The World in Winter Page 5

She returned to her preparations. Andrew said:

  ‘Was it wise, do you think?’

  ‘Lying to him?’

  ‘Refusing to have him come here. It was an approach, after all.’

  ‘The first sign of weakness? He might have tried to take me to bed, do you think? I’m almost sure he would. And that after that he might have stayed. And then Carol would have taken you back, and everything would have been as it used to be.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve no illusions left about David and me. He hates the idea of being lonely over Christmas. And after being separated, he would find a spice in seducing me. He could do it quite easily, too – we both know that. But it would have made no difference. He would have gone back to Carol.’

  ‘If she’d taken him. You might have told her …’

  ‘Andy darling, don’t you understand? He would have told her. You still don’t know them, do you?’

  He said heavily: ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘If I have any chance of getting him back, it’s not by letting him make love to me. As it is, he’s just that little bit more uncertain. It isn’t enough to make a difference, but it’s something.’ She smiled at him. ‘And I have you. That’s quite a lot, you know.’

  ‘Why did you lie to him? Wouldn’t it have made your point better simply to refuse him and tell him you were going to ask me instead?’

  She said gently: ‘Lying is always a sign of some kind of weakness. As it was, he suggested I should put you off.’

  ‘I suppose he would. But you didn’t agree?’

  ‘I was strong enough for that. I’m glad I was.’

  Standing behind her, he touched her arms lightly.

  ‘So am I.’

  After the meal they stacked the dishes in the machine and took coffee into the sitting room. Already, at half past two, there was a dimness of approaching dusk in the air; through the windows they could see the shrouded white shapes of the other houses, on which more snow was falling out of the grey sky. They sat together on the long sofa, and he kissed her. They had kissed from time to time, quite innocently, and on this occasion, too, it started like that. But they were more alone, it seemed, than they had been before, and the world was quiet and sad, matching their loneliness.

  ‘No,’ Madeleine said. ‘No, darling.’

  Her voice was drowsy, a gentle complaint. She was wearing a grey jersey frock that buttoned down the front. Her hand checked his for a time, and then fell away.

  ‘Please, Andy …’

  Her breast gleamed with the snow’s whiteness. He put his lips down to it. She lay still, unmoving; a moment or two later she put her hands up to his head. He thought she was going to push him away, but instead they curled round, pulling him more closely against her flesh. The pulse of her heart beat under his lips. It was a moment of assurance, with no need of haste or impatience. They were locked in peace and comfort; even the distant sound of the telephone bell did not, at first, break this.

  When it had been ringing for perhaps half a minute, Madeleine stirred. She said:

  ‘I’d better go, darling.’

  ‘Let it ring.’

  She eased him from her and got up, buttoning her dress.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

  He put a hand up. ‘Leave the top one undone. Another promise.’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘All right.’

  He listened to her steps going away to the hall, to her voice, remote, the words indistinguishable, and to the footsteps returning. She came into the sitting room but stood away from him, on the far side of the coffee table.

  ‘David,’ she said. ‘He asked if you were here.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘He asked if he could come and have coffee with us.’

  Her hands, as though automatically, went to her dress and fastened the remaining button.

  ‘Damn him,’ Andrew said. ‘Damn him to hell and back. Why did you say yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She spread her hands. ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘How long before he gets here?’

  ‘A few minutes. He was calling from South Ken station. Please be nice, Andy. I won’t let him stay long.’

  ‘No. But from one particular point of view, it makes no difference now whether he goes in a quarter of an hour or stays all day. Does it?’

  ‘We were being silly,’ Madeleine said. ‘Both of us.’

  ‘It’s all right for you.’

  ‘Is it?’ she said. ‘Is it?’

  She came to him, in an embrace not of passion but of desperation. She did not release herself until they heard the front door open and David’s voice calling. She brushed her hair back with her hand; she was even paler than usual.

  David, entering the room, said cheerfully:

  ‘Hope you can put up with me for a spell. I feasted myself with poached eggs on toast, but I lost heart when I reached the Nescafé stage.’

  ‘There’s plenty of cold turkey,’ Madeleine said. ‘I could warm up some vegetables.’

  ‘Just coffee for the moment. I may try a turkey sandwich later.’

  Madeleine left the room and returned with the coffee jug and a cup and saucer. She said:

  ‘I suppose you still like it almost cold. I could make fresh.’

  ‘You know how I like things.’

  Madeleine said: ‘Andy and I have plans for the rest of the day. We supposed you weren’t staying long.’

  ‘A gentle supposition, a broad broad hint. No, I won’t impose on your kindness.’

  He looked at her, smiling. Madeleine started to say something, checked, then started again. Andrew cut across her words.

  ‘That’s all clear then, isn’t it, David? Or are you starting to get jealous?’

  ‘If I were,’ David said, ‘I hope I should be able to feel ashamed of myself. As a matter of fact, I did have another motive in coming round, ulterior but not inferior. I want to give you both some good advice.’

  Andrew said: ‘Do you really think we’re likely to benefit from any advice of yours?’

  ‘I don’t know. It depends whether you act on it.’

  Madeleine said: ‘What advice is it, David?’

  ‘To emigrate. Somewhere south. Somewhere within the Tropics, for preference.’

  Andrew said contemptuously: ‘I thought that particular panic was over.’

  David said quietly: ‘It hasn’t begun yet. I suppose I’d better give you the information that goes with it. It comes out of a file that was marked “Cabinet Only” until yesterday. It’s only been cleared now for certain officials who may be concerned, at top level, in planning precautions. I scraped in on my last year’s promotion.’

  Andrew said: ‘Are you trusting me with this confidential information? Despite my job and – shall we say, personal background?’

  ‘Yes, I’m trusting you. I want you to persuade Maddie. And what do I lose if there is a leak and they trace it to me?’ He smiled wryly. ‘My pension?’

  ‘What is it, David?’ Madeleine asked.

  David took out his wallet, and produced some jotted notes on a piece of scrap paper. He said to Andrew:

  ‘When I spoke to you about the programme you did on the Fratellini Winter – you told me you’d done your homework on the subject.’

  ‘I don’t remember it all now.’

  ‘I’ll refresh you. Insolation – that’s the term for exposure to solar energy: there’s an accepted figure for it. The income for the outer layers of the atmosphere averages 1.94 calories per square metre. And it varies’ – he glanced again at the scrap of paper – ‘within limits of about three per cent.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘I remember that.’

  ‘And the drop predicted by Fratellini was rather less than the normal variation.’

  ‘Yes. That, too.’

  ‘Ten days ago, an American weather satellite took a reading.’ David tapped the paper. ‘The new figure was a little higher than 1.80, something like 1.805. That represents an overall
drop of seven per cent. Fratellini’s maximum, allowing for unfavourable fluctuation, was six.’

  ‘An extra one per cent,’ Andrew said. ‘Is it something to worry about?’

  ‘That was ten days ago. Three days ago they got another reading. It was 1.80 exactly.’

  Madeleine said: ‘I don’t follow all this. Does it mean it’s going to go on getting colder – indefinitely?’

  ‘It will probably bottom out in due course. But it’s still going down. Fratellini said two to three per cent, and the figure is now four plus. I think it’s been worked out that during the ice ages the overall temperature was only nine or ten degrees lower than it is now.’

  ‘But there’s probably no exact correlation between a drop in solar radiation and air temperatures – there are all sorts of factors to be considered. Cloud cover and so on. And our mean temperature is only about fifty anyway. Four per cent of that works out at two degrees.’

  David said: ‘Four per cent if you’re counting in the normal fluctuation. But seven per cent from the average. And still going down. That’s the sole and basic point. Still going down. Fratellini’s calculations are out of the window. All guesses are equal from this point on.’

  ‘And what do you guess?’ Madeleine asked.

  ‘An ice age,’ Andrew said. ‘London blanketed by the eternal snows. A new Daily Mail London to Paris race, on skis and skates only. Have I got it right?’

  ‘There are fifty million people,’ David said, ‘living on this island. The east coast of Greenland, which stretches for twice the distance from Land’s End to John o’ Groats, supports two villages. But it doesn’t need an ice age to make life uncomfortable. How much food will the farmers grow if winter lasts into May, and starts again in September? What’s going to happen to the Canadian wheatlands? The overwhelming bulk of our food comes from the temperate lands. What happens when they become sub-temperate?’

  ‘You’re talking,’ Andrew said, ‘as though the radiation drop was going to be permanent.’

  David said slowly: ‘We have no reason now for thinking anything else. Fratellini predicted six to nine months, but Fratellini also predicted a maximum of three per cent; and we’re through that already. We just don’t know how things are going to turn out.’

  ‘Then surely it’s a bit premature to leave the country?’

  ‘Later on it may not be so easy.’

  Madeleine looked at him. ‘Is that out of the confidential file, too?’

  ‘No. It’s what is known as intelligent anticipation, a characteristic which should be possessed by all senior Civil Servants. And there’s something else you may not have thought of. That immigration countries may impose restrictions, too.’

  Madeleine asked: ‘What countries were you thinking of?’

  ‘The Americans are going to move down into South America, in so far as they’re able. Some of them have started already. Property values in Rio and Montevideo have jumped more than a hundred per cent in the past month. I think Africa’s a better bet. One of our own ex-colonies – Nigeria, Ghana, somewhere like that.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Yes. I’m serious.’

  ‘Are you going yourself?’

  There was a pause before David replied. ‘The rat with a private lifeline can take his time before leaving the sinking ship. I’m one of Them, remember, not one of Us. I can plan things and take my time. You’re not so happily placed.’

  ‘And Carol?’ Madeleine asked.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to her about it yet. I only saw this report last night. I hope I can persuade her to go. I didn’t want to break it to her over Christmas, with the boys there.’

  Andrew said quietly: ‘Yes, what about my sons? Where do they fit in?’

  ‘I hope Carol will take them with her, and make a home in Africa.’

  ‘And take them away from school? Have you thought what kind of schools there are likely to be in Nigeria and Ghana?’

  ‘She could try Algeria or Egypt, or even South Africa. My own feeling is the nearer to the Equator the better. And I think the future’s more promising in the Negro countries. One can’t really tell, of course. If the worst comes to the worst, God knows what will happen.’

  Andrew said: ‘So far I’ve been very co-operative. I’ve agreed to the divorce, and I haven’t asked for care or custody of the boys. But I don’t mind telling you that the moment my solicitor’s office opens the day after tomorrow, I shall be round there.’

  ‘Telling them all this?’

  ‘I don’t think I should need to do that. Simply asking for an injunction against their being taken out of the country without my consent. I don’t need to give reasons, and I don’t think I should have much trouble in getting it, do you?’

  David drained his cold coffee and poured more from the jug.

  ‘No, you’d get it. Andy, no one’s trying to take the boys away from you. I think you ought to go out there, too. And Maddie.’

  Madeleine said: ‘You’re being a bit unreasonable, David. We should all look rather silly if this turns out to be just another hard winter.’

  ‘I was up at the Pool of London yesterday,’ David said. ‘There are chunks of ice floating. You can cross the river above Chiswick.’

  ‘There have been other winters as cold, though, haven’t there?’

  With flat determination, David said: ‘It’s going to get worse. A lot worse.’

  ‘But there’s not such an urgency, is there?’

  ‘The financial side has to be considered. Leaving now you could realize capital – sell both the houses, and so on. And convert sterling into whatever currency you want. Later, it may not be possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the kind of panic I’m thinking of could make a London house worthless overnight, and make sterling a currency without value or meaning.’

  ‘Can I use that?’ Andrew asked. ‘It would make a good slant in a programme.’

  ‘They wouldn’t let you use it. Try it, and see. We’re too close to the edge already.’

  Andrew said: ‘Madeleine and Carol are free agents. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t take your advice if they see any sense in it. I don’t, myself. And I’ll make sure that, if Carol leaves, the boys stay. I’ll get that court order.’

  David shook his head. ‘You’re making a mistake.’

  ‘Possibly. I think it would be a bigger mistake to trust you in anything, though.’

  7

  January and February were savagely cold. The Thames froze almost up to Tower Bridge; beyond that the Pool and the estuary were thick with floating ice. One of the evening papers promoted a Winter Fair on the river, but it was not a success. The wind rose in the night, and many of the flimsy structures that had been erected on the ice were blown down and scattered. It was too bitter, in any case, to encourage people to venture far from shelter.

  March opened on a comparatively milder note, but there was still no thaw. Food prices, which had been rising for some time, began to rocket, and there was a wave of strikes throughout the country. They culminated in a general strike, which lasted three days: during those days prices doubled and re-doubled. The Government, which had proclaimed a State of Emergency and taken necessary powers, showed no sign of yielding them again. There was strict censorship, and the police were armed. Rationing and price controls were introduced for a wide range of foods; patient queues lengthened in the grubby snow outside provision shops. Press and television called on the people to endure, to show their ancient phlegm. ‘If winter comes,’ quoted the Prime Minister in his clipped and confident voice, ‘can spring be far behind?’

  Andrew had gone to his solicitors after Christmas, and they had approached Carol. She had not proved difficult. She had agreed to the children being made wards of Court, pending a decision on care and custody at the time of the granting of the divorce. The hearing had been set down for the beginning of April.

  Meanwhile, at the end of March, there were to
be the Easter holidays, and it was arranged that Andrew should meet the boys at Waterloo. The taxi which took him there, in a snow storm, carried chains on its wheels. Andrew realized that very little gravelling was being done now, and that little in a perfunctory manner.

  ‘Shockin’ wevver,’ the driver said. ‘Don’t get no better, neiver, do it?’

  ‘No,’ Andrew said. He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re going to be late.’

  ‘Shouldn’t worry. Not as late as the train’ll be.’

  At the station, Andrew went to the indicator board. A ninety-minute delay was signalled. He turned away to go in search of a snack, and found David coming towards him.

  David said: ‘Hello, Andy. Hoped I’d find you here.’

  He had been away from the studios all morning, and presumed Carol had been trying to get in touch with him. It crossed his mind that the school, which was five miles from its railhead, might have been cut off by the latest blizzard, and that the boys might not be able to get to London for the time being.

  ‘About the boys?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ David took his arm. ‘Something I want to draw your attention to first, though.’

  He pointed. There was an armed sentry guarding the gate at Platform 9. Other soldiers were on duty elsewhere in the station.

  ‘What’s all that about?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘The Army,’ David said, ‘is standing to. Not just here, but in strategic places all over the country. England is now under martial law.’

  ‘Do they expect trouble?’

  ‘A cut in the ration scale will be announced this afternoon. A very large cut.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Andrew said. ‘I missed breakfast. I was going to get a sausage roll.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ David said. ‘You can have mine as well.’

  The rule in snack bars had been one item of food per person for some time. As they approached the door of the Buffet, Andrew saw another familiar sign: SORRY – NO BEER.

  He said: ‘What was it, about the boys? Are they keeping them at school for the present?’

  ‘I have a letter for you,’ David said.

  The envelope was blank. Andrew opened it and took out a sheet of paper. The letter was in Carol’s handwriting.