At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  Blytheway’s apparently insouciant intervention had been highly effective and now Pemberton was reeling. But he had upped the ante. The tension was mounting. The sound of the war outside seemed to be fading away but the crypt was getting hotter and hotter and Adam sensed sweat trickling down his back.

  – What business is any of this of yours?

  – Now that’s a very interesting question. But you musn’t blame yourself for what happened almost twenty years ago. We were both very ambitious and worked long hours. You couldn’t be at home as much as you may have wanted to be. I only had myself to look after of course.

  – You’re still sore at failing to get silk. That’s it, isn’t it?

  – Oh. Not at all. The ways of the Lord Chancellor are more mysterious than those of God. He seems to be positively wilful when I look at some of his appointments. It would have been nice to have the clothes that go with it all the same. I would have liked silk – as a material that is.

  Blytheway seemed to be enjoying himself and Adam sensed that, under the surface of these exchanges, some other conflict was being played out. He was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He heard muffled shouting from beyond the safety of the crypt.

  – You seem to forget that His Majesty’s Counsel are expected to show high moral standards as well as learning in the law, Blytheway.

  Blytheway sighed.

  – I do wish you’d call me Roly, Jeremy. As to morality, my conscience is absolutely clear. Didn’t we study Hume’s Treatise of Human Nature at about the same time?

  – It’s not just a matter of morality. It’s a matter of law.

  – Do you know, that’s strange. Adam and I found ourselves having a similar debate in my Chambers just over an hour ago. But speaking of “law”, did you read that report in the Times the other week? That Labour MP. Joseph Clynes, was it? He described the black market as “treason of the very worst kind”.

  Blytheway’s tone of voice had not changed at all from his first observations on coming down into the crypt, whilst Pemberton was becoming increasing fractious. He changed the subject.

  – I take it from your last remarks that you will be representing Falling?

  – If it pleases him.

  – I have retained Sir Patrick Tempest.

  – As I expected. Ah. The “all clear” is sounding. I think we can all now go home. Do you mind if I take my candle with me?

  And he rose elegantly, brushed himself down again, and picked up the candle.

  – I trust you are content to represent a member of the Bar who is without Chambers?

  – Oh, but he isn’t, Jeremy. You see, Adam is joining me in Lamb Building. I think he’ll make a splendid addition to our numbers.

  – He’ll do your Chambers’ reputation no good at all.

  – Oh, don’t be silly. People should move Chambers more often in my opinion. Particularly if they are unhappy or their set has its failings. It will come to pass. Mark my words.

  Adam felt a sigh of relief as he followed Blytheway out of the crypt. The tension in the room behind him began to dissipate. Pemberton’s voice followed after him.

  – I hope you managed to move all your books safely, Adam?

  – Yes. Thank you, Jeremy.

  – I made an inventory of them, just in case there were any problems.

  – There were no problems.

  Jones had kept very quiet. If anything, he felt more uncomfortable than Adam.

  – I think you’ll regret this retainer, Jones.

  – Good night, Mr Pemberton, sir.

  And they were back outside the church. It was covered in a fresh coat of dust and smoke was rising from the roof. A fresh breeze blew over them. There was dust and ashes in the air. Blytheway nipped the wick of his candle and bowed to Adam and Jones.

  – Well then, Adam. That was fun wasn’t it?

  – I don’t know what to say.

  – As you see, sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to do.

  – Those things we were discussing when we left chambers …

  – Sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to do.

  – What do you think of Sir Patrick Tempest?

  – We’ll have to be very careful with him, my dear. A dangerous opponent. I must speak with Alnwick about him.

  – Francis Alnwick?

  – Oh, didn’t I mention it? Mrs Pemberton has retained him. I think she has been sold a pup by that husband of hers.

  – Don’t you rate him?

  – Oh, he’s competent enough. But I doubt that mere competence is going to be sufficient here. What’s needed here is honest cruelty. Few of us have that.

  – What do you mean?

  – Forgive me, Adam, but I suspect that it is something that you do not possess. Please don’t take this the wrong way but I don’t think you are entirely honest, with yourself or with others for that matter. Nor do I think you are entirely cruel. If that’s any consolation?

  – I don’t understand …

  – I fear that you are, for all your undoubted substance, insufficiently ruthless. Believe me. If a forensic dagger comes into my hands I shall not hesitate to plunge it in and twist it … courteously of course.

  Footsteps were sounding on the stairs from the crypt and Blytheway ushered Adam and Jones around to the other side of Lamb Building out of the view of Pemberton and the others as they emerged.

  – Well. We’ll have to see if we can find time to meet again tomorrow.

  – Are you sure I can join your Chambers?

  – Consider it done. I have more influence than perhaps you realise. Now Mr Jones can instruct you properly on those other two cases you’re worried about.

  – How do you know about that!?

  – Eyes and ears, sweetheart. Eyes and ears. Tempest will be a worthy opponent. Goodnight, gentlemen.

  And he turned crisply and headed back up to his room in Chambers. Adam and Jones walked together through Cloisters. Smoke was rising from extinguished fires at 3, Hare Court. They walked on up to Dr Johnson’s Buildings, where they parted. The air was crisp and the sky clear. Silvery clouds drifted east and there was a hint of cordite on the wind. Snowflakes of ash were floating around in eddies, and from beyond the Temple the red glow of fires around the docks.

  ****

  Jones watched Adam disappear up the stairs into Dr Johnson’s Buildings and then headed back towards Fetter Lane. As he left Fleet Street and made his way north back to his offices, he pondered the events of an extraordinary day. He had hoped to have an opportunity to talk to Adam about his meeting with Bateman earlier that afternoon but, when he saw Pemberton in the crypt, thought better of it. Instead he had been playing over, again and again, in his mind the strange interview the previous night with Katya Hoffer.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  (Wednesday 15th January 1941)

  There had been a moment’s pause whilst Jones looked at the Hoffers and they in turn had looked back from their doorstep to him. With a vague air of timidity about her, Katya Hoffer broke the silence:

  – How can we help you, Mr …?

  – Jones, Mrs Hoffer. I am the solicitor for Mr Novak.

  But before he could finish what he was saying – and at the mention of Novak’s name – Katya Hoffer let out a scream and pushed at the front door so that it almost closed in his face. Beyond the stained glass he heard her speaking loudly in what must have been Czech, with murmured responses also in a foreign tongue coming from Mr Hoffer. Jones stepped back onto the path. Katya had left a light on in the kitchen and it projected their silhouettes onto the door panes – hers was rearing up grotesquely whilst her husband’s seemed to cower and shrink; her hands flitted around like the shadows of giant butterflies as she made her points. It felt like an age but was probably less than five minutes before the front door opened again. Jones had no intention of leaving before he had achieved what he had set out to do.

  It was a timid and vulnerable Katya Hoffer that re-opened the door, her hus
band standing meekly behind her.

  – I’m very sorry. You surprise me very much by coming so late. I was angry that Milo had not told me you would be coming, but he says to me that he did not know.

  – It’s true. I gave him no warning that I would be coming. I apologise. May I please come in?

  Jones was beginning to feel very cold. It was mid-January and there was a hoar frost on the ground. A northerly wind was beginning to rise and it slipped fingers of ice inside his overcoat. Katya opened the door wider and allowed him to enter. She ushered him into a small room to the left of the entrance.

  – You can speak with Milo here. I can make some mint tea for you.

  – I’ve come to see you, Katya.

  Her eyes widened and she looked over her shoulder to her husband for reassurance.

  – But … but … I know nothing …

  – I just want to hear your story. That’s all. I would like to speak with you alone.

  The solicitor’s voice was soothing and he made calming gestures with his hands, as though he were a conductor stilling his orchestra.

  – But I would very much like some mint tea. I will wait here for you.

  Jones found himself an armchair and sat down. From the little kitchen he could hear the murmur of voices as husband and wife conversed urgently in a foreign language until their conversation was drowned out by the whistle of the kettle. He looked around him. The room was sparsely furnished but someone, presumably Katya, had covered every available surface with brightly coloured fabrics and throws. A lamp in the corner had been draped with a square of white and purple silk and it gave the room rather an exotic colouring. Bohemia was part of Czechoslovakia and Jones felt that it would be entirely appropriate if the Hoffers had come from that part of the country. But the room was very cold. Eventually Katya returned with a tray and two cups of mint tea.

  – I am sorry we were so rude to you …

  – That’s al –

  – In our country to receive a knock on the door like that – at night – is very bad sign. And when Milo said that you were not expected I thought you must be secret police.

  Her voice was lightly accented but rich and warm now. She sat down on the couch opposite him, pulled up her legs and clasped them around the knees. He noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing several layers of clothing to keep her warm. His first impression was that she had been tall but well-built, but that was an illusion of garments hiding her slenderness. Whether it was art or accident, he could make out the contours of her body from the way she held herself on the sofa. And her hair was dark and luxuriant. Her eyes were deep almonds. But it was her mouth that fascinated him. That large sensuous mouth opening and closing. White, white teeth and a little pink tongue, like that of a kitten, flickering between her lips. And he realised that she had been talking but he hadn’t heard a thing.

  – I’m sorry. What were you saying?

  – It is so good of you to come so far to see us. I am very happy to help you. But you know so much already. I see you are clever man. Good man.

  And she fixed him with a broad smile that strayed between bashful and alluring.

  – If you tell me what you already know then I will know how I can help you.

  – I would much rather you simply told me your story (Adam had been quite clear about this).

  – But it is so late and you will be wanting to be going home.

  – Just tell me what you know about Tomas Novak. Please, Mrs Hoffer … Katya.

  – But I know so little. I have so little to say. Please tell me what you know. Please …

  Her eyes widened. He saw the dark hollows under them and thought she was about to cry. It was late, after all. He had come unannounced and he had given her quite a fright. There could be no harm in it. So he relented and she smiled at him as a reward. He told her, in brief summary, all that Novak had told them in the interview room at Wandsworth Prison: how he had travelled with the Hoffers on the boat from Gibraltar; how he had liked Katya very much and trusted her because she had helped him. How her husband, Miloslav Hoffer, had found him the rooms in London and told him not to report himself to the authorities. The more he spoke, the uneasier he became, but Katya just looked at him with innocent wide eyes and nodded encouragement. Novak had said that she had described Adam as gullible, and Jones was on the point of repeating this as well when he brought himself up short. He was talking like a fool and, when she spoke, he was not listening but just gazing at her like an idiot. He shook himself and looked at her again. He had thought her to be in her mid-thirties but if anything she was a fair bit younger. She had called Adam gullible. Perhaps she would be saying the same about him when he had gone. He took a deep breath.

  – So, Katya. I have done as you asked. Now please may I have your story?

  And he took his notebook out from the buff folder he had been carrying and unscrewed his fountain pen. She smiled at him apologetically, as if unwilling to let him down.

  – But I am afraid that all what he has told you is wrong.

  – What?

  – I do not know him. Only Milo knows him. I may have met him once or twice maybe but that is all.

  – But why would he say these things?

  – I do not know. It is true that Milo advised him not to report to the authorities. I did not understand that. It is true also that Milo found him his rooms. But the rest of it?

  And she waved a hand in dismissal of the whole fairy tale.

  – You and … and Milo came to this country by boat from Gibraltar to Liverpool. Is that correct?

  – Yes.

  – And Tomas Novak was on the boat as well?

  – I do not know. It may be that he was. I did not know of him then.

  – He says that you were kind to him.

  – If I was kind to him it was because I wanted to be kind. Not because I wanted to be kind to him. It may be that he remembers something … some happening … that I do not remember

  – Have you met him or spoken with him since he came to London?

  – I think so, yes. Maybe a few times. Milo wanted to raise some money to help him when he was arrested and I helped with that.

  – And that is all?

  – Yes.

  It was beginning to look as though Adam had sent him on a wild goose chase, but, having come so far, he decided to persist.

  – How long did it take to sail from Gibraltar to Liverpool?

  – Ten days …

  Katya paused a long time and stared at the silk-covered lamp. Jones waited, then she began again, as though something she had buried was being uncovered.

  – Ten days. I thought we must be going to America not England after all. It was so beautiful. I felt so free … then we changed direction and headed north … and my heart sank. They had travelled out to sea just to avoid the mines and submarines. It was very crowded but the skies were so blue. Milo. Poor Milo. He did not travel well. He was most of the time in the sick room. So I was alone mostly. At night time I would sleep on the deck. I found a private place under a lifeboat, wrapped myself in canvas and looked at the stars. There were three nights when they said there were German submarines around. And the engines would stop and everyone was very quiet and nobody moved. And I would look at the stars and I would listen to the sea. And I was so happy!

  – And was Tomas Novak there?

  – I was so happy …

  It was as though she was dreaming.

  – And then we were approaching Liverpool and the sky was dark and raining. Milo had family in this part of London and we wanted to come straight here. But they put us on trains and took us to Empress Hall in Earls Court and looked at our papers and we had to go to the Tribunal.

  – Didn’t you know about the Tribunals?

  – There was a rumour on the trains, and some of us were frightened and ran away.

  Her eyes widened in recollection as she told her story.

  – We had to be wary for spies, Katya.

 
– But we were not spies! I hate the Germans! We came here to escape. They are holding my brother and I am very scared for him. Why would we help the Germans?

  – Tomas Novak has been charged with treason. Our government thinks that he is a spy.

  – But that is so ridiculous, Tomas would not …

  She caught her breath.

  – You called him Tomas?

  – Milo calls him Tomas. That is all.

  – If Tomas is found guilty he will be executed.

  – No!

  – And he will be executed. We do not have the evidence to save him.

  – But this is stupid. Why should he die because they find old plans in an old house?! …

  She bowed her head and was silent. Jones looked at her for a long time. Her shoulders slumped and she loosened her grasp on her knees. He spoke quietly.

  – I never said anything about plans, Katya.

  – Well, I must … someone … I heard that from somewhere. I can’t remember. Maybe Milo … I don’t know.

  – Have you been telling me the truth, Katya?

  But she had regrouped.

  – Yes … I do not know him. I only know what Milo has told me. I have met him maybe once or twice.

  And she would not be shaken. She would not change her story and she refused to sign his hastily written notes. It was getting late. He would miss the last train.

  ****

  He caught the last overland train back to Liverpool Street. He felt no further forward. Milo Hoffer had admitted to him that he had told Novak not to report; that it was he who had found him the rooms; that Katya hardly knew Novak. But, when pressed for an explanation for his earlier lies, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked up helplessly at Jones.

  – I am trying to save him now.