The Thief of Time

by John Boyne

  He shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly before answering. ‘She is based in Paris at the moment, with me. She became rather interested in the idea of the Games and I must admit has become indispensable to me now. Her advice and encouragement, not to mention her skill as a hostess, are worth a great deal to me. We have become true siblings in a way we were not for so many years. You hurt her quite badly, you know, Mr Zéla,’ he added a little haughtily.

  ‘Matthieu,’ I repeated. ‘And I realise that, I assure you. I miss her greatly, Pierre. Might I ask is she involved with anyone else right now?’

  He breathed in deeply and looked around, unsure what to say for the best. ‘She is devoted to her work and to me. To our work, I should say,’ he explained eventually. ‘Whatever happened in the past . . . well, I do not believe she thinks about it too often these days. She has moved on. She does not, however, consort with young men if that is what you are getting at. She is still a married woman, after all.’

  I nodded and wondered whether I would be quite so civil to someone who had treated my sister in so cavalier a manner as I had his. I felt it would be inappropriate, however, to continue to talk about her behind her back and so complimented him once more upon his success, the only thing outside of Celine that I felt we could discuss with any enthusiasm. Again, it was like lighting a Christmas tree in a darkened room. His face bobbed up, his eyes shone, his cheeks grew slightly red and he immediately forgot the awkward moment we had just gone through.

  ‘I must admit’, he told me, ‘that there were many times when I did not believe myself that we could actually do it. And now, it seems, the Games are almost upon us. Only another seventeen months to go.’

  ‘And are you prepared?’ I asked. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and looked around the garden nervously. ‘Let us go inside,’ he suggested. ‘Let us find a quiet corner somewhere we can talk. Perhaps you might be able to advise me on some matters. You are quite the businessman, are you not?’

  ‘I’ve made a little money over the years,’ I admitted.

  ‘Good, good,’ he said quickly. ‘Then perhaps you will know where I can turn to on a certain matter. Come now. Let us go inside.’ And with that he took me by the arm and led me inside the reception area to a room upstairs where we sat by a log fire and he told me of the difficulties he was facing and I explained a way that I might yet be able to help him.

  A week later I returned to Egypt to close off my final business transactions there, and watched the papers anxiously for any fresh news on the Olympics. Incredibly, it seemed that the decision had been made to hold the Games in Athens without so much as consulting the Greek government, who had precious little money to spare on something so potentially frivolous as an Olympiad. Because of this, the Hungarian government had stepped in and offered to host the inaugural games themselves, with the condition that a top ranking Budapest official be given a position of authority alongside Vikelas. Any such move would of course have involved the removal of Pierre from the proceedings, the very idea of which devastated him.

  ‘This is exactly the reason I wanted to wait until 1900,’ he told me that evening at Jure’s party in Paris as we became gradually more and more drunk on wine; his mood was tense but he was trying not to believe that the worst could in fact happen. ‘We aren’t ready. Athens isn’t ready. Budapest certainly isn’t ready. If we only had a few more years to prepare we could make everything perfect. As things stand, I can see this whole dream just vanishing into thin air.’

  I saw this as my opportunity to make amends with Celine for the unhappiness I had caused her in her life. If she heard that I had helped her brother fulfil his ambition, perhaps she could then forgive me for the unhappiness I had caused her in her own life. I did not expect a reconciliation – nor was I sure that I even desired one – but I felt then as now that I must pay my debts and not cause hurt to people unnecessarily. I had damaged my wife; now I had an opportunity to help her brother. It seemed only right that I should do so.

  Pierre arranged a meeting between the two of us and Crown Prince Constantine, who had already set up various committees aimed at generating funds for the Games and we discussed different plans for making sure that they stayed in Athens. Afterwards, I travelled to Egypt once again and arranged an appointment with Georges Averoff, one of the most important businessmen in the country. He was a well-known benefactor to various Greek causes, having paid for the building of the Athens Polytechnic, the military academy and the juvenile prisons among other places of common good. I had met him many times over the course of the previous few years and, while it was well known that he had the means to support a project such as this, we had not enjoyed a good relationship during my time there. I had made the error in judgement of giving an interview to a local newspaper regarding building plans within the city and had been critical of some of Averoff’s holdings. Although we were both engaged in very similar projects, he was a much wealthier man than I – in interest alone he earned an annual income which came to about half of my capital. I was in poor form at the time and had foolishly felt threatened by the constant signs of ‘Averoff throughout Alexandria and elsewhere, where I wanted to see the name ‘Zéla’. I felt personally affronted that I myself was not afforded the respect and admiration of the populace which flowed so easily towards the great entrepreneur. And so I had made light of some of his buildings, going so far as to call his trademark high windows and rococo finishes a blight on a great city, a pock-mark on the face of modern Alexandria. I said more than that too but it was all childish stuff and unworthy of me. One of Averoff’s people came to see me shortly afterwards and told me that while they were not going to take any action against me at that time, Averoff would appreciate it if I never spoke his name to a media body again, and I was so embarrassed by the way that the newspaper had portrayed me as a shallow, childish simpleton that I complied immediately. So, naturally, I was not particularly looking forward to meeting with him, cap in hand, and asking for help.

  We met in his office on a Saturday morning in mid-1895. He sat behind a large mahogany desk and came out to shake my hand warmly when I arrived, which surprised me. His grey hair had turned completely white since I had last seen him and I couldn’t help but think that he looked a little like the American writer Mark Twain.

  ‘Matthieu,’ he said, guiding me to a comfortable sofa, across from which he sat in an armchair. ‘It’s good to see you again. How long has it been?’

  ‘A year or so,’ I said nervously, wondering whether I should apologise immediately for my previous behaviour or simply pretend that it had never taken place. A man in his position, with his responsibilities, was surely too busy to remember every single slight, every word which was said against him, I reassured myself, eventually deciding to let it go. ‘At the Krakov party, if I remember correctly.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Terrible thing that happened there, wasn’t it?’ (Petr Krakov, a government minister, had been shot dead only a few weeks earlier on the street outside his house. No one had yet claimed responsibility, but there was talk of underground involvement, which surprised everyone, for this was not a city of violence.)

  ‘Awful,’ I said, nodding my head piously. ‘Who knows what kind of business he was involved in? A most unhappy end.’

  ‘Well, let’s not speculate,’ he said quickly, as if he knew only too well. ‘The truth will out sooner or later. Idle gossip will get us nowhere.’ I looked at him and wondered whether this was a dig or not but decided against, for the moment anyway. His desk was littered with framed photographs and I asked whether I might take a look at them. He assented with a smile and a wave of his hand.

  ‘That is my wife, Dolores,’ he said, indicating a smiling woman who was ageing gracefully by his side. Her features were fine and I could tell that she must have been a great beauty in her youth, and perhaps the kind of woman who becomes completely stunning when she reaches her natural middle age. ‘And those are my children. And som
e of their wives and children.’ There were a lot of them and I could see a glowing pride in his face as he showed them to me, which I envied. He lived a similar life to me, Georges Averoff; we were both entrepreneurs, we had both made a lot of money, we were both intelligent businessmen, and yet somehow this aspect of life had escaped me. I wondered how it was that after so many failed marriages and relationships I had yet to father a child or begin a happy family such as he had. Perhaps it was true; perhaps there really was only one woman for every man and I had already lost her. Not that I could have ever hoped to have kept her.

  ‘So,’ he said with a smile as we sat back down across from each other, ‘what did you want to see me about?’

  I explained the events of the past few months with Georges, telling him about Pierre’s brilliant plans and how they looked increasingly likely to be spurned. I showed him the letter from Crown Prince Constantine, urging him to help us, and repeated the series of disasters which had led to the possibility of a Hungarian Games. I appealed to his sense of patriotism, stressing how important the Games would be for Greece but, in truth, I did not have to speak for long for he almost immediately gave in.

  ‘Of course I will help,’ he insisted, opening his arms wide. ‘This is a great thing which is taking place. I will do everything I can. But tell me, Matthieu, why are you so concerned? You are not Greek, are you?’

  ‘I’m French.’

  ‘Yes, I thought as much. So why are you going to so much trouble to help the Greeks and de Coubertin anyway? It seems curious to me.’

  I looked at the floor for a moment, wondering whether I should explain the truth to him or not. ‘Some years ago,’ I said eventually, T married the sister of Pierre de Fredi. We are still married, to tell you the truth. And I treated her ...’ I searched for an appropriate word, ‘... badly. I spoiled what could have been a wonderful relationship and hurt her. I do not like hurting people, Georges. I am trying to make amends.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘And are you trying to win her back?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t my original plan anyway. I simply wanted to help her in some way. Although we have, of course, been thrown together a little in this matter once again and there are some feelings which have resurfaced. When we came back into contact again, she did me a great service. I have a nephew, Thorn, who has not had an easy life. His father died in violent circumstances when he was a baby and his mother took to the bottle. He came to visit me when he was released from prison earlier this year for a minor offence and he was in desperate need of some stability. Celine very kindly agreed to give my nephew a job in her offices, helping with the administrative duties, and it has come as a godsend to him as he needed money and something to do. For some reason, the boy refuses to have anything to do with me or accept anything from me but she has been an angel to him because of our old acquaintanceship. I think that I -’ I stopped short suddenly, hearing what I was saying. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly ‘You don’t want to hear any of this. I’m sorry to make myself sound so ridiculous.’

  He shrugged and gave a gentle laugh. ‘On the contrary, Matthieu,’ he said. ‘It is interesting to meet a man with a conscience. Unusual, even. Where did you come across it exactly?’ I looked at him in some amusement, unsure whether he was poking fun at me or not, no doubt thinking about the dispute we had had in the past. I suddenly respected him enormously and decided to tell him the truth.

  ‘I killed someone once,’ I said. ‘The only woman I ever really loved. And after that I swore I would never hurt anyone again. The conscience, as you put it, developed from there.’

  Averoff donated almost a million drachmas to the Olympic fund which was put towards the reconstruction of the Panathenaen Stadium, where the Games were to be held. The stadium had been built in 330 BC but had gradually disintegrated and ended up being completely covered up for several centuries. The Crown Prince erected a statue to Averoff outside, created by the famous sculptor Vroutos, as a mark of gratitude for his patriotism and generosity, and this was unveiled on the eve of the first day of the Games, 5 April 1896.

  I was excited by the ease with which I had persuaded Averoff to help us. I had envisioned many months of careful discussion and planning, months which would have led us ever closer to the prospect of a Budapest takeover, and the fact that I could return within the week was seen as a great victory. Pierre got to keep his job, the Games were held in Athens, and I could make amends with Celine.

  ‘So,’ she said shortly after my return. ‘You were good for something after all. Have you seen how happy Pierre is? It would have killed him if we had lost the Games.’

  ‘It was the least I could do,’ I said. ‘I owed you, after all’

  ‘You did, that’s true.’

  ‘Perhaps -’ I began, wondering whether I should wait for a more romantic setting to introduce the topic of a reconciliation but deciding against. I have always been a firm believer in grasping the moment. ‘Perhaps we could -’

  ‘Before you say anything,’ said Celine quickly, looking slightly nervous as she interrupted me, ‘I think it’s high time that we began to sort out our marital arrangements.’

  ‘But that’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘I was thinking the exact same thing.’

  ‘I think we should divorce,’ she said firmly.

  ‘We should what?’

  ‘Divorce, Matthieu. We haven’t been together in several years, after all. It’s time to move on, don’t you agree?’

  I looked at her, stunned. ‘But what about all I’ve done for your brother?’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve devoted so much of my energy to helping him, to getting the Games for Athens. I’ve been a true friend to him during my time here. What about all the money I raised from Averoff?’

  ‘Well, you can marry my brother if you feel so strongly about him,’ she said quickly. ‘I need a divorce, Matthieu,’ she said. ‘I’ve ... I’ve fallen in love with another and we wish to marry.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. My pride was hurt. ‘Well, can’t you wait awhile?’ I begged. ‘See whether either of these relationships work out before deciding to -’

  ‘Matthieu, I need to marry this man. Soon. It’s imperative.’

  I frowned, wondering what she could mean by this, before my mouth fell open and I looked her up and down. ‘You’re with child?’ I asked and she blushed, nodding quickly. ‘Good God,’ I said, amazed, as it was the last thing I would have expected from her. ‘And who’s the father, might I ask?’

  ‘I think it’s for the best if you don’t.’

  ‘I believe I have the right!’ I shouted, mortally offended by the idea of my wife being impregnated by another. ‘I shall kill whoever it is!’

  ‘ Why?’ she screamed. ‘You cheated on me, we split up, that was three years ago. I chose to move on. I’ve fallen in love. Can’t you understand that?’

  Over her shoulder I spied a portrait on her desk, a gilt-framed picture of her with a handsome, dark haired young man, smiling happily, their arms wrapped around each other. I walked towards it and picked it up, my face draining of blood as I realised who I was looking at. ‘It can’t be ...’ I said and she shrugged.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matthieu,’ she said. ‘We became very close, that’s all. We fell in love.’

  ‘Obviously. I don’t know what to say to you, Celine. You shall have your divorce, of course.’ I put the picture down and left the room. Shortly afterwards, our decree came through. Seven months later, I heard that she had given birth to a baby boy, and six months after that I saw my nephew’s name listed in the dead of the Boer War for he was a British subject, and had been enlisted into the army, and wondered whether she would be able to cope once again with life on her own. I would have got in touch but by then my life had led me in a completely different and unexpected direction and, anyway, sometimes one has to leave the past where it belongs.

  Chapter 12

  May-June 1999

  Things changed at work a lit
tle too quickly for my liking. For one thing, the simplicity of my life, my very solitude, was destroyed when I found myself in the position of responsibility which I had been hoping to avoid. Two of James’s ex-wives turned up at the funeral in widow’s weeds; neither of them shed a tear, nor did they attend the wake afterwards, but they seemed very friendly towards each other for two women who had been vying for extra money for several years and whose alimony payments had just come to an abrupt end. Some of his children were there, although the ones from whom he was estranged were notable by their absence. I spoke an oration in the church, citing his professionalism and excellence at his job as reasons why our business would suffer without him, and our own personal friendship as a reason why I would. It was brief, to the point, and I hated delivering it, knowing only too well the manner in which my former managing director had met his death and feeling like a hypocrite as I pretended otherwise. Alan put in an appearance, looking extremely agitated, but P.W. had already disappeared off to his home in the south of France, leaving his daughter Caroline with his power of attorney.

  At the wake, I ended up in conversation with Lee, James’s son and, within a few minutes, I wished that I could feign illness and return home immediately. He was tall, gangly lad of about twenty-two, and I had been watching him for some time, as he appeared to be working the room quite professionally, with a few words or a joke for everyone. He did not appear to be behaving like a son in mourning. He was full of jokes and cheer and was refilling everyone’s glasses as he moved around.

  ‘It’s Mr Zéla, isn’t it?’ he asked me when it came to my turn for an interview. ‘Thank you for coming. You said some very nice things in the church.’

  ‘I could hardly have stayed away,’ I said quietly, looking at his straggly blond hair with distaste and wondering why he could not have shaved for this day or at least got a haircut. ‘I had a lot of respect for your father, you know. He was a very talented man.’