There was a moment’s silence, during which Kendall fervently wished his hostess would leave. But she settled herself deeper in the armchair and fumbled in the pocket of her dressing gown.
‘Here.’ She passed a silver flask to him. ‘It is cognac. We must drink a toast to your safe return.’
Kendall’s face brightened. ‘I’ll get you a glass. I’ll use the cap.’
They drank to a safe return; they drank to England and Czechoslovakia; Kendall poured another drink and they drank damnation to the Nazis.
Then Madame Hase proposed another toast: ‘To us.’
Kendall blushed and drank.
The conversation took a personal direction. Madame Hase talked about her husband, a young German of good family whose political career had been cut short with tragic finality by tuberculosis in 1931. Had he lived, she implied, neither Germany nor Czechoslovakia would be in its present appalling condition. She dropped tantalizing hints about her own family’s connections with the old nobility of Bohemia and Saxony.
‘The trouble with people like Jan and Bela,’ she said confidentially, ‘is that they cannot appreciate what was good in the old values; and that means they don’t understand the poetry of communism.’
Kendall didn’t understand it either, but he nodded nevertheless; it seemed to be expected of him. In any case he was watching her rather than listening to what she was saying. The candles were kind to her: her skin lost its pallor; the lips were no longer flabby but sensuous; her plumpness might almost be described as voluptuous.
Desire stirred within him, engendered by the sheer romance of his surroundings. What would it be like, he wondered, with a beautiful aristocrat in a Bohemian palace?
Madame Hase leaned forward, holding out her glass. ‘Is there more in the flask?’
‘Of course, Madame.’ As he took her glass, her hand brushed his. He nearly dropped the glass.
‘I call you Alfred,’ she said with a touch of petulance. ‘Why do you not call me Josefina?’
‘I – very well.’ Kendall cleared his throat and took the plunge. ‘Your glass, Josefina.’
When she took the glass, her hand again touched his. She put it untasted on the table. Kendall refilled the cap. He was very conscious of her presence; out of the corner of his eye, he could see that a tendril of black hair was swaying only inches away from the sleeve of his dressing gown.
‘Tell me, Alfred,’ she whispered huskily. ‘Are you really a senior officer of SIS? The head of the Central European Section?’
‘Of course.’ Kendall sipped his cognac. At this moment he almost believed he was. In any case, it was essential to maintain the pretence, both to Madame Hase and to Jan and Bela. His safety – and Hugh’s – depended on him being able to play the part convincingly. ‘Do you really think a job like this would be handled at a lower level?’
‘Ah.’
Madame Hase suddenly slumped forward on to her knees. Her dressing gown fell open, revealing a nightdress of black silk, trimmed with lace. She clasped Kendall’s legs and rubbed her body against him.
‘Love me, Alfred.’
‘Good God!’ Kendall leaped to his feet and broke away from her. She tried to seize him again, but he palmed her away. ‘Alfred, milacek—’
‘Madame, I must ask you to leave.’ Kendall backed away and took refuge on the far side of the bed. These foreigners were sex-mad. ‘I insist that you go,’ he pleaded. ‘Josefina, please.’
Madame Hase stood up; she was lopsided because one of her slippers had fallen off in the struggle. She refastened her dressing gown, found the missing slipper and picked up her candle. Kendall hastened to open the door for her.
‘You must understand, Josefina,’ he said as she passed him with her face averted. ‘I am married; I am here on duty—’
‘You English.’ She looked up at him. The candle turned the tears in her eyes to glints of fire. ‘You have no romance in you.’
Dansey lowered himself with great care into the armchair nearest the fire. ‘Just imagine I’m not here.’
‘That won’t be easy,’ said Michael drily. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘No, thank you. If you have to introduce me, call me Mr Hayward. Has the report from Moravec come in yet?’
Michael nodded. ‘The DB can confirm at least half of the information from their own sources. They seem to think the rest is at least plausible.’
‘But none of it is particularly significant?’
‘Well, no. It identifies a few names which were new to the DB on the provisional regional committees. There’s a sort of shopping list which starts with gold and ends with tanks. But there’s no firm information about what the Bolshies plan to do.’
‘That is probably because they don’t know themselves.’
Dansey fell silent and glanced round the small sitting room. Michael cringed inwardly: this was the first time Dansey had visited his rooms in Dover Street and Michael felt that his possessions – and hence his private self – were unfairly at the mercy of Uncle Claude. He wished he had removed his own paintings to the bedroom. But that would have been worse: Dansey would have noticed the lighter patches on the wallpaper and drawn his own conclusions.
He was suddenly ashamed of the shabby, comfortable room with its oversized furniture. The furniture was part of his past – he had kept back a few pieces from the sale after his mother’s death – but most of it looked ridiculous here.
‘Extraordinary,’ Dansey said. He was looking at a painting over the sideboard. First he looked through his glasses and then over the top of them. ‘Not one of yours, I hope?’
‘No, sir. Chap called Chagall.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’ve known children with a better sense of perspective. And I wonder why he found it necessary to give the man green hair.’ Dansey changed the subject without warning, or even altering his tone. ‘How’s Kendall taking it?’
‘Better than I’d expected. Of course he thinks the information he brought out was vital – perhaps that’s some consolation. I think I was more upset about the boy than he was. He’s one of these people who keep their emotions very tightly battened down.’
‘I hope he doesn’t think we’re going to send him back by the next train to collect the boy? You’ve made that clear?’
Michael got up to fetch the cigarette box from the sideboard. When he replied, he was safely out of Dansey’s sight. ‘Not in so many words, sir. I thought I’d leave it until today.’
Dansey refused a cigarette. ‘That was foolish of you.’
‘I hadn’t the heart to do it.’
Kendall had come off the boat train at Victoria yesterday afternoon. The little man had been wearing a baggy Hungarian suit; he had no luggage, apart from the contents of his pockets; he had so little money left that Michael had had to give him the cab fare home. His return journey from Prague had taken him the better part of a fortnight. Despite all he had gone through, he had been pathetically happy – full of himself like a dog who believed he had earned his master’s approval.
‘I hope your heart’s in better shape this afternoon.’ Dansey glanced at his watch. ‘He’s late.’
At that moment, they heard the doorbell. A moment later, Mrs Granger, Michael’s landlady, showed Kendall into the room. He bustled in, shook hands with Michael and looked enquiringly at Dansey.
‘Mr Hayward,’