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Authors: Helen MacInnes
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ploughing through a stream of pedestrians.
Nina said softly, “He was the first man I ever loved.”
Most of the old Geneva story had been told to Madge, but this was something new. “And how did he feel about that?”
“If I had been three years older, I might have learned.”
“He still likes you a lot. At least, he was worried about you.”
“Why should he? I was surprised he even remembered me.” But he had.
“He must be your type. Didn’t you notice that James looks something like him?” Except for the smile and the thoughtful eyes.
Nina was startled for a moment, and then recovered enough to say, “Nonsense.” She became absorbed in the decorated barrel organ now being wheeled past them. It halted and blocked James and Tony as they were about to reach the sidewalk. Now why is Tony so mad? she wondered. It can’t be us: we weren’t late. “He’s cursing out the barrel organ,” she told Madge, and they both laughed.
5
Yes, Shawfield had cursed the barrel organ, something to vent his anger on as they had to change course and found they were now blocked by a car. Kiley said, “Ease off, Tony. Hold it down.” (The names Erik and Marco had been laid aside; so was their knowledge of German, even when they spoke in private: a precaution against a slip in security.) For the last five minutes, as they waited near the bridge, Tony’s worry had spilled out in a stream of angry advice: ditch the two girls now, and to hell with Theo: tell him they’re unpredictable, dangerous—no discipline at all. Our first and only concern is to make contacts with revolutionary elements, judge their possibilities. “I know, I know,” Kiley had said, “but O’Connell is of more importance than you think.” Then he had added, “It could be worse than having them along. We could have had someone like Ilsa Schlott.” That had raised a reluctant laugh, and he had clapped Tony’s shoulder.
But as they started to cross Rokin, Tony’s mood sharpened again. He stared at the stranger on the opposite sidewalk. “Who’s that? She kissed him. Did you see?” A sudden rush of bicycles, forced them back to wait some more. Yes, Kiley had seen.
“Well, well,” he said as they reached the girls at last, “you collect friends everywhere, Nina.”
“Oh—just a friend of Father’s,”
“Does he live here?”
“No.” She seemed more interested in the barrel organ with a string of paper flowers draped around it. “Hideous colours. But should he be parking it right up on the sidewalk?” For the organ-grinder, small and lithe but obviously well muscled, had eased its wheels over the kerb and then brought it to rest in front of a store’s busy entrance.
“He knows where he can draw a crowd,” Madge observed.
“Let’s move,” Tony said impatiently. “We haven’t all day to hang around barrel organs.” They were part of Amsterdam’s street music, like the carillons from the churches. For a city that had been run by socialists and communists for so many years, it had too many bloody churches, he thought; a fine bunch of Marxists, they were.
Kiley said, “Why didn’t you ask your friend to spend the rest of the day with us? He probably was counting on having lunch with you when he arranged to meet you.”
“We met by accident—just ran into him on Kalverstraat. Is that enough information for you?” Nina noticed the sudden flush on his cheeks, and relented. “I knew him years ago. He taught me how to volley and play a good net game. That’s all.”
The four of them began to walk towards the corner, but slowly in spite of Tony’s urging. Madge looked back at the barrel organ. “No music? He won’t make much money that way. And I think he did choose the wrong place.” Two policemen, young and tall, long hair jutting out from the back of their caps, were making a leisurely approach, half curious, half amused. “He probably doesn’t know the regulations. He certainly isn’t Dutch by the look of
Nina said softly, “He was the first man I ever loved.”
Most of the old Geneva story had been told to Madge, but this was something new. “And how did he feel about that?”
“If I had been three years older, I might have learned.”
“He still likes you a lot. At least, he was worried about you.”
“Why should he? I was surprised he even remembered me.” But he had.
“He must be your type. Didn’t you notice that James looks something like him?” Except for the smile and the thoughtful eyes.
Nina was startled for a moment, and then recovered enough to say, “Nonsense.” She became absorbed in the decorated barrel organ now being wheeled past them. It halted and blocked James and Tony as they were about to reach the sidewalk. Now why is Tony so mad? she wondered. It can’t be us: we weren’t late. “He’s cursing out the barrel organ,” she told Madge, and they both laughed.
5
Yes, Shawfield had cursed the barrel organ, something to vent his anger on as they had to change course and found they were now blocked by a car. Kiley said, “Ease off, Tony. Hold it down.” (The names Erik and Marco had been laid aside; so was their knowledge of German, even when they spoke in private: a precaution against a slip in security.) For the last five minutes, as they waited near the bridge, Tony’s worry had spilled out in a stream of angry advice: ditch the two girls now, and to hell with Theo: tell him they’re unpredictable, dangerous—no discipline at all. Our first and only concern is to make contacts with revolutionary elements, judge their possibilities. “I know, I know,” Kiley had said, “but O’Connell is of more importance than you think.” Then he had added, “It could be worse than having them along. We could have had someone like Ilsa Schlott.” That had raised a reluctant laugh, and he had clapped Tony’s shoulder.
But as they started to cross Rokin, Tony’s mood sharpened again. He stared at the stranger on the opposite sidewalk. “Who’s that? She kissed him. Did you see?” A sudden rush of bicycles, forced them back to wait some more. Yes, Kiley had seen.
“Well, well,” he said as they reached the girls at last, “you collect friends everywhere, Nina.”
“Oh—just a friend of Father’s,”
“Does he live here?”
“No.” She seemed more interested in the barrel organ with a string of paper flowers draped around it. “Hideous colours. But should he be parking it right up on the sidewalk?” For the organ-grinder, small and lithe but obviously well muscled, had eased its wheels over the kerb and then brought it to rest in front of a store’s busy entrance.
“He knows where he can draw a crowd,” Madge observed.
“Let’s move,” Tony said impatiently. “We haven’t all day to hang around barrel organs.” They were part of Amsterdam’s street music, like the carillons from the churches. For a city that had been run by socialists and communists for so many years, it had too many bloody churches, he thought; a fine bunch of Marxists, they were.
Kiley said, “Why didn’t you ask your friend to spend the rest of the day with us? He probably was counting on having lunch with you when he arranged to meet you.”
“We met by accident—just ran into him on Kalverstraat. Is that enough information for you?” Nina noticed the sudden flush on his cheeks, and relented. “I knew him years ago. He taught me how to volley and play a good net game. That’s all.”
The four of them began to walk towards the corner, but slowly in spite of Tony’s urging. Madge looked back at the barrel organ. “No music? He won’t make much money that way. And I think he did choose the wrong place.” Two policemen, young and tall, long hair jutting out from the back of their caps, were making a leisurely approach, half curious, half amused. “He probably doesn’t know the regulations. He certainly isn’t Dutch by the look of
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