rain. Our footsteps on the bare wooden floor echoed eerily and chairs pulled back screeched a protest. We were the first there and found ourselves tiptoeing to seats in the middle of the room. âLetâs go up front,â Harry said, but I shook my head. I could see Nathan seated at a table at the front of the hall and after the incident in the gardens I had determined to keep my distance. He shuffled through a heap of papers, diligently taking notes, only occasionally looking up to comment to a man who leaned over his shoulder. The other man was Jock from Glasgow. There was no mistaking his squat pugilistic stance. There was no sign of Bernie-Benito.
âHow many come?â I whispered to Harry. It seemed irreverent to speak out loud.
âI donât know. This is the first time Iâve been. Nathan invited me. He asked me to bring you along. He said he knew you, that youâd met at The Chew It and Spew It.â
âYes,â I said, non-committal.
âThen you do know him?â
âSort of.â
I wouldnât be dragged into any relationship with Nathan. He was more unpredictable than Harry, and that was saying a lot.
âHe admires you. He says youâre a true proletarian.â Harry was not to be put off. âCome on, Jude, tell me whatâs between you two.â
âMind your own business, Harry. Thereâs nothing between us.â I was annoyed.
âWow,â he said, putting up his hands in mock self-protection. âSorry. Didnât know you felt like that. Tell Uncle Harry all about it.â
âShut up, Harry. Donât try to wheedle me as you do my mother. Iâm up to your tricks.â
He put a careless arm about me and gave me a squeeze. âOK, Miss Larsen, Iâll be good.â
More people had drifted in, about three dozen in all. They looked ordinary, cleanly but poorly dressed, tired and subdued. Winnie would have called them earnest but I felt they were there to fulfil a duty. Bernie-Benito was amongst them. With his loose frame and ungainly gait he looked like a benign rag doll. He drooped into a chair in the front row and, like one who speaks English as a foreign language and feels the need to shout, yelled, âGood evening, comrades.â
Jock replied cheerfully, âShut up, you little fascist bastard. Canât you see weâre working?â
Bernie-Benito doffed his cap, grinned and lolled back in his chair, rocking it precariously on two back legs. â Avanti popolo ,â he hummed under his breath.
I felt that Bernie-Benito would carry a knife and smile charmingly while he used it.
There were no women present, except myself, so when two other women entered I took particular notice of them. Harry with over-done gallantry jumped up to welcome them. His greeting interrupted their conversation and their glance of dismissal was a hurtful rebuff. He returned flushed and embarrassed. âI suppose itâs our first night here and I shouldnât have intruded.â I looked at him with pity and he blushed again.
âYou should recognise when people are downright rude to you, Harry.â I was going to add, not everyone will like you, and thought better of it. After all, I knew what it was to be mortified.
I studied the two women. They were dressed in sombre clothes: black skirts and coats, with matching cloche hats. One wore a fake fur tippet about her neck. Thin sandy hair escaped in wisps from under their hats and their complexions were colourless, unaided by rouge or lipstick. They looked like a pair of unpleasantly self-sacrificing acolytes.
âIâd say, Harry, they lacked moderation and probably lead a thoroughly unhappy life. I hope all the comrades are not like that.â
Harry did not appreciate my reference to Aristotle and now, recovered from his moment of embarrassment, was looking about him with bright expectant eyes. My eyes followed the two women as they walked to the table.