'And a new book.' Sandra displayed a crisp volume, its cover depicting a small tent set up on some Arctic waste, icebergs towering in the background. 'The librarian said you'd like it. It's just come in, so she knows you haven't read it.'

  'Ooh, lovely. I've just finished this one.' Dorrie brought out the mountaineering adventure she had been reading. 'If you'll return it for me and thank her very much — '

  'Glad to,' Sandra said. 'Now, is there anything else you'd like? Any errands that need doing?'

  'No, I think—' Dorrie stopped. 'Well, if you wouldn't mind,' she said. 'Just stay here in the queue for a minute while I pop across the street . . .'

  'Your friend is a very nice lady, I think,' Zoltan said, as they watched Dorrie cross the street and go up the steps of the St Edmund's.

  'You don't know how nice,' Sandra said. 'She's always doing something for other people. Like waiting all this time in the queue for us. George and I could never have managed it on our own, and we know we'd never find a fridge-freezer at such a bargain again. It will make all the difference to us when we go into the pub.'

  'Your friend seems to enjoy queues. They are, I think, almost a hobby for her.'

  'I suppose that's really what they are,' Sandra agreed thoughtfully. 'I used to think she liked them because they reminded her of the war.'

  'Ah yes, your finest hour.'

  'You needn't say it like that,' Sandra said. 'I don't even remember it. But, if other people want to, I don't see why they shouldn't.'

  'I did not mean — ' He broke off with a puzzled frown, obviously wondering why the English were so quick to take umbrage at the most innocent remark.

  'She must be a lovely neighbour.' Faye leaned forward and spoke around Zoltan.

  'Oh, she is,' Sandra said. 'She really makes all the difference. I mean, we live in a tower block—and you know the way people are always complaining about them. But ours isn't like that at all. We all know each other and help each other. But, really, Auntie Dorrie helps more than anyone else, and she's mostly the reason we all know each other. Because she talks to us all and tells us who she's queuing for and what they want, and then it's only natural to chat to them when we see them and ask them if they're enjoying their bargain.'

  'She is a focal point.' Zoltan nodded. 'I can understand how this could happen. As you say, it makes all the difference.'

  'Oh, it does. The rest of the estate knows her, too, and knows she lives in our block, and so people stop us to ask us about her and how she is. There have even been stories in the local newspaper about her, with pictures of her visiting some of her friends and standing beside the things she's queued to get for them. She's quite famous where we live.'

  'Mum — ' Ron nudged his mother imploringly. 'Mum, do you think she'd get something for me?'

  'Well, you'd have to ask her, wouldn't you?' Momentarily diverted, her suspicions aroused, she added sharply, 'What is it you want?'

  'I've got enough money to pay.' He evaded the direct question. 'I've saved it up out of my pocket money. Please, Mum.'

  'Here comes Auntie Dorrie!' His sister's cry saved him. They watched Dorrie hurrying across the street, waving to the children as she came.

  'That was quick.' Sandra greeted her with amusement.

  'Yes, well, I knew you were waiting. You have to get back to look after the baby, don't you?'

  'I left her next door,' Sandra said. 'She'll be well cared for until I get back. There's no rush. I thought I might look in at a couple of the stores, while I'm here.'

  'That's a good idea, dear.' Dorrie glanced around at the others who, having nothing better to do, were a moderately rapt audience. 'Why don't I just walk you down to the corner, then? I could do with a bit of exercise.'

  One of the children on each side of her, clinging to her hands, she walked with Sandra beyond earshot of the queue. As they reached the corner, she freed herself and took out the note she had hastily scribbled in the St Edmund's.

  I wonder, dear, if you'd mind just picking up a couple of little things for me?' She gave the note to Sandra. 'You can get the odd-sounding one at the chemist's.'

  'You're all right?' Sandra asked quickly.

  'Bless you, yes. It's nothing, really. Just something I happened to remember from my childhood. There's no problem, it won't be on prescription. But you might have to go to two or three chemists before you find it. Try the really old-fashioned chemists first. There probably isn't much call for it these days.'

  'Never heard of it myself,' Sandra said cheerfully, running her eye over the shopping-list. 'There'll be no problem about the cherry brandy, though. No —and you can put that away!' She pushed aside the money Dorrie was offering. 'As though we'd let you pay for anything, after all you're doing for us.'

  'Oh, but-'

  'I wouldn't hear of it. And George would be furious with me if I did!' Sandra turned away resolutely.

  'But I wanted it to be my treat. They're my friends in the queue.'

  'Yes, and no wonder they're so fond of you. That man with the accent just ahead of you is a great admirer of yours.'

  'Oh dear, is he?' Dorrie was stricken with guilt. She stretched out a hand, as though to stop Sandra, but the lights had changed and Sandra was already shepherding the children across the street.

  Well, after all, Dorrie soothed her rumbling conscience. Just because you had something, it didn't mean you had to use it.

  CHAPTER 12

  The queue was settling down for the night. The first two were snuggled into their sleeping-bags, although the transistor beside Zoltan's camp bed still thrummed softly with a soothing background of orchestral music being transmitted from some Continental station.

  Dorrie had been promising herself for some time now that she was just going to read a few more pages and then call it a night herself. But, as the expedition struggled across the frozen Arctic wastes, losing heart and chewing on pieces of dried pemmican, Dorrie poured another cup of tea, fumbled for another rock cake and curled her toes luxuriously against the freshly-filled hot-water bottle which was radiating warmth through her sleeping-bag.

  There was nothing like reading about other people's troubles to make you appreciate how comfortable you were. The librarian had been right —it was just the sort of book she liked. In the summer, mind you, queuing for the July Sales, it was cozier to read about desert crossings, sandstorms, parched throats and burning eyes. Then you realized how lucky you were to be sitting comfortably in the shade, with ice tinkling in a Thermos of lemonade and all the comforts of civilization just a few short steps away.

  In just another minute she was going to put down the book and go to sleep. Dorrie turned the page: a fissure was opening up in the ice ahead of them and the huskies were heading straight for it, the other members of the expedition not having realized yet that their leader had gone snowblind half an hour ago and was trying to keep it from them. Dorrie nibbled at her rock cake and kept on reading.

  Sakim wasn't asleep yet. Although he kept his eyes closed, Lucy could sense his wakefulness — and his fury. He was working himself up into one of the murderous rages that swept over him periodically, reducing his friends to frightened placating shadows of themselves, terrifying her.

  This time she didn't care.

  He had gone too far. He had, perhaps, been going too far for quite a long while without her noticing it. She had made allowances for cultural differences and excused his rudeness because his command of English was less than that of her friends.

  Why should she be the one to make all the concessions? He was the one who had chosen to come to this country. Surely he should adapt to its customs, rather than try to force everyone he came in contact with into his ways?

  At first the differences between them had intrigued and amused her. She had been more than willing to listen to the endless stories of his homeland, to try to go along with some of the less restricting customs, to dip her toes into the waters of an alien culture. How was it that she was suddenly in so deep? Was she in over her head?

  Not quite. But perhaps her dissatisfaction would not have crystallized so soon if they had been almost totally surrounded by English people. She had not realized that she had been missing them so much.

  Nor had she realized that she had missed the company of English men so much. The casual, non-sexual encounters, the light, undemanding conversation. Tony Adair had actually said something—she forgot what — that had made her laugh aloud. Looking back, she tried to remember how long it had been since she had laughed because of something her partner in conversation had said.

  Too long. And it was not entirely her fault. She had not been paying attention —that was the worst she could accuse herself of. It was bad enough. Without realizing it, she had allowed herself to be taken over. Socially, as well as emotionally.

  How often had Sakim —in the early days before she had moved—answered the telephone in her flat when she had been in another room, muttered something and replaced the receiver? When she'd asked who had called, he had invariably told her it had been a wrong number. She began to wonder about that now —Now that he was behaving so badly about Tony Adair. Sulking like a child because she dared talk to another man. If he couldn't trust her any better than that —

  But he didn't. In other ways, perhaps, but not where other men were concerned. At first it had been mildly flattering—when it wasn't blatantly hilarious. The men he had glared at! Men she wouldn't even have glanced at. He had even been jealous of that silly foreigner just in front of Dorrie. It was suddenly clear to her. That was why he had objected to their joining the queue the first time they had arrived.

  Sakim had surveyed the short queue, glowered, and announced that they must first walk around the outside of the store and up and down the surrounding streets to make sure that everything was as innocent as it seemed. For nearly an hour they had threaded their way in and out of the intersecting streets for blocks around, looping past the queue intermittently. Each time, he had shaken his head and continued past. Finally, he had announced that they would come back in the morning.

  In the morning, they had found Dorrie firmly ensconced in the place behind Zoltan and, seeing this, Sakim had consented to their getting into the queue. He had then positioned her behind Dorrie, in front of himself, effectively cutting her off from contact with any other male. She had the impression that he would have preferred a couple more women between her and Zoltan, but had to

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  settle for the situation as it was since he could not be sure that the next person to join the queue would not be another male and he could not keep her walking around indefinitely or she would have begun to suspect his real motive.

  He would undoubtedly have preferred women behind him, too. It was just his bad luck that Tony Adair had joined the queue —and that Tony was talkative, outgoing, friendly, with an interesting job he was absorbed in.

  All the things she had been missing unconsciously during these past few months.

  But she could not let herself consider that. Not when she was irrevocably committed to her present course of action. She would rethink her situation later . . . afterwards . . .

  Car doors slammed and there was a sudden commotion at the end of the queue: clattering, crashing, loud laughter and louder giggles.

  The others, awakened or disturbed just at the point of dropping off to sleep, stirred, sat up and glared down towards the source of all the noise.

  'Shh!' Someone warned belatedly. There was another ripple of unrepentant merriment.

  'Now see what you've done!' One of the women turned towards the watching faces and shrugged, pantomiming helplessness. 'I'm so sorry. He just won't be quiet!'

  'Sorry. Sorry.' One of the men waved to the queue —it was to be hoped that he was not the one who had been driving. 'Didn't wake you, I hope? No,' he answered his own question. 'You couldn't have been sleeping like this. Catch up on your sleep after the big day, eh?'

  'Oh dear,' Dorrie sighed. 'I hope they're not planning to stay awake and be noisy all night!' There was no doubt about it, Bonnard's merchandise might be as desirable as

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  ever, but Bonnard's queue left a lot to be desired.

  'Actually,' Tony Adair informed the newcomers, 'we do sleep at night here. We sleep quite well. Usually.'

  Good for him. Dorrie gave an approving nod.

  'Who are these people?' Zoltan demanded urgently, quite as though she knew the answers. 'What do they want?'

  'I'm afraid they're joining the queue.' Dorrie knew that much. 'You've got to expect it now, you know. There's only one more day before the Sale begins. We'll be getting a lot more people in the queue over the next twenty-four hours.'

  He said something in a language she couldn't understand—and just as well probably — and hurled himself petulantly back into his former position, his camp bed rocking wildly. The impression was strong that he was not pleased. Well, who was?

  'You girls sure you want to go through with this?' The words drifted back along the queue. 'The radio forecast snow before morning.'

  'Now you stop trying to frighten us,' one of the women trilled. 'We're quite determined.'

  "That's right,' the other one chimed in. 'You'll just have to get your own meals tomorrow — and wash your own dishes.' The last was thrown out in a rather hopeless tone, more in the manner of one trying to implant a suggestion than state a fact.

  The men whooped with laughter, letting everyone know that humouring the little woman wasn't going to extend that far.

  'Oh, really!' Lucy had partially emerged from her sleeping-bag and had been watching them, propped up on one elbow. Now she sighed with exasperation and caught Tony Adair's eye.

  'Some people are awful,' he murmured softly— and winked. 'While others are bloody awful.'

  'I will not be insulted!' Sakim sprang up like a jack-in-

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  the-box and whirled on Tony. 'Always you laugh at me! You think I do not know? I am not stupid— '

  'Then you're giving a good imitation,' Tony said. 'No one was even thinking about you.'

  'Sit down!' Lucy tugged at Sakim's trouser leg. 'You're making a scene!'

  'A scene? A scene? Oh, you are so English — '

  'Well, what do you expect?' Dorrie asked reasonably. 'She is English. Don't tell us you never noticed that before.'

  'You are all against me!' Sakim accused wildly. 'You all hate me!'

  'Not yet,' Tony said, 'but keep working on it. You're making great progress.'

  At least it had silenced the newcomers to the queue. They stood watching, then withdrew several yards and huddled together in earnest discussion. It appeared that fresh arguments were being presented as to the wisdom of becoming associated — however briefly — with such a motley and unvouched-for group of strangers.

  Random emphasized words drifted back to the queue. 'Fight . . . foreigner . . . unstable . . . dangerous . . .'

  'You see — ' Zoltan said censoriously. 'This sort of thing gives the whole queue a bad name.' He turned his head and spoke across Dorrie to Lucy. 'Can you not control your friend?'

  'Sakim, sit down!' Lucy said desperately, abandoning all pretence that they were not long-standing friends, that they had just met in the queue. She tugged again at his trouser leg.

  Sakim squatted abruptly, muttering to himself.

  Tony looked at Lucy and obviously decided against saying anything more. Rather ostentatiously, he lay back and closed his eyes.

  Dorrie hoped that he was secretly keeping one eye at least half open. After all, he was right next to Sakim and

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  that strange young man was in a very uncertain mood. She wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him herself. And if he had caught and understood some of the compliments Tony had been paying to Lucy earlier in the day . . .

  Personally she was quite glad that Lucy was between herself and Sakim, although that presented danger, too. She determined that she was going to keep an eye open herself. Suppose he went berserk in the night and decided to attack Lucy? Someone had better keep watch.

  Cautiously the newcomers moved back towards the end of the queue. The women appeared to have won the argument. Besides, things had quietened down now. It was perfectly safe. After all, they were right outside Bonnard's —that, in itself, was such a bulwark of respectability that it was impossible to imagine anything untoward happening there. Across the street, the imposing facade of the St Edmund's Hotel loomed comfortingly, reinforcing the promise of safety. One couldn't let oneself be deterred from one's goal by a tempest in a teapot.

  But it would be just as well to be careful. The men began erecting a defensive barrier of overnight cases, extra cushions, and equipment immediately behind Tony Adair, thus cutting off their wives from the rest of the queue. If the party started getting rough again, the low barricade might trip or delay possible pursuers long enough to give the women time to get clear.

  'I still don't like it, Janice,' one of the men said. 'I wish you'd give up this nonsensical idea and come home.'

  'Geoffs right,' the other man agreed. 'You don't need to do this sort of thing—' His booming laugh fanfared the proclamation to the rest of the queue. 'It isn't as though we kept you short of housekeeping money!'

  'It isn't that, Dave.' The woman sent a nervous apologetic smile towards the others. 'Not for anyone. It's just a — '

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  'A bit of adventure,' the woman called Janice supplied.

  'Make sure you don't get more than you bargained for.' The man sent a suspicious look along the queue, but Sakim had settled down, crouching lower, silent now and looking quite harmless.

  'We'll be all right.' There was a trace of impatience in her voice. 'You needn't worry.'

  'I don't like to leave you here,' Geoff said.

  'Then stay here with us.'

  'You know we can't do that!' Both men shied back at the idea. 'We have to go to work in the morning.'

 

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