Andrew Taylor - The Second Midnight

When the search was over, the big man released his shoulders. Hugh backed away until he came to the shelves. He knew he had to do something before it was too late. One of those tins might make a weapon. He could knock over the lamp and make a break for the door. Plans chased feverishly through his mind, all nullified by the sheer impossibility of carrying them out.

But nothing happened to him. After a rapid, incomprehensible conversation, the men left without a word to him. They took the lamp with them. The bolts shot home and, a few seconds later, he heard the van’s engine. The roar of the motor grew louder and then gradually diminished into silence.

Once he was alone, Hugh began to tremble uncontrollably. It was cold in the shed, but he knew that was not the only reason why his teeth were chattering. It was also completely dark. The only sound he could hear was the distant grumbling of traffic.

He edged across the floor, using his feet to probe for his belongings. When he found them, he stuffed them back in his pockets. Hiawatha remained in the palm of his hand.

‘Well, sir, they say it’s always darkest just before dawn,’ his batman would say in the gruff voice he reserved for tight spots. Somehow Hiawatha seemed less reassuring than usual.

Hugh tried to act as Major Kendall, VC, would do. He made a reconnaissance, which in this case meant looking in vain for a window and banging helplessly on the door. He laid an ambush: having chosen half a dozen tins of ham, he stood behind the door and waited for the enemy to return. As he made his preparations, he knew it was hopeless: Major Kendall lived in a different world from the two Czechs.

Of course it was possible that they didn’t intend to murder him: perhaps they were going to hold him to ransom, in the mistaken belief that his father was a wealthy British businessman. But his father wasn’t wealthy; and, even if he were, Hugh rather doubted that he would spend money to ensure the safe return of his son.

After five minutes of waiting in ambush on his feet, Hugh decided that he could wait just as well if he sat on the floor. He was tired; and he might feel warmer if he clasped his hands round his knees. He would have plenty of time to stand up when he heard the van’s engine in the yard outside.

His head fell forward and he dozed.

The door cannoned into him, waking him abruptly.

Men were laughing; an unbearably bright light shone into his eyes. He turned his head away from the glare. His hand closed around one of the tins.

A woman’s voice said, ‘But there’s blood on his face.’

‘Get up, boy,’ his father said.

A hand grasped one of his lapels and hauled him to his feet. The torch swung away from his face. Hugh recognized the fat woman with the fur coat and the two Czechs behind his father. Everyone seemed to be grinning and there was a heavy smell of spirits in the air.

His father cuffed him lightly. ‘What’s that mess on your face? Have you been crying again?’

Hugh shook his head automatically. He had learned long ago that admitting weakness to his father was always rash.

Alfred Kendall turned to the woman. ‘He’s a regular mother’s boy.’ The tone was jocular; in private he often used the same words in an entirely different way.

‘He needs a bath,’ she said judiciously. ‘And perhaps food.’

His father laughed. ‘What he needs is a bit of self-discipline. Perhaps this tutor will make him pull himself together.’

It occurred to him that they were talking about him as if he wasn’t there. The four white faces above him seemed to be revolving, receding from him as they spiralled. The motion made him feel giddy; the acrid taste of nausea flooded his throat. One of the Czechs said something to his father, but the words were too faint for Hugh to catch.

His body crumpled into darkness.

‘It is all arranged,’ Madame Hase said.

Alfred Kendall pushed aside the remains of his breakfast. After last night, he had a splitting headache and Madame Hase’s voice made it worse.

‘When can he start?’

‘This morning. I told him Hugh would come every day except Sunday, between nine in the morning and five in the afternoon. He can have his lunch there – that will be included in Dr Spiegel’s salary. Hugh can go to and from the apartment by tram. It is an easy journey – the number seven will take him almost from door to door.’

‘I hate to think what this is going to cost.’

Madame Hase sat down and reached for Kendall’s coffee pot. ‘Spiegel’s in no position to bargain. Besides, if money is short we can use one of the diamonds to cover these extra expenses. I know a jeweller who will give us a good price.’

‘But that money is for—’

‘The diamonds are there for a purpose. They may legitimately be used for anything which helps to achieve that purpose. We can’t afford to have Hugh under our feet for the next week or so. You made a good start with Jan and Bela last night, but we still have a long way to go.’

‘I’d better tell Hugh.’ Kendall pushed back his chair. ‘There’s no need for me to come, is there?’

Madame Hase put down her coffee cup and reached for her cigarette case.

‘The less Spiegel knows the better. This time I’ll take Hugh. Afterwards he can travel to Zizkov and back by himself. How is he this morning?’

Kendall shrugged. ‘None the worse for wear as far as I can see.’

‘He is upstairs?’

‘In our room, mooning around as usual. I’ll bring him down.’ He glanced around the dining room and lowered his voice still further. ‘Look here, are you sure we can trust this Spiegel chap? He’s not one of your lot, is he?’

Madame Hase squinted at him through a cloud of smoke. ‘Ludvik Spiegel was a friend of my father’s. He’s a man of no account – a learned fool. I can twist him round my little finger.’

When they reached the terminus, Hugh followed Madame Hase out of the tram. She led him in silence down a narrow street lined with small factories. Without warning she turned left through an archway. Hugh found himself in a large, rectangular courtyard, around which was an eight-storey block of flats.

Dr Spiegel lived in a top-floor apartment whose door gave on to the communal balcony. The balcony was an obstacle course of clothes lines, dustbins and bicycles.

‘This is not a nice neighbourhood,’ she said over her shoulder to Hugh. She rapped on Spiegel’s door. ‘You must not talk to people on your way here.’

The door opened with a screech of hinges.

‘Good morning!’ boomed Dr Spiegel.

He was a tall, thin man whose beard straggled over his bow tie. He ushered them into what was evidently his living room. It was crowded with dark-stained furniture and there were piles of books on most horizontal surfaces.

Madame Hase declined to sit down. She spoke rapidly in Czech to Spiegel; it sounded as if she was reeling off a string of orders. She left abruptly, without even glancing at Hugh.

‘ Pan Kendall, we must introduce ourselves,’ Spiegel said in English. He held out a bony hand with ragged nails. ‘How do you do?’

‘How do you do, sir?’

Hugh and his tutor shook hands ceremoniously.

Dr Spiegel tilted a chair, sending a pile of newspapers to the floor. ‘Please sit down. I would advise you to keep your coat on for the time being. I do not light the stove in the mornings. You must pardon me for forcing you to share the brunt of my domestic economies.’

For the next five minutes, Spiegel strode up and down, his frock coat flapping behind him, describing with nostalgia his experiences in the British Museum reading room at the turn of the century. Hugh felt himself relaxing.

‘And now, Mr Kendall, we must consider our curriculum. We need not trouble with English, since I’m sure you know more about your delightful language than I could ever do. I think we may safely ignore mathematics and the natural sciences for much the same reason. Latin and Greek, on the other hand … But I forget my manners: I should begin by asking your opinion. Is there something that you would like to learn which is within my competence to teach?’