From Aberystwyth with Love (26 page)

That evening, Natasha was late for dinner and missed the soup course. Calamity read through the itinerary. ‘We need to get the local train to Sighisoara and then look out for Igor. He’s got a walleye. We deliver the envelope  . . .’

‘Which is empty.’

‘Which is empty. We deliver it to the Count and dine tonight as his guest. Tomorrow we get the milk train back to Brasov and pick up the Orient Express from there.’

‘Are you sure he is a Count?’ I asked.

Calamity looked mildly irritated. ‘Of course he is! He’s directly descended from Vlad the Impaler. That makes him a count or something like it.’

‘It just says Mr on the envelope.’

‘He probably doesn’t like to give himself airs.’ She considered for a second and then said, ‘So, how much of the fare does this side-trip pay for?’

‘All of it. Our entire trip to Hughesovka is being paid for by the Count.’

‘That’s a bit strange, isn’t it?’

‘Considering the envelope we are delivering seems to be empty, that’s very strange.’

‘Maybe he likes Welsh envelopes.’

‘That’s possible but for a man of such means there must be easier ways of satisfying his craving.’

‘Maybe he likes visitors from Wales.’ Calamity scraped her soup spoon in random circles across the base of her dish, her brow furrowed by the intrusion of a new thought. ‘So who do you think killed Arianwen?’

‘The Witchfinder.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Well, who do you think did it?’

‘The Witchfinder,’ said Calamity. ‘But I don’t know why. Just because I think he’s insane. Do you think he killed the students?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I just do. He’s mixed up in all this, but I’m not sure what all this is. The bit where he goes to see Goldilocks on death row is the giveaway.’

‘Only if Goldilocks was innocent.’

‘He was innocent. No one kills a girl and buries her shoes in his own garden. Or at least, some people might but not someone from a criminal gang.’

‘We haven’t got much to go on, have we?’

‘No.’

‘Are we doing this to try and nail the Witchfinder for killing Arianwen, or to find out what happened to Gethsemane or because we really liked Uncle Vanya?’

‘All of them, I guess. But really because we owe it to Vanya. We have to try and if it doesn’t cost us anything . . . we have to try.’

The waiter cleared the soup dishes and asked if Mademoiselle Natasha would be joining us. Calamity explained that she had a slight headache but would be along shortly. After he went, she said, ‘I think you need to watch out for Natasha.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Honey-trapper. I’ve got a hunch.’

‘What do you know about such things?’

‘I’ve been reading the book. It’s all to do with the psychology. First thing they do is tell the guy he is different. Every man secretly thinks he is different.’

‘Haven’t you got better things to do than read such nonsense?’

‘It’s not nonsense. We can adapt some of the techniques in our own investigations.’

‘Somehow I doubt it.’

‘Then comes the saviour routine. All men dream of saving a damsel in distress. So the girl pretends to be in some kind of trouble and doesn’t know what to do. It sounds corny but men can’t resist it. Then there is some mushy stuff about the poor little sisters and brothers starving by the empty hearth at home.’

‘What happens if the guy guesses it’s a honey-trap?’

‘The girl just admits it and burst into tears. She tells him she has broken the cardinal rule of honey-trapping and fallen in love with the John. Works every time.’

A moment later Calamity kicked me under the table to warn of the arrival of Natasha. ‘Hi,’ she said looking up and speaking in that artificial tone of voice that indicates you have just been talking about the person arriving. ‘Hope your headache is better.’

Later, as Hungary faded unseen and Romania fused with it somewhere, Calamity made the excuse of tiredness and returned to her compartment to read more of her book. Natasha grabbed my hand and begged forgiveness for the performance of the previous night.

‘I’m so ashamed,’ she said, although I was not sure why. ‘Dragging you into all this.’

‘Into all what?’

‘No, no, no don’t! It’s my problem.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Please don’t make me say! Let’s get drunk and forget all our pain and woe. The night is still young – waiter! Waiter! Another bottle of wine, please!’ She emptied the one already on the table into our glasses, filling them to the brim and spilling the dark ruby wine on to the tablecloth. She gulped back half a glass and forced me to do the same. She did it again and again and soon we were drunk. I asked about Hughesovka and she told me about the mausoleum in which they kept the embalmed body of John Hughes. I said it sounded wonderful. I talked about the challenges facing someone in the spinning-wheel trade. Midway into the third bottle of wine the conversation dropped and she looked sad. There was silence.

‘What’s wrong?’ I said. I grasped her hand across the table.

‘Everything, everything, it’s all so . . . so . . . horrible.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I can’t, oh God! I should never have dragged you into it. You’re such a good, decent, kind man  . . .’

‘Tell me about the trouble you are in. Maybe I can help.’

She stroked my hand and smiled through tears welling up. ‘It’s kind of you but what can a . . . a guy who sells little wheels do against . . . against them?’

‘But—’

‘Oh Louie, you are so sweet! A sweet old, dear old, salesman who spends his days looking at treadles and yarn and never even dreams of the sort of problems girls like me get into.’

‘Girls like you?’

‘You see! Two days and you still haven’t guessed. You’re such a sweetie.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Oh Louie, don’t look like that, it’s not a criticism. I like you being innocent. It’s so funny. That other gentleman knew straight away.’

‘What other gentleman?’

‘The one who murdered his wife and kids. Mr Edgbaston.’

‘Who told you he did that?’

‘The guard.’ She looked away bashfully. ‘He knew my game too.’

‘Are you saying you are a prostitute?’

She gasped in horror. ‘Louie, how dare you! Of all the . . . well . . . I  . . .’

‘I’m sorry, I’m confused, it’s the wine. I didn’t mean it  . . .’

She smiled. ‘Yes, now it’s me being silly. After all, there’s not a lot of difference, really, is there?’

‘Between what?’

‘You know, a girl like what you said, and what I do for a living.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a honey-trapper, silly!’

‘You are?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who you trying to trap?’

‘Why, you of course!’

I blinked in astonishment.

‘Oh, you look so funny. Your face!’

‘But why?’

‘To pass my exams, why else? You see, I haven’t qualified yet, I’m still learning.’

‘But why on earth are you dressed in Welsh national dress?’

‘Because you’re from Wales. They told me it would turn you on.’ Her face fell. ‘But of course if you don’t think I’m pretty it doesn’t matter really how I dress, does it?’

‘But you are pretty.’

‘That’s exactly the sort of sweetheart thing I would expect you to say. That’s what I like about you, Louie, you’re different.’

‘No I’m not.’

‘You see! Every other man I’ve said that to has been secretly flattered.’

‘So you’ve said it to lots of men, have you?’

‘Only in class. This is my first . . . practical.’

‘I’m touched.’

‘As I say, it’s my first time, so don’t expect the earth to move . . . except outside the window, ha ha!’ She gave a shrill drunken laugh at her feeble joke.

‘But we’re . . . we’re not going to . . . you know. Are we?’

‘You don’t want me?’

‘Of course I want you, but it feels all wrong. You just offering it to me like a butcher giving me a steak. A man needs to . . . to  . . .’

‘You need to woo me, don’t you? I should have known. It’s my inexperience, you see. I’ve blown it. Now I’ll never get the job . . .’ Her face twisted in anguish. ‘Oh Louie!’ She squealed and grasped my hand with fervour. ‘Can’t we just do it and forget about the world and everything in it? Just one night, that’s all. Oh please, Louie, please make love to me. Think of my little sisters starving in Hughesovka, don’t you want them to have a life too? Do you want to condemn them to spending the rest of their lives travelling on the Orient Express dressed in stovepipe hats? Is that what you want? Don’t they deserve to have a life too? Don’t they deserve to see the beautiful trees and flowers and walk under the stars just like you?’

‘This is just crazy.’

‘Think of little Lizaveta and Tanya, Louie. Think of their little hungry tummies and the pain in their uncomprehending eyes as they sit next to the cold fireplace.’

‘They won’t starve  . . .’

‘Oh but they will, they will, you don’t know how it is in Hughesovka. Do you think I would be doing this if I had any choice?’

‘That makes it even worse.’

‘No, no, I mean of course I want to do it with you but  . . .’

‘Why don’t we just pretend we did it. Who’s to know?’

‘My teachers would know when they developed the film.’

I groaned. ‘Look, Natasha, how old are you?’

Frustration creased her features. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Eighteen.’

‘No you’re not.’

‘I will be soon. Honestly, don’t worry about it. Girls in Hughesovka lose their virginity when they are twelve.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘But, of course, I’m not like them, if that’s what you are thinking. My father was ever so strict. All through my teens he wouldn’t let me out from under his eye.’

‘What did he say when you took this job?’

‘He locked me in my room, so I escaped.’

‘You see!’

‘Oh Louie, don’t worry about silly old papa, he’s so old-fashioned!’ She paused and her brow clouded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Natasha, I want you to stop all this honey-trap silliness and go back to your father.’

‘Oh Louie!’

‘I’ve never had a daughter so I can’t pretend to know exactly what your father must be going through but I do have my partner Calamity. She is about the same age as you, and . . . look, don’t ask me to explain.’

‘I understand,’ she said softly, with a deflated air. She drew back across the table. She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Brrr! how cold the night is!’

I took off my jacket, walked round to her side of the table and put it across her shoulders.

‘I’ve been a complete idiot,’ she said. ‘I’ve really put my foot in it.’

‘Forget it, it’s nothing.’

‘You don’t understand. I’ve made a terrible mistake, the one mistake you must never make. The one they all warn you about. What a fool I am!’

‘What mistake?’

‘I’ve fallen in love with you.’

Chapter 19

A short hairy man called Igor with a walleye and saliva permanently dripping from the corner of his mouth picked us up in a buggy from the station at Sighisoara. We drove at great speed through the town as the setting sun festered like a crimson wound in the Transylvanian sky. Igor thrashed the backs of the horses mercilessly with his whip and flung curses at the nags in the ancient Bohemian tongue of his ancestors. Peasants leaped aside and crossed themselves as we passed. We thundered down the cobbled streets, through the main square and on towards a hill overlooking the town upon which stood a gloomy castle. It looked like a collection of organ pipes carved from the bones of a giant upon which had been placed in a variety of sizes some witches’ hats made of red tile. From time to time ravens swooped down off the battlements and rose again in lazy arcs to stain the face of the setting sun. A wind picked up and Calamity drew herself against me for warmth. The road twisted up the face of the crag and along the way we passed groups of peasants carrying torches who waved their fists at us in a strange greeting.