The Alien

by Josephine Bell

  “You are most generous. But I must refuse the offer.’’

  “Then what can I say to them?’’ Sørensen began to look piteous, to plead. “I shall be recalled myself! I shall lose my position here! All that I have built up for so many years—’’

  “No,’’ said Boris. “It cannot be that I am so important to your firm. I will resign. You can say that I resigned before you made the firm’s wishes regarding me. And that afterwards I would not withdraw my resignation.’’

  “And you? How will you live?’’

  “I will teach again – for a time. Until my plans are settled.’’

  “When will that be? These things take time.’’

  “A year – two years.’’ Boris smiled. He had already set four weeks as the limit of his stay in England. He had heard nothing from Sørensen to make him wish to change that period.

  “Do you imagine you will find this teaching post immediately? What will you live on in the meantime?’’

  “I live quietly. I have saved a little money.’’

  “You will receive a full month’s wages from me. That would have been due to you for four weeks’ work following the notice of your resignation. By the action of my firm the four weeks notice is cancelled. The money is due to you.’’

  He unlocked a drawer, took out a bundle of five-pound notes and began to count them.

  “I propose to add a bonus for excellent work,’’ he said. “You will need it, I think, now that one of your sources of income will cease.’’

  Boris thanked him gravely. He knew now that the man wished him well and he was grateful for it. As he was putting away the money Sørensen said, “They will be sorry to lose you in Sweden. You could have been very useful to my – country.’’

  “To your firm,’’ corrected Boris, gently, “I would be happy to be of use. To a country – no. Sweden is not my country. At present I have no country—’’

  “But in a year or two years – you think you will be an Englishman or an American? You deceive yourself, my friend.’’

  “I think not,’’ Boris answered, firmly.

  Sørensen held out his hand.

  “You will want to visit your bank, no doubt, as early as possible. I accept that your contract ends today. Finish your letters this morning, clear up your desk and you may have this afternoon off. I shall be pleased if you will lunch with me today – to show there is no ill-will.’’

  “I should be delighted,’’ Boris answered. “But unfortunately I have an appointment for the lunch-hour. I would like to leave here a little early for that, but I will come back this afternoon to clear up my work. I should not like to leave a muddle and there will not be time to do all this morning.’’

  “Very well.’’

  Sørensen was not pleased. He was accustomed to give the orders himself. Somehow Sudenic had conducted the whole of this interview and all of the arrangements, except that unauthorized gift of his which he would have to fiddle through the accounts. However, he had derived pleasure and interest from having the man in his office and on the whole it was probably safer to get him out of the firm now. Both for this branch and for the headquarters in Stockholm.

  He shook hands with Boris warmly and wished him well. He watched the tall figure leave his room with a definite regret. He himself had a conference elsewhere that afternoon. He pressed the buzzer on his desk and when Margrethe came in, which she did with her accustomed promptitude, he began at once to dictate to her.

  Sørensen left the office an hour later than his staff. He was, by now, feeling out of temper with the world. He felt dissatisfied with his surroundings, wished he were at home, in his summer house on the Baltic, with his yacht moored close inshore. There were six weeks more until he could escape there for his annual holiday with his wife and family.

  Outside his office window the sun had been shining in a clear blue sky. In the corridor outside his room some rather tired delphiniums, lupins, spanish iris and scabious stood sharply defined by their indirect lighting. With an oath in his own language Sørensen dragged the plug from the wall and doused the light. The flowers stood in darkness, the corridor lost its rich, welcoming look. The managing director strode away.

  When she came back from her lunch five minutes later, Margrethe was horrified, suspected a burnt fuse and sent for the electrician. He came, replaced the plug and departed again without saying anything, concluding, not for the first time, that foreigners, even gorgeous female ones, were scatty and there was no point in telling them so.

  Boris went first to his bank, which was a branch conveniently near the office, and afterwards to a public call box. He had some difficulty in getting through to Carfax, but at last a familiar voice took over from the series of obtuse girls and men who had handed him about among them. Carfax was surprised, but said Boris could come at once and he would try to make the visit a combined one.

  When Boris arrived in that part of Whitehall where Carfax had his office he found three men waiting for him, Carfax himself and two others, both older, both treated by the younger man with respect, but not deference. This quality, Boris suspected, was not a conspicuous part of the man’s make-up.

  He was asked to account for his wish to see them with so little notice. He described his talk with Sørensen, explaining that he felt unable to take the Swede’s offer. The three men took his explanation without comment of any kind, though Carfax wrote a few words on a slip of paper and passed it to the senior of the other two.

  Boris was then asked to repeat what he had already said in the Brentwoods’ house. He did so, very briefly, neither altering nor adding anything at all. When he had finished one of the senior men said, “You’ve managed to stir up rather an unusual amount of trouble, both for yourself and us, in a very short space of time, Mr. Sudenic.’’

  “I am sorry,’’ Boris answered, “for your inconvenience. But I do not apologize. The trouble, as you call it, is not from me. Too many people interest themselves in my affairs.’’

  “You can hardly blame them,’’ said the other senior man, mildly.

  “I blame them,’’ retorted Boris, “and I am surprised. My countrymen who live here – they have no political importance, but they do not accept this.’’

  “It might be said equally well of you, yourself,’’ suggested Carfax. “You also are an exile, though as an agent of undecided allegiance you are rather exceptional.’’

  “Well put, John,’’ said the first man. He turned briskly to Boris. “Now, Mr. Sudenic, I will speak bluntly. We don’t know exactly what part you took in that little brush near Paddington and we don’t very much care. But we don’t intend to have inter-Iron-Curtain feuds disturbing the Queen’s Peace in this country. In other words we are not going to accept you as a permanent resident.’’

  “That I did not expect,’’ said Boris, not at all moved by the ultimatum.

  “On the other hand,’’ said the second senior, “we have no intention of throwing you to the wolves. Up to a point you’ve solved a number of puzzles that’ve stumped us so far.’’

  “I have?’’ asked Boris, genuinely surprised.

  “Yes, you. Unintentionally, I have no doubt. That must be a new experience for you.’’

  As Boris made no answer to this, he went on, “Up to a point we would like to help you, since you have been of assistance to us.’’

  Boris finished considering the situation.

  “You have checked with Ericson,’’ he said. “Now I understand.’’ He smiled suddenly. “There is the little matter of—’’

  “Fifty quid,’’ said Carfax. “It will be taken care of.’’

  “Thank you.’’

  “We will help you,’’ went on the senior man, quite as if there had been no interruption, “provided you guarantee not to get into any more brawls; not to concern yourself with passing information and so on, to or with any of your dubious contacts, before you leave this country. Where d’you intend to go?’’

  The question ca
me with no alteration in the tone of voice and no preceding pause. But Boris had been interrogated far too often, in similarly comfortable, as well as in brutal circumstances, to be caught by it.

  “I have told Mr. Carfax,’’ he said at once, with a candid look in John’s direction. “I, too, think England is perhaps too – populated – too crowded – for me. I have friends I write to in America.’’

  “Yes. Your U.S. friend agrees he is trying to help you. But he is very doubtful if he will succeed.’’

  “He is very rich. That means power in America.’’

  “Perhaps not to the extent needed in your case. We think, Mr. Sudenic, that you must not rely on this, but think of alternatives. Your present permit lasts until the middle of August. It will not be renewed. You must be prepared to leave the country by then.’’

  “Oh yes,’’ agreed Boris. “I must leave before August.’’

  The others exchanged glances.

  “I imagine you have given fairly short notice at Sørensen’s?’’ Carfax suggested.

  “Sørensen’s.’’ Boris reflected, then spoke. “Yes, I resign today as I told you. Today, I finish.’’ He got to his feet, smiling all round and holding out his hand to the senior man. “You will forgive me. I have to return to arrange my papers at the office. Also I have not yet eaten.’’

  They all shook hands with him. A secretary appeared to show him out.

  “Well, I’m damned!’’ Carfax said, as the door closed behind him.

  The senior man picked up the telephone receiver and dialled a number on the outside line.

  Boris walked out into the sunshine, wondering if his last piece of near-boasting had been an indiscretion or would have the desired effect. He could not tell, so it was no use worrying.

  It was not until he had nearly reached Wellington Place that he began to worry and that not on account of his recent interview. Happening to look back as he passed the Underground entrance in Trafalgar Square he saw emerging from it a figure he recognized. The man’s face was turned away from him, staring at the on-coming traffic. Though he moved to the kerb at a pedestrian crossing, he made no attempt to use it. Before he turned his head in Boris’s direction the latter moved on again.

  But he knew he had been seen as he passed the Underground entrance and he guessed what was likely to follow. His only hope lay in reaching Stephen’s club near Wellington Place before the trap was sprung. Therefore, until he reached it, he must continue at the same pace, as if his intention was to cross into the Haymarket or Lower Regent Street.

  It was a nerve-racking hundred yards. There were no shop-windows beside him or opposite to mirror the passers-by behind him. Tall, solid buildings on the shady side of the street, with, at this hour, very few people on the pavement. The crowds, such as they were, would be in St. James’s Park on the grass or in deck-chairs. The tourists with their cameras would be drifting down the Mall towards Buckingham Palace. He felt very much alone and thoroughly frightened.

  At last he drew level with the steps of the club. He shot up them at speed, not daring to look back until he had passed the door and announced to the porter that Commander Lang was expecting him. Then, turning, he looked out through the glass door. Three men had come together on the pavement outside; one of them was the individual he had recognized. A car drew up beside them; they got in and drove away.

  Stephen greeted Boris impatiently.

  “You’ve been a hell of a time,’’ he said. “What’s cooking?’’

  Boris told him the unexpected news from Sørensen’s, and said he felt he had to see Carfax in consequence. There was no time to ring him up; he had to go to Whitehall immediately. Nothing was settled, but he did not expect that.

  “I bet they don’t want you to stay here,’’ Stephen said, complacently.

  “You are not complimentary, but that is true.’’

  “Obvious. A cuckoo in the nest. Everything you do and say is far too definite for our present rulers. They are walking on a tightrope and only making themselves unpopular for it.’’

  “A tightrope is quite safe if you have the skill. Besides, I am in favour of compromise. It is not natural to me, but I have learned its value.’’

  “The hard way,’’ said Stephen, becoming serious.

  “As you say. Let us not talk of my interview – especially not here. This place should be filled by none but loyal men, only one can never be sure.’’

  “Careful,’’ said Stephen. “I wouldn’t like to have to dot you one as you’re my guest, but there are some things you can’t say, even to me.’’

  Boris sighed. Sometimes Stephen’s immaturity made him sad.

  “I will tell you what has just happened as I arrive here,’’ he said. “It will amuse you.’’

  On the contrary, it gave Stephen much concern. He began to talk about police protection, about driving the enemy into the open and exposing him, about arranging a counter-ambush.

  “No use,’’ said Boris. “I have promise to have no – brawls they called it. Listen, Stephen. Are you free this afternoon? And have you a car here?’’

  “Answer to both in the affirmative.’’

  “Then I will explain.’’

  The outcome of this was that Stephen drove Boris to the offices of the Baltic Trading Company and being lucky enough to find a free parking meter was able to leave the car and go back to wait for him. The two hours were nearly up and Stephen’s patience almost exhausted by the time Boris rejoined him.

  “If you’d been any later I’d have had to drive round and perhaps lose the meter by the time I got back to it.’’

  “I am sorry. My colleagues interrupt me to say good-bye. Mr. Sørensen’s secretary, Margrethe Olsen—’’

  “The ash-blonde?’’

  “Pale gold, not ash. That is grey. We arrange a river trip on the Thames. For Sunday afternoon. She is sad that I go.’’

  “Now, now,’’ Stephen admonished. “None of this Casanova stuff. Ann, Louise, now Margrethe—’’

  “But no,’’ said Boris, very seriously, as they drove away. “I am not Casanova. I like women – almost all women – very, very much. But I love only one at a time. At present it is Louise.’’

  “You’re hopeless!’’ Stephen laughed. “Where to, now? I promised to pick up Ann about this time.’’ He glanced at his watch. “Christ, yes! I’m late.’’

  “May I come with you?’’ Boris asked. “To explain why I keep you. I must talk to you, Stephen – and to Ann. It is for my future, a plan I make. Will she be angry if I come with you? I think there is not much time for me.’’

  “Of course she won’t. We can all go to her place. None of your would be kidnappers know where Ann hangs out, surely?’’

  “I hope not. If it was not – urgent—’’

  “Urgent, my foot! And you going to lounge about in a punt all Sunday afternoon!’’

  Boris laughed, but somehow Stephen thought, puzzled, there was a hollow sound to it. He was beginning to feel uneasy about Boris. He was a splendid chap, of course, but some of the things he said went too near the bone. He didn’t want Ann mixed up in anything risky. Perhaps Boris was going to turn out a bit of a liability, after all. He seemed to know such very extraordinary people.

  Ann, pleased to see them both, showed signs of no such misgivings. But she took Boris’s predicament very seriously.

  “We’ll have to look after you,’’ she said. “Obviously it isn’t safe for you to be around alone.’’

  “Will they try something again?’’ Stephen asked, frowning. “Surely not at once?’’

  “Who can say? It may be tomorrow – the next day – anytime.’’

  “Will you be working tomorrow?’’ Ann asked. “Steve has to go back to Portsmouth. Don’t you, darling?’’

  He nodded, foreseeing what would follow.

  “Well, I’ve promised to go to my people for the week-end. It’s not too far from London, in the Chilterns, beyond High Wycombe. Will you come down with
me for lunch and tea? I can drive you down and put you on a train to come back. Do say yes.’’

  “I shall be pleased and honoured,’’ Boris answered.

  “Then I’ll pick you up from your flat about eleven. Unless you’ll be at your office.’’

  “No. I leave Sørensen’s today.’’

  “That’s all right, then. Have we got your address?’’

  “Stephen has it.’’

  “And now,’’ the latter said, rather irritably, “perhaps you’ll let Boris tell us what he came here to explain. His plans for how and when he can leave this country.’’

  “Oh!’’ said Ann, delightedly. But looking from one to the other of their solemn faces, held her peace and let them get on with it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, with all due protocol and the heavy cynicism so characteristic of their usual approach, the Soviet Government, through its embassy in Britain, demanded the extradition of a former seaman, now living in London, for the crime of theft from a Russian trawler while she was anchored during bad weather in Higlett Bay off the Yorkshire coast.

  The name of Boris Sudenic being already familiar, the request took a fairly rapid upward flight, gathering Colin on its way because after all it was he who saw the fellow directly he had landed.

  “Find anything valuable on him when he landed?’’ Colin was asked, and could only shake his head and declare, not for the first time, that the man had been soaked to the skin, had been attended by his own man, Ogden, and that if Ogden had seen anything unusual that Sudenic was carrying he would have noticed it when he helped him to strip and dress again in borrowed clothes. Also Ogden would have been certain to report it.

  “What’s he supposed to have pinched, anyway?’’ Colin demanded.

  “Money, it says, in British currency. And weapons, unspecified.’’

  “British currency? That’s a bit fishy, isn’t it? Bit of a giveaway on their part?’’

  “Not particularly. The skipper might be carrying foreign currency of several kinds for use in refuelling, buying necessary stores and so on.’’