Partisans

Four

As the seas had remained rough throughout the crossing and had hardly moderated when they reached what should have been the comparative shelter of the Neretva Channel between the island of Pelješac and the Yugoslav mainland, the seven passengers who were in a position to sit down to have breakfast did not in fact do so until they had actually tied up to the quay in Ploče. True to Carlos’ prediction, because they had arrived after dawn and were flying a ludicrously large Italian flag, the harbour garrison had refrained from firing at them as they made their approach towards the port that not even the most uninhibited of travel brochure writers would have described as the gem of the Adriatic.

Breakfast was unquestionably the handiwork of Giovanni, the engineer: the indescribable mush of eggs and cheese seemed to have been cooked in diesel oil, and the coffee made of it, but the bread was palatable and the sea air lent an edge to the appetite, more especially for those who had suffered during the passage.

Giacomo pushed his half-finished plate to one side. He was freshly shaven and, despite the ghastly meal, as cheerful as ever. ‘Where are Alessandro and his cut-throats? They don’t know what they’re missing.’

‘Maybe they’ve had breakfast aboard the Colombo before,’ Petersen said. ‘Or already gone ashore.’

‘Nobody’s gone ashore. I’ve been on deck.’

‘Prefer their own company, then. A secretive lot.’

Giacomo smiled. ‘You have no secrets?’

‘Having secrets and being secretive are two different things. But no, no secrets. Too much trouble trying to remember who you are supposed to be and what you are supposed to be saying. Especially, if like me, you have difficulty in remembering. Start a life of deception and you end up by being trapped in it. I believe in the simple, direct life.’

‘I could believe that,’ Giacomo said. ‘Especially if last night’s performance was anything to go by.’

‘Last night’s performance?’ Sarina, her face still pale from what had obviously been an unpleasant night, looked at him in puzzlement. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Didn’t you hear the shot last night?’

Sarina nodded towards the other girl. ‘Lorraine and I both heard a shot.’ She smiled faintly.

‘When two people think they are dying they don’t pay much attention to a trifle like a shot. What happened?’

‘Petersen shot one of Alessandro’s men. An unfortunate lad by the name of Cola.’

Sarina looked at Petersen in astonishment. ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

‘Credit where credit is due. Alex shot him – with, of course, my full approval. Why? He was being secretive, that’s why.’

She didn’t seem to have heard. ‘Is he – is he dead?’

‘Goodness me no. Alex doesn’t kill people.’ Quite a number of ghosts would have testified to the contrary. ‘A damaged shoulder.’

‘Damaged!’ Lorraine’s dark eyes were cold, the lips compressed. ‘Do you mean shattered?’

‘Could be.’ Petersen lifted his shoulders in a very small shrug indeed. ‘I’m not a doctor.’

‘Has Carlos seen him?’ It was less a question than a demand.

Petersen looked at her thoughtfully. ‘What good would that do?’

‘Carlos, well–’ She broke off as if in confusion.

‘Well, what? Why? What could he do?’

‘What could he – he’s the Captain, isn’t he?’

‘Both a stupid answer and a stupid question. Why should he see him? I’ve seen him and I’m certain I’ve seen many more gunshot wounds than Carlos has.’

‘You’re not a doctor?’

‘Is Carlos?’

‘Carlos? How should I know?’

‘Because you do,’ Petersen said pleasantly. ‘Every time you speak you tread deeper water. You are not a born liar, Lorraine, but you are a lousy one. When first we practise to deceive – you know. Deception again – and it’s not your forte, I’m afraid. Sure he’s a doctor. He told me. He didn’t tell you. How did you know?’

She clenched her fists and her eyes were stormy. ‘How dare you cross-examine me like this.’

‘Odd,’ Petersen said contemplatively. ‘You look even more beautiful when you’re angry. Well, some women are like that. And why are you angry? Because you’ve been caught out, that’s why.’

‘You’re smug! You’re infuriating! So calm, so reasonable, so sure, so self-satisfied, Mr Clever know-all!’

‘My, my. Am I all those things? This must be another Lorraine talking. Why have you taken such offence?’

‘But you’re not so clever. I do know he is a doctor.’ She smiled thinly. ‘If you were clever you’d remember the conversation in the café last night. You’d remember that it came up that I, too, was born in Pescara. Why should I not know him?’

‘Lorraine, Lorraine. You’re not only treading deep water, you’re in over your head. You were not born in Pescara. You weren’t born in Italy. You’re not even Italian.’

There was silence. Petersen’s quiet statement carried complete conviction. Then Sarina, as angry as Lorraine had been a few moments earlier, said: ‘Lorraine! Don’t listen to him. Don’t even talk to him. Can’t you see what he’s trying to do? To needle you? To trap you? To make you say things you don’t mean to say, just to satisfy his great big ego.’

‘I am making friends this morning,’ Petersen said sadly. ‘My great big ego notices that Lorraine hasn’t contradicted me. That’s because she knows that I know. She also knows that I know she’s a friend of Carlos. But not from Pescara. Tell me if I’m wrong, Lorraine.’

Lorraine didn’t tell him anything. She just caught her lower lip and looked down at the table.

Sarina said: ‘I think you’re horrible.’

‘If you equate honesty with horror then, sure, I’m horrible.’

Giacomo was smiling. ‘You certainly do know a lot, don’t you, Peter?’

‘Not really. I’ve just learned to learn enough to stay alive.’

Giacomo was still smiling. ‘You’ll be telling me next that I’m not Italian.’

‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

‘You mean I’m not Italian?’

‘How can you be if you were born in Yugoslavia? Montenegro, to be precise.’

‘Jesus!’ Giacomo was no longer smiling, but there was neither rancour nor offence in face or tone. Then he started smiling again.

Sarina looked bleakly at Petersen then turned to Giacomo. ‘And what else did this – this–’

‘Monster?’ Petersen said helpfully.

‘This monster. Oh, do be quiet. What other outrage did this man commit last night?’

‘Well, now.’ Giacomo linked his fingers behind his head and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. ‘It all depends upon what you call an outrage. To start with, after he had Cola shot he gassed Alessandro and three other men.’

‘Gassed them?’ She stared at Giacomo in disbelief.

‘Gassed. It was their own gas he used. They deserved it.’

‘You mean he killed them? Murdered them?’

‘No, no. They recovered. I know. I was there. Simply,’ he added hastily, ‘you understand, as an observer. Then he took away their guns, and ammunition, and grenades and a few other nasty things. Then he locked them up. That’s all.’

‘That’s all.’ Sarina breathed deeply, twice. ‘When you say it quickly it sounds like nothing, doesn’t it? Why did he lock them up?’

‘Maybe he didn’t want them to have breakfast. How should I know. Ask him.’ He looked at Petersen. ‘A pretty fair old job of locking up, if I may say so. I just happened along that way as we were coming into port.’

‘Ah!’

‘Ah, indeed.’ Giacomo looked at Sarina. ‘You didn’t smell any smoke during the night, did you?’

‘Smoke? Yes, we did.’ She shuddered, remembering. ‘We were sick enough already when we smelled it. That was really the end. Why?’

‘That was your friend Peter and his friends at work. They were welding up the door of Alessandro’s cabin.’

‘Welding up the door?’ A faint note of hysteria had crept into her voice. ‘With Alessandro and his men inside! Why on earth–’ She was suddenly at a loss for words.

‘I guess he didn’t want them to get out.’

The two girls looked at each other in silence. There was nothing more to say. Petersen cleared his throat in a brisk fashion.

‘Well, now that’s everything satisfactorily explained.’ The two girls turned their heads in slow unison and looked at him in total incredulity. ‘The past, as they say, is prologue. We’ll be leaving in about half an hour or whatever time it takes to obtain some transport. Time to brush your teeth and pack your gear.’ He looked at Giacomo. ‘You and your friend coming with us?’

‘Lorraine, you mean?’

‘Got any other friends aboard? Don’t stall.’

‘All depends where you’re going.’

‘Same place as you. Don’t be cagey.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Up the Neretva.’

‘We’ll come.’

Petersen made to rise when Carlos entered, a piece of paper in his hand. Like Giacomo, he was shaven, brisk and apparently cheerful. He didn’t look like a man who hadn’t slept all night but then, in his business, he probably slept enough during the day.

‘Good morning. You’ve had breakfast?’

‘Our compliments to the chef. That paper for me?’

‘It is. Radio signal just come in. Code, so it doesn’t make any sense to me.’

Petersen glanced at it. ‘Doesn’t make any sense to me either. Not until I get the code book.’ He folded the paper and put it in an inside pocket.

‘Might it not be urgent?’ Carlos said.

‘It’s from Rome. I’ve invariably found that whenever Rome thinks something is urgent it’s never urgent to me.’

Lorraine said: ‘We’ve just heard that a man has been shot. Is he badly hurt?’

‘Cola?’ Carlos didn’t sound very concerned about Cola’s health. ‘He thinks he is. I don’t. Anyway, I’ve sent for an ambulance. Should have been here by now.’ He looked out of the small window. ‘No ambulance. But a couple of soldiers approaching the gangway. If, that is, you could call them soldiers. One’s about ninety, the other ten. Probably for you.’

‘We’ll see.’

Carlos had exaggerated the age disparity between the two soldiers but not by much: the younger was indeed a beardless youth, the older well stricken in years. The latter saluted as smartly as his arthritic bones would permit.

‘Captain Tremino. You have a Yugoslav army officer among your passengers?’

Carlos waved a hand. ‘Major Petersen.’

‘That’s the name.’ The ancient saluted again. ‘Commandant’s compliments, sir, and would you be so kind as to see him in his office. You and your two men.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘The Commandant does not confide in me, sir.’

‘How far is it?’

‘A few hundred metres. Five minutes.’

‘Right away.’ Petersen stood and picked up his machine-pistol. George and Alex did the same. The older soldier coughed politely.

‘The commandant doesn’t like guns in his office.’

‘No guns? There is a war in progress, this is a military post, and the commandant doesn’t like guns.’ He looked at George and Alex, then slipped off his machine-pistol. ‘He’s probably in his dotage. Let’s humour him.’

They left. Carlos watched through the window as they descended the gangway to the quayside. He sighed.

‘I can’t bear it. I can’t. As an Italian, I can’t bear it. It’s like sending a toothless old hound and a frisky puppy to round up three timber wolves. Sabre-toothed tigers, more like.’ He raised his voice. ‘Giovanni!’

Sarina said hesitatingly: ‘Are they really like that? I mean, I heard a man in Rome yesterday call them that.’

‘Ah! My old friend Colonel Lunz, no doubt.’

‘You know the Colonel?’ There was surprise in her voice. ‘I thought – well, everybody seems to know everything around here. Except me.’

‘Of course I know him.’ He turned as the lean, dyspeptic looking engineer-chef appeared in the doorway. ‘Breakfast, Giovanni, if you would.’

Giacomo said wonderingly: ‘You can really eat that stuff?’

‘Atrophied taste-buds, a zinc-lined stomach, a little imagination and you could be in Maxim’s. Sarina, one does not approach me at the quayside at Termoli, jerk a thumb towards the east and ask for a lift to Yugoslavia. Do you think you’d be aboard the Colombo if I didn’t know the Colonel? Do you have to be suspicious about everyone?’

‘I’m suspicious about our Major Petersen. I don’t trust him an inch.’

‘That’s a fine thing to say about a fellow-countryman.’ Carlos sat and buttered bread. ‘Honest and straightforward sort of fellow, one would have thought.’

‘One would have – look, we’ve got to go up into the mountains with that man!’

‘He seems to know his way around. In fact, I know he does. You should reach your destination all right.’

‘Oh, I’m sure. Whose destination – his or ours?’

Carlos looked at her in mild exasperation. ‘Do you have any option?’

‘No.’

‘Then why don’t you stop wasting your breath?’

‘Carlos! How can you talk to her like that?’ Lorraine’s voice was sharp enough to bring a slightly thoughtful look to Giacomo’s face. ‘She’s worried. Of course she’s worried. I’m worried, too. We’re both going up into the mountains with that man. You’re not.’ She was either nervous or had a low temper flash-point. ‘It’s all very well for you sitting safe and sound here aboard the Colombo.’

‘Oh, come now,’ Giacomo said easily. ‘I don’t think that’s being too fair. I’m quite sure, Carlos, that she didn’t mean what she implied.’ He looked at Lorraine in mock-reproval. ‘I’m sure Carlos would willingly leave his safe and sound ship and accompany you into the mountains. But there are two inhibiting factors. Duty and a tin leg.’

‘I am sorry.’ She was genuinely contrite and put her hand on Carlos’ shoulder to show it: Carlos, who was addressing himself to the confection that Giovanni had just brought, looked up at her and smiled amiably. ‘Giacomo’s right’ she said. ‘Of course I didn’t mean it. It’s just that – well, Sarina and I feel so helpless.’

‘Giacomo is in the same position. He doesn’t look in the slightest bit helpless to me.’

She shook his shoulder in exasperation. ‘Please. You don’t understand. We don’t know what’s going on. We don’t know anything. He seems to know everything.’

‘He? Peter?’

‘Who else would I be talking about?’ For so patrician-looking a lady she could be very snappish. ‘Perhaps I can shake you out of your complacency. Do you know that he knows where Giacomo and I are going? Do you know that he seems to know about my background? Do you know that he knows I’m not Italian? That he knows that you and I knew each other in the past, but not in Pescara?’

If Carlos was shaken he concealed it masterfully. ‘Peter knows a great number of things that you wouldn’t expect him to. Or so Colonel Lunz tells me. For all I know Colonel Lunz told him about you and Giacomo, although that wouldn’t be like the Colonel. He may have expected you aboard. He didn’t seem annoyed by your presence.’

‘He was annoyed enough by Alessandro’s presence.’

‘He wouldn’t know about Alessandro. Alessandro is controlled by another agency.’

She said quickly: ‘How do you know that?’

‘He – Peter – told me.’

She removed her hand and straightened. ‘So. You and Peter have your little secrets too.’ She turned to Sarina. ‘We can trust everybody, can’t we?’

Giacomo said: ‘Carlos, you’re beginning to look like a hen-pecked husband.’

‘I’m beginning to feel like one, too. My dear girl, I only learnt this during the night. What did you expect me to do? Come hammering on your cabin door at four in the morning to announce this earthshaking news to you and Sarina?’ He looked up as the dyspeptic engineer-chef appeared again in the doorway.

‘Breakfast has been served, Carlos.’

‘Thank you, Giovanni.’ He looked at Lorraine. ‘And before you start getting suspicious of Giovanni he only means that he’s given food to our friends in the fore cabin.’

‘I thought the door was locked.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ Carlos laid down knife and fork. ‘Suspicious again. The door is locked. Breakfast was lowered in a bucket to their cabin porthole.’

‘When are you going to see them?’

‘When I’m ready. When I’ve had breakfast.’ Carlos picked up his knife and fork again. ‘If I get peace to eat it, that is.’

George said: ‘Took a bit of a risk back there, didn’t you? Chanced your arm, as they say, pretending you knew all about their plans and backgrounds when you knew nothing.’

‘Credit’s all yours, George. Just based on a couple of remarks of yours about ethnic background. Couldn’t very well tell them that, though. Besides, Lorraine gave away more than I extracted. I don’t think she’d make a very good espionage agent.’

They were threading their way through cranes, trucks, both army and civilian, and scattered dock buildings, a few yards behind the two Italian soldiers. The snow had stopped now, the Rilić hills were sheltering them from the north-east wind but the temperature was still below freezing point. There were few enough people around, the early hour and the cold were not such as to encourage outdoor activity. The soldiers, as Carlos had said, were either reservists or youths. The few civilians around were in the same age categories. There didn’t seem to be a young or middle-aged man in the port.

‘At least,’ George said, ‘you’ve established a kind of moral ascendancy over them. Well, over the young ladies, anyway. Giacomo doesn’t lend himself to that sort of thing. That paper Carlos gave you – a message from our Roman allies?’

‘Yes. We are requested to remain in Ploče and await further orders.’

‘Ridiculous.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘You think sending that cablegram was wise? We might have expected this.’

‘I did. I hoped to precipitate exactly this. We know what to expect and we’ve got the initiative. If we’d got clear of the port without trouble and then were stopped by a couple of tanks up the valley road we’d have lost the initiative. Our two guards in front there – they’re not very bright, are they?’

‘You mean they didn’t search us for handguns? One’s too old to care, the other’s too inexperienced to know. Besides, look at our honest faces.’

The two guards led the way to a low wooden hut, obviously a temporary affair, up some steps and, after knocking, into a small room about as spartan and primitive as the exterior of the hut – cracked linoleum on the floor, two metal filing cabinets, a radio transceiver, a telephone, a table and some chairs. The officer behind the table rose at their entrance. He was a tall thin man, middleaged, with pebble glasses which explained clearly enough why he wasn’t at the front. He peered at them myopically over the tops of his glasses.

‘Major Petersen?’

‘Yes. Glad to meet you, Commandant.’

‘Oh. I see. I wonder.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I have just received a detention order–’

‘Ssh!’ Petersen had a finger to his lips. He lowered his voice. ‘Are we alone?’

‘We are.’

‘Quite sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘In that case put your hands up.’

Carlos pushed his chair back and rose. ‘Excuse me. I must have a look at that cabin door.’

Lorraine said: ‘You mean you haven’t seen it yet?’

‘No. If Peter says it’s welded, then it is. I should imagine one welded door looks very much like another. Curiosity, really.’

He was back in just over a minute.

‘A welded door is a welded door and the only way to open it is with an oxyacetylene flame-cutter. I’ve sent Pietro ashore to try and find one. I don’t have much hope. We had one but Peter and his friends dropped it over the side.’

Lorraine said: ‘You don’t seem worried about it.’

‘I don’t get worried about trifles.’

‘And if you can’t get them out?’

‘They’ll have to stay there till we get back to Termoli. Plenty of facilities there.’

‘You could be sunk before you get there. Have you thought of that?’

‘Yes. That would upset me.’

‘Well, that’s better. A little compassion, at least.’

‘It would upset me because I’ve really grown quite fond of this old boat. I would hate to think it would be Alessandro’s tomb.’ Carlos’ face and voice were cold. ‘Compassion? Compassion for that monster? Compassion for a murderer, a hired assassin, a poisoner who travels with hypodermics and ampoules of lethal liquids? Compassion for a psychopath who would just love to inject you or Sarina there and giggle his evil head off as you screamed your way to death? Peter spared him: I wish he’d killed him. Compassion!’ He turned and walked out.

‘And now you’ve upset him,’ Giacomo said. ‘Nag, nag, nag. It’s bloody marvellous. People – well, Peter and Carlos – tried, judged and condemned when you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I didn’t mean anything.’ She seemed bewildered.

‘It’s not what you mean. It’s what you say. You could always try watching your tongue.’ He rose and left.

Lorraine stared at the empty doorway, her face woebegone. Two large tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. Sarina put her arm around her shoulders.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It really is. They don’t understand. I do.’

Ten minutes later Petersen and his two companions arrived. Petersen was driving an elderly truck, civilian not army, with a hooped canvas roof and canvas flaps at the rear. Petersen jumped down from the driving seat and looked at the five on the deck of the Colombo – Carlos, Giacomo, Lorraine, Michael and Sarina, the last four with their rucksacks and radios beside them.

‘Well, we’re ready when you are,’ Petersen said. He seemed in excellent spirits. ‘We’ll just come aboard for our gear.’

‘No need,’ Carlos said. ‘The two Pietros are bringing that.’

‘And our guns?’

‘I wouldn’t want you to feel undressed.’ Carlos led the way down the gangway. ‘How did things go?’

‘Couldn’t have been better. Very friendly, cooperative and helpful.’ He produced two papers. ‘A military pass and a permit for me to drive this vehicle. Only as far as Metković but it will at least get us on the way. Both signed by Major Massamo. Would you two young ladies come up front with me? It’s much more comfortable and the cab is heated. The back is not.’

‘Thank you,’ Lorraine said. ‘I’d rather sit in the back.’

‘Oh, no, she wouldn’t,’ Sarina said. ‘I’m not putting up with this walking inquisition all by myself.’ She took Lorraine’s arm and whispered in her ear while Petersen lifted patient eyes to heaven. At first Lorraine shook her head vigorously, then reluctantly nodded.

They shook hands with Carlos, thanked him and said goodbye. All except Lorraine – she just stood there, her eyes on the dockside. Carlos looked at her in exasperation then said: ‘All right. You upset me and I, forgetting that I’m supposed to be an officer and a gentleman, upset you.’ He put his arm round her shoulders, gave her a brief hug and kissed her none too lightly on the cheek. ‘That’s by way of apology and goodbye.’

Petersen started up the rather asthmatic engine and drove off. The elderly guard at the gate ignored Petersen’s proffered papers and lackadaisically waved them on: he probably didn’t want to leave the brazier in his sentry-box. As he drove on, Petersen glanced to his right. Lorraine, at the far end of the seat was staring straight ahead: her face was masked in tears. Petersen, frowning, leaned forward and sideways but was brought up short by a far from gentle elbow in the ribs. Sarina, too, was frowning and giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Petersen looked at her questioningly, got a stony glance in return and sat back to concentrate on his driving.

In the back of the truck, already heavily polluted by George’s cigars, Giacomo kept glancing towards the tarpaulin-covered heap in the front. Eventually, he tapped George on the arm.

‘George?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever seen a tarpaulin moving of its own accord?’

‘Can’t say that I have.’

‘Well, I can see one now.’

George followed the direction of the pointing finger. ‘I see what you mean. My goodness, I hope they’re not suffocating under that lot.’ He pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal three figures lying on their sides, securely bound at wrists and ankles and very effectively gagged. ‘They’re not suffocating at all. Just getting restless.’

The light inside the back of the truck was dim but sufficient to let Giacomo recognize the elderly soldier and his very junior partner who had come aboard earlier in the morning to collect Petersen and the other two. ‘And who’s the other person?’

‘Major Massamo. Commandant – Deputy Commandant, I believe – of the port.’

Michael, seated with Alex on the opposite side of the truck, said: ‘Who are those people? What are they doing here? Why are they tied up?’ The questions didn’t betray any real interest: the voice was dull as befitted one still in a state of dazed incomprehension. They were the first words he had spoken that day: sea-sickness and the traumatic experience he had undergone during the night had wrought their toll to the extent that he had not even been able to face breakfast.

‘The Port Commandant and two of his soldiers,’ George said. ‘They are here because we couldn’t very well leave them behind to raise the alarm the moment we were gone, and we couldn’t very well shoot them, could we? And they’re bound and gagged because we couldn’t very well have them raising a song and dance on the way out of the harbour. You do ask stupid questions, Michael.’

‘This is the Major Massamo that Major Petersen mentioned? How did you manage to get him to sign those permits you have?’

‘You, Michael, have a suspicious mind. It doesn’t become you. He didn’t sign them. I did. There were lots of notices in his room all signed by him. You don’t have to be a skilled forger to copy a signature.’

‘What’s going to happen to them?’

‘We will dispose of them at a convenient time and place.’

‘Dispose of them?’

‘They’ll be back in Ploče, safe and unharmed, this evening. Good heavens, Michael, you don’t go around shooting your allies.’

Michael looked at three bound and gagged men. ‘Yes. I see. Allies.’

They were stopped at roadblocks at the next two villages but the questioning was very perfunctory and routine. At the third village, Bagalović, Petersen pulled up by a temporary army filling station, descended, gave some papers to the corporal in attendance, waited until the truck had been fuelled, gave the corporal some money for which he was rewarded by a surprised salute, then drove off again.

Sarina said: ‘They don’t look like soldiers to me. They don’t behave like soldiers. They seem so – so – what is the word? – apathetic.’

‘A marked lack of enthusiasm, agreed. Their behaviour doesn’t show them up in the best of light, does it? The Italians can, in fact, be very very good soldiers, but not in this war. They have no heart for it, in spite of Mussolini’s stirring, martial speeches. The people didn’t want this war in the first place and they want it less and less as time goes by. Their front-line troops fight well enough, but not from patriotism, just professional pride. But it’s convenient for us.’

‘What were those papers you gave to that soldier?’

‘Diesel coupons. Major Massamo gave them to me.’

‘Major Massamo gave them to you. Free fuel, of course. That tip you handed to the soldier. I suppose Major Massamo gave you the money as well?’

‘Of course not. We don’t steal.’

‘Just trucks and fuel coupons. Or have you just borrowed those?’

‘Temporarily. The truck, anyway.’

‘Which, of course, you will return to Major Massamo?’

Petersen spared her a glance. ‘You’re supposed to be apprehensive, nervous, not full of nosey questions. I don’t much care to be cross-examined. We’re supposed to be on the same side, remember? As for the truck, I’m afraid the Major won’t be seeing it again.’

They drove on in silence and after another fifteen minutes ran into the town of Metković. Petersen parked the truck in the main street and stepped down to the roadway. Sarina said: ‘Forgotten something, haven’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Your keys. You’ve left them in the ignition.’

‘Please don’t be silly.’ Petersen crossed the street and disappeared into a store.

Lorraine spoke for the first time since leaving Ploče. ‘What did he mean by that?’

‘What he says. He knows so much that he probably knows I can’t drive anyway. Certainly not this rackety old monster. Even if I could, what place would I have to drive to?’ She touched the back of the cab. ‘Wood. I couldn’t get five yards – that fearful Alex could shoot through that.’ She looked and sounded doleful in the extreme.

Lorraine said: ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to see him, just once, make a mistake, do something wrong?’

‘I’d love it. But I don’t think we should want it. I have the feeling that what is good for Major Petersen is good for us. And vice versa.’

Twenty minutes elapsed before Petersen returned. For a man who might have been regarded as being on the run, he was in no hurry. He was carrying a large wicker basket, its contents covered with brown paper. This he took round to the back of the truck. Moments later he was back in the driving seat. He seemed in good humour.

‘Well, go on,’ he said. ‘Ask away.’

Sarina made a moue, but curiosity won. ‘The basket.’

‘An army marches on its stomach. Stretch a point and you might regard us as part of an army. Provisions. What else would I have been buying in a food store? Bread, cheese, hams, various meats, goulash, fruits, vegetables, tea, coffee, sugar, a spirit stove, kettle and stewpan. I promised Colonel Lunz to deliver you in fairly good condition.’

In spite of herself, she smiled faintly. ‘You sound as if you wanted to deliver us in prime condition at a slave market. Overlooked your fat friend, didn’t you?’

‘My first purchase. George had the top off a litre flask of beer within five seconds. Wine, too.’

They cleared the outskirts of the town. Sarina said: ‘I thought the permit took you only as far as Metković?’

‘I have two permits. I showed only one to Carlos.’

Half an hour later Petersen recrossed the Neretva and pulled up at a fairly large garage on the outskirts of Čapljina. Petersen went inside and returned in a few minutes.

‘Just saying “hallo” to an old friend.’

They passed through the village of Trebižat and not long afterwards Petersen pulled off the highway and turned up a secondary road, climbing fairly steeply as they went. From this they turned on to yet another road which was no more than a grass track, still climbing, until they finally rounded and came to a halt about fifty yards from a low stone building. They could approach no further because the road ended where they were.

They dismounted from the cab and went round to the back of the truck. Petersen tweaked back one of the canvas flaps. ‘Lunch,’ he said.

Perhaps a minute passed without any signs of activity. Sarina and Lorraine looked at each other in a puzzled apprehension which was in no way lessened by Petersen’s air of relaxed calm.

‘When George ties a knot,’ Petersen said cryptically, ‘it takes a fair deal of untying.’

Suddenly the flaps were parted and Major Massamo and his two soldiers, untied and ungagged, were lowered from the tailboard. Massamo and the older soldier collapsed dramatically immediately on touching the ground.

‘“Who have we here and what have the wicked Petersen and his evil friends done to those poor men”,’ Petersen said. The young soldier had now joined the two others in a sitting position on the ground. ‘Well, the officer is Major Massamo, the Port Commandant, and the other two you have already seen. We have not broken their legs or anything like that. They’re just suffering from a temporary loss of circulation.’ The other four men in the back of the truck had now jumped to the ground. ‘Walk them around a bit, will you?’ Petersen said.

George lifted the Major, Giacomo the young soldier, and Michael the elderly soldier. But the last was not only old but fat and didn’t seem at all keen to get to his feet. Sarina gave Petersen what was probably intended to be a withering glance and moved to help her brother. Petersen looked at Lorraine and then at George.

‘What shall we do?’ His voice was low. ‘Stab her or club her?’

Not a muscle flickered in George’s face. He appeared to ponder. ‘Either. Plenty of ravines hereabouts.’

Lorraine looked at them in perplexity: Serbo-Croat, evidently, was not her language.

Petersen said: ‘I can understand now why the boyfriend is along. Bodyguard and interpeter. I know who she is.’

‘So do I.’

Lorraine could be irritated and imperious at the same time and she was good at being both.

‘What are you two talking about? It is bad manners, you know.’ In another day and age she would have stamped her foot.

‘It is our native language. No offence. My dear Lorraine, you would make life so much easier for yourself if you stopped being suspicious of everyone. And yes, we were talking about you.’

‘I thought as much.’ But her voice was a shade less assertive.

‘Just try to trust people occasionally.’ Petersen smiled to rob his words of any offence. ‘We’re as much looker-afterers as your Giacomo is. Will you please understand that we want to take care of you. If anything were to happen to you, Jamie Harrison would never forgive us.’

‘Jamie Harrison! You know Jamie Harrison.’ Her eyes had widened and a half-smile touched her lips. ‘I don’t believe it. You know Captain Harrison!’

‘“Jamie” to you.’

‘Jamie.’ She looked at George. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Tush, tush! Suspicions again. If Peter says he knows him then I must know him. Isn’t that so?’ He smiled as colour touched her cheeks. ‘My dear, I don’t blame you. Of course I know him. Tall, very tall. Lean. Brown beard.’

‘He didn’t have a brown beard when I knew him.’

‘He has now. And a moustache. Brown hair, anyway. And, as they say in English, he’s terribly terribly English. Wears a monocle. Sports it, I should say. Claims he needs it, but he doesn’t. Just English.’

She smiled. ‘It couldn’t be anyone else.’

Major Massamo and his two men, their grimaces bespeaking their still returning circulation, were now at least partially mobile. Petersen retrieved the heavy wicker basket from the back of the truck and led the way up grass-cut steps to the stone hut and produced a key. Sarina looked at the key, then at Petersen but said nothing.

Petersen caught her glance. ‘I told you. Friends.’ The combination of the creaking hinges as the door swung open and the musty smell from within was indication enough that the place hadn’t been used for months. The single room, which made up the entire hut, was icy, bleak and sparsely furnished: a deal table, two benches, a few rickety wooden chairs, a stove and a pile of cordwood.

‘Be it ever so humble,’ Petersen said briskly. ‘First things first.’ He looked at George who had just extracted a bottle of beer from the basket. ‘You have your priorities right?’

‘I have a savage thirst,’ George said with dignity. ‘I can slake that and light a stove at the same time.’

‘You’ll look after our guests? I have a call to make.’

‘Half an hour. I hope.’

It was an hour later when Petersen returned. George was no believer in doing things by half and by that time the hut was a great deal more than pleasantly warm. The top of the stove glowed a bright cherry red and the room was stiflingly hot. Petersen pointedly left the door open and set on the table a second wicker basket he had brought with him.

‘More provisions. Sorry I’m late.’

‘We weren’t worried,’ George said. ‘Food’s ready when you are. We’ve eaten.’ He peered inside the basket Petersen had brought. ‘Took you all that time to get that?’

‘I met some friends.’

Sarina said from the doorway. ‘Where’s the truck?’

‘Round the corner. Among trees. Can’t be seen from the air.’

‘You think they’re carrying out an air search for us?’

‘No. One doesn’t take chances.’ He sat at the table and made himself a cheese and salami sandwich. ‘Anyone who needs some sleep had better have it now. I’m going to have some myself. We didn’t have any last night. Two or three hours. Besides, I prefer to travel at night.’

‘And I prefer to sleep at night,’ George said. He reached out for another bottle. ‘Let me be your trusty guard. Enjoy yourself. We did.’

‘After Giovanni’s cooking anyone would be ravenous.’

Petersen set about proving that he was no exception. After a few minutes he looked up, looked around and said to George: ‘Where have those pesky girls gone to?’

‘Just left. For a walk, I suppose.’

Petersen shook his head. ‘My fault. I didn’t tell you.’ He rose and went outside. The two girls were about forty yards away.

‘Come back!’ he called. They stopped and turned around. He waved a peremptory arm. ‘Come back.’ They looked at each other and slowly began to retrace their steps.

George was puzzled. ‘What’s wrong with a harmless walk?’

Petersen lowered his voice so that he couldn’t be heard inside the hut. ‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with a harmless walk.’ He told him briefly and George nodded. He stopped talking as the girls approached.

Sarina said: ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

Petersen nodded to a small outhouse some yards from the cabin. ‘If that’s what you’re looking for–’

‘No. Just a walk. What’s the harm?’

‘Get inside.’

‘If you say so.’ Sarina smiled at him sweetly. ‘Would it kill you to tell us why?’

‘Other ranks don’t talk to officers in that tone. The fact that you’re females doesn’t alter a thing.’ Sarina had stopped smiling, Petersen’s own tone was not such as to encourage levity. ‘I’ll tell you why. Because I say so. Because you can’t do anything without my permission. Because you’re babes in the woods. And because I’ll trust you when you trust me.’ The two girls looked at each other in incomprehension then went inside without a word.

‘A bit harsh, I would have thought,’ George said.

‘You and your middle-aged susceptibility. Sure, it was a bit harsh. I just wanted them to get the message that they don’t wander without permission. They could have made it damned awkward for us.’

‘I suppose so. Of course I know they could. But they don’t know they could have. For them, you’re just a big, bad, bullying wolf and a nasty one to boot. Irrational, they think you are. Orders for orders’ sake. Never mind, Peter, when they come to appreciate your sterling qualities, they may yet come to love you.’

Inside the hut, Petersen said: ‘Nobody is to go outside, please. George and Alex of course. And, yes, Giacomo.’

Giacomo, seated on a bench by the table, lifted a drowsy head from his folded arms. ‘Giacomo’s not going anywhere.’

Michael said: ‘Not me?’

‘No.’

‘Then why Giacomo?

Petersen was curt. ‘You’re not Giacomo.’

Petersen woke two hours later and shook his head to clear it. As far as he could tell only the indefatigable George, a beaker of beer to hand, and the three captives were awake. Petersen got up and shook the others.

‘We’re going shortly. Time for tea, coffee, wine or what you will and then we’re off.’ He started to feed cordwood into the stove.

Major Massamo, who had kept remarkably quiet since his gag had been taken off, said: ‘We’re going with you?’

‘You’re staying here. Bound, but not gagged – you can shout your heads off but no-one will hear you.’ He raised a hand to forestall a protest. ‘No, you won’t perish of cold during the long watches of the night. You’ll be more than warm enough until help comes. About an hour after we leave I’ll phone the nearest army post – it’s only about five kilometres from here – and tell them where you are. They should be here within fifteen minutes of getting the call.’

‘You’re very kind, I’m sure.’ Massamo smiled wanly. ‘It’s better than being shot out of hand.’

‘The Royal Yugoslav Army takes orders from no-one, and that includes Germans and Italians. When our allies prove to be obstructive we’re forced to take some action to protect ourselves. But we don’t shoot them. We’re not barbarians.’

A short time later Petersen looked at the three freshly-bound captives. ‘The stove is stoked, there’s no possibility of sparks, so you won’t burn to death. You’ll certainly be freed inside an hour and a half. Goodbye.’

None of the three prisoners said ‘goodbye’ to him.

Petersen led the way down the grassy steps and round the first corner. The truck was standing in a small clearing without a tree near it. Sarina said: ‘Ooh! A new truck.’

‘“Ooh! A new truck”,’ Petersen mimicked. ‘Which is exactly what you would have said when you’d come back to the hut after finding it. It’s as I say, you can’t trust babes in the woods. Major Massamo would just have loved to hear you say that. He would then have known that we had ditched the old truck and would have called off the hunt for the old truck – there must be a search under way by now – and, when freed, ask for a search for another missing truck and broadcast its details. It’s most unlikely, but it could have happened and then I’d have been forced to lumber myself with Massamo again.’

Giacomo said: ‘Someone might stumble across the old one?’

‘Not unless someone takes it into his head to go diving into the freezing Neretva River. And why on earth should anyone be daft enough to do that? I drove it off only a very small cliff but the water is deep there. A local fisherman told me.’

‘Can it be seen underwater?’

‘No. At this time of year the waters of the Neretva are brown and turgid. In a few months’ time, when the snow in the mountains melts, then the river runs green and clear. Who worries about what happens in a few months’ time?’

George said: ‘What kindly soul gave you this nice new model? Not, I take it, the Italian army?’

‘Hardly. My fisherman friend, who also happens to be the proprietor of the garage I stopped at on the way up here. The army has no local repair facilities here and he does the occasional repair job for them. He had a few civilian trucks he could have offered me but we both thought this was much more suitable and official.’

‘Won’t your friend be held answerable for this?’

‘Not at all. We’ve already wrenched off the padlock at the rear of the garage just in case some soldier happens by tomorrow, which is most unlikely, as it is Sunday. Come Monday morning, as a good collaborator should, he’ll go to the Italian army authorities and report a case of breaking, entering and theft of one army motor vehicle. No blame will attach to him. The culprits are obvious. Who else could it be but us?’

Sarina said, ‘And come Monday morning? When the search starts?’

‘Come Monday morning this truck will probably have joined the old one. Whatever happens, we’ll be a long way away from it by then.’

‘You are devious.’

‘You’re being silly again. This is what you call forward planning. Get inside.’

The new truck was rather more comfortable and much quieter than the old one. As they drove off, Sarina said: ‘I’m not carping or criticizing but – well, you do have rather a cavalier attitude towards the property of your allies.’

Petersen glanced at her then returned his attention to the road. ‘Our allies.’

‘What? Oh! Yes, of course. Our allies.’

Petersen kept looking ahead. He could have become suddenly thoughtful but it was impossible to tell. Petersen’s expression did what he told it to do. He said: ‘That mountain inn yesterday. Lunchtime. Remember what George said?’

‘Remember – how could I? He says so much – all the time. Said about what?’

‘Our allies.’

‘Vaguely.’

‘Vaguely.’ He clucked his tongue in disapproval. ‘This augurs ill. A radio operator – any operative – should remember everything that is said. Our alliance is simply a temporary measure of convenience and expediency. We are fighting with the Italians – George said “Germans” but it’s the same thing – not for them. We are fighting for ourselves. When they have served their purpose it will be time for them to be gone. In the meantime, a conflict of interests has arisen between the Italians and the Germans on the one hand and us on the other. Our interests come first. Pity about the trucks but the loss of one or two isn’t going to win or lose the war.’

There was a short silence then Lorraine said: ‘Who is going to win this dreadful war, Major Petersen?’

‘We are. I’d rather you’d just call me Peter. As long as you’re other wise civil, that is.’

The two girls exchanged glances. If Petersen saw the exchange he gave no signs.

In Čapljina, in the deepening dusk, they were halted at an army roadblock. A young officer approached, shone his torch at a piece of paper in his hand, switched it to the truck’s plates, then played it across the windscreen. Petersen leaned out of the window.

‘Don’t shine that damned light in our eyes!’ he shouted angrily. The light beam dipped immediately.

‘Sorry, sir. Routine check. Wrong truck.’ He stepped back, saluted and waved them on. Petersen drove off.

‘I didn’t like that,’ Sarina said. ‘What happens when your luck runs out? And why did he let us through so easily?’

‘A young man with taste, sensibility and discretion,’ Petersen said. ‘Who is he, he said to himself, to interfere with an army officer carrying on a torrid affair with two beautiful young ladies. The hunt, however, is on. The paper he held had the number of the old truck. Then he checked driver and passengers, a most unusual thing. He had been warned to look out for three desperadoes. Anyone can see that I’m perfectly respectable and neither of you could be confused with a fat and thin desperado.’

‘But they must know we’re with you.’

‘No “must” about it. They will, soon enough, but not yet. The only two people who knew that you were aboard the ship were the two who are still tied up in the hut back there.’

‘Somebody may have asked questions at the Colombo.’

‘Possibly. I doubt it. Even if they had, no member of the crew would divulge anything without Carlos’ okay. He has that kind of relationship with them.’

Sarina said doubtfully: ‘Carlos might tell them.’

‘Carlos wouldn’t volunteer anything. He might have a struggle with his conscience but it would be a brief one and duty would lose out: he’s not going to sell his old girlfriend down the river, especially, as is like enough, there would be shooting.’

Lorraine leaned forward and looked at him. ‘Who’s supposed to be the girlfriend? Me?’

‘A flight of fancy. You know how I ramble on.’

Twice more they were stopped at roadblocks, both times without incident. Some minutes after the last check, Petersen pulled into a lay-by.

‘I’d like you to get in the back, now, please. It’s colder there but my fisherman friend did give me some blankets.’

Sarina said: ‘Why?’

‘Because from now on you might be recognized. I don’t think it likely but let’s cater for the unlikely. Your descriptions will be out any minute now.’

‘How can they be out until Major Massamo–’ She broke off and looked at her watch. ‘You said you’d phone the army post at Čapljina in an hour. That was an hour and twenty minutes ago. Those men will freeze. Why did you lie–’

‘If you can’t think, and you obviously can’t, at least shut up. Just a little, white, necessary lie. What would have happened if I phoned now or had done in the past twenty minutes?’

‘They’d have sent out a rescue party.’

‘That all?’

‘What else?’

‘Heaven help Yugoslavia. They’d have traced the call and know roughly where I am. The call was sent on the hour by my friend. From Gruda, on the Čapljina – Imotski road away to the northwest of here. What more natural than we should be making for Imotski – an Italian division is headquartered there. So they’ll concentrate their search on the Imotski area. There’s an awful lot of places – buildings, store-houses, trucks – where a person can hide in a divisional headquarters, and as the Italians like the Germans about as much as they like the Yugoslavs – and the order for my detention comes from the German HQ in Rome – I don’t suppose they’ll conduct the search with any great enthusiasm. They may have doubleguessed – I don’t think they’d even bother trying – but go in the back anyway.’

Petersen descended, saw them safely hoisted aboard the rear of the track, returned to the cab and drove off.

He passed two more roadblocks – in both cases he was waved on without stopping – before arriving at the town of Mostar. He drove into the middle of the town, crossed the river, turned right by the Hotel Bristol and two minutes later pulled up and stopped the engine. He went round to the back of the track.

‘Please remain inside,’ he said. ‘I should be back in fifteen minutes.’

Giacomo said: ‘Are we permitted to know where we are?’

‘Certainly. In a public car park in Mostar.’

‘Isn’t that rather a public place?’ It was, inevitably, Sarina.

‘The more public the better. If you really want to hide, there’s no place like hiding in the open.’

George said: ‘You won’t forget to tell Josip that I’ve had nothing to eat or drink for days?’

‘I don’t have to tell him. He’s always known that.’

When Petersen returned it was in a small fourteen-seater Fiat bus which had seen its heyday in the middle twenties. The driver was a small, lean man with a swarthy complexion, a ferocious black moustache, glittering eyes and a seemingly boundless source of energy.

‘This is Josip,’ Petersen said. Josip greeted George and Alex with great enthusiasm, they were obviously acquaintances of old standing. Petersen didn’t bother to introduce him to the others. ‘Get your stuff into the bus. We’re using the bus because Josip doesn’t care too much to have an Italian army lorry parked outside the front door of his hotel.’

‘Hotel?’ Sarina said. ‘We’re going to stay in a hotel?’

‘When you travel with us,’ George said expansively, ‘you may expect nothing but the best.’

The hotel, when they arrived there, didn’t look like the best. The approach to it could not have been more uninviting. Josip parked the bus in a garage and led the way along a narrow winding lane that was not even wide enough to accommodate a car, fetching up at a heavy wooden door.

‘Back entrance,’ Petersen said. ‘Josip runs a perfectly respectable hotel but he doesn’t care to attract too much attention by bringing so many people in at once.’

They passed through a short passage into the reception area, small but bright and clean.

‘Now then.’ Josip rubbed his hands briskly, he was that kind of man. ‘If you’ll just bring your luggage, I’ll show you to your rooms. Wash and brush up, then dinner.’ He spread his hands. ‘No Ritz, but at least you won’t go to bed hungry.’

‘I can’t face the stairs, yet,’ George said. He nodded towards an archway. ‘I think I’ll just go and rest quietly in there.’

‘Barman’s off tonight, Professor. You’ll have to help yourself.’

‘I can take the rough with the smooth.’

‘This way, ladies.’

In the corridor upstairs Sarina turned to Petersen and said in a low voice: ‘Why did your friend call George “Professor”?’

‘Lots of people call him that. A nickname. You can see why. He’s always pontificating.’

Dinner was rather more than Josip had promised it would be but, then, Bosnian innkeepers are renowned for their inventiveness and resourcefulness, not to mention acquisitiveness. Considering the ravaged and war-stricken state of the country, the meal was a near miracle: Dalmatian ham, grey mullet with an excellent Pošip white wine and, astonishingly, venison accompanied by one of the renowned Neretva red wines. George, after remarking, darkly, that one never knew what the uncertain future held for them, there after remained silent for an unprecedented fifteen minutes: no mean trencherman at the best of times, his current exercise in gastronomy bordered on the awesome.

Apart from George, his two companions and their host, Marija, Josip’s wife, was also at the table. Small, dark and energetic like her husband, she was in other ways in marked contrast to him: he was intense, she was vivacious: he was taciturn, she was talkative to the point of garrulity. She looked at Michael and Sarina, seated some distance away at one small table, and at Giacomo and Lorraine, seated about the same distance away, at another, and lowered her voice.

‘Your friends are very quiet.’

George swallowed some venison. ‘It’s the food.’

‘They’re talking, all right,’ Petersen said. ‘You just can’t hear them over the champing noise George is making. But you’re right, they are talking very softly.’

Josip said: ‘Why? Why do they have to murmur or whisper? There’s nothing to be afraid of here. Nobody can hear them except us.’

‘You heard what George said. They don’t know what the future holds for them. This is a whole new experience for them – not, of course, for Giacomo, but for the other three. They’re apprehensive and from their point of view they have every right to be. For all they know, tomorrow may be their last day on earth.’

‘It could be yours, too,’ Josip said. ‘The word in the marketplace – we hoteliers spend a lot of time in the market-place – is that groups of Partisans have by-passed the Italian garrison at Prozor, moved down the Rama valley and are in the hills overlooking the road between here and Jablanica. They may even be astride the road: they’re crazy enough for anything. What are your plans for tomorrow? If, I may add hastily, one may ask.’

‘Why ever not? We’ll have to take to the mountains by and by of course, but those three young people don’t look much like mountain goats to me so we’ll stick as long as possible to the truck and the road. The road to Jablanica, that is.’

‘And if you run into the Partisans?’

‘Tomorrow can look after itself.’

At the end of the meal, Giacomo and Lorraine rose and crossed to the main table. Lorraine said: ‘I tried to have a walk, stretch my legs, this afternoon, but you stopped me. I’d like to have one now. Do you mind?’

‘Yes. I mean, I do mind. At the moment, this is very much a frontier town. You’re young, beautiful and the streets, as the saying goes, are full of licentious soldiery. Even if a patrol stops you, you don’t speak a word of the language. Besides, it’s bitterly cold.’

‘Since when did you begin to worry about my health?’ She was back to being her imperious self again. ‘Giacomo will look after me. What you mean is, you still don’t trust me.’

‘Well, yes, there’s that to it also.’

‘What do you expect me to do? Run away? Report you to – to the authorities? What authorities? There is nothing I can do.’

‘I know that. I’m concerned solely with your own welfare.’

Beautiful girls are not much given to snorting in disbelief but she came close. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll come along with you.’

‘No, thank you. I don’t want you.’

‘You see,’ George said, ‘she doesn’t even like you.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘But everyone likes George. Big, cheerful, likeable George. I’ll come along with you.’

‘I don’t want you either.’

Petersen coughed. Josip said: ‘The Major is right, you know, young lady. This is a dangerous town after dark. Your Giacomo looks perfectly capable of protecting anyone, but there are streets in this town where even the army police patrols won’t venture. I know where it’s safe to go and where it isn’t.’

She smiled. ‘You are very kind.’

Sarina said: ‘Mind if we come, too?’

‘Of course not.’

All five, Michael included, buttoned up in their heavy coats and went out, leaving Petersen and his two companions behind. George shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

‘To think I used to be the most popular person in Yugoslavia. That was before I met you, of course. Shall we retire?’

‘So soon?’

‘Through the archway, I meant.’ George led the way and ensconced himself behind the bar counter. ‘Strange young lady. Lorraine, that is. I muse aloud. Why did she sally forth into the dark and dangerous night. She hardly strikes one as a fresh-air fiend or fitness fanatic.’

‘Neither does Sarina. Two strange young ladies.’

George reached for a bottle of red wine. ‘Let us concede that the vagaries of womankind, especially young womankind, are beyond us and concentrate more profitably on this vintage ’38.’

Alex said suddenly: ‘I don’t think they’re all that strange.’

Petersen and George gave him their attention. Alex spoke so seldom, far less ventured an opinion, that he was invariably listened to when he did speak.

George said: ‘Can it be, Alex, that you have observed something that has escaped our attention?’

‘Yes. You see, I don’t talk as much as you do.’ The words sounded offensive but weren’t meant to be, they were simply by way of explanation. ‘When you’re talking I look and listen and learn, while you’re listening to yourselves talking. The two young ladies seem to have become very friendly. I think they’ve become too friendly too quickly. Maybe they really like each other, I don’t know. What I do know is that they don’t trust each other. I am sure that Lorraine went out to learn something. I don’t know what. I think Sarina thought the same thing and wanted to find out, so she’s gone to watch.’

George nodded a judicious head. ‘A closely reasoned argument. What do you think they both went out to learn?’

‘How should I know?’ Alex sounded mildly irritable. ‘I just watch. You’re the ones who are supposed to think.’

The two girls and their escorts were back even before the three men had finished their bottle of wine, which meant that they had returned in very short order indeed. The two girls and Michael were already slightly bluish with cold and Lorraine’s teeth were positively chattering.

‘Pleasant stroll?’ Petersen said politely.

‘Very pleasant,’ Lorraine said. Clearly, she hadn’t forgiven him for whatever sin he was supposed to have committed. ‘I’ve just come to say goodnight. What time do we leave in the morning?’

‘Six o’clock.’

‘Six o’clock!’

‘If that’s too late–’

She ignored him and turned to Sarina. ‘Coming?’

‘In a moment.’

Lorraine left and George said, ‘For a nightcap, Sarina, I can recommend this Maraschino from Zadar. After a lifetime–’

She ignored him as Lorraine had ignored Petersen, to whom she now turned and said: ‘You lied to me.’

‘Dear me. What a thing to say.’

‘George here. His “nickname”. The Professor. Because, you said, he was loquacious–’

‘I did not. “Pontificated” was the word I used.’

‘Don’t quibble! Nickname! Dean of the Faculty of Languages and Professor of Occidental Languages at Belgrade University!’

‘My word!’ Petersen said admiringly. ‘You are clever. How did you find out?’

She smiled. ‘I just asked Josip.’

‘Well done for you. Must have come as a shock. I mean, you had him down as the janitor, didn’t you?’

She stopped smiling and a faint colour touched her cheeks. ‘I did not. And why did you lie?’

‘No lie, really. It’s quite unimportant. It’s just that George doesn’t like to boast of his modest academic qualifications. He’s never reached the dizzying heights of a degree in economics and politics in Cairo University.’

She coloured again, more deeply, then smiled, a faint smile, but a smile. ‘I didn’t even qualify. I didn’t deserve that.’

‘That’s true. Sorry.’

She turned to George. ‘But what are you doing – I mean, a common soldier–’

Behind the bar, George drew himself up with dignity. ‘I’m a very uncommon soldier.’

‘Yes. But I mean – a dean, a professor–’

George shook his head sadly. ‘Hurling pluperfect subjunctives at the enemy trenches never won a battle yet.’

Sarina stared at him then turned to Petersen. ‘What on earth does he mean?’

‘He’s back in the groves of academe.’

‘Wherever we’re going,’ she said with conviction, ‘I don’t think we’re going to get there. You’re mad. Both of you. Quite mad.’