The Things We Do For Love

by Lisa Appignanesi

  She felt him gauging her reaction, but she couldn’t help the shudder that had gone through her. So she had been right about Stephen, only wrong in her choice of object.

  ‘But I guess that’s for the two of you to sort out. You’re gonna have quite a lot to sort out, from the looks of it.’ He sprawled against the seat in a semblance of good humour. ‘The last thing you’ll want is sweet ol’ me knocking at the door. So I really think you should do this thing for me, Tess. I really do. And then you’ll be rid of me.’

  Tessa wanted nothing more than to be rid of him right now. It had come to her with a sensation as chill as metal on skin, that he wasn’t just asking her, he was telling. Demanding. Coercing. A whiff of fear attacked her nostrils. That gun. It had been a gun. She calmed herself. All Americans had guns, didn’t they?

  ‘Look, why don’t you just drop me at his hotel and I’ll ask him right now.’

  ‘Good girl. But I don’t want you fobbing me off with just a couple of names or I’ll have to ask for more. I’ve given you something precious and I don’t want peanuts in return. So maybe you just better had bring me the whole kit and caboodle.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ Tessa murmured.

  He instructed the driver and turned back to her. ‘You just talk to Stephen sweetly and when he’s otherwise engaged, you march right down to the taxi here and hand it to me. The PC itself. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.’

  ‘And if he’s not there?’ Tessa found herself weirdly fascinated by this precise series of instructions.

  ‘Well, you just get them to let you into his room. You are Mrs. Caldwell aren’t you? Tell them you’ve just arrived.’

  They were on a wide hilly street. On one side a row of buildings which could only be official stretched in a sameness of facade. On the other, past a dip, shielded by iron rails, there seemed to be a secondary street level. Here there was a series of large but dilapidated family houses. Only one stood out by the brightness of paint and twin lanterns.

  ‘That’s it.’

  Tessa reached for the door as soon as the taxi had stopped, but Ted’s arm was on her shoulder, holding her back, digging through her coat, indenting her skin. ‘And, Tess, I don’t want you reneging on me. We understand each other. I want to see that at least you’ve tried for me.’

  She looked at that handsome face for a moment, nodded, and hastened from the car. Did they understand each other, she wondered and shivered, drew her coat more closely round her. She had no intention of doing what Ted asked. Or of coming back. Certainly not. She would tell Stephen everything. Everything. She was hopeless at lying in any case.

  Tessa tried to find some steps to lead her from one street level to the next. The snow slipped and crunched beneath her feet. She held on to the rail. No, she wasn’t coming back. Ted could just pack up and leave her clothes at the Pariz. She certainly wasn’t going back there tonight. She pushed open the door of the hotel with a sense of relief.

  The hall was narrow and freshly painted. An umbrella rack stood beneath a wood-framed mirror. Trust Stephen to find this modest establishment, even if Camgene was paying. She smiled to herself and brushed the snow from her shoulders. What would she say to him? How to begin? She rushed to the desk before she lost her nerve.

  ‘Dr. Stephen Caldwell,’ she said to the rather severe looking woman who greeted her.

  ‘He has just gone up. Who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘No, no. I’ll go straight to his room. Number…?’

  ‘Thirty seven.’ The woman gave her a queer look.

  Tessa hurried from her gaze, quickly clambered up and round the curving staircase to the first floor, then slowed her steps. From above her on the stairs, she could hear voices. A woman’s first.

  ‘Stupid of me to leave my scarf. Really dumb. It’s so cold now.’

  ‘Yes. Though the snow is fine, don’t you think? We get so little in England.’

  Stephen’s voice.

  Tessa walked softly, saw a pair of long jean-clad legs, a fall of copper hair. And Stephen, a broadish-brimmed hat on his head.

  As insidiously as a tape-worm, Ted’s words slithered into her mind and ate up her courage. She stopped in her tracks, listened to the receding voices.

  ‘We get too much. I thought I was going to be rid of it. It just makes me want to curl into bed and sleep.’

  She waited for Stephen’s reply, but there wasn’t one. Instead she heard a door open. And shut. She waited some more. She didn’t quite know what she was waiting for, but she perched on the step and put her face in her hands and waited.

  After a few minutes, she got up and walked down the stairs. She didn’t stop at the reception desk, where the sleek-haired woman with the tight face looked up at her queerly again. She nodded and murmured a thank-you and slunk towards the door, hoped she could slink out of it invisibly and disappear along the darkened lane into the snow.

  -21-

  _____________

  The street was deserted, hushed under its white blanket like a drowsy child. Where its upper and lower levels met, houses gave way to a secluded stretch of park. In the distance, along a sloping path Tessa could see a boy romping with his dog. Barking burst upon the stillness, a child’s happy call. Tessa looked for a gate in the stretch of iron rail.

  Before she could reach one, she felt a staying hand on her shoulder.

  ‘And where do you think you’re off to?’ Ted turned her towards him. She didn’t like the shadowy look on his face.

  ‘I couldn’t see the cab. I thought you’d gone.’

  ‘Any luck?’ he pressed her towards the taxi which was crawling down the hill in their direction.

  ‘He wasn’t there.’ Tessa watched her feet make tracks in the fresh snow. ‘And the woman at the desk wouldn’t give me the key. She wouldn’t believe I was his wife.’ The sound of her laugh echoed uncannily through the night.

  Ted joined her with a cheerful guffaw. ‘Oh well. Guess we can try later. Or in the morning.’

  She glanced at his profile. ‘Ted, I don’t… We can’t really spend the night together. It wouldn’t…’

  ‘Be right.’ He finished for her and slammed the door of the taxi behind them. ‘No, maybe not.’ He smiled a smile so cheerful that she was left with the odd sensation that she had hallucinated all those earlier alarm bells.

  ‘But you’re not just going to up and leave me without a farewell dinner. Really, Tess. That wouldn’t be kind.’

  ‘No, no. Dinner, of course.’

  ‘Good, good. I’m famished. We managed to forget lunch, if you remember.’ He leaned back in the seat and took her hand, played with her fingers.

  She waited for him to say something more about Stephen’s computer, but nothing came. Instead, after a moment, he slapped his head.

  ‘I’m an idiot. There’s something I’ve gotta do before dinner. A friend of mine in New York asked me to go and have a look at the apartment he’s bought here. To see how the work’s coming on. We can do that first of all. Okay?’ He gave her an endearing look.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s on the other side of the river. Near the castle.’

  ‘That will be nice. We can eat on that side. My guide book tells me there are some great places.’ She kept her voice as light as his.

  As they crossed the curve of the river, its banks white now, Tessa wondered again if she had imagined the tone and tenor of their previous conversation, let alone its content. Maybe he had just wanted some proof of her affection. Men were so bizarre. Men. She kept her mind assiduously away from Stephen. No, she wouldn’t let herself think of that. She would focus on Amy. On practical things. Tomorrow, she would find Rachel, talk to the lawyer, find him at home if necessary, go to the church. But first she had somehow to get through this evening. If only she didn’t feel so distinctly uneasy. Tessa took a deep breath, forced back her shoulders.

  The taxi driver was saying something now, pulling up by the side of the road.

  ‘Much, much sno
w.’ He pointed up a narrow twisting road. ‘Better you walk.’

  ‘Sure.’ Ted paid him, made effusive thanks, ‘It’s up there, right?’

  In the distance above them Tessa could see a pool of light, hazy against the dark sky. Fat flakes danced in it like polka dots on a swirling skirt. But the street itself was sombre and sparsely lit. A lone man struggled downhill, his steps slowed by snow and the large white object in his arms. When he came closer she saw he was carrying a refrigerator. She pointed, laughed. The sound echoed against stone and came back to her as a muffled cry.

  They walked slowly up the incline, their feet scrunching untrammelled snow. Only an occasional illuminated window signalled habitation. For the rest, the houses displayed their ornate facades to the night as quietly as if they were film sets without an interior. Ted paused every few steps to peer for numbers buried in encrusted portals or behind intermittent scaffolding.

  At a corner, they passed a tiny tavern, its wooden door inviting between two old-fashioned lamps.

  ‘Shall we stop? I could use a drink. Maybe even two.’ She kept her voice light.

  ‘Let’s wait. It’s not much further now,’ he encouraged her, draped his arm round her shoulder.

  What would he do if she insisted, if she dodged him now and simply walked into that cosy, peopled interior?

  She shook off his arm, stepped aside. ‘I’d really much rather…’ she began, but his arm was already round her more securely, holding her in a vice, propelling her as if she were as light and insignificant as a marionette, though his voice continued in its persuasive softness, ‘Tess, come on. A few more steps. Look, two more buildings.’

  The wide double doors were hidden between scaffolding. Ted brought out a key-ring, ‘Fine-looking place.’

  ‘Mmm. Shall I wait down here?’

  ‘No, come on up. It’ll be interesting. You haven’t been in a Prague apartment before.’

  He found a timed light switch, pressed it to reveal an arched newly painted hall, plaster cherubs floating from twinned recesses.

  ‘Grand. Look at this.’ He pulled back a leaf-strewn ironwork grill to reveal an old-fashioned open lift. ‘Don’t get this in California.’

  As they climbed smoothly to the third floor, Tessa wondered at his mood, tried to still her niggling fears. The building had a preternatural quiet about it. Perhaps no one had yet moved in or the walls were extraordinarily thick. The lift slid open with a resonant clatter.

  The apartment was at the end of the hall to the right. Only a single door opposite signalled a second flat.

  ‘You can give me your opinion on the paintwork and the fireplace. I’m supposed to report on that. And check if the satellite dish has been installed,’ Ted’s voice reverberated through quiet as he fiddled with the door’s numerous locks. ‘There.’ He pushed it open, found a switch.

  Mellow light arced from three corners of a large high-ceilinged room. At either side of the far wall there were rounded arches. Between them a lavishly decorated fireplace displayed art nouveau tiles of curling vines and brightly pink tulips. A gilt-framed Mucha poster hung above the mantle: sitting in a draped chair, a young cream-gowned woman with golden tresses beneath a star and leaf studded tiara beckoned to them seductively.

  ‘Princezna Hyacinta,’ Tessa read the curlicue script. ‘Pretty.’

  ‘More than pretty. Lucky old Jake.’ Ted prowled behind her, prodding a vast rose sofa, smoothing the lacquer of a corner table, turning a deep blue vase upside down to read the signature.

  Tessa was examining the intricate moulding in the centre of the ceiling when she heard his voice from the adjacent room. ‘Come in here.’

  She followed the tumult of sound and found herself in an office, complete with desk, an assortment of armchairs and a slim backed television of gigantic proportions. With a boyish grin on his face, Ted was zapping at it.

  ‘There,’ he paused. ‘CNN news. Good stuff.’ A reporter’s face, larger than life, looked out at them from the corner of a screen. In the near distance, tanks lumbered.

  Tessa stared, transfixed by the sheer size of the image.

  ‘What do you say I get us a bottle of something and we catch up with the world?’ He was out of the room, before she could answer him.

  With a sigh, Tessa perched on a chair and watched grim upheavals in Bosnia, a report on whale fishing, a congressional committee. She remembered that on her return to Cambridge, there would be a manuscript on the history of the South Slavs waiting for her, perhaps another on nineteenth century vice squads. On her return to Cambridge.

  She got up restlessly and surveyed the room, walked through an arch into a pristine kitchen, its cabinets and breakfast counter a highly polished black. Wondering about the Jake who only occasionally stopped off here, she pushed open a door and found herself in a bedroom which contained a vast unsheeted bed. She closed the door quickly. Well, Jake must be big. That at least was certain. She returned to the study and watched the television some more, then glanced at her watch.

  Ted had been gone far longer than it would take to get to the tavern down the road. Perhaps he had had to go further afield.

  With sudden decision, she dug into her bag, tore a sheet from a small pad and brought out a pen. She scribbled a hasty note. ‘Good-byes are a struggle, don’t you think? It’s been good. Thanks. For everything.’

  She left the sheet on top of the desk and hastened to the door. The locks were stiff and new and she fumbled and prodded. Turned and twisted. The fact crept up on her and struck with sudden foreboding. She was locked in. Ted had locked her in. She looked at the door in disbelief, pounded at it. But the sturdy wood made no sound as her fist struck. A chill went through her. Why would he lock her in? Why?

  Panic clawed at her. She wasn’t part of this story. It wasn’t her story. She looked round for a telephone. There it was. On the desk. She clutched for her guide book, scrambled through it, found an emergency number, tried to remember the address of the house, remembered instead the name of the Bar. Legenda. She picked up the phone. Nothing. There was no signal. She clicked at the catch in disbelief.

  Tessa stilled herself. There was no reason to be afraid. Of course not. Of course the phone hadn’t yet been connected. And Ted would be back soon. She perched on the edge of a chair. Watched the pictures flickering on the screen. Mountains. Rugged. Ice-capped. Children singing. Coca Cola.

  Nice Ted. Bringing a bottle of champagne. To celebrate their last night. Kind Ted. Who had transported her in whirlwind fashion through sights and sounds and sensations. She tried to focus on their first days together. The pleasure of him. The pleasure of his attention. After all those arid years. Grateful to Ted.

  But the images wouldn’t gel. Tessa clasped her hands together and forced them into calm. There were too many other things, jarring notes. When had they come? Back then, way back, at the pharmaceuticals fair in Paris. Yes. And then here in Prague. The bad temper. Over who she was. And the fax, that message. What had she read?

  She tried to remember and as she did so Ted’s voice, back there, in the taxi, insinuated itself on her, seducing, cajoling, no. Menacing. The grip of his arm. Taut, brutal. Poised to crush. Why? Something Stephen had. She must alert Stephen. Why hadn’t she approached him before? What did it matter whom he was with? Stephen, whom she trusted, despite everything. Stephen who would never do any harm. Stephen whom she loved, despite of, with, all his secrets. Yes.

  Tessa leapt up, paced, looked out the window. It was dark out there. No lights opposite, the windows as blank as concrete. Only scaffolding. And snow.

  A captive in a gilded cage. That’s what she was. Kidnapped. Abducted. The irony of it didn’t make her laugh. She turned her back on the window, switched off the television, listened to the quiet and then hastily switched it on again. In the kitchen she found a glass. The water from the tap spluttered yellow. She let it run, moistened dry lips.

  She couldn’t just wait here. She looked at her watch. An hour. Maybe an hour and
a half. Not even a book to hand. Sit and wait. Waiting. She hated waiting. Like waiting for a period to come. Bad or good. Mostly bad. Waiting for her parents to come home to that ominously quiet house with its creaking floorboards when she had been left alone to tend to her sleeping younger brother. Waiting for the phone to ring when it never did when one waited. She hated waiting. The seconds on the clock moving with stubborn slowness.

  No. She had to act. She had to warn Stephen. Abductions served a purpose. Entailed violence.

  Tessa scraped the chair back on newly varnished wood. She pulled on her coat and walked to the front room, peered out first one tall window, then the next, and the next. Still no lights opposite. If she saw a car, she could shout. She found a latch. The window moved slowly outwards on new hinges. A flurry of snowflakes blew towards her, fresh, light, free.

  Suddenly it came to her. She knew exactly what to do. Deftly she tucked her trousers into the rim of her boots, strapped her bag across her chest and heaved herself onto the window ledge. She sat there a moment, her legs poised in the cold. Only a small leap and she would be out on the planks.

  Averting her eyes, she leapt. The scaffolding shook slightly below and above and then was still. Everything was still.

  Snow covered the further edges of the walkway, lay in irregular mounds here and there where the wind had blown it. It was sticky and soft and squelched underfoot with a slippery sound. Above her the sky was charcoal dark, but in the distance a sliver of a moon hinted at its presence beneath a lightening of cloud.

  Tessa walked slowly, clinging to the intermittent metal poles for balance, forcing her eyes away from the road which yawned too far beneath her. There would be the window of another flat she could hoist herself into, a ladder where she could clamber down from one level to the next. Taking a deep breath, she turned the corner of the building. By the time Ted came back she would be far away.

  Ted Knight retraced the evening’s route and arrived on Katerinska rather more slowly than he had hoped. Taxis were few and far between. No matter. Time was on his side. All the chips in his pocket. But he had to play his cards well. No point giving out more than the situation merited. He rubbed the snow from his shoulders and straightened his coat.