too, which I let have some effect, and by the time I
was finished I was feeling reasonably together
again, and quite well disposed to the locals.I even
remembered to pay without being asked (I don't
think you-ever quite get used to buying ), and went out into the bright sunshine.I walked back to
Linter's, looking at shops and buildings and trying
not to get knocked down in the street.I bought a
paper on the way back, to see what our
unsuspecting hosts thought was newsworthy.It was
oil.Jimmy Carter was trying to persuade
Americans to use less petrol, and the Norwegians
had a blow-out in the North Sea.The ship had
mentioned both items in its more recent synopses,
but of course it knew Carter's measures weren't
going to get through without drastic amendment,
and that the drilling rig had had a piece of
equipment fitted upside down.I selected a
magazine as well, so arrived back at Linter's
clutching my copy of Stern and expecting to have
to drive away.I'd already made tentative plans;
going to Berlin via the First World War graves and
the old battle grounds, following the theme of war,
death and memorials all the way to the riven
capital of the Third Reich itself.
But Linter's car was there in the courtyard, parked
beside the Volvo.His auto was a Rolls Royce
Silver Cloud; the ship believed in indulging
us.Anyway, it claimed that making a show was
better cover than trying to stay inconspicuous;
Western capitalism in particular allowed the rich
just about the right amount of behavioural leeway
to account for the oddities our alienness might
produce.
I went up the steps and pressed the bell.I waited
for a short while, hearing noises within the flat.A
small notice on the far side of the courtyard caught
my attention, and brought a sour smile to my face.
Linter appeared, unsmiling, at the door; he held it
open for me, bowing a little.
'Ms Sma.The ship told me you'd be coming.'
'Hello.' I entered.
The apartment was much larger than I'd
anticipated.It smelled of leather and new wood; it
was light and airy and well decorated and full of
books and records, tapes and magazines, paintings
and objets d'art, and it didn't look one little bit like the place I'd had in Kensington.It felt lived in.
Linter waved me towards a black leather chair at
one end of a Persian carpet covering a teak floor
and went over to a drinks cabinet, turning his back
to me. 'Do you drink?'
'Whisky,' I said, in English. 'With or without the e .'
I didn't sit down, but wandered around the room,
looking.
'I have Johnny Walker Black Label.'
'Fine.'
I watched him clamp one hand round the square
bottle and pour.Dervley Linter was taller than me,
and quite muscular.To an experienced eye there
was something not quite right - in Earth human
terms - about the set of his shoulders.He leaned
over the bottles and glasses like a threat, as though
he wanted to bully the drink from one to the other.
'Anything in it?'
'No thanks.'
He handed me the glass, bent to a small fridge,
extracted a bottle and poured himself a Budweiser
(the real stuff, from Czechoslovakia).Finally, this
little ceremony over, he sat down.Bahaus chair,
and it looked original.
His face was calm, serious.Each feature seemed to
demand separate attention; the large, mobile mouth,
the flared nose, the bright but deep-set eyes, the
stage-villain brows and surprisingly lined
forehead.I tried to recall what he'd looked like
before, but could only remember vaguely, so it was
impossible to tell how much of the way he looked
now had been carried over from what would be
classed as his 'normal' appearance.He rolled the
beer glass around in his large hands.
'The ship seems to think we should talk,' he
said.He drank about half the beer in one gulp and
placed the glass on a small table made of polished
granite.I adjusted my brooch.'You don't think we
should though, no?'
He spread his hands wide, then folded them over
his chest.He was dressed in two pieces of an
expensive looking black suit; trousers and
waistcoat. 'I think it might be pointless.'
'Well I don't know does there have to be a point to
everything?I thought the ship suggested we might
have a talk, that's -'
'Did it?'
'- all.Yes.' I coughed. 'I don't it didn't tell me
what's going on.'
Linter looked steadily at me, then down at his
feet.Black brogues.I looked around the room as I
sipped my whisky, looking for signs of female
habitation, or for anything that might indicate there
were two people living here.I couldn't tell.The
room was crowded with stuff; prints and oils on
the walls, most of the former either Breughels or
Lowrys; Tiffany lampshades, a Bang and Olafsen
Hifi unit, several antique clocks, what looked like
a dozen or so Dresden figurines, a Chinese cabinet