Free Secret Kingdom by Francis Bennett Page A

couple of times; he had him back to his room for supper; he even got Leman to accompany them to Duck Soup at the Arts Cinema, but they were never asked back to his digs in Silver Street and they never got to penetrate the silence he used so artfully as a defence against their curiosity.
    Was there a woman in his life? He never mentioned one and when they saw him he was always by himself. He was an expert in the art of evasion, and by December their initiative had fallen by the wayside. Hart had fallen in love by then with an au pair girl from Aarhus, and his mind was occupied with other mysteries.
    When they reappeared in January, Leman had gone. They’d had no warning that he wouldn’t be returning after Christmas; there’d been no goodbyes. Nor was there any hint of where he’d gone. Allthey learned was that he had left Cambridge. In his place was the blonde Russian wife of an anthropology don at Selwyn who was nowhere as good at teaching but whose magnificent cleavage made up for other deficiencies. Their curiosity about Leman vanished quickly. Hart had not thought about him from that day to this.
    Now Leman had vanished again. How appropriate that he should reappear in his life as an absence.
6
    He woke suddenly because his back was hurting. It was still dark outside. He had no idea what time it was and there was no way of telling. They’d removed his watch soon after his arrest. For an hour he lay awake listening to a man weeping. Then he slept again, restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position where his back or legs didn’t hurt, and disturbed by his dreams.
    *
    The rain had stopped, but the deserted streets of this strange city were wet and the air was cold. He shivered and walked faster.
    Why had he quarrelled with Anna? She was the excuse, not the cause, of his outburst. He was anxious, on edge, which wasn’t surprising. That bloody telephone call as they ran up the stairs. Its insistent ring had unnerved him. Who else would hang on so long at midnight except someone who expected him to be there? Why ring tonight? That wasn’t what he’d agreed with Sykes and the arrangements had been meticulous.
    ‘Two or three days,’ he had told Sykes. ‘I’ll need that time to settle in. We can’t start any earlier.’
    ‘Fair enough,’ Sykes had said. ‘I’ll make sure our Viennese friends understand.’ Joe had thought no more about it. Until a few minutes ago.
    Perhaps something had gone wrong. Perhaps, after all the careful planning, they were telephoning to call it off. God, he hoped not. He’d built himself up for this. Not to go ahead would be more than failure, it would be defeat. That couldn’t be contemplated. But the doubt was there now, lodged squarely in his mind. The plans he had rehearsed to himself only a few hours ago that had seemed neatand orderly and as tight as a steel drum were now beginning to unravel. It was not a sensation he appreciated.
    The unanswered call had made him angry because he was uncertain and he’d let his anger and uncertainty centre on Anna. He should never have allowed that to happen. He was racked by guilt. Why did he have to treat her like a bastard when she was so good to him – warm, patient, understanding, forgiving, loving Anna? She deserved someone better. God knows she did. But the thought of her with another man made him hold his sides in pain.
    He turned to make his way back to the apartment. The street was deserted, the citizens of Vienna tucked up safely. Bed. That’s where he should be now. He thought of Anna, sweet-smelling, soft, languidly sleepy after her bath. He would wake her from her dreams with a kiss, apologize – how easily the words ‘I’m sorry’ tripped off his tongue – she would forgive him, touching his face with her long fingers (she always forgave him), she would tell him to get undressed and come to bed. That was how it always ended, with forgiveness, warm kisses and the explosion of passion that he could release in