Kendall and Son occupied two rooms of a building in Sweetmeat Court; in palmier days they had rented the entire first floor. Miss Leaming, the angular secretary whom Kendall had inherited from his father, was in the outer office. She was the firms last employee: Kendall kept her on solely because a younger and more efficient secretary would have required a higher salary.
Miss Leaming fussed ineffectually over his wet overcoat.
I hope youve done the post, Kendall said.
She avoided his eyes. Yes, sir. Its on your desk.
Kendall turned down the gas fire. Were not made of money, you know, he said over his shoulder as he went into the inner office.
The letters he found on his blotter soured his mood still further. The new director of the Nuranyo glass works at Pilsen announced that he was unable to fulfil some foreign orders, including Kendalls, owing to a change in company policy. Kendall snorted: a lot of Czech companies had altered their policy since Hitler annexed the Sudetenland, the strip of Bohemia adjoining Germany, last September.
Kendalls bank manager had written to remind him that the firms overdraft now stood at £343 6s 9d; he drew Mr Kendalls attention to the fact that the original overdraft facility had been for £250, to be repaid at the end of January, nearly three weeks ago. A letter from Kendalls solicitor discussed the bankruptcy of Kendalls one important debtor; it looked as though Kendall and Son would be lucky to get three shillings in the pound.
Kendall and Son. Even the name of the firm was a reminder of failure. Kendall had always imagined that Stephen would follow him into the business one day. But one didnt take passengers on board a sinking ship. Stephen was better off at the bank: at least his job was secure and he had prospects.
There was one more letter. As its envelope was marked Private and Confidential, Miss Leaming had not opened it. Kendall frowned when he saw the address at the head of the paper: his correspondent was a member of Whites.
Kendall would have given a great deal to be able to use that stationery himself. Every time he passed through St Jamess Street he looked up at the clubs great bow window and yearned to be on the other side of the glass.
He glanced at the signature and tugged his moustache uneasily. He knew Sir Basil Cohen by repute, of course, and had met him briefly at one of the annual dinners of the British Glass Association. Sir Basil was Jewish, but Kendall was forced to admit that an unfortunate well, ungentlemanly racial background counted for little in comparison with the mans immense wealth and influence. Cohen was not only chairman of Amalgamated British Glass: his business interests ranged from films to diamonds and extended over four continents.
The letter was short, but it took Kendall several minutes to decipher Cohens ornate but nearly illegible hand.
Dear Kendall,
You may recall that we met at the BGA dinner in 37. I wonder if you could spare the time to see an acquaintance of mine, Michael Stanhope-Smith. He is looking for a man with your qualifications to undertake a small commission for him. His work is of national importance; and I fancy that he is in a position to offer some sort of honorarium, should you accept his proposition.
I understand that he intends to telephone you at your office on Saturday or Monday.
Yours sincerely,
Basil Cohen
Kendalls hand trembled slightly as he lit a cigarette. He was in the grip of an unfamiliar emotion: it took him a moment to realize that it was hope.