The Best of British Crime omnibus by Andrew Garve, David Williams, Francis Durbridge Page B

substitute for conversation.’
    â€˜Have a glass of Tsinandali, Professor, and drown the noise.’
    â€˜No, thank you, I’ve already eaten and drunk to excess. Our hosts are very attentive.’ With a little cough, he added, ‘A delightful young lady has just been telling me how a Russian named – er – Popov, I think – invented electricity.’ He gave me a sidelong glance and Bolting grinned. Their attitude baffled me.
    â€˜Professor,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to start a long discussion, but could you tell me in a few words what it is about the Soviet Union that has attracted you to its side. I’m really intrigued to know.’ ‘Certainly, Mr Verney. Gravitational pull. Marxism is a huge and growing force – whether one likes it or not is quite irrelevant. Personally I take a poor view of creation, but I accept it. It is foolish to resist the irresistible.’
    I laughed, and so did Bolting. ‘Talking of the irresistible, Schofield,’ he said, ‘there’s a very clever woman I should like you to meet… ’
    I moved on thoughtfully through the crowd. The party was certainly warming up now. Champagne had arrived with the ice-cream and was flowing freely. A burst of laughter came from a corner table where Tanya, Jeff, Potts, Thomas and Cressey were sitting with a group of Russians. At another table, Mrs Clarke was wedged happily between Mullett and a Russian colonel, all her resentments forgotten. She seemed to have lost whatever awe she might once have felt for the reverend gentleman, and was archly trying to make him take a large glass of champagne.
    â€˜A pleasant party, Mr Verney,’ said a voice at my ear. It was Tranter again, his usually pale face quite pink and his white hair falling in a damp lock over one ear.
    â€˜It certainly is,’ I acknowledged. ‘In fact, one way and another it’s been quite a week.’
    â€˜A memorable week. I must confess it’s been a great delight to me to find how extremely friendly everyone has been. In existing circumstances, one could have forgiven them for showing a certain – well – mistrust… ’
    He was hopeless, of course. He hadn’t even begun to understand.
    â€˜That big meeting we had,’ he went on, ‘it was so heartening. I’m a little surprised that it wasn’t reported more fully in the British press. I cannot believe that we shall ever find ourselves at war with such cordial people.’
    â€˜It would be a tragic thing,’ I said, ‘for everyone.’
    â€˜It astounds me that there are those who can contemplate it. Have you ever seen battle, Mr Verney?’
    â€˜Only as a war correspondent.’
    â€˜Ah, yes of course. At least you know what it means. I’ve had my share of it. This leg… ’ he patted his stiff thigh, ‘… was the result of a wound I got on the Somme in the first war. I was just eighteen. When I came out of the army I resolved that I would devote the rest of my life to the struggle for peace. A long, hard, disappointing struggle it’s been, I’m afraid.’
    I had to agree. ‘Is the society you represent completely pacifist?’ I asked him.
    â€˜Oh, by no means. I happen to be a pacifist myself, but my committee is not. Nor, of course, are the Russians – one has to admit that. At the same time, I feel there is a will to peace in this country – they have suffered so much, it’s inconceivable that they’d want to fight again. Ah, well, we must go on trying… ’
    He moved on. I helped myself to a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and glanced around to see if I could spot a friendly blonde. There seemed to be a spare one near the elite’s table, and I moved over. Perdita, incredibly, was still holding forth. They hadn’t even got off the original subject, and she was making some preposterous statements. ‘In