The Second Midnight. Andrew Taylor

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       Three

      ‘For God’s sake!’ Kendall snapped. The Czech matron at the next table looked curiously at them. He lowered his voice to a hiss. ‘Has no one ever told you that it’s rude to stare?’

      Hugh looked away from the crowd in the hotel foyer. The sight of his son’s bowed head brought Kendall’s exasperation to the boil: at that moment he could have willingly strangled the boy. He lit another cigarette from the stub of the old and glanced once again towards the revolving door which led to Vaclavske Namesti. Everyone in Prague seemed to be here except the man he wanted.

      The presence of Hugh was only part of the reason for his irritation, but he was a convenient focus for Kendall’s discontent. Hugh was simply not to be trusted: he was a thief and a liar; and after Sunday night Kendall had begun to suspect that he was something worse as well.

      His mind shied away from the memory of finding his son in his daughter’s bed. It seemed to Kendall that whenever he closed his eyes he was doomed to relive that instant when he turned on Meg’s light.

      Two heads, one fair, one dark, on the same pillow.

      According to Hugh, he had crawled into bed with her to get warm; and she had been so soundly asleep that she hadn’t woken up. According to Meg, on the other hand, she was the one who had been cold; and she’d persuaded him to come to bed with her.

      Kendall had beaten them both: they were lying; they were conspiring against him; they were breaking his rule forbidding one child to go into another’s bedroom. He felt instinctively that Hugh must have taken the initiative – after all, he was the boy. The top of Meg’s nightdress was unbuttoned. It looked almost as if Hugh’s hand was inside, resting on her breasts.

      The thought was monstrous and Kendall tried to push it away. But one thing was clear: Hugh needed strict and constant discipline. Kendall could not risk leaving him in Twickenham while he was away. Meg would have been completely at his mercy.

      After they returned from Prague, he would have to find a long-term solution to the problem of Hugh. It was as if the boy had a highly contagious disease: it was imperative to isolate him from the rest of the family. Kendall wondered whether the merchant navy might be a possibility.

      He pulled out his watch: it was nearly three o’clock. He suspected that Stanhope-Smith’s man was going to let him down again. It would be the third time. Stanhope-Smith had told him to wait in the foyer of the Hotel Palacky for an hour after lunch and an hour after dinner, until the contact made his approach.

      The big glass door revolved. Cold air swept into the lobby. Kendall swore under his breath as three women filed in.

      ‘Can’t you sit up straight?’ he said to Hugh. ‘Don’t slouch.’

      ‘Smim si pripalit?’ said a husky voice behind him.

      Kendall swung around. His eyes widened when he saw that it was a woman. She was short and her plumpness was accentuated by a heavy fur coat with an upturned collar; she had a snout-like snub nose and a faint but distinct moustache. At first Kendall thought her words must be a coincidence. But then he saw that she was tapping the butt of her cigarette against a silver case. The case was angled towards him so he could see the design of four interlocking lozenges engraved on the side.

      ‘Prosim,’ he muttered politely, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket. His fingers shook slightly as he opened the silver matchcase. He nearly forgot to let her see the lozenges on its lid.

      ‘What is your room number?’ she murmured in English just before the match touched the tip of the cigarette.

      ‘Twenty-three.’

      She blew out words and smoke simultaneously: ‘Meet me there in twenty minutes.’ Her voice returned to its normal speaking level: ‘Dekuji.’

      Kendall bowed. She turned and walked to the bar. From the back she looked like a hedgehog in patent-leather high-heeled shoes.

      The fat woman with the overpowering scent stood in the centre of the hot and ill-proportioned room which Hugh shared with his father. She jabbed her thumb towards Hugh and broke into a rapid stream of Czech.

      His father replied haltingly in the same language, but she interrupted him before he could say more than a few words. As she spoke she gestured towards Hugh; he wished he could understand what she was saying.

      At last his father shrugged. ‘Hugh, I want you to go for a walk for an hour. You can take the guidebook. And make sure you behave yourself.’

      Hugh grabbed his coat, scarf and cap and almost ran out of the room. He was so relieved to get out of his father’s presence that he hardly bothered to wonder why he had been sent away. He ran down the stairs, through the lobby and into the street.

      For a moment he stood at the head of the steps which led down from the revolving door, savouring the sights and sounds of freedom. It was the first time he had got away from his father since they had left London. At the far end of the broad road he could see a statue of a man on horseback. The strangeness of everything gave him a jolt of pleasure. He darted down the steps and began to run towards the statue.

      The pavements were crowded and slippery. As he dodged between a linden tree and a stall selling spicy sausages, he skidded on a pile of dirty snow. At the last moment he clutched at the tree and saved himself from sprawling on the surface of the road. A car swerved to avoid him. A bicycle bell jangled angrily.

      Hugh laughed aloud and ran on.

      ‘We could have talked in Czech,’ Kendall said peevishly. ‘The boy wouldn’t have understood.’

      Madame Hase settled herself in the only armchair that the room possessed. ‘My English is much better than your Czech. Besides, if we talk in English, there is less chance that an ear at the keyhole would be able to understand.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Why did you bring the boy? It is very foolish. I was not warned.’

      ‘It was decided in London,’ Kendall said curtly. He was annoyed that his contact had proved to be a woman, largely because the fact surprised him. Her haughty attitude made things worse; he was damned if he was going to let a female talk to him like that.

      ‘You have brought the package? There was no trouble with customs?’

      Kendall nodded. He crossed the room to the basin in the corner and picked up the shaving brush which stood on the glass shelf above it. The handle was made of metal. He unscrewed the base and extracted the small chamois leather bundle.

      ‘It’s stitched together. Do you want me to open it?’

      ‘Of course.’

      He slit the neck of the bag with the blade of his penknife. Madame Hase snatched the bag from him and upended it over the palm of her hand. Seven cut diamonds, small but flawless, trickled out. She sucked in her breath sharply. For the first time she smiled.

      ‘Satisfied?’ Kendall asked with heavy sarcasm.

      ‘Perfectly.’ Her pudgy fingers clenched around the stones, as if she was trying to squeeze the virtue out of them. ‘But we may have a problem at the other end of the transaction.’

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ