The World in Winter Page 8

  She tilted the bottle very carefully as she refilled the glasses. The wine was a soft gleaming red. She handed the men their glasses and raised her own. Her face was calm, still, sad in recognition of the inevitable.

  ‘All right, David,’ she said. ‘We’ll go. Let’s drink to our African future.’

  Part Two

  * * *

  1

  Besides arranging the flight itself, David had also dealt with the currency question. Under present conditions there was no hope of selling the house in Denham Crescent, nor of obtaining a mortgage on it, and most other goods were similarly unnegotiable. He did manage to get three hundred pounds for Madeleine’s fur coat. Her final liquid assets worked out at just over seven hundred pounds, to which David himself contributed a further five hundred. He smiled when she protested that he might need it in London.

  ‘Not in the Pale. The new currency is power, and I have enough to get by. You can invest it for me in Nigeria, and I’ll collect it with interest when I come.’

  Andrew found that two hundred and sixty pounds was all he could raise himself. The rest was tied up in equity shares, and the Stock Exchange had suspended trading for an indefinite period.

  ‘I can get a bank draft through for Maddie,’ David said, ‘as my wife. But a separate one for Andy would be too tricky. If he’s willing to trust you, I can have the whole lot credited to your account at a bank in Lagos. You can take a tenner apiece in notes to cover your incidental expenses until you get to the bank.’

  They booked in at the newly built Hotel Africa. That, too, had been arranged by David. The hotel was very full and they had to accept rooms on different floors: Andrew took a room on the fifth floor at the back, Madeleine’s, on the third floor, overlooked the Marina and the lagoon. It was evening when they arrived. Beyond the lights of the Marina itself, the lagoon was dark. Further off, on the mainland, they could see the bright flash of neon.

  They found, on going down to dinner, that while most of the diners were black, all the waiters were white-skinned. They were served by a tall thin grey-haired man. He came from Frankfurt and handled the plates with some awkwardness. He apologized for his clumsiness. He had, it appeared, been a shopkeeper.

  ‘What’s it like in Frankfurt?’ Andrew asked.

  He looked at them with a cold remote smile.

  ‘The buildings still stand, the fine new American buildings, and the fine new roads are still there, under the ice. I went back to Frankfurt in 1945, to the ruins. It was alive then. Now it is dead.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ Madeleine asked.

  ‘Three weeks, madam.’

  ‘No regrets.’

  ‘But of course not. Where we live, it is a little primitive, perhaps, for my family. But I have a good job: the dash is very good.’

  ‘The dash?’

  The waiter smiled. ‘The vernacular for tips. The wage itself is not high, of course.’

  With the coffee, he brought a note for Andrew. It read:

  Dear Andrew,

  David tells me you’re arriving today and staying at the Africa. If you would like to see me, I shall be at the Island Club from about half past nine onwards. Or you can leave a message for me there.

  Yours,

  Carol

  ‘The Island Club,’ Andrew said to the waiter, ‘– is it far from the hotel?’

  ‘Not very far, sir.’

  Andrew showed the note to Madeleine. ‘Shall we go along there?’

  ‘Only one of us is invited.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I think it does.’

  ‘David may not have mentioned you were coming today as well.’

  ‘More likely she wants to talk over private matters. There must be things to discuss.’

  ‘You’re part of my private life,’ Andrew said. ‘Private, if not intimate.’

  Madeleine smiled. ‘Not of Carol’s, though. Anyway, I think I would like an early night. You go along, Andy. You can tell me all about it in the morning.’

  Andrew felt a tingle of anticipation as he walked to the Club. It was months since he had seen Carol – the occasion had been the boys’ return to school after the Christmas holidays – and there was the strangeness of meeting her here, in a foreign land, their old lives splintered behind them and everything new, uncertain, difficult, promising. He gave his name to the doorkeeper, a Frenchman by his accent, and was conscious of a feeling of guilt that Madeleine, preparing for bed in the loneliness of the hotel room, had so completely slipped his mind.

  ‘You will find Madame in the lounge bar,’ the doorman told him. ‘Through that door, sir, and on your right.’

  The room was roughly circular, with the bar cutting an arc across the top. The walls had been painted with continuous murals, a series of huge concave panels. Around the bar they depicted snow and ice, from which projected broken fragments of masonry, towers, domes, pinnacles of brick and steel. These scenes changed, as one’s gaze continued in either direction from the bar, into seas at first iceberg-laden, then empty, then calm and silvered by the sun. Past the seas, along the section of the wall directly facing the bar, were the golden sands and palm-fringed shores of a warm and happy land. Carol was sitting over there, at a table by herself. Andrew saw as he approached her that there were quite a number of white women in the room, but he only saw two white men. There were a lot of Nigerians. The noise of their chatter marked the difference between this and a similar establishment in a European capital.

  ‘Hello, Andy,’ Carol said. ‘Nice to see you. Do sit down. What will you drink?’

  ‘Can I get them?’

  ‘No. Members only.’

  ‘You are a member?’

  She nodded. ‘They do have European liquor still, if you want to break me, but I’m on South African brandy. I find it’s not at all bad.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll have that.’

  She called the waiter, a white again, and ordered the drinks. Andrew watched her and considered his own reactions. The frisson of anticipation of meeting her again had faded; and to his surprise it left no successor. She was still beautiful, and attractive in a more colourful way than he remembered – the black dress splotched with large hibiscus blossoms, and the twisted skein of heavy costume jewellery round her neck, were not things she would have worn before – but there was no recognition; her beauty no longer spoke to him as it had once done. He had a quick moment of relief, blending into a warm remembrance of Madeleine. There had been two ties, he knew, which held Madeleine from him – her own with David and his with Carol. One of them, at any rate, existed no longer.

  Carol gestured towards the murals. ‘What do you think of them?’

  ‘A little cruel. Or insensitive, anyway.’

  ‘It’s not a sensitive country. There’s a practical point to it, too: the people here tend to hug the bar, and this persuades them into the outer spaces. It was only opened last week.’

  ‘You come here a good deal?’

  ‘Now and then.’ Skipping over the point, she went on: ‘The whole Club’s been more or less torn down and done over again in the past six months.’

  ‘A bit gaudy.’

  ‘One gets used to that. I quite like it. There’s a lot of money here now. Mind you, one needs a lot, to live.’

  ‘The children,’ Andrew said, ‘– how are they?’

  ‘They’re at school at Ibadan. It’s the best school in the country according to repute. Very few white boys are there.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that matters.’

  ‘Matters!’ She stared at him, and laughed. ‘My God, Andy …’

  ‘Are they well, happy?’

  ‘Both, I think.’ She fished inside her handbag, and brought out a letter. ‘Have a look.’

  It was from Robin. Andrew read through it, and handed it back to Carol. It was like any letter from any boy at any boarding school.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They seem happy.’

  ‘They shou
ld be. The fees are sensational.’

  He sipped his brandy; Carol poured ginger ale into hers. She watched him with a curious, half smiling, half defensive look.

  Andrew said: ‘David saw us off.’

  She made a murmur of assent. After a pause, she said:

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Under strain. The pressure’s pretty heavy. But well enough, I think.’

  ‘Poor David.’

  ‘When he does leave, it will be practically without warning, I gather.’

  ‘Yes. He told me all that. I think he ought to have got out earlier.’ She spoke objectively and dispassionately. ‘He could have done it. He had enough pull.’

  ‘Perhaps he will now, if you persuade him.’

  She did not reply immediately.

  ‘Europe’s a very long way off,’ she said, ‘– emotionally, not just geographically. One’s recollections fade. Places, people. Or perhaps just mine.’

  He saw the implication, and was slightly shocked. She leaned forward on the table, her breasts pressing together between her folded arms.

  ‘I’d almost forgotten what you looked like, Andy. It’s like seeing you with fresh eyes.’

  It might or might not have been provocatively intended. He was confused, suddenly aware of the fact that she was still, legally, his wife, that he was still responsible for her. If her infatuation for David was over, she might well think it worthwhile resuming their old relationship: it had not been an unhappy nor unsuccessful one. The thought disturbed him, but in a different way from that which he would have imagined.

  He said awkwardly: ‘David will be coming eventually. Meanwhile, I want to look after Madeleine.’

  Carol gave a small laugh. ‘Some things are familiar! Well, that’s good. How are you going to go about it, by the way? Do you have any idea?’

  ‘I should be able to land some kind of job. Journalism or television …’

  She said briskly: ‘You can forget them. Europeans not wanted. In fact, Europeans not wanted in any of the professions. There are some branches people got into early, but those two weren’t among them. And there’s even a glut of white doctors, now. The porter at my block of flats had a medical practice in Vienna.’

  ‘I hadn’t realized it was as bad as that.’

  ‘There’s one profession that’s still open. You had a commission in Tanks. You could help them train for the war.’

  ‘What war?’

  ‘Against South Africa. As far as I can see, it’s expected to break out in two or three years’ time. You might get a commission. They allow white officers up to the rank of Captain, on short service commissions.’

  ‘No,’ Andrew said. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘How much money have you brought with you?’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty. Madeleine’s got over a thousand.’

  ‘Put it together then,’ she said, ‘and start some kind of a shop. It doesn’t matter what kind. The blackies are still tickled pink at having their goods served with white hands. And you might not do badly, if you pick the right line and place. As I’ve said, there’s money about.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’

  ‘Don’t wait too long before you act on it. It’s easy to fritter money away, especially in Lagos. Ibadan’s as bad. It might be better in the north – Kaduna, perhaps. It’s more primitive, but there might be more scope.’

  ‘In a short time here,’ Andrew said, ‘you’ve become very well-informed on the country.’

  Carol smiled. ‘I have my sources of information.’

  ‘You yourself,’ he said, ‘– are you all right?’

  ‘I manage.’

  ‘Have you got some kind of a job?’

  ‘Yes. A kind of job.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Do you feel like another drink?’

  The watch was new; the face was set round with chip stones that flashed as her hand moved. Simultaneously he realized that the heavy necklace was not costume jewellery; the heavy strands were gold, set with large semi-precious and precious stones.

  ‘So I needn’t worry about you, need I?’ Andrew said. ‘No, thanks. I think I’d better be getting back. It’s been an exhausting day.’

  ‘I’ll give you my address,’ she said, ‘in case you want to get in touch.’

  She excused herself at the door of the lounge, and they said good night. At the door, Andrew paused to speak to the porter; it was an impulse which would remain and grow stronger, to salute the fellow white, to give form and recognition to a shared loneliness.

  ‘What part of France?’ he asked.

  ‘Dijon. I ran an agence immobilière.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘I remember motoring through one evening in winter. I had a meal. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but the food was good.’

  ‘In Dijon the food was always good.’

  ‘And walking through the streets afterwards. It had been raining and they gleamed in the lamplight. And the shops – the pâtisseries, the little jewellers’, the butchers’ shops with deer and wild boar hanging up outside.’

  ‘I remember those, monsieur. And the milling crowds outside the Pauvre Diable, and the hum of talk in the brasseries. And other things.’

  Two heavily built Nigerians came in with two women, and he turned to attend to them. The men wore brightly coloured robes and turbans. The women were white. As Andrew left he glanced back into the Club and saw Carol again. She was returning to the lounge, escorted by a Nigerian in evening dress.

  On his way to breakfast next morning Andrew picked up a newspaper, the Times of Nigeria, in case he had to wait for Madeleine to come down. But she was already at the table, and smiled to him as he entered the room. He sat down and laid the paper, still folded, on the table.

  Their hands touched lightly. She said:

  ‘I feel ashamed of myself. I’ve ordered a double bacon and eggs.’

  ‘It’s always a good idea to share a sense of shame. I’ll have the same.’

  ‘How was Carol?’

  ‘Very comfortable.’ He paused. ‘She appears to have got herself a rich black boy-friend.’

  Madeleine looked at him, and said quietly: ‘She might have kept it from you, at least.’

  ‘She didn’t flaunt it. I only saw them together by accident. It makes no difference to me. It will do to David, though, won’t it? And to you.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘About David or about you?’

  ‘About either. But you – does it release you?’

  ‘It didn’t need that. When I saw her again it was quite different. It helps, that she can look after herself.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘They’re in a very expensive boarding school at Ibadan. They seem to be happy. She showed me a letter from Robin.’

  ‘Ibadan?’

  ‘A hundred and ten miles up country. It’s the capital of the Western Province and twice as big as Lagos.’

  ‘I thought it was on the Persian Gulf.’

  ‘Abadan. We’ve got a lot to learn, haven’t we? And we’d better learn it quickly. After all, we’re refugees.’

  ‘Are we? I suppose we are. What else did Carol say?’

  ‘She gave me good advice.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘She thinks I might get a job in the Nigerian Army, training them for the war they expect to make on South Africa when they’re ready. In conjunction with other African states, I suppose; it’s difficult to see how they would get to grips otherwise.’

  Madeleine smiled. ‘You weren’t keen on that.’

  ‘No. Her alternative suggestion was that you and I should pool resources and open a shop. White shopkeepers are popular, it seems. And they still have some kind of scarcity value.’

  ‘Military training or shopkeeping. Things aren’t going to be awfully easy, are they? What shall we do – newsagent and tobacconist, pots and pans? I suppose we’d need qualifications to run a chemist’s shop?’

  ‘Of a kind. I passed a hole
in the wall last night which had a sign hanging outside it. It said Sincere Medicine Chamber.’

  She shook her head. ‘We can’t compete with that.’

  Andrew said: ‘Carol took four thousand with her when she left England. I suppose I have a right to some part of that. But …’

  Madeleine said quickly: ‘No, we don’t need it. Please. I’d rather not.’

  ‘It means I can only put up a fifth as much as you.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘It might do. When David comes over.’

  ‘We aren’t going to fall out over money, whatever happens.’

  ‘Not over anything, I hope.’

  ‘No.’ She put her hand out to his. ‘I’m sure we won’t.’

  Their fingers pressed together in the small reassuring contact of flesh.

  Andrew said comfortably: ‘I think that’s our bacon and eggs arriving now.’

  They ate their breakfast with relish, savouring plenty after the privation of rations. Filling his coffee cup for the third time, Andrew remembered the newspaper he had bought and which had lain unregarded on the table. He opened it out to the front page: it was garishly printed on cheap-looking paper, but it was impressive after the London news sheet. The main headline concerned South Africa: ATROCITIES AGAINST WOMEN AND CHILDREN. The sub-heading said: BANTU LEADER’S REVELATIONS. It was a lip-smacking eye-rolling horror story which Andrew found unconvincing. His eyes turned to another headline, lower down the page and on the other side. This said: EUROPEAN CURRENCIES – GOVERNMENT DECISION.

  The story below was brief and factual. A meeting of African Finance Ministers at Ghana had unanimously agreed to a moratorium on all transactions involving the currencies of nations with capitals lying north of the 40° line of latitude.

  Andrew gave the paper to Madeleine, marking the place with his thumb.

  ‘It looks as though we only just made it in time,’ he said.

  She read the account with care. Looking up, she said:

  ‘Have we made it? The moratorium’s from today.’

  ‘Our draft’s already through.’