Out of the Blackout by Robert Barnard Read Free Book Online Page B

to the theatre column in that morning’s Guardian. Sadler’s Wells Theatre, he knew, was in Islington. It was listed as EC1. Simon took it as his working hypothesis that Leonard or Lionel Simmeter had moved to Islington, where he had remained, while possibly hisbrother had eventually moved out to SE5. But his imagination had fixed on Simmeter, L. It was with him that Simon felt his mission lay.
    Somehow by the end of breakfast there was no question that the mission would be undertaken.
    Simon did not do anything about it at once. He took his suitcase along to King’s Cross, and put it in the Left Luggage. He had an appointment at the Zoo for 11.15, and he took the tube to Baker Street. In the administrative offices that straddle the Zoo he was told that he would in the next day or two get a letter offering him the appointment. It was his if he wanted it.
    â€˜And we very much hope that you do want it,’ said the Head of the Scientific Staff.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Simon. ‘I think I do.’
    â€˜Marvellous. Delighted all this grilling hasn’t put you off. You’ll have three months’ notice to give, I imagine, but with the summer vacation coming up, that might shorten it, perhaps? See what they say. We can be in touch as soon as we know when you can take up the appointment. We might be able to help you get somewhere to live.’
    â€˜That’s kind of you,’ said Simon. ‘But just possibly I may be able to get something for myself. I have relatives . . .’
    Before he left the administrative block at the Zoo, he asked if he might use a telephone. It would sound better, he thought, if the call did not come from a call box. He decided to assume a slight accent, so that if this attempt aborted and he had to find some alternative way of approaching them, his voice would not be recognized. Some instinctive caution told him not to broaden his natural West Country burr. He assumed the accent he knew well from his last few years: that of Leeds.
    â€˜Islington 4565,’ came a voice at the other end, after he had let it ring five or six times. It was an old voice, a woman’s voice, and it had once been a powerful mezzo—not a voice for telling good tidings to Zion, but one for launching Verdian imprecations. Now it was muffled and cracked by age.
    â€˜Good morning, I’m sorry to bother you, but I heard you might have a room to let.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said the voice. There was a silence while she pondered. ‘Well, I don’t know . . . Mr Blore has been saying he might be moving soon, but he hasn’t given notice.’
    Spot on! said Simon to himself. First time! They do let rooms.
    â€˜It must be Mr Blore I heard it from,’ he said. ‘At a party. I shan’t be wanting the room while summer’ (he brought out this Leedsism with a sort of bravado) ‘but it would be very convenient if I knew it would be waiting for me when I move down.’
    â€˜Well, as I say, he’s not given his notice,’ said the voice—hesitant, but as if hesitancy was not her natural mode. ‘If he’s leaving now he’ll have to pay us two weeks’ rent. That’s in the agreement.’
    â€˜If he did leave before I was ready to take over the room, I’d be willing to pay from the time he left.’
    â€˜Oh . . . well, that’s fair,’ said the voice. It was the tone of one who called ‘fair’ anything advantageous to herself. But he seemed to have kindled sparks of interest. She added: ‘Of course, we’d want to see you.’
    It was a reasonable enough request, and just what Simon wanted, but the tone in which she said it was unendearing. There were plenty of Leeds landladies, Simon knew, who wanted to see their potential student lodger, but had unaccountably let the room already when they opened the door and found he was black. Was this the reason now, or would he