Walking in Darkness

Steve didn’t argue that one; by then it had been too late, obviously, but why had the man waited so long?

‘I had you checked out,’ Gowrie suddenly said, as if slowly beginning to understand. ‘I should have realized you were a phoney – I did wonder about you right from the start. You were far too vague about your past, but then I thought it might be because you were English and the Brits are always so tight-lipped. My people couldn’t find out anything about your life up to the point where you showed up in Paris, but they got lots of details about your family history from the village your people came from.’

‘I visited there, myself, just for a day, to look at the place. I had to go to France when I left Prague, because of the passport. I was only permitted to board a plane to Paris.’ Paul smiled at Vladimir. ‘My French was always very good – remember? Nobody suspected me for a second.’

‘How on earth did you survive there, though? Did you have any money with you?’

Paul shook his head. ‘A few francs. I got a job, of course, translating freelance for a Paris publisher – I had to sweat for hours to earn enough to live on.’

‘And nobody realized you weren’t this Paul Brougham? What if his parents had started searching for him, had gone to the police and reported him missing?’

‘That was one of my biggest pieces of luck. He didn’t have a family. His parents were dead and he was an only child. He hadn’t lived in France for years.’

‘But how did you get a job and somewhere to live so quickly?’

‘Through the international student grapevine. I met up with some French students as soon as I landed. I just went to the Left Bank and hung around in cafés until I managed to make friends, some guys who had connections with our group in Prague. Because of the Russian invasion they were very sympathetic, they helped me out with somewhere to live and with introductions.’

‘They didn’t suspect you weren’t who you said you were?’

‘If they did they never said a word. They accepted me as Paul Brougham, no questions asked; they would have thought it was bourgeois to ask questions. The police ask questions – students didn’t want to sound like policemen. They believed in individual freedom.’

‘Freedom is one of those things that you don’t even think about unless you haven’t got it,’ Steve drawled, and both men looked at him, nodding. He asked Paul, ‘But didn’t anyone you met know the real Paul?’

‘I just told you, he hadn’t lived in France for years. And I only stayed there for a year, and had to work so hard there was no time for much of a social life. I didn’t allow anyone to get too friendly, and I went on to London as soon as I had saved up enough. I thought it would be safer to keep moving around, not stay anywhere for too long. I didn’t want to be noticed by the police. I started doing some translating in London too, and then I got a job with a printer, but of course I didn’t get a chance to work on the presses because of the unions. They said I was a foreign scab; if you hadn’t served your apprenticeship you couldn’t work as a printer. I just got a job in the office, which was when I realized I had a head for business.’

Gowrie burst out, ‘But how did you get all that money? Where did it come from? You can’t have earned it working in an office.’

Paul’s eyes flashed. ‘I did, though. I discovered something I’d never realized – that if you have the brains and the drive you can make money easily. Most people just don’t have what it takes. I meant to move on to Italy after a while in London, to the sun – London could be very cold – but I found I liked living in England, I didn’t want to leave – the atmosphere here suited me. I suppose I was getting older, losing my taste for travel and politics. It happens to us all, doesn’t it?’

‘You still haven’t explained where all your money came from – the money to buy this place, for a start!’ Steve drily said.

‘I was working for a firm run by an old man who died suddenly. I managed to talk his widow into letting me take over managing the company. She wasn’t interested in business, had no idea what to do – I visited her every Sunday to show her the books and talk over my plans with her. She had no children, I had no family – we adopted each other, in a way. When she died she left her estate to me.’

Steve gave him a cynical smile. ‘I see what you mean about having a head for business and knowing how to make money easily.’

Paul gave him an angry, white stare. ‘Think what you like! She was a second mother to me. I was very fond of her.’

‘Sure you were. So, why didn’t you send any of this lovely money to your wife and daughter back home?’ mocked Steve, and then from the sofa they both heard a smothered sob and knew Sophie was listening. Steve could have kicked himself. He quickly went over to her. She had turned her face away and was sobbing into a cushion, her body shaking with violent emotion. Steve sat on the couch next to her, lifted her up into his arms, although she tried to push him away, and turned her wet face into his shoulder, his hand on her dishevelled blonde hair, running his fingers gently through the silky strands.

She only fought him for a second, then he felt the warmth and yielding of her body settle closer. She’s never been loved, he thought, holding her. Nobody ever made her feel loved. I will; she’s going to be loved from now on and she’s going to know it, be sure of me.

Paul watched them for a second, then said huskily, ‘Sophie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to you. I can make excuses until the cows come home but it won’t make any difference to the truth, will it? All I can honestly say is I’m sorry to have hurt you like this.’

She sat up, pushing Steve away. ‘I heard your excuses,’ she said in a grey, flat voice. ‘You walked out on us and were relieved when Mamma married again and gave you an excuse not to look back. You didn’t care a damn for us.’

He visibly flinched, but said quietly, ‘I won’t argue over how you see it. I can understand why you should see it that way, but try looking at it from my point of view. I was a boy, still only twenty-two when I left Czechoslovakia; I was pretty irresponsible, and although I loved your mother I wanted my freedom too. I felt trapped, we had got married too young. But I did love her when I married her, I was crazy about her. It was just that the responsibilities of being a husband and a father were too heavy for me then. I wanted to do so much, and my marriage stopped me. But your mother was very beautiful, and I did love her.’

His face turned to stone again and he fell silent, looking down, his mouth tight and bloodless. What was he thinking? wondered Sophie, turning her head to stare at him in mingled curiosity and disbelief. Her father. He was her father. She couldn’t take it in, couldn’t feel it, emotionally. It was too staggering.

He was Cathy’s father, too.

The thought was like being knifed. She bit down on her lip to stop herself crying out. God. How was Cathy going to take this?

‘Cathy is very like her,’ she said aloud, harshly, and saw him wince.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘The first time I saw her, across a room, in Washington, my heart nearly stopped. I thought . . . it’s Johanna . . . and for a second I almost believed it was her, but then I realized it couldn’t be, Johanna wouldn’t still look the way she did when we were young. She would be middle-aged by then, I was middle-aged myself – but here was this girl who looked like all my memories of being young, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I fell in love all over again with the same hair, same eyes, same smile. How could I guess . . .? For Christ’s sake, she was an American, from an old family . . . it never entered my head that she could be my d –’

He put a hand over his mouth, turning away, his shoulders heaving as if he was fighting sickness.