Adam leaned across the bar counter at the Savoy and clinked glasses with Feliks. ‘Let’s drink to the success of the Uprising,’ he said.
Feliks downed the vodka and motioned to the barman to refill their glasses. ‘I don’t think it can last much longer,’ he said. ‘Even if Rokossovsky’s army makes a move now, it’ll be a Pyrrhic victory at best.’
He had just returned from another clandestine visit to Warsaw, and the words of a friend in the AK were still ringing in his ears. When he’d asked how the Uprising was going, his friend had replied with one chilling word: Thermopylae.
Feliks told Adam that the German commander had recently issued an ultimatum to the Commander-in-Chief. Either the insurgents capitulated at once and laid down their arms, or he’d raze the entire city, together with its inhabitants. ‘Bór-Komorowski didn’t even bother replying,’ he said. ‘He knew what would happen to the insurgents if they accepted those terms. Besides, he was counting on the Russians to start their offensive any minute.’ He stared into the bottom of his glass. ‘Unfortunately, that’s where he miscalculated.’
‘I wonder if Stalin is hanging off because of the strong German counter-offensive,’ Adam mused.
‘Or because he’d rather wait for the Germans to destroy Warsaw and the AK so that he can take over a ruined city with no rebels, and start with an empty slate,’ Feliks retorted.
After discussing Stalin’s possible motives for withholding aid, they agreed not to talk about the Uprising any more.
There was a long pause, then Feliks spoke. ‘How’s that girlfriend of yours — the nurse?’
‘Judith is a very unusual woman,’ Adam said.
Something in his tone made Feliks wag a finger at him. ‘Do I smell romance in the air?’ he asked playfully. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally succumbed? She must be something special. What’s she like?’
Adam suppressed a smile. ‘She’ll be here soon; you can see for yourself.’
After they had ordered another round of drinks, Feliks sat forward and from the gleam in his eyes, Adam sensed that he was about to tell one of his stories.
‘I came across a bizarre situation in Warsaw last week that seemed straight out of a Kafka novel,’ he said.
Adam gave a short laugh. ‘So much for keeping off the subject! All right, go on.’
Feliks lit an American filtertip, sat back, and launched into his story, embellishing it with sweeping hand gestures.
‘One day, my old pal Rybacki asked me to go with him and retrieve a wad of dollars he’d hidden for the AK High Command after one of the Allied air drops. A lot of places where they’d hidden cash had been burnt down or blown up, so they were pretty desperate. You’ve seen Warsaw from the air, but I can assure you, on the ground it’s a hundred times worse. Anyway, the whole idea was so preposterous that I agreed straight away. We’d almost reached the house where he’d stashed the money when the Germans suddenly opened fire and all hell broke loose. We nearly bought it. We kept lying down and getting up again like ninepins.
‘When we finally staggered into the house, there were these four old codgers around the kitchen table, so intent on playing cards that they hardly looked up. Before I knew it, Rybacki had plonked himself down on a stool to kibbitz as though he had nothing better to do.’
Feliks was shaking with laughter. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. That house was right on the frontline but those guys played bridge there every afternoon. “Why should we worry?” one of them said. “If the Germans bombed us, they’d hit their own men.”
‘While Rybacki was kibbitzing in the kitchen, I decided to check things out. And sure enough, the floor in the front room was covered in gravel and at the window stood one of our fighters holding a rifle, but when I peered over the sandbags, I could see that those old geezers were right. There was no one on the German side of the street at all!
‘Back in the kitchen, I reminded Rybacki that we hadn’t risked our lives going there so he could watch a card game. So he went into the next room, measured out three paces from the door, counted five tiles to the left, raised one with a bit of wire, and took out three bulging leather pouches. We were almost at the door when the host called out to Rybacki, “Why don’t you drop in one afternoon for a few rubbers?”’
Adam and Feliks were still laughing when Judith arrived. Feliks rose as Adam introduced them, and taking Judith’s hand, put it to his lips.
‘Delighted to meet you, Miss McAllister.’
Judith looked questioningly at Adam. It was their first rendezvous since the night at the hotel and she had looked forward to an intimate tête-à-tête. Adam might have told her that his friend would be joining them.
As though reading her mind, Feliks said, ‘I hope that you don’t mind the intrusion. I told Adam —’
But Adam waved away his apologies with a dismissive hand. ‘I wanted Judith to meet you so she’d know I had at least one friend in the world.’
As they were ushered to their table, Judith wondered whether it wasn’t the other way round and Feliks had been invited to give his seal of approval. Conscious of being appraised, she felt gauche and resentful, and felt that whatever she said sounded lame and forced.
Stop being childish and pull yourself together, she told herself. A woman in charge of five hundred patients should be able to cope with one unexpected person at the table.
‘I think the best profession is one that is always needed.’ Feliks was making wide sweeping arcs with his large hand as he spoke. ‘You made a good choice, Miss McAllister. Nurses are always in demand.’
‘So are undertakers.’ The retort was out before she had time to think. There was a surprised pause, then Feliks burst out laughing.
‘Adam told me you always say what you think.’
She wondered what else Adam had told him.
‘You people are so formal, even among friends, with your hand-kissing rituals and the way you address people in the third person,’ she said, and immediately regretted sounding so critical. ‘Why don’t you just call me Judith?’
Feliks nodded. ‘You are right. We belong to the old world, and you, Miss Judith, belong to the new.’
‘Judith knows more about the situation in Poland than just about anyone else in London,’ Adam cut in. ‘Probably more than Mr Churchill.’
Her momentary glow of pleasure at the compliment was replaced by irritation. Was it her interest in Poland that Adam found attractive? Surely when men discussed the women they were involved with, it wasn’t their political acumen that they boasted about.
She caught Adam looking at her but turned away. She wasn’t going to exchange glances that implied intimacy in front of a stranger. That was the trouble with Adam, she suddenly thought; he was so elusive and taciturn that she never knew what he was thinking.
Feliks looked from her to Adam, and, as neither of them spoke, he turned to Judith. ‘Many hospitals in Warsaw have been bombed, and we’ve lost many doctors and nurses,’ he said. ‘When this is over, we will need people like you to help us organise our health system.’
Judith nodded. This was a topic she could discuss with confidence and she found Feliks an attentive listener. But whenever she glanced at Adam, he was looking at them with such a dour expression that she wondered whether the conversation bored him.
Over dinner, Feliks entertained them with anecdotes about politicians and generals, and several times she burst into such hearty laughter that people nearby turned and smiled.
‘Your friend is great company,’ Judith said after Feliks had gone. ‘Never a dull moment with him around.’
Adam was staring into his glass. ‘So you like him?’ he said without any enthusiasm. ‘When you came in, you didn’t look happy, but he cheered you up in no time.’
As he took out the cigarette case he always carried, she wondered why she was wasting her time with this uncommunicative man whose moods she could never read and who was obviously attached to someone he’d left behind in Poland.
‘If you didn’t want me to like your friend, why did you ask him to join us? Make your mind up what you want.’
Adam leaned across the table and seized her hand. ‘I know what I want.’
She surveyed him for moment and a smile broke over her face. ‘I’m no good at these games,’ she said, ‘but you wouldn’t be jealous, would you?’
Not taking his eyes from her face, he said, ‘Shall we go?’
Her palm was burning and it wasn’t just from the pressure of his hand. For once, she knew what he was thinking.