‘Nearly ‘alf pas’ seven,’ said Eumenides.
‘He said he’d be here by eight, but he’ll probably be late. Neither of us expected Favel to be so quick—I don’t suppose Serrurier expected it, either. Rawsthorne might be held up, even in a car with diplomatic plates. Damn that bloody fool Dawson,’ he said feelingly. ‘If he hadn’t messed things up we’d have been away in Wyatt’s car hours ago.’
He looked at the map. ‘Wyatt said we should find a place above the hundred-foot mark and facing north. This damned map has no contour lines. Eumenides, can you help me here?’
The Greek looked over Causton’s shoulder. ‘There,’ he said, and laid his finger on the map.
‘I dare say it is a nice place,’ agreed Causton. ‘But we’d have to go through two armies to get there. No, we’ll have to go along the coast in one direction or another and then strike inland to get height.’ His finger moved along the coast road. ‘I don’t think there’s any point in going west towards Cap Sarrat. There are units of the Government army strung along there, and anyway, it’s pretty flat as I remember it. The civil airfield is there and Favel will probably strike for it, so altogether it’ll be a pretty unhealthy place. So it’ll have to be the other way. What’s it like this road, Eumenides? The one that leads east?’
‘The road goes up,’ said Eumenides. ‘There is…there is…’ He snapped his fingers in annoyance. ‘It fall from road to sea.’
‘There are cliffs on the seaward side—this side?’ asked Causton, and the Greek nodded. ‘Just what we’re looking for,’ said Causton with satisfaction. ‘What’s the country like inland—say, here?’
Eumenides waved his hand up and down expressively. ‘’Ills.’
‘Then that’s it,’ said Causton. ‘But you’d better discuss it further with Rawsthorne when he comes.’
‘What about you?’ asked Julie. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Someone has to do a reconnaissance,’ said Causton. ‘We have to find if it’s a practicable proposition to go that way. I’m going to scout around the east end of town. It’s safe enough for one man.’
He rose from his knees and went to the window. ‘There are plenty of civilians out and about now; the police haven’t been able to bottle them all up in their houses. I should be able to get away with it.’
‘With a white skin?’
‘Um,’ said Causton. ‘That’s a thought.’ He went over to his bag and unzipped it. ‘A very little of this ought to do the trick.’ He looked with distaste at the tin of brown boot-polish in his hand. ‘Will you apply it, Julie? Just the veriest touch—there are plenty of light-coloured Negroes here and I don’t want to look like a nigger minstrel.’
Julie smeared a little of the boot-polish on his face. He said, ‘Don’t forget the back of the neck—that’s vital. It isn’t so much a disguise as a deception; it only needs enough to darken the skin so that people won’t take a second look and say “Look at that blanc”.’
He rubbed some of the polish on his hands and wrists, then said, ‘Now I want a prop.’
Julie stared at him. ‘A what?’
‘A stage property. I’ve wandered all through the corridors of power in Whitehall and got away with it because I was carrying a sheaf of papers and looked as though I was going somewhere. I got a scoop from a hospital by walking about in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from my pocket. The idea is to look a natural part of the scenery—a stethoscope gives one a right to be in a hospital. Now, what gives me a right to be in a civil war?’
Eumenides grinned maliciously, and said, ‘A gun.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Causton regretfully. ‘Well, there ought to be plenty of those outside. I ought to be able to pick up a rifle and maybe a scrap of uniform to make it look convincing. Meanwhile, where’s that pop-gun of yours, Eumenides?’
‘In the bar where I lef’ it.’
‘Right—well, I’ll be off,’ said Causton. There was a heavy explosion not far away and the windows shivered in their frames. ‘It’s warming up. A pity this place has no cellars. Eumenides, I think you’d all better move downstairs—actually under the stairs is the best place. And if that Warmington woman gets hysterical, pop her one.’
Eumenides nodded.
Causton paused by the door. ‘I don’t think I’ll be long, but if I’m not back by eleven I won’t be coming back at all, and you’d better push off. With the townspeople coming out now the road might be difficult, so don’t wait for me.’
He left without waiting for a reply and ran down the stairs and into the bar. There were soda-water bottles stacked on the counter but no sign of the gun. He looked about for a couple of minutes then gave up, vaguely wondering what had happened to it. But he had no time to waste so he crossed the foyer and, with a precautionary glance outside, stepped boldly into the street.
II
Mrs Warmington was still drugged with sleep, for which Julie was thankful. She opened one drowsy eye and said, ‘Wha’ time is it?’
‘It’s quite early,’ said Julie. ‘But we must go downstairs.’
‘I wanna sleep,’ said Mrs Warmington indistinctly. ‘Send the maid with my tea in an hour.’
‘But we must go now,’ said Julie firmly. ‘We are going away soon.’ She began to assemble the things she needed.
‘What’s all that noise?’ complained Mrs Warmington crossly. ‘I declare this is the noisiest hotel I’ve ever slept in.’ This declaration seemed to exhaust her and she closed her eyes and a faint whistling sound emanated from the bed—too ladylike to be called a snore.
‘Come on, Mrs Warmington.’ Julie shook her by the shoulder.
Mrs Warmington roused herself and propped up on one elbow. ‘Oh, my head! Did we have a party?’ Slowly, intelligence returned to her eyes and her head jerked up as she recognized the din of the guns for what it was. ‘Oh, my God!’ she wailed. ‘What’s happening?’
‘The rebels have started to bombard the town,’Julie said.
Mrs Warmington jumped out of bed, all traces of sleep gone. ‘We must leave,’ she said rapidly. ‘We must go now.’
‘We have no car yet,’ said Julie. ‘Mr Rawsthorne hasn’t come.’ She turned to find Mrs Warmington pushing her overfed figure into a tight girdle. ‘Good grief!’ she said, ‘don’t wear that—we might have to move fast. Have you any slacks?’
‘I don’t believe in women of…of my type wearing pants.’
Julie surveyed her and gave a crooked smile. ‘Maybe you’re right at that,’ she agreed. ‘Well, wear something sensible; wear a suit if it hasn’t got a tight skirt.’
She stripped the beds of their blankets and folded them into a bundle. Mrs Warmington said, ‘I knew we ought to have gone to the Base last night.’ She squeezed her feet into tight shoes.
‘You know it was impossible,’ said Julie briefly.
‘I can’t imagine what Commodore Brooks is thinking of—leaving us here at the mercy of these savages. Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She opened the door and went out, leaving Julie to bring the large bundle of blankets.
Eumenides was at the head of the stairs. He looked at the blankets and said, ‘Ver’ good t’ing,’ and took them from her.
There was a faint noise from downstairs as though someone had knocked over a chair. They all stood listening for a moment, then Mrs Warmington dug her finger into the Greek’s ribs. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ she hissed. ‘Find out who it is.’
Eumenides dropped the blankets and tiptoed down the stairs and out of sight. Mrs Warmington clutched her bag to her breast, then turned abruptly and walked back to the bedroom. Julie heard the click as the bolt was shot home.
Presently Eumenides reappeared and beckoned. ‘It’s Rawst’orne.’
Julie got Mrs Warmington out of the bedroom again and they all went downstairs to find Rawsthorne very perturbed. ‘They’ve started shelling the town,’ he said. ‘The Government troops are making a stand. It would be better if we moved out quickly before the roads
become choked.’
‘I agree,’ said Mrs Warmington.
Rawsthorne looked around. ‘Where’s Causton?’
‘He’s gone to find the best way out,’ said Julie. ‘He said he wouldn’t be long. What time is it now?’
Rawsthorne consulted a pocket watch. ‘Quarter to nine—sorry I’m late. Did he say when he’d be back?’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t think he’d be long, but he said that if he wasn’t back by eleven then he wouldn’t be coming at all.’
There was a violent explosion not far away and flakes of plaster drifted down from the ceiling. Mrs Warmington jumped. ‘Lead the way to your car, Mr Rawsthorne. We must leave now.’
Rawsthorne ignored her. ‘A little over two hours at the most,’ he said. ‘But he should be back long before that. Meanwhile…’ He looked up meaningly at the ceiling.
‘Causton said the best place for us was under the stairs,’ said Julie.
‘You mean we’re staying here?’ demanded Mrs Warmington. ‘With all this going on? You’ll get us all killed.’
‘We can’t leave Mr Causton,’ said Julie.
‘I fix,’ said Eumenides. ‘Come.’
The space under the main staircase had been used as a store-room. The door had been locked but Eumenides had broken it open with a convenient fire axe, tossed out all the buckets and brooms and had packed in all the provisions they were taking. Mrs Warmington objected most strongly to sitting on the floor but went very quietly when Julie said pointedly, ‘You’re welcome to leave at any time.’ It was cramped, but there was room for the four of them to sit, and if the door was kept ajar Rawsthorne found he had a view of the main entrance so that he could see Causton as soon as he came back.
He said worriedly, ‘Causton should never have gone out—I’ve never seen St Pierre like this, the town is starting to boil over.’
‘He’ll be all right,’ said Julie. ‘He’s experienced at this kind of thing—it’s his job.’
‘Thank God it’s not mine,’ said Rawsthorne fervently. ‘The Government army must have been beaten terribly in the Negrito. The town is full of deserters on the run, and there are many wounded men.’ He shook his head. ‘Favel’s attack must have come with shocking suddenness for that to have happened. He must be outnumbered at least three to one by the Government forces.’
‘You said Serrurier is making a stand,’ said Julie. ‘That means the fighting is going to go on.’
‘It might go on for a long time,’ said Rawsthorne soberly. ‘Serrurier has units that weren’t committed to battle yesterday—Favel didn’t give him time. But those fresh units are digging in to the north of the town, so that means another battle.’ He clicked deprecatingly with his tongue. ‘I fear Favel may have overestimated his own strength.’
He fell silent and they listened to the noise of the battle. Always there was the clamour of the guns from the out-skirts of the town, punctuated frequently by the closer and louder explosion of a falling shell. The air in the hotel quivered and gradually became full of a sifting dust so that the sunlight slanting into the foyer shone like the beams of searchlights.
Julie stirred and began to search among the boxes which Eumenides had packed at the back. ‘Have you had breakfast, Mr Rawsthorne?’
‘I didn’t have time, my dear.’
‘We might as well eat now,’ said Julie practically. ‘I think I can cut some bread if we rearrange ourselves a little. We might as well eat it before it becomes really stale.’
They breakfasted off bread and canned pressed meat, washing it down with soda-water. When they had finished Rawsthorne said, ‘What time is it? I can’t seem to get at my watch.’
‘Ten-fifteen,’ said Julie.
‘We can give Causton another three-quarters of an hour,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘But then we must go—I’m sorry, but there it is.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Julie quietly. ‘He did tell us to go at eleven.’
Occasionally they heard distant shouts and excited cries and sometimes the clatter of running boots. Eumenides said suddenly, ‘Your car…is in street?’
‘No,’ said Rawsthorne. ‘I left it at the back of the hotel.’ He paused. ‘Poor Wyatt’s car is in a mess; all the windows are broken and someone has taken the wheels; for the tyres, I suppose.’
They relapsed into cramped silence. Mrs Warmington hugged her bag and conducted an intermittent monologue which Julie ignored. She listened to the shells exploding and wondered what would happen if the hotel got a direct hit. She had no idea of the damage a shell could do apart from what she had seen at the movies and on TV and she had a shrewd idea that the movie version would be but a pale imitation of the real thing. Her mouth became dry and she knew she was very frightened.
The minutes dragged drearily by. Mrs Warmington squeaked sharply as a shell exploded near-by—the closest yet—and the windows of the foyer blew in and smashed. She started to get up, but Julie pulled her back. ‘Stay where you are,’ she cried. ‘It’s safer here.’
Mrs Warmington flopped back and somehow Julie felt better after that. She looked at Eumenides, his face pale in the dim light, and wondered what he was thinking. It was bad for him because, his English being what it was, he could not communicate easily. As she looked at him he pulled up his wrist to his eyes. ‘Quar’ to ‘leven,’ he announced. ‘I t’ink we better load car.’
Rawsthorne stirred. ‘Yes, that might be a good idea,’ he agreed. He began to push open the door. ‘Wait a minute—here’s Causton now.’
Julie sighed. ‘Thank God!’
Rawsthorne pushed the door wider and then stopped short. ‘No, it’s not,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a soldier—and there’s another behind him.’ Gently he drew the door closed again, leaving it open only a crack and watching with one eye.
The soldier was carrying a rifle slung over one shoulder but the man behind, also a soldier, had no weapon. They came into the foyer, carelessly kicking aside the cane chairs, and stood for a moment looking at the dusty opulence around them. One of them said something and pointed, and the other laughed, and they both moved out of sight.
‘They’ve gone into the bar,’ whispered Rawsthorne.
Faintly, he could hear the clinking of bottles and loud laughter, and once, a smash of glass. Then there was silence. He said softly, ‘We can’t come out while they’re there; they’d see us. We’ll have to wait.’
It was a long wait and Rawsthorne began to feel cramp in his leg. He could not hear anything at all and began to wonder if the soldiers had not departed from the rear of the hotel. At last he whispered, ‘What time is it?’
‘Twenty past eleven.’
‘This is nonsense,’ said Mrs Warmington loudly. ‘I can’t hear anything. They must have gone.’
‘Keep quiet!’ said Rawsthorne. There was a ragged edge to his voice. He paused for a long time, then said softly, ‘They might have gone. I’m going to have a look round.’
‘Be careful,’ whispered Julie.
He was about to push the door open again when he halted the movement and swore softly under his breath. One of the soldiers had come out of the bar and was strolling through the foyer, drinking from a bottle. He went to the door of the hotel and stood for a while staring into the street through the broken panes in the revolving door, then he suddenly shouted to someone outside and waved the bottle in the air.
Two more men came in from outside and there was a brief conference; the first soldier waved his arm towards the bar with largesse as though to say ‘be my guests’. One of the two shouted to someone else outside, and presently there were a dozen soldiers tramping through the foyer on their way to the bar. There was a babel of sound in hard, masculine voices.
‘Damn them!’ said Rawsthorne. ‘They’re starting a party.’
‘What can we do?’ asked Julie.
‘Nothing,’ said Rawsthorne briefly. He paused, then said, ‘I think these are deserters—I wouldn’t want them to see us, especially…’ His voice tr
ailed away.
‘Especially the women,’ said Julie flatly, and felt Mrs Warmington begin to quiver.
They lay there in silence listening to the racket from the bar, the raucous shouts, the breaking glasses and the voices raised in song. ‘All law in the city must be breaking down,’ said Rawsthorne at last.
‘I want to get out of here,’ said Mrs Warmington suddenly and loudly.
‘Keep that woman quiet,’ Rawsthorne hissed.
‘I’m not staying here,’ she cried, and struggled to get up.
‘Hold it,’ whispered Julie furiously, pulling her down.
‘You can’t keep me here,’ screamed Mrs Warmington.
Julie did not know what Eumenides did, but suddenly Mrs Warmington collapsed on top of her, a warm, dead weight, flaccid and heavy. She heaved violently and pushed the woman off her. ‘Thanks, Eumenides,’ she whispered.
‘For God’s sake!’ breathed Rawsthorne, straining his ears to hear if there was any sudden and sinister change in the volume of noise coming from the bar. Nothing happened; the noise became even louder—the men were getting drunk. After a while Rawsthorne said softly, ‘What’s the matter with that woman? Is she mad?’
‘No,’ said Julie. ‘Just spoiled silly. She’s had her own way all her life and she can’t conceive of a situation in which getting her own way could cause her death. She can’t adapt.’ Her voice was pensive. ‘I guess I feel sorry for her more than anything else.’
‘Sorry or not, you’d better keep her quiet,’ said Rawsthorne. He peered through the crack. ‘God knows how long this lot is going to stay here—and they’re getting drunker.’
They lay there listening to the rowdy noise which was sometimes overlaid by the reverberation of the battle. Julie kept looking at her watch, wondering how long this was going to go on. Every five minutes she said to herself, they’ll leave in another five minutes—but they never did. Presently she heard a muffled sound from Rawsthorne. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.
Wyatt's Hurricane / Bahama Crisis Page 11