‘Is Manicki suspicious of me?’ she asked as they walked to the station.
‘Not of you so much, but of your situation. He thinks you could cause trouble.’
The blood surged into her cheeks. ‘I would never betray you. Or, say anything about you.’
If she had hoped for reassurance, it was not forthcoming. ‘None of us ever know,’ said Tomas.
When the station came into sight, he stopped. ‘Shall we make a promise?’ he said.
She searched his face. ‘If you like’.
‘Let us promise to be what we are. No politics between us. Just ourselves, enjoying this time. Yes?’
Her voice trembled. ‘Oh yes.’
He saw her onto the crowded train, kissed her lingeringly goodbye but said nothing about their next meeting.
She watched the countryside slide past and slowly change from the pastoral to the Prague suburbs where the twelve-storey paneláks, or housing units, some three hundred metres long, rose drearily above the plain.
Was anyone watching her? The woman in the headscarf, the teenager with a bruise on his cheek? The man sitting next to her smelt of garlic and could not have been less interested in Laure. Or, was that the impression he gave?
The habit of suspicion had taken root in Laure. It was, she reflected, irrelevant as to whether it was a good or a bad thing to have evolved. It had happened.
CHAPTER 19
BACK IN THE KOBES’ APARTMENT, LAURE UNPACKED HER rucksack and struggled to control her tears. She wanted to be at the chata, getting drunk, smelling the summer, listening to the birds. Most of all, she longed to be lying beside Tomas.
She stuffed the rucksack into the cupboard and sat down on the edge of the bed. In any life, she supposed, there were times when events did not seem quite real and could not be thoroughly explained. Perhaps the trick was not to try?
She got up and went over to the window. Propped on the sill where the light was best was the hand mirror she had picked up at the State-sponsored market stall in the Old Town. Handbag sized, with stupid shells stuck onto the handle, it was the only one available outside the family bathroom. Its smallness meant that she had to scrutinize one feature at a time. She examined her nose, her mouth, the hair falling over her right shoulder.
Her experience with Rob Dance taught her that falling in love put you at a disadvantage. It destabilized sense and splintered sensibility. It provided no answers and had a big signpost with ‘Humiliation’ written on it. But, perhaps, Tomas had seen something behind her gooseberry-coloured eyes of which she was not yet aware? An intelligence? For sure, it wasn’t worldliness but, maybe, he had detected an instinct, growing stronger by the day, not to conform but to question.
Perhaps Tomas liked the fact that she was more-or-less a blank sheet, something that he would have spotted at once?
The questions went back and forth.
To be with Tomas was a risk that she would end up again under that signpost. She was not of his world. Other women were interested in him; a fact that made her feel sick. She needed to learn discretion and guile, not necessarily a given with a woman from Brympton.
By the time she had pursued those lines of thought to their logical conclusion, she was convinced that her time with Tomas had been quite lovely but that was it. It was unlikely to go further.
She flung herself down on the bed and buried her face in the pillow.
Please, please, she prayed, don’t let it be that Tomas was using me. Or, not entirely.
The not terribly pleasant smell of the soap with which the household linen was laundered was all pervasive and she grabbed the T-shirt she had worn with Tomas. To her starved senses, it smelt of sun, of sex, of pines and of… him.
She rolled over and stared at the ceiling. At the back of her mind lurked a warning. However hurt and ragged she had been left by Rob, it was nothing to the tumult that awaited her.
Twisting a lock of her hair between her fingers, she looked up at the window. How puzzling life could be – and how she loved it.
The apartment was stifling, especially at night.
Eva was a cause of increasing concern. Since her stomach bug, she had become more reclusive, keeping to her bedroom for long periods. On a couple of occasions when Laure asked her for instructions, she told Laure it was up to her, which made her uneasy and more than a little apprehensive.
‘Are you sure you wish me to make these decisions?’ she asked, determined that matters were clear cut.
Eva’s reply was slurred. ‘Haven’t I said?’
It became clear that the children were suffering from their mother’s lack of interest. Maria cried for no obvious reason and Jan was noticeably truculent. Concerned about them, Laure decided to tackle Petr.
She chose her moment after the evening meal. Eva and the children had gone to bed and she asked Petr if she could have a word. ‘Sure,’ he said and carried his tankard of beer into the room favoured by the family for sitting in.
Petr put down the beer, flung wide the window and leant out, seemingly absorbed by the vista through which featured old roofs and church spires. Laure wondered if she had misunderstood and made a move to go.
‘Stay,’ he said, without looking round.
‘I’m interrupting your evening.’
‘A little. But you need to discuss something.’
In the daytime, the room was also used by the children and their things were stacked at one end of the room. Like the rest of the apartment, the room had beautiful proportions with a Bohemian glass chandelier hanging from an elaborately plastered ceiling. The pity was, as with most places she had been into, the paintwork was in its last stages and the furnishings, which included plastic chairs and a sofa from which the innards were spilling, were minimal.
Laure addressed his back. ‘I wanted to ask.’ She cleared her throat and went to the point. ‘Is your wife getting worse? It’s not my business.’ No, it bloody isn’t. Yes, it is. She ploughed on. ‘I think she might be.’
Petr turned around from his contemplation of the city. As usual, he was well dressed and groomed but he looked bone tired. ‘Have you talked about this with the children?’
She approved of his instinctive reaction to protect them.
‘No. I thought if there was something wrong, it would need careful thought.’
He nodded. ‘Thank you. You’re both tactful and sensitive.’
Petr sat down on the ailing sofa and indicated that she should take a chair. ‘I should have consulted you earlier. My wife has been diagnosed with a serious illness.’ He didn’t specify what. ‘The doctors are organising treatment.’ He hesitated. ‘We were hoping to resume treatment in Paris but, as things have turned out, we will remain here for the next year. It was one of the reasons we asked you to stay with us.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Does that clear things up?’
It took a few seconds for Laure to appreciate what Petr was saying. ‘You wanted Mrs Kobes to have treatment in Paris?’
He looked away. ‘It was important.’
‘Oh God,’ said Laure. ‘I mean, I’m so sorry.’
Petr sighed. ‘We’ll see how we go. We may still get to Paris for the treatment. It depends on a lot of things. The authorities would have to give permission and I’m talking to them about it.’
Eva’s illness and treatment were not the topics with which to score a political point, but the ironies were certainly not lost on Laure. ‘It does clear things up.’ She glanced at her hands in her lap. ‘The children sense something is wrong. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to them?’
‘They miss Paris, which is to be expected.’
‘It’s deeper than that.’
‘Are you sure?’ But she could see he was nonplussed.
This apparent crack in Petr’s customary assurance fuelled the courage to speak. ‘They sense that their mother has withdrawn. Now you’ve told me the reason, I understand you don’t want to alarm them, but I wonder if you should try and explain.’ She added, ‘As soon as
possible. Children need reassurance.’
He made a face. ‘I won’t take that as a criticism.’
‘It isn’t a criticism, Mr Kobes.’
He looked at her. ‘We are friends, are we not? We are beginning to know each other quite well. You must call us Eva and Petr.’
‘Petr. The children are unsettled and it’s my duty to tell you.’
He seemed pleased with her intervention. ‘I’ll make it my business to spend more time with them. I could come on one of your afternoon outings.’
Laure didn’t hesitate. ‘They’d like that.’
‘That’s wonderful to hear. I’m so glad you brought the subject up.’
She made for the door. Petr picked up his beer. ‘It’s such a relief having you to talk to,’ he said. ‘A relief. No, it’s more than that, a pleasure.’
She knew that he was willing her back into the room, there to stay to talk and drink a beer with him. He was holding her gaze. Please.
‘I’m glad I can help,’ she said, desperate to be alone in order to think about Tomas. ‘Goodnight.’
The children lit up like Christmas trees when, the following afternoon, their father announced that he would accompany them to Kampa Park and vied to hold his hand as they plunged into the afternoon heat.
The park was on a false island adjacent to the Charles Bridge and sufficiently large for the children to run around. Crucially, said Petr, there would be shade.
In the sun, the river looked flat and burnished. Beyond it, the city shone, its greyness transmuted into pale pastel shades. At the entrance to the park, Petr said, ‘You go ahead, I’ll join you in a moment.’
Laure looked over her shoulder to see he was talking to a balding man in a navy-blue suit. ‘Apologies,’ he said when he re-joined them. ‘A colleague.’ She noticed, however, he was frowning.
‘I hope you don’t have a crisis at work,’ she said, more from politeness than anything else.
Petr frowned. ‘What would you know about it?’
Taken aback, she stammered, ‘I don’t.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to be so sharp. But no questions, yes?’
‘Of course.’
If the watchers worried that they were also watched, did that not constitute paranoia? Laure wondered. Whatever the explanation, the goodwill between them had dissipated.
They found a place to sit under the trees. Despite the heat, Jan kicked a ball around. Because it had been so hot, many of the trees had been shedding leaves prematurely and Maria jumped like a puppy in and out of the rustling heaps.
Petr made himself extra agreeable and asked her questions about home and her family. Laure thawed at his obvious efforts and answered in some detail. Every so often, the children called out to their father and to those calls he responded wholeheartedly. ‘They’re so fond of you,’ she said impulsively.
‘Thank you. Do you think they’ll settle?’
‘They miss Paris. Naturally.’ She waited for a moment. ‘They will forget. In part.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ He lit a French cigarette, not a Czech one, which she now recognized as a sign of privilege. ‘I’m hoping I might be able to take Eva back in the autumn.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Her illness is a strange one. The doctors can’t predict exactly what will happen.’ He undid his cuffs and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Greatly daring, she said, ‘You must be envied for your travelling.’
‘What makes you say that?’
She was provoked by his sharp response into replying, ‘I’ve met some people who can’t travel.’
‘Ah, the guys from Anatomie?’
Too late to bite back the words. ‘Actually, I’m not sure. The language problem… I don’t always understand what’s being said.’
He said in kindly way, ‘Conversation must be a little difficult. What do you manage to talk about?’
‘Not much,’ she said.
His eyebrow flew up but he appeared to take her wriggle at face value. ‘You know that women will hate you for being so friendly with them.’
She tried to not to reveal her elation. ‘But how do you get to travel to France or Italy from here?’
Again, the whiplash reaction. ‘Why?’ Petr ground out his cigarette carefully on the dry ground. ‘Are any of your friends thinking of taking a trip?’
‘I don’t think so.’
She focused on the river, reflecting that it, at least, was free to flow unhindered. ‘It’s seems so strange not to be able to visit Italy, say. Or Germany. Or Austria. That’s all.’
‘Austria…’ he echoed, and Laure had no idea of what he was thinking. Maria chose this moment to fling herself against her father’s knees. Petr ran his fingers through his daughter’s sweaty hair. ‘You must tell your friends that, if they are planning a trip, they must go through the proper channels.’
Thoroughly rattled, she replied, ‘They’re just musicians who like to sleep late. Musicians do.’
‘Perhaps, but I should warn you that Anatomie are thought to support Parallel Polis.’
Her alarm deepened. ‘I’ve no idea what that is.’
‘It’s a document written by a so-called philosopher. A Catholic.’ There was a hint of nostalgia in the way he pronounced ‘Catholic’. ‘He argues that everyone should ignore State institutions and form alternative, parallel structures. He approves of the musical underground. Anatomie is part of the musical underground.’
‘I don’t know anything about it.’
‘But you do. By association.’
‘Just because I see some friends doesn’t mean I agree with their views.’
‘This is Czechoslovakia, Laure.’
She recollected the man in the navy-blue suit to whom Petr had been talking earlier. Sure enough, when she looked around she spotted him loitering by the entrance to the Kampa, his jacket hooked onto a finger hanging down his back.
He looked bored and hot.
‘Do any of your friends talk about these subjects?’ Petr was persisting.
Jan was teasing Maria by throwing handfuls of leaves into her face. Maria wasn’t sure how to react. Petr called to Jan, ‘Be careful.’ He turned back to Laure. ‘I’m only asking because I’m curious. Having been away so long, I’m in danger of losing touch with what is going on in my own country.’
Laure was now doubly sure she must keep her mouth shut. ‘I don’t know. As I said, I don’t understand much.’
He turned towards her and, to her surprise, took her hand. Embarrassed and not a little alarmed, her instinct was to snatch it away. Finely shaped and well-manicured, it was a nice hand – but she didn’t wish it on hers.
‘I think you’re terrific.’ His voice was warm and reassuring. ‘Clever and thoughtful. What more could my children want?’
She felt herself going red and cast around. ‘Your friend is still here. Over by the entrance.’
He released her at once but his fingers left an impression on her flesh. Gesturing to the children, he said, ‘Don’t worry, you’re quite safe with me. I’m not going to take advantage of you.’
She didn’t answer but felt enormous relief.
‘But your friends must take care of themselves. They know what they are doing.’ He hesitated. ‘You should be aware, Laure, that they’re probably running big risks.’
Petr began to talk about the children. In the last few weeks, Maria had taken to goading her brother who displayed remarkable patience with the provocation. Laure offered her own insights, gained from having been with them these last weeks. Petr listened, questioned and seemed appreciative of Laure’s point of view.
‘You know them better than we do,’ he joked.
That’s right, she thought. ‘I don’t think so, Petr.’
‘Jan is a good boy,’ he said. ‘Before you came, he was a little difficult. You have settled him.’
The compliment was unexpected and pleased Laure. ‘I love them both.’
‘You’re par
t of the family.’
That made her uneasy. Yet, it also intrigued her. The trying-onthe-future-for-size kind of intrigue.
He turned towards her. She was tempted to edge away but he made no further move. ‘I’ve confided in you that Eva is ill. We think you’re perfect for the children and we are fond of you. But I wanted to tell you that we admire you for the way you have handled your own family situation. I mean, the death of your father.’
Jan chose that moment to abandon his new-found chivalry and to push over his sister. Laure leapt to her feet to deal with the carnage. Maria howled and Laure sat down on the grass. Gathering up the little body in her arms, she whispered comforting words and rocked her gently. ‘Don’t let him make you cry.’
Maria quietened. Laure stroked her curly head and dropped kisses on the top of her head. Glancing up, she intercepted a dazed, bewildered look on Petr’s face as he gazed on the tableau. It was as if he had been punched in the stomach and was struggling to work out what had happened.
When she returned the dirt-streaked, subdued Maria to her father, the conversation turned to other things.
From then on, Petr made a point of accompanying Laure and the children every so often on afternoon outings which pleased the children and their behaviour improved.
He was careful not to interfere, to listen to her opinions on the children and procured treats. A cake. A packet of biscuits… which they shared companionably between them in the hot afternoons.
Not infrequently, too, he requested Laure to join him after the evening meal when Eva was in bed and he talked about Paris and his childhood in Prague. He was curious about Laure’s childhood and upbringing and pressed her for details. But the conversation of Kampa Park was never repeated. If they did touch on politics, Petr would say something such as: ‘Let’s just keep to the big narrative’, and Laure was hyper-careful to appear ignorant about all matters Czechoslovakian.
CHAPTER 20
Berlin, 1996
PETR RECKONED THAT, ON BALANCE, THE BRITISH WERE probably not seriously interested in his presence in the city. However, having built up to hysterical proportions since the Second World War, the paranoia over Russia and the Eastern European countries would take time to subside and his known past contact with Laure would probably bump him up the list of persons of marginal interest. She would be reporting back.
The Museum of Broken Promises Page 22
