The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(102)

Dinny went up the bricked stairs. The flat was on the second floor. Outside its door a grown black cat was spinning round after its own tail. It flew round six times on the same spot, then sat down, lifted one of its back legs high into the air, and licked it.

Jean herself opened the door. She was evidently in the throes of packing, having a pair of combinations over her arm. Dinny kissed her and looked round. She had not been here before. The doors of the small sitting-room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom were open; the walls were distempered apple green, the floors covered with dark-green linoleum. For furniture there was a double bed, and some suit-cases in the bedroom, two armchairs and a small table in the sitting-room; a kitchen table and some bath salts in a glass jar; no rugs, no pictures, no books, but some printed linen curtains to the windows and a hanging cupboard along one whole side of the bedroom, from which Jean had been taking the clothes piled on the bed. A scent of coffee and lavender bags distinguished the atmosphere from that on the stairs.

Jean put down the combinations.

‘Have some coffee, Dinny? I’ve just made it.’

She poured out two cups, sweetened them, handed Dinny one and a paper packet of cigarettes, then pointed to one of the armchairs and sat down in the other.

‘You got my message, then? I’m glad you’ve come – saves my making up a parcel. I hate making parcels, don’t you?’

Her coolness and unharassed expression seemed to Dinny miraculous.

‘Have you seen Hubert since?’

‘Yes. He’s fairly comfortable. It’s not a bad cell, he says, and they’ve given him books and writing paper. He can have food in, too; but he’s not allowed to smoke. Someone ought to move about that. According to English law Hubert’s still as innocent as the Home Secretary; there’s no law to prevent the Home Secretary smoking, is there? I shan’t be seeing him again, but you’ll be going, Dinny – so give him my special love, and take him some cigarettes in case they let him.’

Dinny stared at her.

‘What are you going to do, then?’

‘Well, I wanted to see you about that. This is all strictly for your ear only. Promise to lie absolutely doggo, Dinny, or I shan’t say anything.’

Dinny said, resolutely: ‘Cross my heart as they say. Go on.’

‘I’m going to Brussels tomorrow. Alan went today; he’s got extension of leave for urgent family affairs. We’re simply going to prepare for the worst, that’s all. I’m to learn flying in double quick time. If I go up three times a day, three weeks will be quite enough. Our lawyer has guaranteed us three weeks, at least. Of course, he knows nothing. Nobody is to know anything, except you. I want you to do something for me.’ She reached forward and took out of her vanity bag a tissue-papered packet.

‘I’ve got to have five hundred pounds. We can get a good second-hand machine over there for very little, they say, but we shall want all the rest. Now, look here Dinny, this is an old family thing. It’s worth a lot. I want you to pop it for five hundred; if you can’t get as much as that by popping, you’ll have to sell it. Pop, or sell, in your name, and change the English notes into Belgian money and send it to me registered to the G.P.O. Brussels. You ought to be able to send me the money within three days.’ She undid the paper, and disclosed an old-fashioned but very beautiful emerald pendant.

‘Oh!’

‘Yes,’ said Jean, ‘it really is good. You can afford to take a high line. Somebody will give you five hundred on it, I’m sure. Emeralds are up.’

‘But why don’t you “pop” it yourself before you go?’

Jean shook her head.

‘No, nothing whatever that awakens suspicion. It doesn’t matter what you do, Dinny, because you’re not going to break the law. We possibly are, but we’re not going to be copped.’

‘I think,’ said Dinny, ‘you ought to tell me more.’

Again Jean shook her head.

‘Not necessary, and not possible; we don’t know enough yet ourselves. But make your mind easy, they’re not going to get away with Hubert. You’ll take this, then?’ And she wrapped up the pendant.

Dinny took the little packet, and, having brought no bag, slipped it down her dress. She leaned forward and said earnestly:

‘Promise you won’t do anything, Jean, till everything else has failed.’

Jean nodded. ‘Nothing till the very last minute. It wouldn’t be good enough.’

Dinny grasped her hand. ‘I oughtn’t to have let you in for this, Jean, it was I who brought the young things together, you know.’

‘My dear, I’d never have forgiven you if you hadn’t. I’m in love.’