hesitated. If he moved forward, she might take fright again and run. He looked at her across the snow, trying to make her out. She seemed to be wearing a bonnet or shawl over her head, and a dark cape over her shoulders. In her hand she held a sprig of leaves, and these she gently waved back and forth as she spoke to him.
‘But you’m carn’t do nothin’, Mister, ’cos I got the holly fer to hold yer. So you do bide there, Mister, for little Jane can hold yer.’ She shook the leaves vehemently towards him and began laughing softly. She still had one hand upon the door, and as she spoke her head lolled to one side.
‘You bide away from little Jane, Mister, however pretty she’m do be.’
‘Yes, Jane,’ said Smiley softly, ‘you’re a very pretty girl, I can see that; and that’s a pretty cape you’re wearing, Jane.’
Evidently pleased with this, she clutched the lapels of her cape and turned slowly round, in a child’s parody of a fine lady.
As she turned, Smiley saw the two empty sleeves of an overcoat swinging at her sides.
‘There’s some do laugh at Janie,’ she said, a note of petulance in her voice, ‘but there’s not many seen the Devil fly, Mister. But Janie seed ’im, Janie seed ’im. Silver wings like fishes ’e done ’ad, Janie saw.’
‘Where did you find that coat, Janie?’
She put her hands together and shook her head slowly from side to side.
‘He’m a bad one. Ooh, he’m a bad one, Mister,’ and she laughed softly. ‘I seed ’im flying, riding on the wind,’ she laughed again, ‘and the moon be’ind ’im, lightin’ up the way! They’m close as sisters, moon and Devil.’
On an impulse Smiley seized a handful of ivy from the side of the house and held it out to her, moving slowly forward as he did so.
‘Do you like flowers, Janie? Here are flowers for Janie; pretty flowers for pretty Janie.’ He had nearly reached her when with remarkable speed she ran across the lawn, disappeared into the trees and ran off down the lane. Smiley let her go. He was drenched in sweat.
As soon as he reached the hotel he telephoned Detective Inspector Rigby.
7 King Arthur’s Church
The coffee lounge of the Sawley Arms resembled nothing so much as the Tropical Plants Pavilion at Kew Gardens. Built in an age when cactus was the most fashionable of plants and bamboo its indispensable companion, the lounge was conceived as the architectural image of a jungle clearing. Steel pillars, fashioned in segments like the trunk of a palm tree, supported a high glass roof whose regal dome replaced the African sky. Enormous urns of bronze or green-glazed earthenware contained all that was elegant and prolific in the cactus world, and between them very old residents could relax on sofas of spindly bamboo, sipping warm coffee and reliving the discomforts of safari.
Smiley’s efforts to obtain a bottle of whisky and a syphon of soda at half past eleven at night were not immediately rewarded. It seemed that, like carrion from the carcass, the journalists had gone. The only sign of life in the hotel was the night porter, who treated his request with remote disapproval and advised him to go to bed. Smiley, by no means naturally persistent, discovered a half-crown in his overcoat pocket and thrust it a little irritably into the old man’s hand. The result, though not magical, was effective, and by the time Rigby had made his way to the hotel, Smiley was seated in front of a bright gas-fire in the coffee lounge with glasses and a whisky bottle before him.
Smiley retold his experiences of the evening with careful accuracy.
‘It was the coat that caught my eye. It was a heavy overcoat like a man’s,’ he concluded. ‘I remembered the blue belt and …’ He left the sentence unfinished. Rigby nodded, got up and walked briskly across the lounge and through the swing doors to the porter’s desk. Ten minutes later, he returned.
‘I think we’d better go and pull her in,’ he said simply.
‘But you’m carn’t do nothin’, Mister, ’cos I got the holly fer to hold yer. So you do bide there, Mister, for little Jane can hold yer.’ She shook the leaves vehemently towards him and began laughing softly. She still had one hand upon the door, and as she spoke her head lolled to one side.
‘You bide away from little Jane, Mister, however pretty she’m do be.’
‘Yes, Jane,’ said Smiley softly, ‘you’re a very pretty girl, I can see that; and that’s a pretty cape you’re wearing, Jane.’
Evidently pleased with this, she clutched the lapels of her cape and turned slowly round, in a child’s parody of a fine lady.
As she turned, Smiley saw the two empty sleeves of an overcoat swinging at her sides.
‘There’s some do laugh at Janie,’ she said, a note of petulance in her voice, ‘but there’s not many seen the Devil fly, Mister. But Janie seed ’im, Janie seed ’im. Silver wings like fishes ’e done ’ad, Janie saw.’
‘Where did you find that coat, Janie?’
She put her hands together and shook her head slowly from side to side.
‘He’m a bad one. Ooh, he’m a bad one, Mister,’ and she laughed softly. ‘I seed ’im flying, riding on the wind,’ she laughed again, ‘and the moon be’ind ’im, lightin’ up the way! They’m close as sisters, moon and Devil.’
On an impulse Smiley seized a handful of ivy from the side of the house and held it out to her, moving slowly forward as he did so.
‘Do you like flowers, Janie? Here are flowers for Janie; pretty flowers for pretty Janie.’ He had nearly reached her when with remarkable speed she ran across the lawn, disappeared into the trees and ran off down the lane. Smiley let her go. He was drenched in sweat.
As soon as he reached the hotel he telephoned Detective Inspector Rigby.
7 King Arthur’s Church
The coffee lounge of the Sawley Arms resembled nothing so much as the Tropical Plants Pavilion at Kew Gardens. Built in an age when cactus was the most fashionable of plants and bamboo its indispensable companion, the lounge was conceived as the architectural image of a jungle clearing. Steel pillars, fashioned in segments like the trunk of a palm tree, supported a high glass roof whose regal dome replaced the African sky. Enormous urns of bronze or green-glazed earthenware contained all that was elegant and prolific in the cactus world, and between them very old residents could relax on sofas of spindly bamboo, sipping warm coffee and reliving the discomforts of safari.
Smiley’s efforts to obtain a bottle of whisky and a syphon of soda at half past eleven at night were not immediately rewarded. It seemed that, like carrion from the carcass, the journalists had gone. The only sign of life in the hotel was the night porter, who treated his request with remote disapproval and advised him to go to bed. Smiley, by no means naturally persistent, discovered a half-crown in his overcoat pocket and thrust it a little irritably into the old man’s hand. The result, though not magical, was effective, and by the time Rigby had made his way to the hotel, Smiley was seated in front of a bright gas-fire in the coffee lounge with glasses and a whisky bottle before him.
Smiley retold his experiences of the evening with careful accuracy.
‘It was the coat that caught my eye. It was a heavy overcoat like a man’s,’ he concluded. ‘I remembered the blue belt and …’ He left the sentence unfinished. Rigby nodded, got up and walked briskly across the lounge and through the swing doors to the porter’s desk. Ten minutes later, he returned.
‘I think we’d better go and pull her in,’ he said simply.
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