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“I know.”
“I have a green suitcase and a red suitcase. Here are the tickets.”
I took them, not understanding.
“When the bus stops, please get out quickly and see whether the trailer is still attached. If it is still there let me know at once and I’ll give you further instructions.”
Something in my aunt’s manner made me nervous. I said, “Of course it will be there.”
“I sincerely hope not,” she said. “Otherwise we shall not leave today.”
I jumped out as soon as we arrived, and sure enough the trailer wasn’t there. “What do I do now?” I asked her.
“Nothing at all. Everything is quite in order. You may give me back the tickets and relax.”
As we sat over two gins and tonics in the departure lounge a loudspeaker announced, “Passengers on Flight three-seven-eight to Nice will proceed to customs for customs inspection.”
We were alone at our table and my aunt did not bother to lower her voice amid the din of passengers, glasses and loud-speakers. “That is what I wished to avoid,” she said. “They have now taken to spot-checks on passengers leaving the country. They whittle away our liberties one by one. When I was a girl you could travel anywhere on the continent except Russia without a passport and you took what you liked in the way of money. Until recently they only asked what money you had, or at the very worst[82 - at the very worst – (разг.) в худшем случае] they wanted to see your wallet. If there’s one thing I hate in any human being it is mistrust.”
“The way you speak,” I said jokingly, “I suspect we are lucky that it is not your bags which are being searched.”
I could well imagine my aunt stuffing a dozen five-pound notes into the toe of her bedroom slippers. Having been a bank manager, I am perhaps overscrupulous, though I must confess that I had brought an extra five-pound note folded up in my ticket pocket, but that was something I might genuinely have overlooked.
“Luck doesn’t enter into my calculations,” my aunt said. “Only a fool would trust to luck[83 - Only a fool would trust to luck – (разг.) Только дурак может полагаться на удачу], and there is probably a fool now on the Nice flight who is regretting his folly. Whenever new restrictions are made, I make a very careful study of the arrangements for carrying them out.” She gave a little sigh. “In the case of Heathrow I owe a great deal to Wordsworth. For a time he acted as a loader here. He left when there was some trouble about a gold consignment. Nothing was ever proved against him, but the whole affair had been too impromptu and disgusted him. He told me the story. A very large ingot was abstracted by a loader, and the loss was discovered too soon, before the men went off duty. They knew as a result that they would be searched by the police on leaving, all taxis too, and they had no idea what to do with the thing until Wordsworth suggested rolling it in tar and using it as a doorstop in the customs shed. So there it stayed for months. Every time they brought crates along to the shed, they could see their ingot propping open the door. Wordsworth said he got so maddened by the sight of it that he threw up the job. That was when he became a doorman at the Grenada Palace.”
“What happened to the ingot?”
“I suppose the authorities lost interest when the diamond robberies started. Diamonds are money for jam, Henry. You see, they have special sealed sacks for valuable freight and these sacks are put into ordinary sacks, the idea being that the loaders can’t spot them. The official mind is remarkably innocent. By the time you’ve been loading sacks a week or two, you can feel which sack contains another inside it. Then all you’ve got to do is to slit both coverings open and take pot luck[84 - take pot luck – (разг.) все забрать]. Like a children’s bran tub at Christmas. Nobody is going to discover the slit until the plane arrives at the other end. Wordsworth knew a man who struck lucky the first time and pulled out a box with fifty gem stones.”
“Surely somebody’s watching?”
“Only the other loaders and they take a share. Of course, occasionally a man has bad luck. Once a friend of Wordsworth’s fished out a fat packet of notes, but they proved to be Pakistani. Worth about a thousand pounds if you happened to live in Karachi, but who was going to change them for him here? The poor fellow used to haunt the tarmac whenever a plane was taking off to Karachi, but he never found a safe customer. Wordsworth said he got quite embittered.”
“I had no idea such things went on at Heathrow.”
“My dear Henry,” Aunt Augusta said, “if you had been a young man I would have advised you to become a loader. A loader’s life is one of adventure with far more chance of a fortune than you ever have in a branch bank. I can imagine nothing better for a young man with ambition except perhaps illicit diamond digging. That is best practised in Sierra Leone, where Wordsworth comes from. The security guards are less sophisticated and less ruthless than in South Africa.”
“Sometimes you shock me, Aunt Augusta,” I said, but the statement had already almost ceased to be true. “I have never had anything stolen from my suitcase and I don’t even lock it.”
“That is probably your safeguard. No one is going to bother about an unlocked suitcase. Wordsworth knew a loader who had keys to every kind of suitcase. There are not many varieties, though he was baffled once by a Russian one.”
The loud-speaker announced our flight and we were told to proceed at once to Gate 14 for immediate embarkation.
“For someone who doesn’t like airports,” I said, “you seem to know a great deal about Heathrow.”
“I’ve always been interested in human nature,” Aunt Augusta said. “Especially the more imaginative sides of it.”
She ordered another two gins and tonics immediately we arrived on the plane. “There goes ten shillings towards the first-class fare,” she said. “A friend of mine calculated once that on a long flight to Tahiti – it took in those days more than sixty-four hours – he recuperated nearly twenty pounds, but of course he was a hard drinker.”
Again I had the impression that I was turning the pages in an American magazine in search of a contribution which I had temporarily lost. “I still don’t understand,” I said, “about the luggage-trailer and the suitcase. Why were you so anxious that the trailer should disappear?”
“I have an impression,” my aunt said, “that you are really a little shocked by trivial illegalities. When you reach my age you will be more tolerant. Years ago Paris was regarded as the vice centre of the world, as Buenos Aires was before that, but Madame de Gaulle[85 - Madame de Gaulle – мадам де Голль, жена Шарля Андре Жозефа де Голля, французского генерала, государственного деятеля, президента Франции (1959–1970) много занималась благотворительностью] altered things there. Rome, Milan, Venice and Naples survived a decade longer, but then the only cities left were Macao and Havana. Macao has been cleaned up by the Chinese Chamber of Commerce and Havana by Fidel Castro. For the moment Heathrow is the Havana of the West. It won’t last very long, of course, but one must admit that at the present time London Airport has a glamour which certainly puts Britain first. Have you got a little vodka for the caviar?” she asked the hostess who brought our trays. “I prefer it to champagne.”
“But, Aunt Augusta, you have still not told me about the trailer.”
“It’s very simple,” my aunt said. “If the luggage is to be loaded direct on to the aircraft, the trailer is detached outside the Queen Elizabeth building – there are always traffic hold-ups at this point and nothing is noticed by the passengers. If when the bus arrives at the BEA or Air France entrance you find the trailer is still attached, this means that the luggage is going to be sent to the customs. Personally I have a rooted objection to unknown hands, which have fiddled about in all kinds of strange luggage, some not overclean, fiddling about in mine.”
“What do you do then?”
“I reclaim my bags, saying that after all I don’t require them on the voyage and wish to leave them in the cloakroom. Or I cancel my flight and try again another day.” She finished her smoked salmon and went on to the caviar. “There is no such convenient system as that at Dover, or I would prefer to go by boat.”
“Aunt Augusta,” I said, “what are you carrying in your suit-cases?”
“Only one is a little dangerous,” she said, “the red. I always use the red for that purpose. Red for danger,” she added with a smile.
“But what have you got in the red one?”
“A trifle,” Aunt Augusta said, “something to help us in our travels. I can’t really endure any longer these absurd travel allowances. Allowances! For grown people! When I was a child I received a shilling a week pocket money. If you consider the value of the pound today, that is rather more than what we are allowed to travel with annually. You haven’t eaten your portion of foie gras[86 - foie gras – (фр.) фуа-гра, паштет из гусиной печени].”
“It doesn’t agree with me,” I said.
“Then I will take it. Steward, another glass of champagne and another vodka.”
“We are just descending, ma’am.”
“The more reason for you to hurry, young man.” She fastened her seat-belt. “I’m glad that Wordsworth left Heathrow before I came to know him. He was in danger of being corrupted. Oh, I don’t mean the thieving. A little honest thieving hurts no one, especially when it is a question of gold. Gold needs free circulation. The Spanish Empire would have decayed far more quickly if Sir Francis Drake[87 - Sir Francis Drake – сэр Френсис Дрейк (1540– 1596), английский мореплаватель, корсар, исследователь новых земель; был первым англичанином, проплывшим вокруг света; стоял во главе английского флота во время победы над Испанской армадой (1588)] had not kept a proportion of the Spanish gold in circulation. But here are other things. I have mentioned Havana, and you mustn’t think me straitlaced. I am all for a little professional sex. You have probably read about the activities of Superman. And I am sure that the sight of him cured many a frigidity. Thank you, steward.” She drained her vodka. “We have not done badly. I would say we have almost covered the difference between first-class and tourist, if you take into account a little overweight with my red suitcase. There was a brothel in Havana where the Emperor’s Crown was admirably performed by three nice girls. These establishments save many a marriage from boredom. And then there was the Shanghai Theatre in the Chinese quarter of Havana with three blue films which were shown in the intervals of a nude review, all for the price of one dollar with a pornographic bookshop in the foyer thrown in. I was there once with a Mr. Fernandez who had a cattle farm in Camagüey. (I met him in Rome after Mr. Visconti had temporarily disappeared and he invited me to Cuba for a month’s holiday.) The place was ruined, though, long before the revolution. I am told that to compete with television they put in a large screen. The films, of course, had all been shot on sixteen millimetre, and when they were enlarged practically to Cinerama size, it really needed an act of faith to distinguish any feature of the human body.”
The plane banked steeply over Le Bourget.
“It was all very harmless,” my aunt said, “and gave employment to a great many people. But the things which go on around Heathrow…”
The steward brought another vodka and my aunt tossed it down. She had a strong head – I had noticed that already – but her mind under the influence of alcohol ranged to and fro.
“We were talking of Heathrow,” I reminded her, for my curiosity had been aroused. In my aunt’s company, I found myself oddly ignorant about my own country.
“There are a number of big firms around Heathrow,” my aunt said. “Electronics, engineering, film manufacturers. Glaxo, as one would expect, is quite untouched by the Heathrow influence. After office hours some of the technicians give private parties; air crews are always welcome, so long as stewardesses are included in the party. Even loaders. Wordsworth was always invited, but only on condition he brought a girl and was willing to exchange her at the party for another. Pornographic films are shown first as an encouragement. Wordsworth was genuinely attached to his girl, but he had to surrender her in exchange for a technician’s wife who was a homely woman of fifty called Ada. It seems to me that the old professional brothel system was far healthier than these exaggerated amateur distractions. But then an amateur always goes too far. An amateur is never in proper control of his art. There was a discipline in the old-time brothels. The madame in many ways played a role similar to that of the headmistress of Roedean[88 - Roedean – очень дорогая частная школа для девочек в Англии]. A brothel after all is a kind of school, and not least a school of manners. I have known several madames of real distinction who would have been just as at home in Roedean and have lent distinction to any school.”
“How on earth did you get to know them?” I asked, but the plane was bumping on to the Le Bourget field, and my aunt began to fuss about her luggage. “I think it better,” she said, “if we pass through customs and immigration separately. My red case is rather a heavy one and I would be glad if you would take that with you. Employ a porter. It is always easier to obtain a taxi with a porter’s help. And show in your manner that the tip will be a good one before you arrive at the customs. There is often an understanding between a porter and a douanier[89 - douanier – (фр.) таможенник]. I will meet you outside. Here is the ticket for the red case.”
Chapter 9
I had no clear idea what my aunt intended by her elaborate precautions. There was obviously little danger from the douanier, who waved me through with the careless courtesy which I find so lacking in the supercilious young men in England. My aunt had booked rooms in the Saint James and Albany, an old-fashioned double hottel, of which one half, the Albany, faces the Rue de Rivoli and the other, the Saint James, the Rue Saint-Honoré. Between the two hotels lies the shared territory of a small garden, and on the garden front of the Saint James I noticed a plaque which tells a visitor that here La Fayette signed some treaty or celebrated his return from the American Revolution, I forget which.
Our rooms in the Albany looked out on the Tuileries gardens, and my aunt had taken a whole suite, which seemed rather unnecessary as we were only spending one night before we caught the Orient Express. When I mentioned this, however, she rebuked me quite sharply. “This is the second time today,” she said, “that you have mentioned the subject of economy. You retain the spirit of a bank manager, even in retirement. Understand once and for all[90 - once and for all – (разг.) раз и навсегда] that I am not interested in economy. I am over seventy-five, so that it is unlikely I will live longer than another twenty-five years. My money is my own and I do not intend to save for the sake of an heir. I made many economies in my youth and they were fairly painless because the young do not particularly care for luxury. They have other interests than spending and can make love satisfactorily on a Coca-Cola, a drink which is nauseating in age. They have little idea of real pleasure: even their love-making is apt to be hurried and incomplete. Luckily in middle age pleasure begins, pleasure in love, in wine, in food. Only the taste for poetry flags a little, but I would have always gladly lost my taste for the sonnets of Wordsworth (the other Wordsworth I mean of course) if I could have bettered my palate for wine. Love-making too provides as a rule a more prolonged and varied pleasure after forty-five. Aretino[91 - Aretino – Пьетро Аретино (1492–1556), итальянский сатирик, драматург] is not a writer for the young”.
“Perhaps it’s not too late for me to begin,” I said facetiously in an effort to close that page of her conversation, which I found a little embarrassing.
“You must surrender yourself first to extravagance,” my aunt replied. “Poverty is apt to strike suddenly like influenza, it is well to have a few memories of extravagance in store for bad times. In any case, this suite is not wasted. I have to receive some visitors in private, and I don’t suppose you would want me to receive them in my bedroom. One of them, by the way, is a bank manager. Did you visit lady clients in their bedrooms?”
“Of course not. Nor in their drawing-rooms either. I did all business at the bank.”
“Perhaps in Southwood you didn’t have any very distinguished clients.”
“You are quite wrong,” I said and I told her about the unbearable rear-admiral and my friend Sir Alfred Keene.
“Or any really confidential business.”
“Nothing certainly which could not be discussed in my office at the bank.”
“You were not bugged, I suppose, in the suburbs.”
The man who came to see her was not my idea of a banker at all. He was tall and elegant with black sideburns and he would have fitted very well into a matador’s uniform. My aunt asked me to bring her the red suitcase, and I then left them alone, but looking back from the doorway I saw that the lid was already open and the case seemed to be stacked with ten-pound notes.
I sat down in my bedroom and read a copy of Punch[92 - Punch – «Панч», британский еженедельный журнал, известен своими юмористическими рассказами и иллюстрациями; выходил с 1841 по 2002 г.] to reassure myself. The sight of all the smuggled money had been a shock, and the suitcase was one of those fibre ones which are as vulnerable as cardboard. It is true that no experienced loader at Heathrow would have expected it to contain a small fortune, but surely it was the height of rashness to trust in a bluff which depended for its success on the experience of a thief. She might easily have tumbled on a novice.
My aunt had obviously spent many years abroad and this had affected her character as well as her morality. I couldn’t really judge her as I would an ordinary Englishwoman, and I comforted myself, as I read Punch, that the English character was unchangeable. True, Punch once passed through a distressing period, when even Winston Churchill was a subject of mockery, but the good sense of the proprietors and of the advertisers drew it safely back into the old paths. Even the admiral had begun to subscribe again, and the editor had, quite correctly in my opinion, been relegated to television, which is at its best a vulgar medium. If the ten-pound notes, I thought, were tied in bundles of twenty, there could easily be as much as three thousand pounds in the suitcase, or even six, for surely bundles of forty would not be too thick… Then I remembered the case was a Revelation. Twelve thousand was not an impossible total. I felt a little comforted by that idea. Smuggling on such a large scale seemed more like a business coup than a crime.
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