I'd witnessed the good old British stiff-upper-lip style in plenty of the RAF types I'd flown with, so I shouldn't have been surprised to see the same trait in a lord's daughter. Okay, a romantic view of the English - at least, of their gentry - but I'd had plenty of evidence to back it up since coming to these shores, and looking at Muriel across the room, that intensity still in her eyes, her jawline delicate but determined, I suddenly thought she might just have the backbone to see it through. Another thing I realized, though, was that my kind of cynicism could play no part in her vision of a bright new future. But that didn't mean I'd discourage her. Truth was, I didn't care one way or the other.
'Will you join us this evening, Hoke?' Her tone softened, her arms had unfolded. 'Stern and Potter cleared some of the rooms downstairs and even raided the hotel's foodstores. We've set up a makeshift kitchen in the private dining room next door to the Pinafore, and Wilhelm even went out and found us two portable oil cookers bigger and a touch more sophisticated than the ones you've been using.'
'He left the Savoy?' I didn't like the idea.
'We've all been out today. What did you expect us to do - remain cooped up all day in this place waiting for your return? For myself, I travelled across town to Daddy's Kensington apartment.'
'By yourself? Christ, woman, why?'
'Are you really that dense, Hoke? I wanted to visit our old home, is that so unreasonable? After all, it was why we returned to London. I have certain things of sentimental value there, photographs, diaries and, yes, even jewellery. Things I want to keep to remind me of better times. And clothes, my own clothes. Yes, I know I could choose from any fashionable Knightsbridge shop, but I wanted certain items I already possessed, is that so difficult to understand? Cissie would have done exactly the same if she'd still had a home to go to. Instead she stayed behind and helped get everything ready.'
'But-' I started again, then let it go. 'Okay. How did you get there?'
For the first time since she'd entered the suite she smiled, 'I was going to use any motorcar I could find still working. Instead I found a bicycle that wasn't rusted completely - it was inside a shop - so I used that. It squeaked a lot and the tyres need pumping up, but it got me through all the parked traffic in the streets.'
'D'you have any idea where Stern went to?'
'I told you, he found us some better cookers, so obviously he got those from one of those big camping stores nearby. Potter went off on his own too, probably patrolling the streets looking for UXBs and incendiaries. He's quite dotty, you know.' She moved from the writing desk and stood at the end of the bed. 'Why so pensive, Hoke? What's troubling you now?'
Dogging the cigarette, I replied, 'The city's a dangerous place.'
'The Blackshirts, you mean? I didn't catch a glimpse of one. But then, it is a huge city. Anyway, I'm sure they assumed they'd killed us all when they set fire to the Underground station.'
I wondered. Would Hubble and his Looney-Tunes army think we were dead by now? The notion that he'd lost four valuable blood donors would have sent Hubble into a frenzy and I pitied the fool who'd broken the news to him that they'd fire-bombed the station. If only that were the case, if only Hubble believed we were gone for good ... On my own travels that day I'd seen neither hide nor hair of any Blackshirts, although that wasn't unusual; as Muriel said, it was a big city. Besides, I always kept off the beaten track, taking side streets rather than main thoroughfares. But heck, it was a pleasant enough thought on an otherwise grim day. Muriel took advantage of my sudden smile.
'You'll come, then?'
I blinked.
'Our little celebratory dinner,' she persisted. 'You'll join us downstairs?'
'What're you celebrating?'
'Just being alive. Isn't that enough?'
Sometimes I thought it was too much, but I didn't say that. 'Okay, I'll be there. But don't get the idea I'll be making any new friends.'
'All I ask is that you be civil to Wilhelm.' She left it at that They'd found hundreds more candles from somewhere and had filled every nook and cranny with them so that the Pinafore Room resembled some holy shrine. They were supplemented by two or three oil lamps in strategic positions around the room, and the heat and waxy smell took some getting used to at first. Behind the thick, rich drapes daylight was fading and, despite the candleglow, there were dark shadows in the room, especially in its corners. Warm scintillas of light reflected off tall glasses and cutlery set around the long table, and cedar panelling, studded with silver buttons, on the walls and central square column lent a soft ambience to the proceedings. It was a ritzy setting for a dinner party, an evocation of more pleasant times.
I paused in the open doorway, Cagney at my side, his nose in the air, sniffing out food.
Muriel was chatting to Wilhelm Stern before a tall mirror over an empty fireplace at the far end of the room, and an elegant couple they made, she in a slim floor-length gown that shimmered silver, cut high from shoulder to shoulder, with long tight sleeves, her hair once again held to one side but this time by a decorative comb, while he wore a dark evening suit, white handkerchief, probably silk, peeping from his breast pocket, his tie a deep grey worn against a white shirt. They'd made an effort for this evening's soiree (clinging to the wreckage?) and I was relieved to see that Potter, who'd suddenly appeared at a double door on my left, hadn't bothered to fancy himself up at alclass="underline" he still wore his warden's all-in-one outfit, although he'd brushed it down and his helmet was nowhere in evidence.
Spotting me, he called, 'Grub's up soon, son,' and pointed a stubby thumb over his shoulder at the room behind. He gave me a broad, yellow-toothed grin. 'There's time for a pair o' teeth first, though. What can I get yer?'
I frowned.
Muriel wised me up. 'Albert means an aperitif. As I'm sure he knows,' she added, looking meaningfully at the warden and smiling. She turned her smile on me, but it had an uneasy edge to it, as though she was a little nervous.
As I walked the length of the table towards them Cagney trotted before me, his excuse for a tail wagging in anticipation of the food he could smell. He disappeared through the opening behind Potter and I heard Cissie's muted cry of welcome. The mutt was getting used to people again too fast and that concerned me: I didn't want him to lose his usual caution in case eventually it proved dangerous for both of us.
'We're using the Princess Ida Room as a makeshift kitchen,' Muriel told me, and I remembered that all the names of the private dining rooms along this floor had something to do with Gilbert and Sullivan operas. 'Cissie's in there playing chef and I must get back to help before she starts getting cross.' She eyed me up and down as she sipped her drink. 'Thank you at least for putting on a fresh shirt.'
I checked her eyes for sarcasm, but she quickly looked away. My pants were a little wrinkled, my boots none too clean, and my torn leather jacket was thrown over one arm, pistol tucked inside. The shirt was fresh though, one of a bunch I'd picked out of a Regent Street menswear shop's smashed window, none of which I'd gotten round to wearing until now. I guess it would've looked better with a tie, but ties never had been one of my things, even in peacetime. Muriel moved closer to me, away from the German.
'What would you like to drink?' she asked, but again she averted her gaze when I looked directly into her eyes. 'Gin and tonic, a Martini, sherry... ? We're well stocked, as you can see.'
'Scotch'll do.'
'Good boy,' approved Potter. 'Think I'll join yer.' He bustled over to a small, round dining table that was loaded with the hard stuff. Rubbing his fleshy hands together he cast his eye over the wide selection. He spied the Scotch, another bottle of his favourite Grouse. 'Lovely,' we heard him mutter.