Almost as if he could read my mind, Stern said quickly: 'I would be happy to go with you to this place. I think we all need to rest and perhaps make some plans.'
His expression was serious, stiff even, the good volunteer. His eyes might have flicked towards the hand still lingering close to the gun butt just out of sight under my jacket, but if so it was too fast for me to catch. I knew he'd noticed though.
'It would be so lovely to return to the Savoy,' Muriel was saying, unaware of the tension between myself and the German. 'Even during the war it was a wonderfully exciting place to wine and dine. Do you remember the Lord Woolton Pie?' She had swung round towards Cissie, the brightness in her grey-blue eyes hinting at the sparkle that must have been there in better times. 'You remember, Cissie - potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, leeks. The Savoy's chef created it specially for the Ministry of Food when rationing was so severe.'
'Oh sure,' her friend replied drily. 'I used to hobnob there all the time. You know, with Clark Gable when he was in town, or Douglas Fairbanks Junior. Even good old Tyrone Power used to lie to his wife Annabella just so's he could spend an evening with me dancing to Carroll Gibbons and his band. Now let me see, what were they called... ? They were on the radio all the time.'
'The Orpheans.' Muriel hadn't caught the weary sarcasm. 'Carroll Gibbons and the Savoy Orpheans.'
There was something edgy about her delight, as if it might break at any moment, leaving only bitterness to take its place.
'For God's sake, Muriel,' Cissie snapped. 'You know where I'm from. You know I would never have dared set foot in a swanky place like the Savoy, even if I could afford to!'
'I only meant... The recipe was used by housewives all over the country.'
'Oh yes, what a wonderful example you toffs set for us commonfolk. My-oh-my, if you lot could survive on Spam and powdered eggs quaffed down with only the scuramiest vintage wine, then the rest of us peasants could easily get by on good old Lord Woolton's bloody pie. God bless you, ma'am, if I had a cap, I'd doff it'
The shine in Muriel's eyes dimmed. She looked down at her knees, her weariness returned. In a softer voice she said, 'My father used to take me to the River Room for lunch whenever he could find the time.
We used to toast Mother's memory with a glass of champagne before we even looked at the menu...'
Her words trailed off, but she remained in that position, head bowed, distracted, as if memories were continuing inside her head; and then Cissie was kneeling beside her, telling her quietly that she was sorry, hadn't meant to be a cow, her arm sliding around her friend's shoulder as she apologized.
I was impatient to get moving again. 'The water's still running,' I told them, and Cissie raised her head, scowling at me, wondering what the hell I was talking about 'The hotel,' I said. 'There's plenty of water.
And the tubs are big enough for hippos.'
The thought of a bath, cold or not, soon changed Cissie's mood. She examined her filthy hands and arms for a moment, took a token swipe at the dust on her slacks, then beamed a pure white grin from her sooty face.
'Now you're talking,' she said, straightening up and bringing Muriel with her. 'Come on, Mu, snap out of it. I'll let you scrub my back if you promise not to go all ritzy on me again.' She hugged her companion, then looked at me expectantly. Tell me there's tons of food, and not just Woolton Pie. I'm starving.'
'If you don't mind tinned stuff.'
'So what are we waiting for? My tummy's already screeching at me.'
I glanced across at Potter, who was still pulling in short, gasping breaths and looking unreasonably hot in his dark blue overalls. 'You coming with us?' I asked, and he returned my look with some sourness in those broad, sweaty features. 'You mean I don't have to? I can go on me own way if I want?
'Sure. It's every man for himself.'
'Oh, is it? That's good to know, son. I'll remind you of that next time yer stick a gun in me belly.' He mopped the inside rim of his helmet with his red rag, then, with some dignity, placed it back on his head, tucking the strap under one of his plump chins. 'Well, since my little hideaway has gorn up in smoke, I think I'll indulge in a bit of luxury meself. The hotel was on my watch durin the Blitz, so I know a bit about the place. I was quite pally with a few of the staff in there too, 'specially the volunteer ARPs and Red Cross nurses. Even had mugs a tea on the rooftop with the fire spotters. They were quite a bunch, I can tell yer. Heroes, the lot of 'em. Old William Lawes from the Works Department use'ta ponce about in a two-hundred-guinea raccoon coat to keep out the chill when he was patrolling the roof. Left behind by an American guest in the Twenties who couldn't pay his bill, so I was told.' He gave a short nostalgic chortle, then became serious again. "Course, we can duck down the basement to the Lincoln Room when the mad bomber comes over next'
Before I could say anything more, Cissie cut in. 'What are you talking about? What mad bomber?'
'Eh? You know who I mean.' Potter looked at her, perplexed.
'They've been out of London for a while,' I explained quickly, anxious to be on our way. Nostalgia and sunshine was okay at the right time, but this wasn't it: we were still in danger. But Potter had become rattled.
'D'yer think I'm in uniform for the fun of it?'
Both Cissie and I stared at him. Behind Potter I could see Stern was also taking an interest
'I'll carry on me duty until it's all over,' Potter went on.
'Nobody's stood me down yet, and until they do I'll keep on with the job I was given. We old 'uns have got our uses, y'know. We can serve King and Country as well as anyone.'
Maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised - this old boy had been living in an underground bunker for the past three years, getting rid of the dead bodies that filled the place to make room for himself, when he could have chosen to live anywhere in the city. He could even have followed other survivors and fled to the hills around London, or beyond, away from the worst of the holocaust and constant reminders of what we had done to ourselves. This guy had gone crazy all right, but only mildly so; he seemed harmless enough -so far - and anyway, I hadn't forgotten he'd saved our lives.
'Okay, let's get going,' I said, unwilling to waste any more time.
Cissie was more than ready and Muriel seemed to have taken a hold on herself. 'You'll stay with us?' she asked Stern, who still stood apart from the rest of us.
His pale eyes took us all in. '0f course. That is, if no one objects.'
Potter shuffled round to regard the German. 'This feller's foreign, ain't he?' he said suspiciously.
'Forget it,' I snapped. There was no time for a new debate. I did my best to sound neighbourly. 'Okay, Willy, you stick with us' - (like he had a choice) - 'for now.' Then to all of them: 'There's a stairway opposite that'll take us down to the Embankment. The hotel's one block away.'
Our footsteps sounded hollow inside the covered stairway and I think none of us liked being in the gloom again. But it wasn't for long and at the bottom I brought them to a halt
'What is it?' whispered Cissie, her eyes wide and searching the road outside over my shoulder.
A finger to my lips quietened her. I stuck my head out and did a swift recce of the way ahead.
Warm air shimmered above the metal roofs of the scant traffic stuck there in the broad thoroughfare that ran alongside the Thames, but that was the only thing that moved. No noise, only our own breathing.
Everything was abnormally normal. I stepped out, gesturing to the others to keep close.
We could see the modest riverside entrance to the Savoy a few hundred yards away, the narrow street it was located in rising gently, a small overgrown garden park opposite; a zigzag wall built during the Blitz to protect the hotel's rear access and river restaurant windows ran along the frontage. Several of the vehicles in the street had been parked there by me, their tanks full, keys in ignitions, batteries fully charged. The MG two-seater was for speed, the black Austin taxi for manoeuvrability, the Bentley for comfort (never used so far), and the flatbed truck, a Foden diesel which took up most of the street's width further down - well, that was for other purposes.