Free A Splash of Red by Antonia Fraser Page A

one, no caryatid you. Something to be worshipped; or a fifth-century Demeter, perhaps; with your strong straight classical lines—'
    'You're talking about me as a building. And I'm generally told my eyes are green.' Jemima couldn't help smiling back at him. Something about Adam Adamson appealed to her. Besides she had made at least two major programmes over the years centred round squatters, their various ideals and projects and in most, if not all, cases, had respected them. Nor did she lump all squatters together. The Friends of the House, for example, clearly had a high standard of hygiene - not an attribute possessed by all squatters whatever their idealism - for the echoing modern cobalt blue cavern was very clean. Unless Adam Adamson had only just moved in.
    'A few weeks back,' said Adam, repeating his uncanny trick of answering a question she had not yet put, 'we were demonstrating as usual outside this revolting monument to Sir Richard Lionnel's maniacal vanity, when someone tipped me the wink that a key could be had to the third floor. No questions asked. Perhaps some enlightened human being took the line that I would be a desirable tenant. Or perhaps some fellow son of Adam had conceived a violent hatred for the devouring lion's ornamentation of his own den. Oh, didn't you know?' He waved his hand. Again Jemima observed its whiteness, set off by a few red-gold hairs; the nails were clean and scrubbed-looking. 'This was to be Sir Richard Lionnel's own home.' Another wave.
    'Yes, I'm squatting in the Lion's Den - and for a den I suppose the word squatting might be appropriate for once. I'm revivifying the whole house, but I doubt if much revivifying could go on in this blue hell. Cleansing fire would be more appropriate.' A further Pan-like smile.
    'Still, it's the principle of the thing, and it's for the principle of bearding the lion in his den - please note the beard specially grown for the occasion - that I have deserted my previous salubrious accommodation in Chelsea. I deserted that to suffer quite dreadfully here. Oh, my aesthetic sensibilities in the excrescence of Adelaide Square!'
    He showed no signs of stopping. 'The Lion is making us suffer every time we charge round Adelaide Square. Arriving at the demo in the morning causes a true ache in my heart, especially if you look at the sort of thing the Lion has recently devoured, as illustrated on the opposite side of the square. So why should he not suffer a tiny little pang at finding his own personal domain occupied? I suppose the Lion's jackal-in-chief, Judas Turpin, will let him know on Monday morning. Too late to ruin his weekend in Sussex by the sea, but a splendid sobering start to another week of swallowing houses whole in his maw. You know that he intends to devour the corner property as well? Regurgitating it as something similar to this, but worse. He's had the whole structure condemned as rotten. Ah well, he has a surprise coming.' Adam took a breath.
    'Now tell me about yourself,' he continued kindly. 'And by the way shall we sit down on the Stygian carpet as we get to know each other better. Or would you prefer to entertain me in whichever corner of Hades you have chosen?'
    'No, no, not upstairs,' said Jemima hastily. She had had enough of unwanted visitors for one day; even though Adam Adamson might prove an amusing addition to her life. Caution also dictated the minimum of involvement with squatters - even revivifiers.
    Chloe Fontaine was after all a legal tenant at 73 Adelaide Square. No revivifier she, as Time magazine would put it. Having leased or bought such an expensive flat - Jemima wasn't sure which but if it was a lease presumably it was a long one, acquired with the proceeds of the sale of the Fulham house - Chloe had a vested interest in the maintenance of law and order in the building.
    So far Adam Adamson presented an orderly front; but this was on the basis of one day's occupation. Jemima had seen what the most amiable squatters