Free Fethering 08 (2007) - Death under the Dryer by Simon Brett, Prefers to remain anonymous

in 1939, just before it all happened, but when it was already pretty clear what was going to happen. I was nineteen…one of the ones who got away.”
    “One of the lucky ones?”
    He smiled sadly. “I didn’t say that, did I? But, as things turned out, lucky, yes. I would rather have gone back to the world in which I grew up, but that world very soon ceased to exist, so there was nowhere to go back to.”
    “Are you talking about Germany?”
    “It was true of Germany as well, but that was not my country. My country—though some would say that a Jew does not really have his own country—is Czechoslovakia. Have you been there?”
    Jude nodded. “A couple of times. Before the…what did they call it?…‘Velvet Revolution’?”
    “They always have a new name for changes in my country. And they always have new changes. Once somebody renamed my country ‘The Protectorate of Bohemia ⁄ Moravia’. I tell you, Czechoslovakia has had more invasions and occupations than you have had hot dinners.” He chuckled, trying to shift himself out of an encroaching gloom. “You wanted to know about Joe Bartos…So, if you see yourself as an amateur sleuth…”
    “I didn’t say that I did.”
    “Then why else are you so interested in this murder?”
    “Well…”
    “Anyway, if you do see yourself as an amateur sleuth…you will no doubt have worked out how I know Joe Bartos…?”
    Jude shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m clearly not a very good amateur sleuth.”
    “No, you are not. Do you not know where the name ‘Bartos’ comes from?”
    “Spain, maybe…or…?”
    Wally Grenston shook his head and clicked his teeth in exasperation. “No, no. You think that because everyone here pronounces the name wrong. With an ‘s’ sound at the end. No, it’s pronounced ‘Bartosh’. The name is Czech.”
    “Ah. So you knew Kyra’s father back in Czechoslovakia?”
    “No, I met him in England. And not that long ago. In Brighton there is a club for people who originated in my country. I have met Jiri there once or twice.”
    “Jiri?”
    “His real name. When he comes to England, no one can pronounce it or spell it, so he settles for ‘Joe’. Makes life easier.”
    “Ah. And did you meet Kyra at the club too?”
    He shook his head. “Not at the club. I’ve met her in Connie’s salon, and then once or twice when I went to her father’s house. But I did not go there very often. Mim did not like me going to Jiri’s house.”
    Jude’s quizzical eyebrow was greeted by a huge laugh. “Mim does not like me going anywhere without her, remember? Does not like me out of her sight. She is afraid that, if she is not watching me, I am off serenading beautiful women.” With surprising ease for someone his age, he levered himself out of the armchair and crossed to the piano stool. His fingers instantly found the keys and started to play a wistful ballad. In a voice that was not really a singing voice, but which could still find the right weight and value of each word, he sang:
There is no one I have ever wanted by my side .
    Just to have you with me is a source of pride ,
    Knowing you’re the one in whom I can confide ,
    Whenever I want to …
    Whenever I want you .
     
    There is nothing I have ever wanted more than this .
    Just to be beside you is the height of bliss ,
    Knowing I can lean across and take a kiss ,
    Whenever I want to…
    Whenever I want you!
    The song spiralled away in a little tinkling of notes.
    “Did you write that, Wally?”
    “Of course. And Mim sang it. A minor hit. I don’t think it would get far now on Pop Idol .”
    “It’s a beautiful tune.”
    “Oh yes, of course. All my tunes are beautiful.”
    “And sad.”
    “All my tunes are sad.” He was silent for a moment, then firmly closed the lid of the white piano and came back to sit opposite her. “So, what do you really want to know about Jiri Bartos?” He looked at his large old gold wristwatch. “We must be quick. I am about to lose