by Rayne, Sarah
‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Kaplen at once. ‘I haven’t the time.’
‘You have to eat, presumably?’
‘Yes, but—what about Alicia Darke?’
‘She can come as well if she likes, but I was thinking of just the two of us.’
‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know you didn’t. Alicia is just a friend, Sonja.’
‘Ha!’ said Miss Kaplen scornfully.
‘Do come. You’ll enjoy the performance—Bunstable’s on the bill on Saturday.’
‘The gentleman with the kippers?’
‘Yes. He’s a bit of a nuisance over his kippers—it’s almost a superstition with him, I think—but he’s a good comic. Very sharp, very witty. We’ve got a shocking old ham actor booked for next week—he’s called Prospero Garrick, would you believe that?’
‘Not for a minute,’ said Sonja, laughing. When she laughed, her entire face lightened and she suddenly looked like a mischievous pixie.
‘He does very florid monologues in a highly melodramatic Victorian style,’ said Toby. ‘My mother insists on booking him because she thinks it gives us a touch of class. We don’t need class, of course—our audiences don’t really want class.’ He grinned. ‘On a Saturday night, it’s Bunstable and his ilk they want. The whole place wakes up then. I’d love it if you’d come.’ He suddenly wanted her to experience the warmth and comradeship that filled the theatre on those nights, and he also wanted to see her wearing a silk evening gown in place of the rather shapeless, nothing-coloured coat and skirt she had worn both times they had met. So he said, ‘And we could have supper at the Savoy Grill after the show and you can explain to me about the revolution.’
‘I have no intention of going to the Savoy Grill with you or anybody else and I wish you’d stop calling it a revolution.’
‘Isn’t that what it is? What a pity. I was looking forward to shouting warlike slogans and singing revolutionary songs.’
Miss Kaplen said severely that she hoped Toby was taking the forthcoming protest seriously, because Tranz did not have time or energy to waste on people who were going to be flippant.
‘I’m not flippant at all,’ said Toby. ‘I’m as serious as—as the Houses of Parliament or Magna Carta.’
‘We’re simply going to march through the streets and stage a protest rally outside the reception being held for the Archduke.’
‘That’s what everyone keeps telling me,’ said Toby thoughtfully. ‘But does it not occur to you that it’s a very long way to travel to shout a few slogans?’
Toby had not been to the Soho restaurant referred to in the note Sonja had delivered, but when, as instructed, he asked for Mr Petrovnic, he was at once conducted to an upstairs private room.
Two of the patriarchal gentlemen were seated at a table, both drinking colourless liquid from small glasses, but when Toby bade them good morning they either did not understand English or considered him too far beneath their notice to acknowledge. Or perhaps anarchists, if they were anarchists, were apt to consider such trivial exchanges a mark of imperialistic decadence.
After a few moments, one of them pushed the bottle of colourless liquid over to him, indicating that he should pour himself a glass from it. It turned out to be vodka, which Toby disliked, but he took a sip for politeness’ sake and set the glass down hoping no one would notice if he did not drink the rest. No mention was made of food.
Petrovnic arrived shortly afterwards, and although he did not shake Toby’s hand, he sat opposite him and looked at him very intently indeed. Then he said, ‘I am very glad to be meeting you, Mr Chance.’
‘Thank you. I’m interested to meet you,’ said Toby politely. ‘I found your talk the other night very stirring.’
Petrovnic made a dismissive gesture as if this was of small importance, and embarked on a series of questions about Toby’s allegiances and his political views, all of which Toby tried to answer as he thought Petrovnic would want and expect. He had been prepared for some mention of his father, but nothing was said: Toby could not decide if this meant they were treating him warily or if they had not connected him with Sir Harold Chance of the Foreign Office. Perhaps they simply did not think it mattered.
Petrovnic outlined the arrangements for the march, and the details of the main meeting point in Sarajevo itself. ‘That will be the town hall of Sarajevo,’ Petrovnic said, and the two other gentlemen nodded portentously.
‘The Archduke is to direct army manoeuvres in the neighbouring mountains,’ said one of them, and Toby heard that the man spoke with a stronger accent than Petrovnic’s.
Petrovnic said, ‘You can travel to Bosnia, Mr Chance? You have not family commitments that would prevent that? The journey will take perhaps four days.’
Toby was unsure if this was the reference to his father he had been expecting and thought there was an undercurrent in Petrovnic’s tone he could not identify. But he took the question at face value. ‘I have some commitments,’ he said. ‘But in the main I’m my own master and I can travel to Bosnia or the Isles of Gramayre or the Elysian Fields or anywhere I want at a moment’s notice.’
This appeared to satisfy them. ‘Before the start of our rally, we shall meet friends from Bosnia and Serbia in the Café Zlatna Moruna,’ said the man who had talked about the army manoeuvres, ‘which is a much more humble place than you will be used to.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Toby cheerfully. ‘I’ve eaten and drunk in a lot of peculiar places in my time. The Sailor’s Retreat on a Saturday night takes some beating.’
‘Zlatna Moruna is nothing like your London pubs or this restaurant we are in today,’ said the man, and Toby thought he sounded angrily proud.
‘Then it will be a new experience,’ he said politely.
‘You will be given a map. Or,’ said Petrovnic, ‘we may be able to arrange for you to travel in company with some of our other friends. That might be better.’
‘Thank you very much. I’ll be there,’ said Toby, although he was still not entirely sure if he would.
‘Good. We are very pleased to have you with us,’ said Petrovnic, and again there was the searching look making Toby remember all over again that these were the people who, according to Alicia, had been ‘longing to meet him’. Unease stirred once more, because surely they were letting him into their organization very easily. Or were they simply grateful for any new recruits? Petrovnic said, ‘Soon I shall inform you of the arrangements. Have we your address?’
‘Care of the Tarleton Music Hall, Bankside,’ said Toby, and saw Petrovnic’s eyes flicker.
But he only said, ‘Ah yes, the Tarleton. A theatre that has much history.’
‘We like to think so,’ said Toby, and this time there was no doubt about Petrovnic’s reaction. But it was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and the man who had talked about the café in Sarajevo, said, ‘He must take the oath to Tranz and to our leaders.’
‘Certainly,’ said Petrovnic. ‘Mr Chance, you will take the oath?’
Toby had not expected this, but he said, ‘Yes,’ and when they handed him a sheet of paper, he read the words clearly and without flinching.
‘Before God, on my honour and my life, I swear I will execute all missions and commands without question. I swear before God, on my honour and my life, that I will take all the secrets of this organization into my grave with me.’
As he made his way home the final few words of the oath were still with him. I will take all the secrets of this organization into my grave with me.
It was all a bit melodramatic and even slightly childish—a little like the secret societies Toby and some of his school friends had set up one long-ago autumn term. But as far as he could make out none of Tranz’s intentions were actually criminal, although he supposed the protest itself might come under the heading of disturbing the peace, or causing a commotion. But neither of those were hanging offences and the very ease with which he had been able to join the group surely indicated its
innocence.
Still, he thought, I’d better not tell the guv’nor or mother about any of it until it’s all over.
‘And you are certain young Chance will be loyal to Tranz?’ demanded Petrovnic of Alicia that evening.
‘Yes. He’s not taking it entirely seriously,’ said Alicia, ‘because he never does take anything entirely seriously—at least, that’s the impression he likes to give.’
‘The flippancy is a pose?’
‘I’ve never been able to decide. But I do think,’ said Alicia, ‘that you fired him with a genuine idealism, a kind of crusading spirit—as you do with everyone.’
‘I am aware of that. I have a gift for it. And flippant or not, Toby Chance is a good addition to our group. You did well to get him for Tranz, Alicia.’
‘You said you wanted him,’ said Alicia, ‘so I brought him to you.’
‘Also Sonja Kaplen, I think. She is another good recruit.’
‘Oh, Sonja thinks she wants to change the world. I don’t understand her. I don’t understand any of those young women. They aren’t content to lead the lives their mothers led. They have too much energy, too much idealism.’
‘Which is very good for Tranz. You will have a glass of wine?’
‘Not if it’s that vinegary stuff you serve at meetings,’ said Alicia.
‘From my own stock.’
‘In that case I will have as many glasses as you care to give me.’ She watched him pour the wine; his hands were slender and quick, and when he leaned over her chair to hand her the glass, his fingers brushed her bare arm and Alicia felt a bolt of sexual longing. She willed him to sit next to her on the sofa, but he returned to his own chair. To conceal her emotion, she said, ‘Sonja was an unwitting help with Toby: she accused him of being a decadent capitalist, then said he wouldn’t volunteer for the Sarajevo trip because he did not care about oppressed nations. After that it was a foregone conclusion. Perhaps you should arrange for Toby to travel with her if you can. Also Ilena.’
‘Ilena is a good idea. Chance is polite enough to respect her age and if he asks awkward questions, Ilena will give him that basilisk stare and he will be silenced.’
‘He isn’t easily silenced and he certainly isn’t easily intimidated.’
‘Whatever he is, he is the son of Sir Hal Chance and as such his presence will lend considerable force to the cause,’ said Petrovnic. ‘If we ever want to exert pressure on the British government, we would have a very good weapon in our hands with Toby.’
‘A weapon?’ Alicia had thought she was fairly unscrupulous, but she did not much like the sound of this. ‘I’m not sure I care for the idea of using Toby—or anyone else—as a weapon.’
‘It is for the individual conscience,’ said Petrovnic. ‘For myself I will use any means to further Tranz’s work.’
‘Have you ever met Hal Chance?’ asked Alicia curiously.
‘Briefly, many years ago.’ The light flared in his eyes again and it was definitely not firelight; it was something harder and colder and something that was corrosive and dangerous. Hatred? Yes. Directed at Toby? No, thought Alicia, it’s not Toby, I believe it’s Hal Chance who’s making him look like that.
For the first time ever Alicia was glad to leave Petrovnic. That sudden hard hatred in his expression had disturbed her, and the feeling remained with her as she made her way home.
Ever since she had met Tranz’s leader she had wanted him with a violence that had surprised her. You could put whatever name you liked to the feeling—you could call it love or bewitchment, or you could call it plain unvarnished lust. On balance, Alicia, who possessed a strong streak of honesty, was inclined to opt for this last label. But whatever you called it, this emotion, for the moment, was rendering her helpless and enslaved, although so far it had not prevented her from enjoying sweet distractions with young men such as Toby Chance. But even Toby’s seduction had been a part of her hunger for Petrovnic, because Petrovnic wanted Toby for Tranz. Have I simply been the acolyte, bringing the offering to the altar? she thought suddenly, and saw again the glare of hatred in Petrovnic’s eyes. A shiver of dislike stirred in her mind.
It had once been said of Alicia Darke that she would go to bed with the devil if she thought the devil would give her a new thrill and when the remark was repeated to her she had been amused and rather pleased. Better to be known for your sins rather than not be known at all.
But tonight she thought that while she might certainly get into the devil’s bed, she was no longer sure if she would get into the bed of a man whose eyes had shown that frightening glare when Sir Hal Chance’s name was mentioned.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TOBY WAS ENOUGH of a theatre man to recognize that to some extent Petrovnic was spinning an illusion, although that was not necessarily sinister: Petrovnic could be doing so for the best of reasons. But Toby’s father had said that Tranz was suspected of being a breeding ground for saboteurs and spies: a machine to promote war between Serbia and Austria, and although Toby thought his father was clinging to an old-fashioned outlook, part of him was uneasy.
Petrovnic had said they would meet up with friends from other countries, which made Toby wonder if there might be a few fanatics who might try to stir things up, but as far as he could make out the planned protest was a matter of a march through the streets of Sarajevo, timed to coincide with the Archduke’s arrival. And when he remembered some of the faces at the meeting he was reassured; it was impossible to think of the aristocratic old woman in black who had sat disdainfully in a corner, or any of the scholarly gentlemen who had been present, lending themselves to anything as vulgar as mob law. On the other hand, Toby was very easily able to visualize Sonja Kaplen leading a wild crowd of freedom fighters through the streets, shouting death to the aristos and gleefully ordering offenders to be strung from lamp posts. He could not decide if this was worrying or exhilarating.
Sonja had eventually come to one of the Tarleton’s performances as Toby had suggested and had appeared to enjoy it. She had not dined with him afterwards as he had suggested, but she had sat in the green room and drunk a mug of coffee which the inquisitive Bob Shilling had supplied, and talked to Bunstable and Frank Douglas.
‘That’ll be the one you’re chasing half across Europe,’ remarked Frank after Sonja left.
‘I’m not chasing anyone anywhere.’
Several days later Sonja reappeared while Toby and Frank were on stage, polishing up ‘The Ghost Walks’. She sat quietly in the auditorium until they had finished their rehearsal, then handed Toby a second note from Petrovnic.
This was to the effect that the journey to Sarajevo was to be made in a week’s time, on 23 June. A train would leave Waterloo Station for Dieppe at ten o’clock on the morning of that day—Mr Chance would please make suitable arrangements to be on it. Unless anything unexpected or catastrophic occurred, they would arrive in Sarajevo on the evening of 26 June or, at the latest, the morning of 27 June.
The notepaper was thick and surprisingly expensive for a group that affected to disdain capitalism, and at the head, in defiant black type, were the words, ‘Tranz is dedicated to promoting the crossing of boundaries and the creating of freedom for all.’
‘The journey will actually take less time than I thought,’ observed Toby to Sonja, having read the details.
‘We might encounter delays—trains being late, or trains held up along the way. But Petrovnic has allowed a good margin for that.’
‘Yes. I’d have to say, though, that he doesn’t give people much warning for setting off halfway across Europe,’ said Toby.
‘That’s because he believes people should be so dedicated to the cause, that anything else in their lives can be jettisoned at a moment’s notice.’
‘I don’t know about jettisoning, it’ll mean a lot of reorganizing of the Tarleton’s programmes.’
‘If you don’t want to come, you can always back out,’ said Sonja.
‘I’m not backing out. Did you like my new
song?’
‘My God, you’re an egotist,’ said Sonja forcefully, and then, when Toby grinned, said, ‘I did like it as a matter of fact.’
‘Is that because under the comic surface it’s about people struggling to make a living? Not always making the money last from pay day to pay day?’
Sonja said, ‘Be careful, Mr Chance, or people might start to think you care about things like poverty and inequality. Real life.’
‘I do care,’ said Toby, stung to anger. ‘I might live in Kensington but my mother grew up in the East End. Where, by the way, do you live?’
‘Hampstead,’ said Sonja furiously. ‘That’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘No? When did you last have bread and dripping for your main meal of the day? Or visit Ikey Mo the Whitechapel pawnbroker? Or hide from the rent man? My mother did all of that in her time, and a lot of the people who work in this theatre still do it. I can’t always help them, but sometimes I can.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sonja after a moment. ‘I shouldn’t have made that assumption. I really did like your song.’
Toby very much wanted to say, then come out to lunch and let’s call a truce, but he did not. He said, ‘I’m glad you liked it. It isn’t quite as we want it yet, but it will be by tomorrow night. But now, if we’re leaving on Friday I’ll have to ask you to excuse me—there’ll be quite a lot of arrangements here to make.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Sonja and went without another word.
‘You’re getting mightily ruffled by someone you aren’t chasing,’ said a voice from the rear of the stage, and Toby looked up to see Frank lounging against a piece of scenery, apparently studying a music score.
‘Will you get it into your head that I’m not chasing her,’ said Toby in exasperation.