Partisan Page 2

  ‘How am I supposed to do that? Even supposing she wishes to go? She’s a grown woman, Bernhard. And she has a responsible job. As long as Paris Temps maintains an office in Belgrade, she will stay.’

  ‘I am asking for your help as a friend. Listen, it is going to be very bad.’

  ‘Should you have told me this?’

  ‘No. But I am telling you this. Because we are friends, and because of Sandrine. I do not know what I would do if anything happened to her.’

  ‘Well—’

  There was a shout. ‘Tony!’

  Elena Kostic elbowed her way through the throng towards the two officers, Sandrine following her – it was because of her close friendship with Sandrine that he had met Bernhard in the first place. The two women made the strongest contrast, for where Sandrine was all petite femininity, Elena was very nearly six feet tall, a big, strong young woman with long legs and a full figure. Her face was strong rather than pretty, and was shrouded in a mass of curling black hair. With Elena you got what you saw – good-humoured earthiness glowed from her dark eyes. Tony had liked what he saw from the moment they had been introduced, despite the fact that her earthiness had almost certainly embraced others before him. To his utter delight, she had reciprocated.

  Now she threw her arms round him and held him close. ‘Isn’t it marvellous?’

  He kissed her. ‘Bernhard doesn’t think so.’

  ‘Ha!’ she snorted, but she released Tony to kiss the German officer in turn. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘He’s been ordered back to Germany,’ Sandrine muttered.

  Elena raised her eyebrows. ‘You are that important? I never knew.’

  ‘I am not the least important,’ Bernhard said. ‘We are all going. The entire embassy.’

  ‘I see. You no longer wish to know us. Well . . . let us have a last drink together.’

  Tony and Bernhard elbowed their way into the crowd round the bar to procure four beers. The German uniform called for some derogatory comment, but they both ignored it, and the fact that Bernhard was both well known to the barman and in the company of a British officer removed any risk of a crisis.

  ‘So tell us, what is going to happen?’ Elena asked when they returned. The women had managed to secure a table.

  ‘I wish we knew,’ Tony confessed. ‘Bernhard is going. I may have to go—’

  ‘You? Why should you go?’ Elena’s voice was sharp. ‘We will need you here.’

  ‘I am staying,’ Sandrine said.

  ‘No, Sandrine,’ Bernhard said.

  ‘So you will know where to find me when this crisis is over.’

  Bernhard had taken off his cap and placed it on the table. Now he scratched his head and looked at Tony.

  ‘I think we’re all probably a little hysterical,’ Tony said. ‘In a day or two things will have settled down.’

  ‘But Bernhard will not be here,’ Sandrine pointed out.

  ‘When things have settled down, he will come back.’

  Bernhard had been looking more and more embarrassed. Now he finished his drink, stood up and put on his cap. ‘I must get back to the embassy.’

  ‘Already?’ Sandrine demanded.

  ‘There is a great deal to be done. I would hope to see you all again, in happier times.’ He brought his right hand against his shoulder. ‘Heil Hitler!’

  ‘Bernhard!’ Sandrine wailed.

  He checked, bent over her, and kissed her mouth. Then he was gone into the crowd.

  ‘Just like that,’ Sandrine said.

  ‘He has a lot on his mind,’ Tony suggested.

  ‘I am yesterday’s woman to him,’ Sandrine muttered. ‘When I think—’

  Elena squeezed her hand. ‘He is a brute.’ She glanced at Tony. ‘Will you leave me like that?’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ She looked at Sandrine. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘I am going to get drunk,’ Sandrine announced.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ Elena remarked. ‘You had better come with us.’

  ‘Ah—’ Tony wasn’t sure that was what he wanted.

  ‘She won’t mind.’

  Tony hadn’t actually been thinking of sex, at that moment. ‘We really need to talk.’

  ‘So? She’s my best friend. I’m not leaving her here to get pissed and tossed off by some lout. Or louts.’

  ‘I am never going to get tossed off by any man, ever again,’ Sandrine declared.

  Looking at her, Tony found it difficult to imagine someone so beautiful, so composed, always so perfectly groomed – unlike Elena, Sandrine’s dress was neat, her shoes polished, and there was not a ladder in her stockings – ever being tossed off by anyone, even Bernhard.

  ‘That’s because you’re not drunk yet,’ Elena pointed out. ‘Come along. We’ll go home. Don’t worry, they’re probably all out celebrating.’

  *

  Elena’s parents operated a boarding house some distance away from the city centre. It was an eminently respectable place of overstuffed furniture, chintz curtains and antimacassars. They had always welcomed Tony – he suspected that they regarded him as a possible future son-in-law, which was why they permitted him to take liberties with their daughter – but he was rather glad that Elena was right about their being out.

  He was even more relieved at the absence of Svetovar, her brother, a young man who always made Tony feel uncomfortable. This was purely psychological, he knew; Svetovar gave every indication of the deepest admiration and respect for a man who had actually been in battle.

  But the Kostics were Croats. Tony had only discovered this after he had met and fallen for Elena. Then he had not wanted to do anything about it, however his superiors might have disapproved of the relationship – and those of them that knew of it disapproved of much more about Elena Kostic than her nationality. But the fact was symptomatic of the problem that was Yugoslavia.

  The country was the brainchild of President Woodrow Wilson, in complete disregard of his own often-stated belief that national boundaries should be determined by national majorities and desires. Thus Serbia, governed from Belgrade, had been the hub of the new state, as a reward for her resolute opposition to Austrian aggression – and again in complete disregard of the fact that it had been Serbian-inspired plots that had caused the Great War in the first place. But to the Serbian heartland had been attached a host of other nationalities: Croats, Bosnians, Slovenes, Montenegrins, even Albanians who happened to be living in the province of Kosovo, each of whom had their own identity and their own aspirations – and each of whom heartily loathed the Serbs.

  The imposition of western-style democracy with its so-civilised rules was never going to work in a society where every MP carried his gun with him to parliament – and was not reluctant to draw it and start shooting at any opposition member who offended him. The Croatians had always been the least willing to conform, and the reality of the situation had been starkly underlined thirteen years before when King Alexander, having grown weary of the perpetual wrangling in parliament, had abolished that institution and declared his intention of ruling as a dictator. Six years later he was shot and killed while on a visit to France . . . by a Croatian terrorist.

  Tony did not suppose for a moment that the Kostics had been even remotely involved, but they were Croatians, and thus regarded with mistrust by the British embassy. And with reason, quite apart from the assassination of the king: it was well known that there was considerable support in Croatia for an Italian annexation of at least their province, with an Italian royal duke as their king. But as the Kostics had chosen to leave Zagreb and live in Belgrade they surely could not subscribe to such disloyalty. What Tony had to find out was how deeply that pro-Italian feeling had taken hold of the country as a whole.

  ‘I will make coffee,’ Elena announced, leading them into the kitchen.

  ‘I would prefer to have beer,’ Sandrine said, sitting at the kitchen table. ‘Or whiskey. I would like a whiskey.
Do you have a whiskey?’

  ‘I do not have whiskey,’ Elena said. ‘Or beer. Coffee is better for you.’

  ‘I have decided what I am going to do,’ Sandrine announced. ‘I am going to stand outside the German embassy, and when Bernhard comes out, I shall cut my throat before his eyes. That’ll teach him.’

  Tony gave her an anxious glance as he also sat down. Definitely hysterical, he decided.

  But Elena could handle any situation. ‘You cannot possibly do that until after lunch,’ she said. ‘No one commits suicide before lunch. I would have thought you, as a journalist, would know that.’

  Sandrine thrust her hands into her hair, disarranging her immaculate coiffure.

  Elena busied herself at the stove. ‘Did you say something about leaving as well?’

  ‘We’ve been ordered to prepare to move out,’ Tony said, keeping a careful eye on the coffee she was ladling into the percolator; normally the most good-humoured of women, Elena possessed a formidable temper.

  But she remained equable for the moment. ‘Why?’

  ‘Simply because if we remain here, and the Germans occupy the country, my comrades and I will become prisoners of war.’

  ‘Occupy the country? Just like that? Do you not suppose we would have something to say about that?’

  ‘You mean your army would fight?’

  ‘All of us would fight.’

  ‘Informed opinion holds that you would be destroyed.’

  ‘Ha!’ She set the steaming cups in front of them. ‘We would make them suffer first. If you really want to die, Sandrine, why do you not wait until the Germans come, then get a gun and shoot a few of them before they shoot you.’

  Sandrine slurped her coffee; her hands were shaking and tears were dribbling down her cheeks. Tony had never seen her in such a state – before today he would have found it impossible to imagine her in such a state.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘If I could swing it that you could come with us, would you?’

  ‘Leave my home?’ Elena sat beside him.

  ‘My dearest girl, if the Germans come, you might not have a home.’

  ‘I will shoot a few of them first.’

  ‘Elena, I do not want you to die. I want you to live. I want . . . I want to marry you.’

  She stroked his cheek. ‘You say the sweetest things.’

  ‘Don’t you want to be my wife?’

  ‘I would love to be your wife, Tony. But you know that is impossible. You are a British officer. One day you will be a general. Probably a sir. How can you be married to a Croatian boarding-house keeper?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Her accurate assessment of their situation had embarrassed him.

  ‘So just let us make love. Let us make love now. I feel like it. When I am excited I always wish to make love.’

  ‘In the middle of the morning?’

  ‘What does the time have to do with it, if we feel like it? You English are so regimented. You sleep by the clock, you eat by the clock, you drink by the clock . . . and you make love by the clock. That is absurd.’

  ‘The fact is, I should be getting back to the office.’

  ‘You can go back to the office, afterwards.’ She held out her hand, and he took it. Because he did want sex. Not because he was excited or had a sense of looming catastrophe, but because Elena always had this effect on him.

  ‘You stay here,’ Elena told Sandrine. ‘Make yourself another cup of coffee. If you are hungry, there are biscuits in that tin. Just do not leave the house.’

  ‘Do you not suppose I have an office to go to as well?’ Sandrine asked. ‘I have a story to write.’

  ‘About contemplating suicide?’

  ‘About the German embassy closing.’

  ‘It can keep. It won’t be a scoop. Everyone in Belgrade will know by now that the German embassy is closing. We won’t be long.’

  *

  Still holding Tony’s hand, Elena led him up the stairs and into her bedroom. He had been here before, of course, but always at night and after several glasses of wine. In the middle of the morning, with the curtains drawn back and the room filled with light, and with his every sense totally alert, he understood that this was going to be either the experience of his life or a total disaster. If only there weren’t so many things preying on his mind.

  ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘If you mean, will she stay here until we go down, yes she will. She does not really wish to do anything, at the moment. As for when she gets over the shock of Bernhard’s running out on her, I should think she will be very angry. And I agree with her.’

  Elena kicked off her shoes and lifted her skirt over her head. She wore a vest and knickers – which were rapidly thrown on the floor – but no brassiere. Her breasts were things to dream about, but then so were her legs, long and strong and powerful. No doubt one day she would become overweight and sagging, but at twenty-four years old she was serious competition for any statue of Venus.

  She lay on the bed. ‘Don’t you want me?’

  Tony undressed as quickly as he could, remembering that his uniform would have to be worn back to the office and could not be carelessly thrown on the floor. Then he was in her arms, and her hand went down to hold him. ‘You are going to need re-training,’ she said.

  ‘And you are impatient,’ he pointed out, nuzzling her breasts, which had the required effect.

  ‘You will still have to come in the front door,’ she said. ‘You will not make the back.’

  Which she preferred.

  *

  He was surprised, and relieved, that he had been able to make it at all. And the moment he had, thoughts crowded into his brain again.

  ‘If the Germans invade, will your people fight?’

  ‘Of course.’ She was attending to him with a wash cloth.

  ‘Can they?’

  ‘Of course. We have a very powerful army. But you must know this.’

  ‘I do. You have an army of twenty-eight divisions, six hundred and forty thousand men.’

  ‘And you still think the Germans can beat us? Or would dare try?’

  ‘Your army is not at this moment mobilised, and it is armed mainly with somewhat out-of-date rifles. The German army is counted in millions, with the most modern equipment.’

  ‘You overestimate them,’ she suggested, throwing the wash cloth into the basin and sitting at the foot of the bed with her legs drawn up – an unforgettable sight. ‘Because they beat you in France.’

  ‘It’s a good reason.’

  ‘Well, they cannot possibly bring all their millions down here,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I also believe you have a tank corps of just fifty machines. Do you know how many thousands of tanks the Germans have?’

  ‘This is not good tank country.’

  ‘Any country is good air-power country. You have two hundred and eighty-four combat aircraft. Again, the Germans talk in thousands.’

  ‘But your Royal Air Force claims to have defeated them, last autumn.’

  ‘Well . . .’ He did not suppose it would be tactful to suggest that the RAF pilots were light years ahead of the Yugoslavs in training and tactical ability. ‘They had Spitfires. And the odds were only about two to one, not ten to one.’

  ‘I never thought to hear a British officer being so defeatist.’

  ‘In war, my dearest girl, both optimism and pessimism are luxuries. Only realism works. And the reality is that if it comes to a fight you are going to be outnumbered in every aspect by at least ten to one. That just isn’t going to work.’

  ‘And do we not have allies? Will the British not help us? You are helping the Greeks.’

  ‘We are helping the Greeks because we can reach them. We cannot reach you.’

  ‘The Royal Navy cannot reach us?’

  ‘At the moment, no. We do not have the ships to take on the Italian fleet in such narrow waters.’

  ‘Then we will do it for you.’

  ‘One old cruiser and four destr
oyers? Oh, and I forgot, four submarines. They wouldn’t last five minutes against one Littorio-class battleship, and the Italians have at least three.’

  ‘What are you trying to say? That we should just surrender?’

  ‘I wish you to understand that it would be very grim. You can’t even be sure that your people would fight beside the Serbs.’

  ‘We are all one nation now.’

  ‘Do you really believe that? What about the Ustase?’

  She frowned at him. ‘What do you know of the Ustase?’

  ‘I know that they are a Croatian terrorist organisation, that they assassinated King Alexander, and that they support some sort of union with Italy. Which happens to be Germany’s ally.’

  ‘As you say, they are a terrorist group,’ she said equably. ‘Oh, hello.’

  The bedroom door opened, and Sandrine came in. Tony hastily reached for the covers, but Elena was sitting on them. Sandrine regarded him with interest. ‘Lucky for some,’ she remarked.

  ‘Did you want something?’ Elena asked. ‘You can’t have him right now; he’s incapable.’

  ‘I bet he isn’t,’ the Frenchwoman remarked as Tony began to twitch. ‘But I do not want sex. I am never going to have sex again.’

  ‘Except with Bernhard, presumably. When he comes back.’

  ‘He is not going to come back,’ Sandrine said. ‘They are all going. Every one of them. Every German in Belgrade.’

  ‘Eh?’ Tony rolled out of bed and ran to the window to look down on the street. It was as packed as earlier, but now a large proportion of the crowd was composed of cars, heavily laden with both people and luggage, the suitcases strapped on the backs and roofs. The people surrounding the cars were jeering and whistling, but there was no violence.

  ‘Those are all Germans,’ Sandrine said, standing at his shoulder.

  ‘Running for their lives,’ Elena suggested.

  ‘But . . .’ Tony turned, and found himself against Sandrine. She gazed into his eyes for a long moment before stepping away. ‘What is threatening their lives, here in Belgrade?’

  ‘Oh, they are just afraid,’ Elena said. ‘If there is a war, they will all be rounded up and put in internment camps. They are afraid of that.’

  Tony didn’t agree with her, but decided not to say so. He started to get dressed. ‘I must get back to the embassy.’