“At his flat. He’d been ill, not working. He’d been in bed and I’d been coming in and cooking for him.”
“And buying the food? Shopping for him?”
“Yes.”
“How kind. It must have cost you a lot of money,” Karden observed sympathetically. “Could you afford to keep him?”
“I didn’t keep him. I got it from Alec. He-”
“Oh,” said Karden sharply, “so he _did_ have some money?”
Oh God, thought Liz, oh God, oh dear God, what have I said?
“Not much,” she said quickly, “not much, I know. A pound, two pounds, not more. He didn’t have more than that He couldn’t pay his bills–his electric light and his rent–they were all paid afterwards, you see, after he’d gone, by a friend. A friend had to pay, not Alec.”
“Of course,” said Karden quietly, “a friend paid. Came specially and paid all his bifis. Some old friend of Leamas, someone he knew before he came to Bayswater, perhaps. Did you ever meet this friend, Elizabeth?”
She shook her head.
“I see. What other bills did this good friend pay, do you know?”
“No. . . no.”
“Why do you hesitate?”
“I said I don’t know,” Liz retorted fiercely.
“But you hesitated,” Karden explained. “I wondered if you had second thoughts.”
“No.”
“Did Leamas ever speak of this friend? A friend with money who knew where Leamas lived?”
“He never mentioned a friend at all. I didn’t think he had any friends.”
“Ah.”
There was a terrible silence in the courtroom, more terrible to Liz because like a blind child among, the seeing she was cut off from all those around her; they could measure her answers against some secret standard, and she could not know from the dreadful silence what they had found.
“How much money do you earn, Elizabeth?”
“Six pounds a week.”
“Have you any savings?”
“A little. A few pounds.”
“How much is the rent of your flat?”
“Fifty shillings a week.”
“That’s quite a lot, isn’t it, Elizabeth? Have you paid your rent recently?”
She shook her head helplessly.
“Why not?” Karden continued. “Have you no money?”
In a whisper she replied: “I’ve got a lease. Someone bought the lease and sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” Tears were running down her face. “I don’t know;.. . Please don’t ask any more questions. I don’t know who it was. . . six weeks ago they sent it, a bank in the City. . . some Charity bad done it. . . a thousand pounds. I swear I don’t know who . . . a gift from a Charity, they said. You know everything . . . you tell me who. . .”
Burying her face in her hands she wept, her back still turned to the court, her shoulders moving as the sobs shook her body. No one moved, and at length she lowered her hands but did not look up.
“Why didn’t you inquire?” Karden asked simply. “Or are you used to receiving anonymous gifts of a thousand pounds?”
She said nothing and Karden continued: “You didn’t inquire because you guessed. Isn’t that right?”
Raising her hand to her face again, she nodded.
“You guessed it came from Leamas, or from Leamas’ friend, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she managed to say. “I heard in the Street that the grocer had got some money, a lot of money from somewhere after the trial. There was a lot of talk about it, and I knew it must be Alec’s friend. ..
“How very strange,” said Karden almost to himself. “How odd.” And then: “Tell me, Elizabeth, did anyone get in touch with you after Leamas went to prison?”
“No,” she lied. She knew now, she was sure they wanted to prove something against Alec, something about the money or his friends; something about the grocer.
“Are you sure?” Karden asked, his eyebrows raised above the gold rims of his spectacles.
“Yes.”
“But your neighbor, Elizabeth,” Karden objected patiently, “says that men called–two men–quite soon after Leamas had been sentenced; or were they just lovers, Elizabeth? Casual lovers, like Leamas, who gave you money?”
“Alec _wasn’t_ a casual lover!” she cried. “How can you–” –