After the Cabaret Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked.
    â€˜â€œHis theory is he can get by with German and Anglo-Saxon,” Julia explained.
    â€˜â€œThank God those in charge have worked out a master-plan. Theo will quote
Beowulf
at the Germans until they surrender. This is an amateur’s war,” said Pym.
    â€˜â€œBrilliant improvisation, that’s the term,” Briggs said.
    â€˜There was the beginning of a gloomy silence. Briggs then asked Sally, “After you and Theo parted …?”
    â€˜But Pym interrupted, “I think I’ve been invited to a party in Tite Street. Do you want to come along with me, Sally? I’m after a golden Norwegian, but I think he’ll like you better. Will you be my decoy?” He added, with transparent cunning, “He may know something about Theo.”
    â€˜â€œCount me in,” said Sally promptly.
    â€˜The last we saw was the pair of them going off up the dark and silent street, arm in arm, singing, “It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go—”
    â€˜We heard before we saw a convoy of trucks coming towards the crossing at the top of Pontifex Street. It came slowly across the road as Pym and Sally approached the corner. There were whistles and shouts from the soldiersin the lorries and a responding chorus, “But my heart’s right there.”
    â€˜â€œWell, Sally’s out for a good time,” said Julia, a bit sadly. Then she mentioned she was getting cold, so we went inside and to bed.’
    â€˜I’m a little tired myself now,’ Bruno Lowenthal said to Greg Phillips, in the sunny room at Cornwall Street. ‘Do you mind if we finish for today?’
    â€˜No, no, of course not, sir,’ Greg said, startled, coming back suddenly to the present, into the antique-filled room. He looked at the old man opposite. ‘Thank you. It’s been most interesting. I’m impressed by your memory.’
    Bruno said, slowly, ‘I seldom think of those days. The last time I really remembered it all was when the participants were exposed, disgraced, fled to Moscow. Now it all comes flooding back. But it is very tiring.’
    There was a silence. Greg was not sure how to respond and was fearful that, if he got it wrong, Bruno would escape him. He said, tentatively, ‘Should we perhaps leave intervals between sessions, sir?’
    â€˜Call me Bruno. No, no. Come tomorrow, to the shop, at one o’clock.’ He got up and took a card from a bowl on the mantelpiece. ‘Here is the address.’
    The audience was over. Greg, who had been listening in silence for two hours, his head reeling, took his leave. He could not believe, as he found his way back to his cheap hotel, that this was happening to him.

Chapter 11
    â€˜Katherine?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said the woman’s voice, at the other end of the line, uncertainly. ‘Yes? Who are – my God! Oh, my God,’ she said, half amused, half horrified. ‘It’s you, isn’t it, Greg?’
    â€˜Yes, it’s me, Katherine. How are you?’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Are you here?’
    â€˜Yes. Katherine, can we meet? I realise you may not want to see me. You got my letter?’
    â€˜Yes. Of course I want to see you. Greg, it’s been six, nearly seven years. I often think of you.’
    â€˜I often think of you. You’re still Miss Ledbetter, I assume.’
    â€˜Dr Ledbetter,’ she told him.
    â€˜I’m imagining you in a study overlooking Newnham’s immemorial elms, fire burning, surrounded by books—’
    â€˜Grey hair piled on top of my head, held up by hairpins, fashionably dressed in a baggy tweed skirt and lisle stockings. No, I’m in my jeans looking out over the immemorial bus-stop in Histon Road. How are you getting on?’
    â€˜That’s the point. Did you ever hear of Bruno Lowenthal?’
    â€˜Bruno Lowenthal? I think so. But it’s just a name. I know