Well, lady, I hadn't claimed to have all my marbles.
I didn't say that, though. I just couldn't be bothered any more. I ignored those bewildered hazel eyes and her unfinished question.
The stairway's along here,' I said instead, moving off to the right towards the Savoy's stately vestibule and entrance hall sensing their eyes on my back, their disgust. I kept walking and knew they'd follow me anyway, like frightened stray sheep in need of a leader.
Up a broad set of steps I took them, past a balcony overlooking the vestibule, then down a high-ceilinged hallway towards the stairs next to the defunct elevator. On the way, but without changing pace, I took a quick peek into a half-open doorway, checking on the Velocette Mk II motorbike I'd hidden away in there. It nestled in the shadows like some great black and fabulous insect, tank full, parts greased and free from rust, spark plugs clean, all primed and ready for a swift start, and just a glimpse of it stirred something deep down in my gut. It was the sudden urge to get away, I guess, to climb aboard that machine and roar out of the hotel and free myself from these people and the liability that went with knowing them. Involvement was something I neither wanted nor needed, because that kind of burden only brought more grief.
My own exhaustion smothered the impulse no sooner than it was roused (besides, I hadn't forgotten Stern and why I wanted him here) and I kept going, heading towards the staircase beside the elevator.
It was a sluggish climb and by the time we reached the third floor our line was strung out. Without waiting for the others I left the stairway to walk down a long gloomy corridor, coming to a halt and waiting for the others to catch up only when I reached the sharp left turn at its end.
The German was the last one to reach me and briefly I wondered why. He was much stronger than the others, so had he taken time out to explore possible escape routes while trailing behind, investigating rooms close to the stairway on the landings we passed, looking for doors to the fire escape? What the hell - he had a right. None of it would help him, though, not when the moment came.
I turned my back on them and unlocked the door to Suite 318-319.
8
TO THEM IT MUST have looked like an Aladdin's Cave - an Aladdin's Cave of junk, canned food, cardboard boxes, and weapons, all kinds of stuff that came in handy when you lived in a city where shopping was free but nobody produced any more; and where blood-bandits roamed the empty streets, so that shopping was sometimes a risky business.
My suite in the Savoy had lost some of its elegance because of the clutter, no doubt about that, and there was a whole lot less room than when I'd first moved in. We were crowded inside a tiny vestibule between the bedroom and sitting room, the jumble spilling into both, and to our right was a marble bathroom with a stirrup pump that fed from the half-filled tub standing in the doorway in case of sudden fire (what good the pump would do in a real emergency was debatable, but it might at least buy me time to escape into the hallway). The pastel-coloured walls of both rooms were easily overwhelmed by the flashy labels of canned foods and mixed jars, and only the king-size bed was free of clutter in the maze that was my refuge; the mess was everywhere, things piled high on easy chairs and mirrored dressing table, a selection of handguns and cartons of ammo on the lounger, a shotgun leaning against the writing desk. Boxes full of items I couldn't even remember poked out of the half-open closet. A radio that would never broadcast again stood on a small occasional table by an armchair heaped with magazines and books, and on the fancy Louis-Seize escritoire was my wind-up gramophone, a stack of dusty records next to it, Bing Crosby still on the turntable.
The two girls had already wandered into the sitting room and were gawking about - ration-book kids in an overstocked candy store. I didn't know what they'd been living on the past three years, but from the wonder in their eyes I guessed their cuisine had been pretty dull. Muriel glanced back at me, gave me a smile, then went to a cabinet set against the near wall where a mountain of canned stuff was piled high.
She picked one can out and the mountain threatened to topple; it steadied itself, though, and she read the can's label.
'Creamola Custard Pudding,' she said in awe.
Cissie giggled and put a finger against another label. 'Fancy Quality Fish Roll,' she read aloud, and her interest instantly moved on. 'Mrs Peek's Puddings. Batchelors Peas. Oh wow, peaches...'
'Ostermilk for Babies?' Muriel said questioningfy from another stack.
'Look.' Cissie again. 'He's got coffee. Three whole bottles of Camp Coffee.'
'Handy eggs.' Muriel. 'Ugh, dried whole egg.'
'All I can get hold of,' I put in, beginning to enjoy their enjoyment
'Spam. Oh dear, lots of Spam.' Muriel sounded disappointed, but I could tell she was joshing.
'And Weetabix,' said Cissie, a grin spread all over her face as she scanned the rest of the room. 'Bovril, Ovaltine, Peek Frean biscuits, marmalade. My oh my, you're determined not to go hungry, Yank.' She drew in a sharp breath. 'Are those fresh vegetables over there?' she asked, pointing.
'A week or so old,' I assured her. 'Grew 'em myself on one of my allotments. It wasn't easy after last winter.'
She was already picking up potatoes and examining each one individually. 'After everyone had gone or died at the sanatorium we tried to grow our own, but somehow it never worked out. I suppose we'd both have been useless as land girls, but that's the problem when one of you has been brought up in a London pub and the other's the daughter of a lord.' She indicated her friend, and it was easy to figure which one was the lord's daughter.
'Didn't you get supplies from the nearest town?' I asked, surprised.
'We were too scared to go far,' replied Muriel, her interest still on the gold mine of food around her.
'The nearest houses were the furthest we strayed. Mostly we ate from the centre's own stores. We were afraid we'd catch some disease off the dead, or even be infected with the Blood Death itself. Nobody knew anything, you see, not even the scientists in charge of research. Are those cabbages I see?'
She hurried to another box on the floor. 'Oh, and Brussels sprouts, and onions. You must have worked hard to have achieved all this, Mr Hoke.'
'Just Hoke,' I told her, then shook my head. 'All I've done is kept a few things going. It isn't much, considering.'
'May I?' Stern had followed us through to the sitting room and had lifted a single pack of Camels from a carton on a straight-backed chair.
I nodded and he quickly broke open the pack. He put the cigarette between his lips, then searched around for matches.
'Over there,' I pointed to the mantelpiece above an extinct electric fire.
As he took a box of Swan Vestas from my stockpile of matches, he studied himself in the dust-dulled mirror over the mantelpiece and frowned. He was filthy, but it must have come as a slight shock. Maybe he'd always thought his kind didn't pick up the dirt like the rest of us.
'I need to wash,' he said, more to his own reflection than to me. 'You say there is plenty of water in this hotel?' Now he was looking at me, but only through the mirror.
'The Savoy has its own artesian wells, but the pumps are out of action. The tanks are still pretty full, though.'
'Me first,' Cissie insisted quickly. 'I can't go another minute stinking like this.'
I guessed stinking wasn't a word Muriel used a lot, especially when it applied to her own body, but she was nodding in agreement 'Yes, I'd like to get cleaned up too. Then perhaps we can enjoy some of this lovely food; I'm beginning to feel quite faint and it's not just from fatigue.'
I addressed them alclass="underline" 'You're in a building full of bathrooms, so you won't have to take turns. But stick to this floor, don't go wandering oft'
I noticed the German, now puffing away at his cigarette, had strolled over to the Ml carbine leaning against the writing desk and my hand went inside my jacket when I thought he was going to pick it up.
Instead he passed by the rifle and went to the tall window overlooking the park and River Thames below. The drapes were open, but a lace curtain covered the glass.
When he raised a hand to draw the lace aside, I said, 'Leave it alone. I close the curtains at night if I'm using light-' I indicated the candles and lamps set around the room '- and in the daytime the netting is always kept in place.'
'In case someone looks up and wonders?' he mused, and although I couldn't see his face, I knew there was a half-smile there. 'Quite unlikely, wouldn't you say?'
'Unlikely or not, I don't take chances.'