‘Good, because I made her, you know? That girl belongs to me, I gave her her first job and she works for me ever since, nuh, nuh, I taught her everything she knows. Also I have a personal interest in her, OK? I love that girl like she was my daughter. I knew her father, God rest his soul, he was a patriot, just a boy, then, one of the students in the uprising, one of the flowers of Dubcek’s spring; a brave boy, clever, too. If the Russians hadn’t killed him he would have been one of our great men now, I’m sure of it, because he had such drive, such fire. Why is it always the good who die young, never the rotten bastards?’
The receptionist turned back to them. ‘I’m sorry, there is no reply. Would you like to leave a message?’
‘Just ask her to get in touch with me as soon as she returns, please,’ Steve said.
‘Certainly, Mr Colbourne.’
Steve smiled at her, then turned back to Vladimir. ‘I could do with a drink – how about you?’
‘Always,’ Vladimir enthusiastically agreed. ‘Lucky we meet, Mr Colbourne . . .’
‘Steve, please.’
‘Lucky we run into each other, Steve. I’m very worried about Sophie, I think she could be in danger, very great danger.’
Steve steered him towards the hotel bar. ‘I know she is, but keep your voice down, Vladimir. I think we may be being watched and followed.’
‘You just betcha you are,’ grumbled the deep voice near his ear. ‘I can always smell them. You get to know, when you live in a goldfish bowl for years, if there’s a cat around.’ Vladimir smelt strongly of cigar-smoke and as they sat down he took out a leather cigar box and opened it, offering it to Steve, who shook his head, grimacing.
‘No, thanks.’ He watched the old man start the long ritual of lighting the cigar, clipping the end neatly, rolling it around his mouth, patiently holding the lit match until the tip of the cigar begin to glow red.
Steve breathed in the first fragrance of the smoke; the smell of it was nostalgic, reminding him of his father, of political dinners long ago, when the air was full of cigarsmoke and the smell of brandy.
The waiter came and took their order. When he had gone, Vladimir took his cigar out of his mouth and flicked the first tiny flecks of ash into an ashtray, staring at Steve.
‘Has she told you what this is all about?’
Steve stiffened alertly – did this old man know Sophie’s secret? Would he tell it? ‘No,’ he said carefully. ‘But I guess it has to do with Senator Gowrie. Something pretty serious. Did you know someone has tried to kill her? Burgled her apartment?’
The old man grunted. ‘Lilli told me, but Lilli didn’t know what Sophie has on Gowrie, only that she is obsessed with getting to talk to him.’ Vladimir drew on his cigar slowly, blew a smoke ring which wavered and broke up. ‘As I said, I knew her father in Prague. He sighed, grimacing. ‘A long, long time ago; makes me feel old just to talk about it. We were all so full of hope. Pavel was one of the student leaders; he was killed when the Russians invaded. That hit me hard. He was quite a guy. Quite a guy. Sophie was born a few weeks later.’
‘Yes, she has told me all this. She obviously hero-worships her father.’
‘He was a patriot, a martyr to the cause of Czech freedom. I hope she does respect him. She never knew him, of course, and I never knew her until she came to Prague, to the university, and I gave her her first job, translating for me. As soon as I heard her name I wondered if she could be Pavel’s child, and when I found she was I was very moved. Ever since, I’ve thought of Sophie almost as my own daughter.’
‘I know she’s fond of you, too.’
Vladimir smiled. ‘That’s why, when Lilli told me what was going on here, I went to see Sophie’s mother. I remembered something that I’d forgotten all about.’ He fixed his dark eyes on Steve and paused with the timing of an old ham actor, smiling, knowing he was going to startle.
Steve was amused and faintly irritated by the old man’s timing. ‘So, what was that?’
‘Did Sophie tell you that in 1968 her mother had worked as a nursery maid for Don Gowrie’s wife? The Gowries were living in Czechoslovakia for a few months, they were over there for the diplomatic – what was going on excited the US government and they wanted a finger in the pie. They suddenly sent a lot of new people over to Prague to stir the pot. Of course, that was before Sophie was born.’
Steve felt as if he had picked up a live electric wire. Hoarsely he asked, ‘Are you going to tell me Sophie is Gowrie’s child?’
Vladimir looked startled, gave a deep roar of laughter. ‘God, no. No, no. But when I remembered that Johanna had worked for the Gowries, I guessed she had to know this secret, whatever it is . . . had to have been the one who told Sophie in the first place, because Sophie never showed any interest in Gowrie before I sent her to the States. And I was right. It wasn’t easy to get Johanna to talk but once I’d told her Sophie was in danger, she finally opened up and told me what she had told Sophie.’
‘Which was? Come on, for God’s sake . . . what is all this about?’
Across the bar a couple of men drinking beer at the counter turned to stare as they heard Steve’s impatient voice; he recognized one of them as Bross. Was he in here by accident, or was Bross following him around?
‘Keep your voice down,’ he murmured to Vladimir. ‘We’ve got company. Guy over at the counter; he’s ex-FBI.’
Vladimir smiled. ‘Sure, I spotted him. You should try living in a Communist country some day, you get that sixth sense, you know?’ Lowering his voice even more, he bent his great head and began to whisper.
Sophie left the station a few minutes before the bus was due to arrive. The afternoon sunlight held no warmth but it was pleasant to feel
it on her face as she looked up and down the road. The station was on the edge of a small town, she saw the roofs of new houses in an estate at a distance, but the surrounding countryside made it feel more like a village.