The Balkan Trilogy

by Olivia Manning

  Clarence barely responded.

  Yakimov had expected the offer of a lift, but no offer was made. As Clarence and Steffaneski drove off without him, the glow began to seep from him. Then he remembered he had twelve thousand lei. He went into the confiserie attached to the restaurant and bought himself a little silver box full of raspberry pastilles. Holding this happily, he called a taxi and set out for his new lodgings, where he would sleep the afternoon away.

  12

  A few days before Christmas, Bella Niculescu, meeting Harriet in the street, invited her to tea. Guy’s only comment on this incipient friendship was: ‘She’ll bore the arse off you.’

  Harriet said: ‘You scarcely know her.’

  ‘She’s just a typical bourgeois reactionary.’

  ‘You mean, her prejudices are different from yours.’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself,’ said Guy and, reminding her that they had been invited that evening to the Athénée Palace by a Commander Sheppy, he went to give a student private coaching. Harriet was left with doubts about her coming tea-party.

  Bella’s flat was in a new block on the Boulevard Brătianu. Walking there, Harriet felt the wind blow shrill across the desolate lots. Through the vents in the peasants’ huts could be seen the flicker of lamps. The only crowds now were on the tramcars that clanked their way out of darkness into darkness. When she passed the vast black skeleton of the Ministry building, she saw a fire burning in a ground-floor corner. Beside it sat a huddle of workmen too old for the army and no use for anything else.

  The blocks of flats rose out of the gloom like lighted towers. Their hallways, visible through glass doors, indicated the grandeur to which the designers of the boulevard had first aspired.

  Harriet was shown into Bella’s sitting-room. Low-ceilinged and very warm, it was carpeted in sky-blue and set about with walnut tables and blue upholstered arm-chairs. In the midst of this Bella, in a cashmere jersey and pearls, was seated before a silver tea-service.

  Sinking into one of the chairs, Harriet said: ‘How comfortable!’

  Bella replied: ‘It’s cosy,’ as though Harriet had meant the reverse.

  ‘This looks like English furniture.’

  ‘It is English furniture. Our wedding-present from daddy. He bought it for us from Maples. Everything came from Maples.’

  ‘And you brought it all this way? That must have been a business.’

  ‘It certainly was.’ Bella laughed, relaxing a little. ‘The amount it cost us in bribes, we might just as well have paid duty and have done with it.’

  While they were waiting for the tea to be brought in, Bella offered to show Harriet over the flat. They went first to Bella’s bedroom, that contained a large double bed with highly polished walnut headboard and a pink counterpane braided, ruched, embroidered and embossed with satin tulips. Bella, touching out the collection of silver-backed brushes, silver-boxes and cut glass on her dressing table, said: ‘These peasant servants have no sense of anything.’

  She opened a door and disclosed a bathroom, as hot as a hot-house and closely packed with pink accoutrements.

  ‘Delicious,’ said Harriet and Bella looked pleased.

  ‘Now the dining-room!’ she said and Harriet wished she had courage to tell her that she did not need to be impressed. She wanted to find herself in sympathy with Bella, who was, in a way, her own discovery – anyway, not a ready-made acquaintance imposed on her by Guy.

  After luncheon with the Drucker family, she had said to Guy: ‘Your friends are disappointed in me. They expected you to marry someone exactly like yourself,’ but she had, she suspected, exceeded Bella’s expectations.

  In the dining-room, where Bella paused expectantly before a sideboard coruscant with silver and cut-glass, Harriet asked: ‘Do you use this stuff?’

  ‘My dear, yes. Rumanians expect it. They look down on you if you can’t make as big a show as they do.’ Bella smiled at the pretensions demanded of her, but her voice betrayed respect for them.

  ‘The Pringle flat can provide nothing like this,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Didn’t you bring your wedding-presents?’

  ‘We married in haste. We only got a cheque or two.’

  They had returned to the sitting-room, where tea awaited them. ‘Oh, I had a very big wedding,’ said Bella. ‘We came here with ten large packing-cases – full. Even the Rumanians were impressed. Still, you won’t have to entertain them. The real Rumanians never mix with foreigners.’

  Harriet admitted they had been invited only to Jewish house-holds and Bella, gratified, was about to say more when she noticed something amiss among the silver on the tray before her. She stopped and her lips tightened. With a purposeful movement, she pressed a bell in the wall and waited. Her silence was intent. When the servant appeared, Bella spoke two words. The girl gasped and fled, to return with a tea-strainer.

  ‘These servants!’ Bella shook her head with disgust. Becoming suddenly animated, she talked at length about the sort of servants to be found in Rumania. She placed them in two categories: the honest imbeciles and the intelligent delinquents, the words ‘honest’ and ‘intelligent’ being, of course, merely relative.

  ‘Which have you got?’ Bella asked Harriet.

  Inchcape’s man, Pauli, had acquired for Harriet his cousin Despina. ‘She seems to me,’ said Harriet, ‘not only intelligent and honest, but very good-natured.’

  Bella grudgingly agreed that Hungarians were ‘a cut above the others’ but she had no doubt Despina ‘made a bit’ on everything she was sent out to buy. Harriet described how Despina, on being shown the cupboard that passed for a servant’s bedroom in the Pringles’ flat, had sunk to her knees and, kissing Harriet’s hand, had said that at last she would be able to have her husband to live with her.

  Bella saw nothing astonishing in this story. ‘She’s very fortunate to have a room of any sort,’ she said, and almost at once returned to the subject of the real Rumanians whom Harriet was never likely to meet. ‘They’re terribly snobby,’ she kept saying as she gave examples of their exclusiveness.

  Harriet was reminded of Doamna Flöhr’s claim that the exclusiveness of the Jews was the exclusiveness of the excluded. What, she wanted to know, had the Rumanians to be so snobbish about? She said: ‘They must suffer from some profound sense of inferiority.’

  Such an idea was new and strange to Bella. She looked bewildered as she asked: ‘But what are they inferior to?’

  ‘Why, to us, of course; to the foreigners and the Jews who run the country for them because they are too lazy to run it for themselves.’

  Bella, her mouth open, considered this point a moment, then she gave a gawp of laughter and said: ‘I don’t know. Some of them still have a lot of money, but really, it’s nothing compared with what people have in England and the States.’ A new vigour, roused by indignation, began to displace the careful refinement of her earlier speech: ‘And when you do get invited to their houses – the bother of it all! I can’t tell you! Never a nice homey evening – always formality and everyone dressed up to the nines. All the time you have to think twice before you utter. And then this business of pretending you don’t understand the men’s jokes. Having to sit there like a dummy! My goodness, there’s been times when I’d gladly go back to Roehampton. Anyone would think the women here were all bally virgins – and they’re not, believe me!’

  Exhilarated now by the daring of her own censure, Bella threw back her head, laughing and showing all her large, white, healthy teeth. Harriet laughed, too, feeling they had at last made contact.

  ‘Here,’ said Bella, ‘have another cake. They’re from Capşa’s.

  I oughtn’t to eat them; I’m putting on weight; but I do enjoy my food.’

  ‘Life here has its compensations,’ said Harriet.

  ‘It certainly has. When I first arrived, the English wives were a bit snooty with me. They thought it a come-down to marry a Rumanian. But my Nikko could show them a thing or two. He’s shown me that
Englishwomen know nothing at all.’

  Harriet laughed. ‘I expect they know something.’

  ‘Not much. Anyway, not the lot we had here. And now they’re all coming back. Old Mother Woolley wrote to me, and what do you think she said? She said: “My Joe’s just like other men. With me away, his health suffers.” I ask you!’ Bella threw back her head again and her bosom shook with laughter. ‘My Nikko says those old boys only started the scare to get rid of their wives.’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘Oh dear, it’s a relief to talk to a woman of my own age – an Englishwoman, I mean – especially now Nikko’s away.’

  ‘He’s away?’

  ‘Recalled to his regiment. His papers came yesterday and off he had to go. This morning I went round to see his senior officer. That man’s a crook if ever there was one. It was only October last I arranged for Nikko to be released from service for six months, and here he is called up again. “Ah, Doamna Niculescu,” said the officer “I, too, have a senior officer.” “And what does your senior officer want?” I asked. “Oh, the usual! One hundred thousand lei.” I told him straight: “If this war goes on for long, you’ll bankrupt me.” He just roared with laughter.’

  ‘Your Rumanian must be very good?’

  ‘I’m told it’s perfect. I did languages, you know. I met Nikko when I was at L.S.E. I speak French, German, Spanish and Italian.’

  ‘So does Sophie Oresanu. I suppose you know her?’

  Bella’s face contracted significantly: ‘That little … um!’

  ‘You really think she is … ?’

  ‘I certainly do.’

  Harriet, confused by the liberal traditions of her generation, had not been able to condemn Sophie so boldly, but now, hearing Bella speak out without compromise – much, indeed, as Harriet’s aunt used to speak – Harriet was convinced by her certainty.

  Bella said: ‘Nikko told me to say nothing, but really! The way that girl runs after your husband! It’s disgraceful. Quite frankly, I don’t think you should put up with it.’ She spoke rather breathlessly, in defiance of Nikko’s ban. ‘It says a lot for Guy that there hasn’t been more gossip.’

  ‘Has there been gossip?’

  ‘But of course there has. Can’t you imagine it? In this place of all places.’

  ‘I’m sure Guy doesn’t realise …’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t. Still, he ought to have more sense. She’s the sort of girl who’d do anything for a British passport. If I were you, I’d put a stop to it.’

  Harriet sat silent. Bella’s statement that Guy should have ‘more sense’ had struck her like a revealed truth.

  When it was time for her to go, Bella came with her into the hall, where the floor was tessellated in black and white. The white walls were smooth as cream. Harriet said: ‘This is a very good block. Ours is so flimsy, the wind seems to blow through it.’

  Bella laughed. ‘You’re in Blocşul Cazacul. That was built by Horia Cazacu, whose motto is: Santajul etajul.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He’s a financier but his income is chiefly from blackmail. It more or less means “Each blackmail builds a new floor”. Blocşul Cazacul is bad even for Bucharest.’

  Feeling indebted to Bella for her friendly advances, Harriet asked her if she would be alone at Christmas.

  ‘I’ll be alone all right,’ said Bella. ‘Catch them asking me out without Nikko.’ The bitter amusement of Bella’s tone disclosed her struggle to establish herself among the ‘real’ Rumanians.

  Harriet squeezed her arm. ‘Then come and have supper with us,’ she said.

  The public rooms of the Athénée Palace were crowded with visitors. On this, the first Christmas season of the war, war was forgotten. The threat of invasion had passed even from memory. Life here had always been uncertain and the people, like rabbits who have escaped the snare, recovered quickly. The Rumanian guests who sat drinking in the main room seemed to Harriet to exude confidence and self-sufficiency.

  The new atmosphere had found expression in the Bucharest papers, which drew attention to the loss by Germany of the battle of the River Plate; and the fact that the Finns were making fools of the Russian invaders. Perhaps the threatening Powers were not, after all, so powerful! Perhaps the threat was all one great bluff! But, bluff or no bluff, Rumania had little to fear, being a richly provided country separated from the squabbles of others by a wall of snow-blocked mountains.

  This attitude of self-congratulation did not persist into the breakfast room, where Dobson was introducing Commander Sheppy to those whom he had himself invited. There the air seemed edgy with uncertainties. Dobson, despite his charm, was a nervous host. When Harriet presented herself, he said: ‘You ought to meet Sheppy,’ but Sheppy was surrounded. ‘A little later, I think,’ said Dobson, dropping her and going to Woolley, who had entered behind her.

  Guy, Inchcape and Clarence had not yet arrived. Among the other guests there was no one whom she knew well enough to approach. She took a drink and went to the French-window. Outside was the garden where she had sat in the sunlight with Yakimov only a short time before. Now the light from the room touched a bloom of snow on the north-east flanks of the trees. Somewhere outside in the darkness the boy was still emptying his urn. She thought she heard the tinkle of water, but could not be sure. Soon even moving water would be stilled to ice and the garden silent until spring.

  A waiter, mistaking for a reprimand her interest in the world beyond the window, came fussily over and pulled the curtains. Then she had nothing to look at but the members of the business community gathered round the man who must be Commander Sheppy. She heard his voice come harsh and antagonising: ‘That, gentlemen, will be my problem.’ Then someone moved and she was able to see him.

  Harriet noted the black eye-patch, the captive stick swinging and clattering beside him, the artificial hand held like an adornment, and smiled, thinking his manner that of someone who has taken a correspondence course in leadership. When she turned away she noticed Woolley at the bar and, crossing impulsively to him, said: ‘I hear your wife is returning. Now don’t you think I was wise to remain in Bucharest?’

  He stared at her, rebuking her with his long silence, then he said with decision: ‘No, I don’t. If you want to know what I think of you staying here, after all it cost me to send my lady wife home – I think it wasn’t playing the game.’ His brief nod underlined his opinion and he strode from her to join his associates round Sheppy.

  At that moment Guy, Clarence and Inchcape arrived together. Guy and Clarence were at once seized upon by Dobson and taken to Sheppy. Inchcape was left, as Harriet had been, to find entertainment as best he might. He wandered over to Harriet, one eyebrow raised in a frown of bored enquiry.

  ‘What’ve we been dragged here for?’ he asked.

  ‘No one seems to know.’

  ‘Which is Sheppy? I’m told he’s an odd-looking cove.’

  Harriet pointed out Sheppy, who was now taking Guy, Clarence and some other young men to a corner of the room. When he had them to himself, he seemed to be lecturing them.

  ‘What’s he up to?’ Inchcape stared over at the group. ‘And the chaps he has picked out – what have they in common?’

  Harriet was about to say ‘Youth’, but said instead: ‘They probably all speak Rumanian.’

  ‘So do I.’ Inchcape turned his back on Sheppy. ‘Well, I can’t waste time here. I have people coming to dinner.’

  Sheppy did not keep the young men long. Clarence joined Harriet and Inchcape, who at once asked him: ‘What’s it all about?’

  Clarence gave a provocative smile. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  Inchcape put his glass to his lips and swallowed its contents. ‘I must be off,’ he said, and went with strides too long for his height.

  Guy was still talking to the other young men. These were four junior engineers from the telephone company, an eccentric called Dubedat and an adolescent member of the English family Rettison that had lived in Buch
arest for generations.

  Harriet said: ‘Inchcape was wondering what you all had in common.’

  ‘The flower of the English colony,’ smirked Clarence.

  ‘What does Sheppy want?’ Harriet felt both pride and anxiety that Guy was among the chosen. ‘He really looks fantastic.’

  ‘Fact is, we don’t know yet. He’s calling us to a meeting after Christmas. I’d guess he’s a “cloak and dagger” boy – the lunatic fringe of security.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘He hinted he was here on a secret mission. But I shouldn’t have told you that.’ Tilting back on his heels, displaying a diffident flirtatiousness, Clarence seemed to suggest she had wheedled a confidence out of him.

  Harriet smiled it off but realised, whether she liked it or not, she had involved herself with Clarence. Nothing, she knew, would convince him she had not made a first move in his direction.

  Impatiently she said: ‘What is Guy doing over there?’ Guy was, in fact, talking enthusiastically to Dubedat.

  Harriet had seen Dubedat about in the streets. He was a noticeable figure. He was said to have been an elementary-school teacher in England and had been ‘thumbing’ his way through Galicia when war broke out. He had walked over the frontier into Bessarabia. When the refugee cars came streaming down through Chernowitz, one of them gave him a lift. He called himself a ‘simple lifer’. He had arrived in Bucharest in shorts and open-necked shirt, and for weeks wore nothing more. The crivat had eventually forced him into a sleeveless sheepskin jacket, but his legs and arms, remaining exposed, were whipped raw by the wind. When he walked in the street, his large, limp hands, mauve and swollen, swung about him like boxing-gloves on strings. Now, under Guy’s regard, his face, hook-nosed, small-chinned, usually peevish, glowed with satisfaction.