by A.D. Winch
Chapter 8 - The Meyer’s Cellar
The Range Rover skirted in and out of parked cars on the busy cobbled streets. They were on their way to the Meyer’s Prague residence. Ornate, old buildings, with impressive statues guarding the entrances, rose up from the pavements. They cast long shadows over the cars parked on the kerb. People out walking, welcomed the shade. It dropped the temperature and made being outside manageable. Neither Ursula nor Eric minded the heat and were looking forward to the car getting back into the sun.
Andrea reached the end of a street, so full of parked cars that the Range Rover could only just drive through, and turned left. Ursula could see a large LCD advertising board in the distance. Its bright images constantly flickered and it looked out of place against the old buildings. From the shady streets, they entered a small tree-lined lane which divided a town park into two. Children played happily amongst the trees, chasing each other with water pistols. Adults lounged in the sun, dressed only in bikinis and swimwear. They moved only to bronze one side of their bodies and then the other. Dogs stayed in the shade, their tongues hanging out of the side of their mouths as they tried to cool down.
Eric ignored them all. He was deep in his thoughts, and this was just another home for him. Ursula, on the other hand, was glued to her window, trying to take in as much as possible. Neither of them had looked out of the front window at the villa they were approaching. Eric it knew it had been built in eighteen seventy, but he didn’t care as it looked untouched by the decades that had followed. Tall, gabled windows and finely decorated awnings dominated the front of the building. In its centre was a sweeping staircase which rose up to a finely crafted wooden door on the first floor.
Andrea looped around a spluttering fountain and parked at the bottom of the staircase. At this moment, Ursula laid eyes on her new home. Her jaw hit the Range Rover floor, and she thought that there must have been some kind of mistake. Sighing as if bored, Eric lifted his eyes from his lap, glanced at Ursula and then at the villa.
Without addressing Ursula, he uttered, almost as a throwaway comment, “We only have the ground and first floors, the second floor and attic space belong to some Austrian aristocrat.”
Only the ground and first floor! thought Ursula.
She did not say anything in case she seemed over excited. It was still more than she had ever imagined or even dreamed of. She sat, stunned into silence and wished her grandparents could have been there with her.
As Andrea removed the suitcases from the boot, a loud clunk woke Ursula from her thoughts. She looked up to see that Eric was already bounding up the curved staircase to the front door. Feeling as if she was walking on air, Ursula got out of the car and followed.
None of the steps were cracked or broken, there was no litter covering the ground and no graffiti on the walls. They were no longer in Saint-Denis. For a moment, Ursula felt glad about this and then she was consumed with guilt at thinking such a thing.
The wooden doors were heavy but swung open silently on well-greased hinges to reveal an entrance hallway the length of a bowling alley. A Persian rug dominated the floor and above it a large chandelier reflected drops of sunlight around the room.
Silently, Andrea came up behind her.
“Downstairs is the lounge, kitchen, dining room, pantry, library and study,” she explained. “On this floor we have the bedrooms and bathrooms. Your room is at the end opposite the room of Eric.”
They walked down the hallway; past closed doors and a descending spiral staircase, to a white door with a brass handle. Andrea pushed it open with her foot to reveal Ursula’s room. It was the same size as her grandparents’ entire flat. A large, comfortable looking bed stood in the centre surrounded by wardrobes, a desk with a laptop and video phone, well-padded armchairs, a TV built into the wall and a library of books. Ursula had never seen such a room, and she was dumbstruck. Despite this feeling of awe, she felt the villa was missing something but she couldn’t think what.
When Andrea left, Ursula sunk into the bed and the answer slowly dawned on her. There was no life to the villa; in spite of its size and splendour, it was dead. No music blasting in from open windows and no smells of Mémé’s baking; no raised voices from next door and no revving of car engines below. From outside she heard a train whistle and a screech as it came to a halt.
Maybe I just have to give it a chance, she thought and hopped down from the bed to tell all to her grandparents via the videophone.
In the opposite bedroom, Eric had thrown his jacket on to the boxing glove bean bag next to a giant chess set and gone straight to the window. It was one of many homes, but he loved this house, and he especially loved the view. After pulling back the velvet curtains, he opened the tall window and stood admiring the vineyard and city beyond.
The grapes were now visible on the vines and would need to be picked in the next week or so. Baskets of juicy, green fruit would then be squashed and turned into wine, continuing an annual tradition that began in thirteen fifty-three when Charles IV had first planted the vineyard.
Even though he was only a child, his parents allowed him one mouthful of wine each week if he wanted. The thought of his parents made Eric feel suddenly empty. It made the bulging vineyard seem empty, and the villa feel empty. There were no sounds from downstairs - no singing from his mother or the noise of card playing from his father. Eight months! At that very moment, it really did feel like forever. However, once the PPP had cried off back to Paris, his parents would rush back. Eric was certain of this. A plan had formed in his mind during the journey from the airport. Once he was alone he would execute it.
After a Caesar salad lunch, on the terrace overlooking the vineyard, Andrea offered to take them into town to buy school materials and clothes. Placing a hand on his brow and rubbing his temples, Eric complained of a headache. He asked Andrea to get him whatever he needed, excused himself from the table and went to lie down on his bed.
Ten minutes later Eric heard the Range Rover roar into life and drive away. Without wasting a second, he left his bedroom and ran down the hallway to Andrea’s room. Even though he knew they had left, he still crept into her room on tiptoe.
No matter how many times he entered Andrea’s room, and he had visited many times since he was born, he still found it odd. The walls were white; the thin wardrobe was white, the desk was white and the computer was white. It did not contain a bed and never had; Andrea had always claimed she preferred sleeping on the floor. This minimal approach to furniture made his task much easier. All he had to do was find the key.
Sliding back the wardrobe door, he was greeted by a row of rock band T-shirts, black leather trousers and matching jackets. He expertly searched the pockets but found nothing. The desk was also empty but underneath it, hidden under a metal bin, was a white safe. A panel on its door contained a touch pad with the numbers zero through to nine and a mini LCD screen displaying four asterisks. Eric did the maths in his head. Ten different digits for a four digit code would mean ten times ten times ten times ten or ten thousand possible combinations. Andrea’s shopping trips normally lasted three hours or one hundred and eighty minutes or ten thousand eight hundred seconds. Therefore, if he could input one code every one point zero eight seconds, he should be in the safe before they returned. He pressed zero, zero, zero, zero with the speed of a machine gun, his fingers a blur over the touch pad. Nothing happened. He moved onto zero, zero, zero, one and kept going. Three and a quarter minutes later the safe was open. The code was his birthday, and he kicked himself for not trying obvious codes first.
Eric first found some hand-written books and then a map of southern and eastern Europe. The map was covered in scribbles, and one of the books was bursting with scraps of paper trying to escape. Next to them was a piece of rock and the keys he was searching for. Eric grabbed them and ran downstairs. He sprinted into the kitchen past the lunch dishes above the dishwasher and through the door
at the rear. The pantry was a small, windowless room which was always cool. It smelled so tasty it always made him hungry. Pickles, wines, conserves, preserves, cured meat and smoked fish lined the walls, but Eric was looking for another food item - one that looked real but was never to be eaten. Eric felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.
About one metre from the ground, in the corner shadows of the room, was a large, Hungarian salami. It was next to an old shelving unit which contained nothing but dust. The salami hung from a string on a nail. However, when Eric removed the loop from the nail the salami did not move. Eric put both hands on top of the salami and pushed down. It swung outwards and he could hear cogs grinding. The empty shelving moved away from the wall, and Eric felt that his heart was ready to jump out his chest. Suddenly he felt cold but he also knew that he was sweating.
Behind the shelving unit was a steel plated door. Eric slid the key into the lock and turned. The lock mechanism groaned, gave way and opened. The door was made of concrete twenty centimetres thick, and had four chunky pins that moved when the key turned. Perspiration ran down Eric’s brow into his eyes, and his hands began to tremble. The last time he had seen this door open he had been six. Not knowing what had laid beyond it, he had entered, and the door had closed behind him. It had been Andrea’s day off. For eighteen hours he had been trapped but his parents had not noticed. It was Andrea who found him; cold, hungry, thirsty and wet through.
Scarred by this memory, and worried that Ursula and Andrea may return sooner than expected, he retreated back upstairs quickly. The keys were put back; the safe locked and he returned to his room feeling much better. A little while later he heard the front door open, and two sets of footsteps entered the villa.
After knocking lightly on Eric’s door, Andrea entered. She touched his brow and commented that he was ‘clammy.' They talked briefly and, once satisfied that Eric was feeling better, she left. Through squinting eyes, Eric watched as she was replaced by the PPP.
Ursula stood in Eric’s doorway, wary of going any further into his bedroom.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked while looking at her feet.
“Yes, thank you,” mumbled Eric, clenching his eyes shut.
There was a long silence, neither of them knew what to say next.
“Do you want to show me...,” started Ursula
“Shall I show you...,” began Eric.
They both finished by saying, “Around?”
“Yes,” they said in chorus.
Eric rose from his bed with only one thought on his mind.
“How about upstairs first and then downstairs?” suggested Ursula.
Eric was being friendly, but something did not feel right. She felt uneasy but was unsure why.
“An excellent idea,” replied Eric.
When they got downstairs Eric led Ursula straight to the kitchen and into the pantry. The large, concrete door was still open as he had left it, and nothing had been touched. Andrea had not been down here yet. Drops of sweat formed on his brow and goose-bumps appeared over his arms. At the same time, Ursula started to feel genuine fear but did not know why.
“This is our cellar,” announced Eric, tripping over his words as he said them. “We have pinball machines at the bottom of the stairs in there and a table tennis table. Do you want to play? I would.”
He stood by the doorway and beckoned Ursula in. Everything he had said was a lie, and for a second or two Ursula did not move. The situation did not feel right, she did not feel right, but Eric seemed to be making an effort. In the end, she nodded and approached him.
“After you,” he said and invited her through the open doorway with an outstretched arm. “There is a light switch five metres in, could you turn it on, please? I don’t like the dark.”
Cautiously Ursula entered the very dim passage. She wanted to impress Eric with her lack of fear and so walked tall without turning back. Every footstep she took seemed to reduce the faint beam of light entering the cellar. Before she had walked five metres, there was a loud slam like a bass drum being struck. The door shut, and she was plunged into darkness.
Outside the door, Eric pulled the salami up, watched as the shelving unit closed against the wall and then walked out of the pantry and back to his room, whistling.
Ursula waved her hand in front of her face. She could not see it. She shouted but knew no one would hear. Strangely, now that she was alone, she no longer felt scared. A wave of calm washed over her, and she waited patiently for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Gradually her eyes began to make out shapes and, about twenty-five metres ahead, she could see white light in the outline of a rectangle. It was not bright, but it was enough to encourage her to go nearer. Gingerly, she placed a foot forward into the black and began to walk. Every few paces the corridor would turn slightly, and she brushed against the cool brick walls. The faint outline grew stronger, acting as a beacon and pulling her forwards. When she arrived at the light, she discovered it was around a door and came from the room beyond. Relying on touch, she moved her hands around the door until she found a stiff, metal handle. She pushed it down. The door squeaked on its hinges and slowly opened. Instantly the light went out, and Ursula stood, once more, in darkness.
She pushed the door fully open and stepped through to the other side. A chilly blast of air pushed its way past her and down the corridor. Below she heard a low, whirring sound which dominated the whole room.
“Hello,” she shouted out. “Eric!”
Her words echoed in the blackness. This room was large - far larger than any of the rooms upstairs. Ursula couldn’t see how big but it was definitely bigger than any subway she had walked through.
Cautiously she put a foot out. It came down on the edge of an irregular stair. She stepped down and then again. Taking only small, careful steps she negotiated the stairs. There was no handrail, and she sensed that there was nothing on either side of the stairs. With each step that she took she counted. At seventy-one, there was no stair. It seemed she had reached the ground or a platform or a floor. She stepped forward then took another step and then another.
Suddenly her foot hung in the air; the floor had vanished, and she found herself off balance, unable to stop herself from toppling forward. Rather than fall like a stone she pushed off with her other foot, sprung away from the invisible platform and somersaulted in the air. She was still falling but, when she came out of the spin, she was falling feet first. Before she hit the ground, she hoped she would sense it and bend her knees to protect herself. She never had to. Unexpectedly, two petite but strong arms caught her.
“I will take you back upstairs,” said Andrea matter-of-factly, as if nothing had happened.
Keeping hold of Ursula, she walked back up more than seventy-one stairs, through the doorway where Ursula had seen the light and along the corridor to the thick concrete door. After placing Ursula back on the floor, she pushed something on the wall, and the door opened. Bright light streamed into the darkness and temporarily blinded Ursula. Andrea pushed her gently into the pantry.
“The cellar is out of bounds,” said Andrea and closed the door between them.
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