at Pontifex Street. Briggs went on arguing but then he had to stop. He was achieving nothing, except to annoy his landlord â a generous landlord, I might say. He charged little rent, paid readily for repairs and breakages and probably Mrs Thingâs wages. He was not a man to upset.
âWhile this was going on Sally and the French officer were humping her mattress upstairs and Pym was lying there in a chair with his shirt off and a glass in his hands, looking quite detached. Heâd brought home some tough in the uniform of the Foreign Legion, a brute with no neck and frightening eyes who was sitting on the sofa drinking and looking round him like a murderer. Then Briggs had to end his call, because Sally came in with her Frenchman. The Legionnaire started telling the story of an incident in North Africa where the Legion had gone to punish a village for some act of defiance. It ended with torture and massacre. He was a dreadful man. Briggs listened with horror, Pym as if the man were telling a story about going to buy a newspaper. Then I seem to think we all drank some whisky and many people arrived â Charles Denham, who was a novelist, and a young Air Force officer, Ralph Hodd. And there was a man from SOE who had been at Eton with Briggs, and a cousin of Juliaâs and her friend, who were both WAAFs in uniform, and Geoffrey Forbes, whose name you may remember. He also became famous later, not in a good way. I had prepared dinner but I could see how the evening would end. I went upstairs and began to move things out of the attic, a broken chair and so forth, and sweep the floor.
âWhen I came down the ladder Sally was coming out of the bathroom, wearing an evening dress I knew belonged to Julia. Well, that meant trouble. By the time she got back into the room Pym had said something to make one of the other girls cry â he could be very cruel. Julia, of course, began to complain about her dress. âBut Iâm goingdancing,â Sally was saying, âand you said you were staying in.â Julia was telling her that that was not the point, but I donât think Sally could see it that way. As this went on the French officer sat down at the piano, which was an impressive Steinway, and started to play Chopin. The Legionnaire got up, grabbed at the WAAF who wasnât crying and started to swing her round the room, holding her very close and bending over her as if they were in some working-class cabaret. I donât think she liked it. And so the evening went on, with people coming and going â a vase was broken when Charles Denham tried to rescue the WAAF from the Legionnaire without success, so Sally broke in between them and went on dancing with him while the young woman fled upstairs.
âI canât tell you what that atmosphere was like, always, at Pontifex Street,â Bruno told Greg. âYou would have had to have been there. We were young, young as you are, Greg, we were facing a war, we didnât know what would happen â we thought we would probably die. Our fathers had died in millions in the Great War, why should we do any better? And everybody, nearly everybody, was doing secret work.â Bruno shrugged. âYou canât describe it. Iâve forgotten it myself. Just sometimes, when I pass a building, perhaps, or hear a certain piece of music, do I remember. Anyway ⦠anyway â¦â His voice trailed off.
Then he said, âI went to sit in the kitchen. I was fed up. I was supposed to look after the household. This was my contribution. But it was a nightmare. No one helped. No one thanked me. My relationship with Briggs, who had saved me, got me into Britain, describing me as a servant,was terrible. I had no status in the country, no friends, no relatives, no certainty. And I had lived in Germany until nineteen thirty-five. I knew very clearly what would happen if the war was lost. I was sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring the noise
âWhile this was going on Sally and the French officer were humping her mattress upstairs and Pym was lying there in a chair with his shirt off and a glass in his hands, looking quite detached. Heâd brought home some tough in the uniform of the Foreign Legion, a brute with no neck and frightening eyes who was sitting on the sofa drinking and looking round him like a murderer. Then Briggs had to end his call, because Sally came in with her Frenchman. The Legionnaire started telling the story of an incident in North Africa where the Legion had gone to punish a village for some act of defiance. It ended with torture and massacre. He was a dreadful man. Briggs listened with horror, Pym as if the man were telling a story about going to buy a newspaper. Then I seem to think we all drank some whisky and many people arrived â Charles Denham, who was a novelist, and a young Air Force officer, Ralph Hodd. And there was a man from SOE who had been at Eton with Briggs, and a cousin of Juliaâs and her friend, who were both WAAFs in uniform, and Geoffrey Forbes, whose name you may remember. He also became famous later, not in a good way. I had prepared dinner but I could see how the evening would end. I went upstairs and began to move things out of the attic, a broken chair and so forth, and sweep the floor.
âWhen I came down the ladder Sally was coming out of the bathroom, wearing an evening dress I knew belonged to Julia. Well, that meant trouble. By the time she got back into the room Pym had said something to make one of the other girls cry â he could be very cruel. Julia, of course, began to complain about her dress. âBut Iâm goingdancing,â Sally was saying, âand you said you were staying in.â Julia was telling her that that was not the point, but I donât think Sally could see it that way. As this went on the French officer sat down at the piano, which was an impressive Steinway, and started to play Chopin. The Legionnaire got up, grabbed at the WAAF who wasnât crying and started to swing her round the room, holding her very close and bending over her as if they were in some working-class cabaret. I donât think she liked it. And so the evening went on, with people coming and going â a vase was broken when Charles Denham tried to rescue the WAAF from the Legionnaire without success, so Sally broke in between them and went on dancing with him while the young woman fled upstairs.
âI canât tell you what that atmosphere was like, always, at Pontifex Street,â Bruno told Greg. âYou would have had to have been there. We were young, young as you are, Greg, we were facing a war, we didnât know what would happen â we thought we would probably die. Our fathers had died in millions in the Great War, why should we do any better? And everybody, nearly everybody, was doing secret work.â Bruno shrugged. âYou canât describe it. Iâve forgotten it myself. Just sometimes, when I pass a building, perhaps, or hear a certain piece of music, do I remember. Anyway ⦠anyway â¦â His voice trailed off.
Then he said, âI went to sit in the kitchen. I was fed up. I was supposed to look after the household. This was my contribution. But it was a nightmare. No one helped. No one thanked me. My relationship with Briggs, who had saved me, got me into Britain, describing me as a servant,was terrible. I had no status in the country, no friends, no relatives, no certainty. And I had lived in Germany until nineteen thirty-five. I knew very clearly what would happen if the war was lost. I was sitting at the kitchen table, ignoring the noise
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