LITMIR.BIZ

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man passed them, supported by two others, his nose streaming blood.

      ‘Quite a fight,’ Amy’s companion said. He was flicking quickly through Jake’s little book, and then through the few papers and notes in the old wallet. He frowned at one piece of folded paper and slipped it into his own pocket, then closed the things up again.

      ‘Did you see what happened?’ he asked.

      ‘Two men were holding him. Another man hit him with something that looked like a metal bar. There was a policeman on a horse right beside them. Who’d want to do that to Jake?’

      The man was looking at her. Amy saw him looking at her face and hair, and then at her hands. She was surprised to find that she was still clutching her handbag.

      ‘How well do you know Jake?’

      ‘I met him once at Appleyard Street.’

      ‘And what were you doing at Appleyard Street?’

      Amy felt a prickle of resentment. Why, after what had just happened, was this man questioning her?

      ‘Just visiting,’ she said coolly.

      ‘I see. Just a tourist?’ His voice was equally cool.

      ‘I suppose so.’ His suspicion aroused her own and she looked squarely at him.

      ‘What did you take from Jake’s pocket?’

      The miner grinned. ‘Can’t you work that out? If you know who Jake is, and what he does?’

      They sat in silence after that. Amy watched the nurses coming and going, moving quickly but unhurriedly. It seemed a very long time.

      At last a doctor came round the corner. A nurse beside him pointed to them.

      ‘Are you Mr Silverman’s friends?’

      They nodded.

      ‘There’s nothing to worry about. He has some concussion, but there is no skull fracture and he should regain consciousness before too long. We will have to keep him here for a few days, of course. I understand you are a relative?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      The doctor’s eyes flicked over the dark clothes and the lamp at the man’s belt, but he said nothing. ‘In that case, perhaps you would inform his next of kin. You may say that the sister in ward two may be telephoned for news of him in the morning.’

      ‘Thank you.’ The man held out Jake’s wallet and book. ‘I said that I would take care of these for him, but if he’s going to be conscious soon he might worry about where they have gone. Will you take them for him?’

      The nurse held out her hand and Amy and the miner turned away. Still in silence they went out and stood in the hospital courtyard. The clouds of the afternoon had all drifted away and the sky was the colour of pearl, pink-tinged in the west.

      ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

      Amy glanced at her watch. ‘Half past six.’

      ‘Everything will be all over, then,’ the man said. His voice sounded flat and, for the first time, uncertain. They began to walk together, still in silence, heading automatically for Trafalgar Square. When they reached it the crowds had evaporated. There were just the ordinary passers-by, a pair of patrolling policemen and a handful of men dismantling the makeshift platform.

      ‘Which way is Downing Street?’

      Amy pointed. There was no sign of the long column of miners, or any of the crowds and placards that had filled the afternoon.

      The man turned in a circle, looking all round him. ‘Well,’ he said, and Amy suddenly saw how tired he was. ‘That’s that, then. I wonder where they’ve gone?’

      ‘I read in one of the papers,’ Amy said carefully, ‘that the marchers were to be put up while they were in London in Bethnal Green Town Hall.’

      ‘Ah.’ The man’s smile was wry. ‘And which way is that?’

      Amy pointed eastwards down the Strand. He hitched his jacket around him, still smiling. ‘I’d better start off that way, then.’

      ‘Wait.’ Amy was thinking quickly. I’m on your side, she wanted to say, remembering Hyde Park and the flapping of the boots as the men marched past her. I always will be, however uselessly. But there was something about this man that disconcerted her. There were two pound notes in her bag, but he wasn’t the kind of man to have money pressed into his hand.

      What kind of man was he, then?

      ‘Why did you steal that paper from Jake’s wallet?’

      The man was much taller than Amy. He looked down at her and she saw that he had unusual grey-green eyes, and that he was amused.

      ‘Steal it? To eat, perhaps? Or to start a fire to keep warm by? Listen, whoever you are. Written on that piece of paper were addresses that are important to us. Addresses of Communist Party organizers, sympathizers, the whole network. Better that the police shouldn’t see it if they come to see him and happen to search him.’

      ‘The police?’ Amy was going to protest They wouldn’t, and then she remembered the big horses with their shiny hooves.

      The man gestured his impatience with her. ‘Of course. Jake Silverman is a dangerous Communist agitator.’ Amy bent her head to escape his grey, distant stare.

      As she looked down at the paving stones she saw her own polished shoes with their elegant toes pointing at the miner’s worn, gaping boots.

      Amy forgot his hostility. There was something she could do to help him, she thought. There was no need for him to trudge the last miles to Bethnal Green in those boots, and there was no need either to risk his scorn by trying to give him money. Bruton Street was a big house full of bedrooms that no one would occupy tonight. It was her home, and she could invite this man to stay the night there as her guest. As soon as the thought came to her she looked up and met his eyes again.

      ‘If you haven’t got anywhere to stay tonight,’ she said at last, ‘you could have a bed at my home.’

      His eyebrows went up into black peaks.

      ‘Your home? And where’s that?’

      His coldness angered her. She had made her impulsive offer in a spirit of straightforward friendliness, and she wanted him to accept it in the same way.

      ‘Does it matter where it is?’ she snapped.

      The miner shrugged. ‘Not really. I’m sure it will be better than the Spike. Shall we go, then?’

      There was a taxi passing them. Amy flung up her arm and it rumbled to the kerb. The cabbie scowled at the miner, but Amy wrenched open the door and scrambled inside and the man followed her.

      ‘Bruton Street,’ she called sharply through the partition, and the driver muttered something about it being fine for some people, as they trundled grudgingly away. The man leaned back and closed his eyes, and she saw the exhaustion in his face. Her anger evaporated, bafflingly.

      ‘My name’s Amy,’ she said.

      ‘Nick Penry,’ he answered without opening his eyes. After a moment he added, ‘Thank you. I don’t know where Bethnal Green is, but I don’t want to walk there tonight.’

      ‘You come from Nantlas, don’t you?’

      She was aware of his quick sidelong glance at her now but she kept her face turned away, pretending to be watching the streets sliding past.

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘I saw you under the banner. At Hyde Park. I … know someone else from there.’

      ‘Do you, indeed? That surprises me a little.’ Nick Penry’s eyes were closed again and Amy continued to stare out of the window, her cheeks reddened. Neither

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