At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  Arthur was standing with his back to the door, his luxuriant grey hair out of place, and it seemed almost as though he was begging. Before him sat a man Adam did not recognise. He looked poor and out of place and he was clutching an old brown leather briefcase to his chest. Adam would guess he must have been about fifty-five. A small man, he wore a wispy intellectual beard and a look of quiet defiance.

  – For the last time. You must leave here. You haven’t got an appointment and you haven’t got a solicitor. I can’t let you talk with my barristers.

  – I will not be leaving. I am used to waiting. I can wait.

  – For God’s sake, go!

  – I will not be leaving. I must see him.

  – I’m not going to go round in circles with you any longer. I shall call the police.

  A look of alarm crossed the man’s face. Then:

  – I will not be leaving. I am used to waiting.

  Arthur seemed to have met his match. Adam could see that the man shared not only an ethnic background with his clerk but also his obstinacy.

  – What’s going on here, Arthur?

  – I’m very sorry about this, Mr Falling. But this … gentleman is insistent that he must speak with you. I can’t get him to leave.

  – Well, I’m afraid it’s out of the question.

  At the mention of Adam’s name the man’s face lit up.

  – Mr Falling, I must have a speak with you.

  – It’s out of the question, I’m afraid, Mr …?

  – Hoffer.

  – Mr Hoffer. You heard what Arthur said. We are simply not allowed to see members of the public without appointments and without solicitors.

  – But I have come a long way today to see you.

  – If you want advice you must contact a solicitor and then the solicitor can make an appointment for you to see me.

  – I do not want advice. I want help. And it is not help for me.

  This was getting out of hand. Adam did not have the mental energy for riddles, and other thoughts were swimming through his mind.

  – I really don’t follow. Why do you want to see me?

  – I thought you would recognise me.

  – Why on earth should I recognise you?

  – You dealt with my case on the tribunal.

  Adam looked at the man afresh and tried to place him. He had dealt with hundreds of cases. Hoffer had risen to his feet and put down the briefcase. He squared up to Adam and stood as would a man before a tribunal, smoothing down the fronts of his jacket pockets as though awaiting the passing of a sentence. Yes, there was a vague familiarity now.

  – You are from Czechoslovakia?

  – You remember me? Yes. I am a doctor. You were very good to us. Friends said to us to expect Grade “A” or “B” but you graded me “C”.

  It was coming back to him now. Hoffer and his wife had been before him at around the turn of the year. They’d boarded a boat in Gibraltar, swung out into the Atlantic to avoid the mines, and eventually swung back to land at Liverpool. From there a train had taken them to London where they were put up at the Empress Hall in Earls Court pending their appearance before Adam. He had the power to grade them “A” which would have meant internment, “B” – restrictions on their freedom, travel bans and a prohibition on the ownership of cameras or large scale maps – or “C” – friendly and to remain at liberty. Adam did not like the xenophobia of the popular press at the time, and saw the man for what he was: harmless and scared; his dignity almost off him.

  – I’m afraid that I was acting in a judicial capacity then. I cannot act for you in connection with that. You must go.

  – I have taken days to find out where you worked. You have a very nasty cough.

  – Why have you come to me?

  – Because you were kind to us.

  – I can do no more for you. Your case is over. I have graded you “C”. You should be grateful that I did so.

  – I do not come for myself. I come for Tomas Novak.

  – Why can he not come and speak for himself?

  – He is in prison. He is in very great danger.

  – He has been interned?

  – No. He is in prison. They say he is a spy. But he is not a spy. They took him away three days ago. He has told some silly little lies.

  – Shall I call the police, Mr Falling?

  – No, Arthur. Mr Hoffer. I will speak with you but there is little that I can do.

  Adam was grateful, in a way, to find someone who had more serious problems than he himself, and so he invited the man up to his room.

  – You shouldn’t be doing this, sir.

  – I am not seeing him as a client, Arthur. I won’t be charging anyone for my time.

  Hoffer told him about Novak. They had met soon after his tribunal hearing. Hoffer had managed to find work in a bookshop and Novak used to frequent it, browsing the shelves but never buying. The two Czechs became friends. He soon learnt that Novak had evaded the immigration authorities and had not declared himself. Buoyed by his own experience at Adam’s hands, Hoffer had attempted to persuade him to declare himself. Novak would not. He feared that he would inevitably be interned or deported. When Churchill came to power in May 1940 and much of Adam’s work was undone, he was confirmed in that view, and with each passing day it became more difficult for him to come forward. He found what work he could from black marketeers and received pauper’s wages. And then in mid-December the knock came at the door and he was taken into custody. The authorities appeared to have very specific information that a Tomas Novak had entered the country a few days earlier and was living in the street he in fact lived in. His first lie was to say that he had indeed just arrived in the country, thus confirming official suspicions. When he tried to change his story to say he had been in the country for some ten months, that simply increased his unreliability in police eyes. It had been impossible for him to get any alibi evidence as, should any others come forward, they would have to explain why they had not informed the authorities of him earlier. Hoffer did not know where the original intelligence leading to his arrest had come from.

  – It has to be a mistake. Tomas is harmless. All the time I knew him he did nothing wrong. He is a fool but he is not a spy.

  – As a tribunal chairman Adam had to know about the Treachery Act, passed when Churchill came to power:

  “If, with intent to help the enemy, any person does, or attempts or conspires with any other person to do any act which is designed or likely to give assistance to the naval, military or air operations of the enemy, to impede such operations of His Majesty’s forces, or to endanger life, he shall be guilty of felony and shall on conviction suffer death.”

  Novak was in very serious trouble. There was no alternative to the death penalty on conviction. No pleas for leniency could be heard. Adam thought of Preston and his little briefs wrapped in white tape. An hour or two’s reading before bed. Easier than shelling peas. Hundred per cent success rate. Preston, polished and gleaming. A quick trial at the Bailey and then off to the Café de Paris.

  – But what do you want me to do about it?

  – Will you represent him?

  – I’ve never done a spy trial before. There must be others who would be able to provide more help than I.

  – I trust you. I know you will be fair.

  – You will have to see a solicitor for Mr Novak.

  – He won’t be able to pay you much. I can try and collect some money to cover your fees … I don’t remember your chest being so bad.

  Adam should have stopped him there. His mind was beginning to wander back to the church, to Julia. But he was tired and it was easier to say yes to the man. He needed distraction. Distraction? Not the right word.

  – Do you know when he is likely to be tried?

  – About four weeks’ time.

  Four weeks! He would probably be in need of his own solicitor by then. He gave Hoffer the names of three solicitors whom he thought might be able to assist, a
nd then said his goodbyes. It was late and he should be getting home. Instead, he went back to the church.

  Chapter Ten

  (21st October 1936)

  Julia had opened the door to him, smiling. She was wearing the white silk backless dress and looked more beautiful than ever.

  – I had to wrap it in my weeds to smuggle it out. It didn’t look very funereal. I couldn’t have explained it to Jeremy.

  Over her shoulder he saw two glasses of champagne sparkling on the dressing table, long blue velvet curtains pulled almost closed, and a large double bed.

  – You’re lovely. Thank you. I thought I was never going to get through to your room, you were permanently engaged.

  – I’m sorry. I was saying goodnight to the children. Usually I’m there to tuck them in. Did you have any trouble with reception?

  – No. They were fine. It was as you expected.

  – I’m not known here. Come in so I can shut the door. It’s good not to be known.

  Adam slipped in and put his coat – and the overnight bag concealed beneath it – down on the floor near the bed. She brought him a glass of champagne and they toasted themselves, she in the white dress, he in his striped trousers, his hair still slicked back from the wig. At their feet his coat and overnight bag. They kissed. Her tongue hard. Hard, her tongue. His hands explored her back and her sides. Time stood still and he told himself to remember every moment (although the following morning he could not). When eventually they drew apart she motioned to a silver platter of sandwiches over by the bathroom.

  – That nice Mr Forsyth on the desk got us some supper. We must do things properly.

  – I’ve never done anything like this before.

  – Neither have I … I’m scared, Adam.

  – I’m scared too.

  – I don’t know how I’m going to feel in the morning. I may never want to see you again.

  – That’s what scares me most of all.

  – Did you have a good journey across?

  – No problems at all. Disentangled myself from the others, messed up my bed to make it look slept in, and caught the first inconspicuous train I could out. Travelled first class so there was no chance of seeing anyone I know. There’s a train back at 6.30 tomorrow and I’ll be back in Bristol well before eight.

  – I’ll ring down later to book you a cab. Six a.m. should be fine. We have nearly nine hours then to ourselves. Let’s have some sandwiches.

  They sat down on the side of the bed, eating sandwiches, talking and drinking the champagne. Taking their time. By good fortune Adam had been on circuit at the time of the funeral. There had been little planning. Each knew the other’s movements. A word here, a sentence there sufficed. Impressionist brush-strokes. Wisps of paint creating the full picture of what they wanted to do – what they had to do, bringing them both to the Feathers. There was no talk between them of what was to happen during the nine hours of privacy they would have. No talk of love or tomorrow. Adam watched her as she ate, the silk shifting as she moved her arms, until presently they had finished. She brought her arm up behind him, caressing his hair, and they moved towards one another and kissed again. A gentle, familial embrace. He felt an urgency, like a migraine, in his skull and began pulling at her, trying to bring her fully onto the bed. But she resisted and rose to her feet.

  – Everything should be done properly, Adam.

  And standing before him, she brought forward her shoulders and shrugged her way out of the dress until she was standing naked except for a golden locket around her neck. He began unbuttoning his clothing until he was dressed only in his underwear, and getting to his feet he walked her round to the pillows, conscious of his obvious arousal. Julia looked at him with a warm, slightly amused smile as he made a courtly gesture and beckoned her to lie down.

  And then the phone rang. Julia picked it up in her usual voice and he could hear the tinny sound of Pemberton coming from the earpiece. After the usual courtesies – asking after her journey and the hotel –

  – And what are your plans for the evening, darling?

  – Well. I wasn’t sure what I should do. At first I thought I would go down and eat in the restaurant. But then I decided that sandwiches in the room would be much more pleasant in the circumstances.

  – Were the sandwiches good?

  – Oh. Very good. Cucumber … and salmon.

  – And what of the rest of the evening? It’s still quite early.

  – Well, I think I’ll turn the light out soon. It’s going to be a difficult day tomorrow.

  And so, without a beat, Julia spoke truthfully to her husband. Adam hoped that the conversation would end there but it did not. Jeremy had had a hard day in court and wanted commiserations from his wife. She gave them, speaking gently and with the right degree of concern or encouragement as necessary. As the conversation continued she climbed onto the bed to make herself more comfortable. Silently, to ensure he was not heard, and still wearing his underwear, he laid his head on her breast. He noticed that she had a little tummy that he had never seen when she was upright or dressed. She fondled his hair and carried on talking until Adam thought that the conversation would never end and he gradually drifted away.

  – Oh! He didn’t! I don’t know why anyone let him become a Judge …

  – But Jeremy, I’m sure you did everything you possibly could …

  – But how long could he possibly have cross-examined your client for? How very unfair …

  – I’m sure you did everything you possibly could …

  And gazing down at her nakedness, feeling her hand on his hair and half listening to one side of a conversation, he fell asleep.

  She was gazing down at him and rearranging his hair – as once he had seen her playing with Agnes’s curls – when he awoke. She smiled at him as he opened his eyes.

  – You really do need a haircut … and you look tired. I think you should come to bed.

  And she pulled back the blankets so that they could both climb inside.

  ****

  Hours later he awoke. It was very dark, and at first he was only aware of her breathing beside him. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he could see her, lying on her back beside him with the covers down. A line of silver from a thin moon gave her whole body a sheen. He reached over so that he could run his hand gently from her breasts down to her toes, and then watched her as she slept. Silent now, he remembered the sounds they had both made earlier. His alarm would go off at 5.15. Only four and a half hours’ sleep at most. And he did not want to sleep. He ran his hand up her side again and rested it on her and lay watching, willing himself to stay awake.

  The alarm caught him sleeping. He flailed about before finally stopping it. Julia was still where he had been gazing at her, and the ringing brought a fuzzy wakefulness to her. She didn’t speak as he got up and bathed quickly. He had fifteen minutes before his cab was due. She lay there, unmoving, watching him. As beautiful and as naked as she had been all night. Before dressing he leaned over her to kiss her. Looking down at her he tried to imagine that she was still wearing her dress, so that in future when he saw her dressed he would be able to imagine her naked. She raised a languid arm and put it around his neck.

  When he looked back on that moment he could never really remember what had happened next. Did he climb onto her or had she pulled him down? It was as though she had engulfed him and he was lost in her, their bodies touching at every point. Her hips shifted beneath him and he felt her ankles edge out around and over his feet to lock them together, pinioning him to her, her arms tight around his shoulders. He had a sensation of searing heat throughout his body, of being turned inside out. And then a deep sense of release. And peace.

  Five minutes perhaps, and then they lay quietened and still. His head against hers. Her hair wrapped around his face as he lay into the pillow. She whispered:

  – I love you.

  – I love you, too.

  And it was said. Adam felt his words in reply coming from
somewhere unexpected. The words themselves were unexpected. And although they had spent a long night together, it was as though that last was the first time.

  ****

  It was an early funeral. The party attending was small. Julia wore a black woollen dress with a high collar and long sleeves. A small black hat with a long veil covered her features entirely. She introduced herself to Beatrice’s companion and the two of them led the cortege. She bent her head and prayed during the service.

  Remembering her aunt. Thinking of her children. Of how soon she must introduce them to death. An onlooker would see only grief worn with dignity. Under the veil she was smiling:

  – I don’t feel any guilt. I don’t feel guilty at all.

  She said it to herself over and again.

  Checking out of the hotel, Mr Forsyth on the desk politely handed her a brown paper bag containing Adam’s underwear. They had found them wrapped up inside the blankets of her bed. She disposed of them on the way back to town.

  ****

  The sirens were beginning to sound. In the darkness of the Church the knights lay still and unsubstantial. Adam was thinking back on how he had felt as he climbed into the cab for Chippenham station that morning. Changed. Utterly changed. When Julia told him, subsequently, that she had felt no guilt, he realised that he hadn’t felt guilt either. He was so much without guilt that the possibility of it never struck him. In fact, there had been a deep joy, an elation to be lying against her as she, naked, spoke to her unsuspecting husband about the mundane evening that lay ahead of her.

  But it was an elation tinted dark from the start, for he had seen how easily she could dissemble and feared that one day she would lie to him. But then, after that night, he would know as and when she was doing so.