Read Online Long Time Coming by Robert Goddard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robert Goddard
Ads: Link
promptly deposited them in the bomb-proof vault of his Piccadilly bank. There had not actually been any bombing yet, but the National Gallery had evacuated its collections long since – to north Wales, so rumour had it – and as Cardale said: ‘We must take good care of your employer’s property for him, mustn’t we?’
Unsurprisingly in the circumstances, Cardale’s gallery in Ryder Street was thinly stocked. It was made clear to Swan that his commitments there would be far from onerous. ‘The show must go on, old man, but don’t expect any full houses.’ Nor was he required to discharge any of those commitments until the following week. ‘You’ll need a few days to find your feet.’
The use, free of charge, of a comfortably furnished flat in St James’s greatly eased the process of feet-finding, as did the large cheque Swan obtained from Mr Levi Burg of Hatton Garden in exchange for his diamonds. Burg confessed himself envious when he heard of his friend’s departure for the United States. ‘New York will soon be the only place where our business can flourish, Mr Swan. I would go there myself if I could obtain a visa. Isaac must know more influential people than I do. But why am I surprised? He’s always been gifted in that department.’
Swan opened an account at Cardale’s bank with the money andjudged he could afford to live as well as wartime conditions allowed for some time to come. The London he had returned to was not, of course, the London he remembered. Eros had left Piccadilly Circus. Barrage balloons floated in the sky. Many statues were boarded up, many buildings sandbagged. The guards at Buckingham Palace were in battledress. Policemen wore tin hats. There was hardly a taxi or a private car to be seen on the streets, rendering Cardale’s ability to fill the tank of his thirsty V12 all the more mysterious. And the blackout seemed to plunge the city back in time, as Cardale warned him. ‘It’s more like 1740 than 1940 once night falls, old man. Beware pickpockets and footpads.’
During the week or so likely to elapse before any cable from Meridor arrived, Swan proposed to enjoy himself as best he could. Good food and fine wine were still to be had in the restaurants of the West End and a mood of desperate gaiety prevailed in Soho. He found diversion easily enough. The air-raid precautions seemed excessive to him. The war remained, in his own mind, just a rumour. He decided to test the mood of middle England and do his filial duty by visiting his parents over his first weekend back in Blighty. He fired off a letter telling them of his plan and travelled up to Leamington on Saturday.
He regretted going even before he arrived. The train was impossibly crowded, which his fellow travellers assured him was quite normal. Where taxis in London were scarce, in Leamington they were non-existent, obliging him to walk to his parents’ house. He had never been there before and covered twice the actual distance thanks to a series of wrong turnings. Nor was meat rationing the only reason for the absence of a fatted calf when he reached the oversized mock-Tudor dwelling, set in half an acre of heavily treed garden, to which his father had retired after more than forty years in Africa. The move had evidently done nothing to improve his temperament. Always irascible, he had become in old age splutteringly choleric. The sight of his eldest son was as a red rag to a bull.
‘I didn’t fix you up with a job in Antwerp so that you could use it as an excuse to dodge the column, Eldritch. Your brother’s in the Army, which is where you should be, goddammit, doing your bitfor King and country. What the hell do you mean by still being in civvies? There’s a war on. Hadn’t you noticed?’
The storm eventually died, thanks to Swan’s mother, a well-practised domestic appeaser. Swan himself was far from sure he wanted to do any appeasing. Verhoest’s attempt to blackmail Meridor had led to revelations about
Unsurprisingly in the circumstances, Cardale’s gallery in Ryder Street was thinly stocked. It was made clear to Swan that his commitments there would be far from onerous. ‘The show must go on, old man, but don’t expect any full houses.’ Nor was he required to discharge any of those commitments until the following week. ‘You’ll need a few days to find your feet.’
The use, free of charge, of a comfortably furnished flat in St James’s greatly eased the process of feet-finding, as did the large cheque Swan obtained from Mr Levi Burg of Hatton Garden in exchange for his diamonds. Burg confessed himself envious when he heard of his friend’s departure for the United States. ‘New York will soon be the only place where our business can flourish, Mr Swan. I would go there myself if I could obtain a visa. Isaac must know more influential people than I do. But why am I surprised? He’s always been gifted in that department.’
Swan opened an account at Cardale’s bank with the money andjudged he could afford to live as well as wartime conditions allowed for some time to come. The London he had returned to was not, of course, the London he remembered. Eros had left Piccadilly Circus. Barrage balloons floated in the sky. Many statues were boarded up, many buildings sandbagged. The guards at Buckingham Palace were in battledress. Policemen wore tin hats. There was hardly a taxi or a private car to be seen on the streets, rendering Cardale’s ability to fill the tank of his thirsty V12 all the more mysterious. And the blackout seemed to plunge the city back in time, as Cardale warned him. ‘It’s more like 1740 than 1940 once night falls, old man. Beware pickpockets and footpads.’
During the week or so likely to elapse before any cable from Meridor arrived, Swan proposed to enjoy himself as best he could. Good food and fine wine were still to be had in the restaurants of the West End and a mood of desperate gaiety prevailed in Soho. He found diversion easily enough. The air-raid precautions seemed excessive to him. The war remained, in his own mind, just a rumour. He decided to test the mood of middle England and do his filial duty by visiting his parents over his first weekend back in Blighty. He fired off a letter telling them of his plan and travelled up to Leamington on Saturday.
He regretted going even before he arrived. The train was impossibly crowded, which his fellow travellers assured him was quite normal. Where taxis in London were scarce, in Leamington they were non-existent, obliging him to walk to his parents’ house. He had never been there before and covered twice the actual distance thanks to a series of wrong turnings. Nor was meat rationing the only reason for the absence of a fatted calf when he reached the oversized mock-Tudor dwelling, set in half an acre of heavily treed garden, to which his father had retired after more than forty years in Africa. The move had evidently done nothing to improve his temperament. Always irascible, he had become in old age splutteringly choleric. The sight of his eldest son was as a red rag to a bull.
‘I didn’t fix you up with a job in Antwerp so that you could use it as an excuse to dodge the column, Eldritch. Your brother’s in the Army, which is where you should be, goddammit, doing your bitfor King and country. What the hell do you mean by still being in civvies? There’s a war on. Hadn’t you noticed?’
The storm eventually died, thanks to Swan’s mother, a well-practised domestic appeaser. Swan himself was far from sure he wanted to do any appeasing. Verhoest’s attempt to blackmail Meridor had led to revelations about
Similar Books
