Read Online The Last Houseparty by Peter Dickinson - Free Book Online Page B

interest in Professor Blech?”
    â€œHe wants to talk to him, I imagine. He’s not well off. He makes his living by his journalism, and that depends on knowing what’s g-going on. Apparently Professor Blech is the chap to tell you about the Zionist view on the Palestine problem, so …”
    â€œHe is an enemy of my people, Masham. I say, this car makes a remarkable amount of smoke.”
    â€œThat’s the trouble with these sleeve-valve engines—they’re famous for it. But as a matter of fact I think there must be something a bit rummy with the transmission. I noticed it c-coming in, but I thought it was only that I wasn’t used to the fluid flywheel. Now it seems to be g-getting worse.”
    Soon it became clear that something was indeed wrong with the Daimler. The soggy suspension, combined with the fluid flywheel, always gave an illusion of smoothness, almost of floating on a mildly swelling ocean; but as they climbed the steep road on to the chalk escarpment south of High Wycombe they trailed behind them exhaust smoke blue as a thunder cloud. The car slowed and slowed until it could barely have overtaken a bicycle, and the needle of the fuel gauge dropped visibly. At last the scaly pattern of roofs that snaked along the valley fell out of sight and they moved into the uplands, only to wallow more noticeably as they picked up speed. The morning was bright and warm, the road almost empty. In the rear compartment Professor and Mrs Blech sat in opposite corners of the back seat, Mrs Blech with her eyes closed as if already desperately trying to master the car sickness which the Daimler almost instantly induced in certain passengers. Professor Blech completely ignored her distress, leaning forward and speaking with great volubility and many small gestures to Sir Charles, who sat sideways on the front seat, twisting stiffly round to listen. In the driving compartment the Prince had returned to the subject of Palestine, speaking now with a low dispassionate voice which contrasted strongly with the boyish dash with which he had referred to his two disastrous innings at Lord’s.
    â€œBut didn’t we g-give our word to the Jews?” said Vincent. “The Balfour Declaration and all that?”
    â€œYou gave more than one word, Masham. You have promises to keep to us Arabs also. You are soon going to have to break at least one promise. Why should it be the one you gave us?”
    â€œThere must be some cuh … cuh … cuh …”
    â€œCompromise? You mean you think it fairer to break both promises, rather than keep one and break one? I tell you bluntly, Masham, how it appears to the Arabs. Herr Hitler is chasing his Jews out of Germany. You do not want them here. If they have a country of their own you can keep your consciences clean by telling them to go there. You are a deeply anti-Semitic people.”
    â€œOh, I don’t …”
    â€œRemember I have lived here now almost ten years. There were a few Jews at Harrow. Not only the boys but also many of the masters openly despised them. Some of them despised me also. I have heard myself called a nigger by a grocer’s son—behind my back, but he intended me to hear—yet believe me such behaviour was made easier to bear because I could see that it was superficial compared with the dislike of the Jews.”
    â€œI’m afraid we had a bit of that at Eton, too. I think it was only rather stupid boys …”
    â€œSir Oswald Mosley is not stupid.”
    â€œYes, but … really he only says those things because his party must have somebody to attack. In private—he’s been to Snailwood several times, you know—in private he plays all that down. It’s only when he’s ranting on a platform.”
    â€œIt is still part of his policy that the Jews must have a national home. Is that part of Sir Charles Archer’s policy also?”
    â€œI believe so. Last year he