Read Online England Made Me by Graham Greene - Free Book Online

hungry anxiety – whether to bow, or to shake hands, or simply to smile and nod; for the moment he was absorbed as deeply as over a question of finance.
    â€œThen if I telephone –’ the Minister said, whirling his monocle.
    Suddenly, from out of what distant past Krogh could not say, a joke emerged of the crudest indecency; it came with the warmth of an ancient friendship renewed; it surprised him into a smile of rare humanity.
    â€˜What’s the joke, my dear fellow?’ the Minister asked with astonishment.
    But the joke, like an old friend, could not be passed on: it belonged to a different, a harsher, shabbier, friendlier period. He was ashamed of it now, he could not introduce it to new friends, not to the Minister nor to the Prince nor even to Kate: give it food secretly and money, and pack it away; it at least would never come back for blackmail; but it left him with a sense of loneliness, of dryness, as if his life now were narrower instead of infinitely enlarged. ‘And when they got to the bawdy house . . .’
    â€˜It was nothing. A thought. I must be going.’
    But the telephone rang. The Minister took up the receiver, then passed it to Krogh. ‘Yours, my dear fellow. I’ll leave you to it. Ring the bell when you’ve finished and Calloway will show you out.’ He pressed Krogh’s arm affectionately and tiptoed away. Once he put his head back to remind Krogh: ‘I shall ring up tomorrow at eleven.’
    â€˜But it’s impossible,’ Krogh was saying. ‘We’ve got informers in every department. What were they doing?’ When he heard the Minister speak he said: ‘I’ll be back immediately. Get hold of Herr Laurin; he knows how to talk to these men.’ He was impatient; he started for the door; he did not want to wait for Calloway, but in the passage the delicate sound of tea-cups, the sight of the gold-framed dignitaries restrained him. He stiffened and went back and rang the bell.
    â€œNot a nice evening, sir,’ Calloway said, pulling at his coat. ‘More of that nasty mist we had yesterday.’
    â€˜A taxi, please.’
    He watched Calloway standing in the middle of the road with two fingers raised and thought: he wanted to talk to me; even Calloway, I suppose, buys shares. Or perhaps he only wanted to gossip about the weather. How does one speak to people? How does one address a man with different interests, different standards? A troop of cavalry rode between him and Calloway; the bald man in the short black jacket was momentarily hidden by a moving grove of brass and plume. The officer saw Krogh on the steps of the Legation and nodded and waved his white-gloved hand; the horses tossed their heads and stepped lightly under the lamps, waving their chestnut tails. Everyone on the pavement stood still and watched them go by, smiling at the troopers, as if something young, lovely and irresponsible were passing. Only Calloway seemed unmoved as he looked this way and that way and signalled for a taxi.
    The monogram over the entrance to the court was unlit. The ring of small blackened bulbs reminded him of a tarnished steel brooch. He said sharply to the porter: ‘Why are the lights here not turned on?’
    â€˜Herr Laurin sent a chit the other day. The lights were to be turned off after six.’
    â€˜Turn them on immediately,’ Krogh said.
    On his desk was a typed list of the Wall Street closing prices; outside the tape ticked like a sewing machine.
    â€˜Is Miss Farrant back?’
    â€˜Not yet, Herr Krogh.’ Her substitute, thin, grey, with a nervous tick in one eyelid, waited by his desk.
    â€˜This strike: when did news come of it?’
    â€˜Just after you left the office, Herr Krogh.’
    â€˜And it’s called for tomorrow?’
    â€˜Tomorrow at noon.’
    â€˜At how many factories?’
    â€˜Three.’
    â€˜The leader?’
    â€˜Our informant at Nyköping