Goodbye Mickey Mouse. Len Deighton

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      Victoria looked at Jamie, trying to enjoy the party. ‘Are most of them from your squadron?’

      ‘That’s Colonel Dan over there. He’s the Group Commander, the big cheese himself.’

      Victoria looked round to see a short cheerful man with a large nose and messy fair hair talking earnestly to a tall dark girl with a floral-patterned turban hat and a black velvet cocktail dress.

      ‘Is that his wife?’

      ‘She’s one of the chorus from the Windmill Theatre. They gave a show on base last month—before I got here.’

      ‘Was it an American general who said war is hell?’

      ‘And that’s Major Tucker.’ The Major was standing near the stairs drinking from his own silver hip flask and scowling disapproval. Victoria felt a common bond with him but did not say so.

      Jamie tightened his hold on her shoulder, but only in order to pull her aside to make way for a middle-aged sergeant who was carrying a crate of gin upstairs and into a room that was being converted into a bar. ‘Thanks for the invite, Captain,’ said the sergeant, out of breath.

      ‘Good to see you here, Sergeant Boyer,’ said Jamie.

      Harry Boyer’s arrival with the gin was greeted by loud cheers. Downstairs, Boogie and the musicians he’d collected for the night began to play ‘Bless ’Em All’, to which the dancers jumped up and down in unison.

      ‘You hate it, Vicky. I can tell by your face.’

      ‘No,’ she yelled, ‘it’s really fun.’ By now the whole house was shaking with the vibration of the dancers downstairs. ‘But is there anywhere to sit down?’ Her yellow shoes had never been particularly comfortable, and she’d slipped them from her heels for a moment.

      ‘Let’s try upstairs,’ Jamie said, and plunged into the crowd. She tried to follow, but with drink in one hand and shoes loosened she couldn’t keep up with him. One shoe came off and only with some difficulty could she get everyone to stand back far enough for her to find it again. When she did, there was the black mark of a boot across the yellow silk, and one strap torn loose. They were the last pair of pre-war shoes in her wardrobe. She told herself to laugh, or at least keep her sense of proportion, but she wanted to scream.

      ‘If you hate it, say so,’ said Jamie sharply as she reached him at the bottom of the stairs.

      She wondered what would happen if she did tell him how unhappy she was, and decided not the take the chance. ‘Why don’t we dance?’ she said. At least she’d feel his arms around her.

      If she was trying to find the limit to James Farebrother’s skills and talents, inviting him to dance provided it. Even in that crush, with the tireless Boogie playing his own dreamy version of ‘Moonlight Becomes You’, Jamie trod on her toes—especially painful as she’d decided to dance in stockinged feet rather than risk the final destruction of her shoes.

      ‘I’m no great shakes at dancing,’ he said finally. ‘Maybe we should call it quits.’

      He found a place on the sofa, but they’d only been sitting there a few minutes when a lieutenant arrived with a message asking Jamie to go upstairs to help Vince. Jamie offered her his apologies, but she feared he was secretly pleased to get away from her. She regretted her flash of bad temper, but she’d so wanted the evening to be perfect.

      ‘Promise you won’t move?’ Jamie squeezed her arm. She nodded and he planted a kiss on her forehead as though she were a docile infant.

      The newly arrived lieutenant dropped heavily into the place Jamie had vacated beside her. ‘Known Jamie long?’

      She looked at him. He was a handsome boy trying to grow a moustache. He had a suntanned sort of complexion, with jet-black wavy hair and long sideburns that completed the Latin effect for which he obviously strove. ‘Yes, I’ve known Jamie a long time,’ she said.

      He smiled to reveal flashing white teeth. His battered cap was still on his head, but he pushed it well back as if to see her better. He was chewing gum and smoking at the same time. He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it towards the fireplace without bothering to look where it went. ‘Jamie only just arrived in Europe,’ he said. ‘My name’s Morse, people call me Mickey Mouse.’

      Victoria smiled and said nothing.

      ‘So you’re a liar. Slow dissolve.’

      ‘And you’re no gentleman.’

      He slapped his thigh and laughed. ‘Are you ever right, lady.’

      They were crushed tight together, and although she tried to make more room between them, it wasn’t possible.

      ‘Gum?’

      ‘No, thanks.’

      ‘Where did Jamie meet a classy broad like you?’ he asked. ‘You’re not the kind of lady who hangs around the Red Cross Club on Trumpington Street.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Rilly! Yes, rilly.’

      ‘I’m surprised you’ve never noticed me there,’ said Victoria.

      MM grinned and tore the corner from a packet of Camels before offering them to her. She never smoked, but on impulse took one. He lit it for her. ‘You Jamie’s girl?’

      ‘Yes.’ It seemed the simplest way of avoiding further advances. ‘What’s happened to Captain Madigan?’

      ‘Nothing’s happened to Captain Madigan, lady, and nothing is going to happen to him. Vince is smart—he’s a paddlefoot. He stays on the ground and waltzes the ladies. We’re the dummies who get our tails shot off.’

      ‘I mean what’s happened now?’ said Victoria. ‘What does he want Jamie for?’ She inhaled on the cigarette and it made her cough.

      ‘Madigan needs close escort,’ said MM vaguely.

      Victoria got to her feet and looked for the door.

      ‘Lights! Action! Camera!’ said MM, holding thumbs and forefingers as if to frame a camera shot. ‘Where are you going, lady?’

      ‘I’m going,’ said Victoria, ‘to what you Americans so delicately call the powder room.’

      ‘I’ll save the place here for you.’

      ‘Please don’t bother,’ said Victoria. MM chuckled.

      She made her way past the musicians and started up the stairs. A lot of drinking had taken place since the last time she’d struggled up through the people sitting on the staircase. They were mostly couples now, locked in tight embraces and oblivious to her pushing past them.

      On the upper landing there were two officers sprawled full-length and snoring loudly. A girl was going through the pockets of one of them. She straightened up when she saw Victoria. ‘I’m just trying to find enough for my taxi fare home, honey,’ she announced in the broad accent of south London.

      Victoria СКАЧАТЬ