Читать книгу Unconditional Surrender онлайн

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Frankie went to the cupboard and revealed a bottle. Many strange concoctions of the "Olde Falstaffe" kind circulated in those days. This was not one of them.

"Not opened yet," she said.

Ludovic was not fond of spirits, nor was whisky any rarity at his well-found station; nevertheless he accepted the offered drink with a solemnity which verged on reverence. This was no mere clandestine treat. Frankie was initiating him into the occult company of Logan and Kafka. He would find time in the days to come to learn who Kafka was. Now he drained the glass, swallowing almost without repugnance the highly valued distillation.

"You seemed to want that," said Frankie. "I daren't offer you another yet, I'm afraid. Perhaps later. It depends who else turns up."

"It was just what I wanted," said Ludovic; "all that I wanted"--repressing a momentary inclination to retch.

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The Kilbannocks' house in Eaton Terrace had suffered no direct damage from bombing; not a pane of glass had been broken, not a chimney-pot thrown down; but four years of war had left their marks on the once gay interior. Kerstie did her best but paint, wallpapers, chintzes and carpets were stained and shabby. Despite these appearances the Kilbannocks had in fact recovered from the comparative penury of 1939. Kerstie no longer took lodgers. She had moved from the canteen of the Transit Camp to a well-paid job as cipher clerk; Ian's pay rose with the rings on his cuff; an aunt had died leaving him a modest legacy. And there was nothing in those days to tempt anyone to extravagance. Kerstie had had Ian's evening clothes cleverly adapted into a serviceable coat and skirt. The children were still confined to their grandmother in Scotland and came to London only on occasions.