The Starlings of Bucharest

by Sarah Armstrong

  ‘Oh, they’re Pioneers. They’ve made a pledge to be good Communists.’ He didn’t pretend to be interested in me, or my question.

  ‘Like Scouts.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ His eyes continued to pass over the distant view. ‘There is very little crossover between British organisations and Soviet ones. When you’ve been here a little longer, you might be able to see this for yourself. My role is for people like you to never have to think about that side of things.’ He looked back at me, and I felt I had failed his assessment. ‘You wouldn’t believe what people agree to do.’ He smiled, but his eyes remained critical.

  People like me. ‘Is that right?’

  He tapped his watch. ‘Anyway, I do have to go. See you soon.’

  I raised my hand as he walked away and realised that it hadn’t felt as strange as it should have, to bump into someone I knew in such a distant place. Maybe I should have asked him where I should go now, what I should see, but then I realised that I didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything. Everything was organised for me, and I suspected he would have reminded me of this, reminded me to go only where I was supposed to.

  I sat on the wall again and looked around. The deep red of the Kremlin, the childlike scribblings of St Basil, the surprising space leading up to Red Square, and the Rossiya sitting squarely on the right. Now that I thought about it, there was a matching observation point on the other side of the bridge from where I could easily watch people enter and leave the Rossiya. For a second I considered tracking the translators in and out from there, but realised I would look exactly like a spy. I could imagine what Mr Attridge would say about that.

  On the one hand I just wanted to enjoy the food and the posh hotel, and continue my pretence at a career until I worked out what on earth I was going to do next, yet finding Ingrid was starting to feel like a real possibility. It was remarkable how Marku’s story had got to me, but that was a personal aim. Professionally, I needed to find out more about Soviet Moscow, find the story which could move me towards reporting news.

  Another group of children with red scarves, or maybe the same group, was heading towards Red Square. I thought about following them up there to get an ice cream from the stall I’d seen, but there was no rush. I looked back to the river and saw Christopher on the road that ran below mine. He must have doubled back down the steps. Had he crossed the river just to speak to me? I noticed a man stumbling towards him, his thick coat pulled tight and a hat pulled low. It was far too hot to be wearing so many clothes. Christopher checked his watch again; he seemed to be looking for a chance to cross the wide road, over to the water. The man swerved to meet up with him and Christopher turned away, although he must have seen him.

  The man hesitated, pulling something from his coat pocket. It looked as if he was trying to put it in Christopher’s pocket, but Christopher stepped away. The package fell to the ground. It must have been metal because I could hear it clang on the pavement. Christopher darted across the road, leaving the man standing there, his hands hanging by his sides. Two more men emerged from underneath the bridge I stood on and one of them picked up the package. The man followed them without a word being spoken. A car pulled up and all three got in.

  I watched Christopher walk away and, when the car had passed, he stopped and looked around. He saw me on the bridge, watching, and turned away again.

  He could have taken the package, and maybe they wouldn’t have taken the man away. Christopher had let that happen, and I was sure he’d let me go just as easily.

  CHAPTER 20

  After my ice cream, I got back to the Rossiya in good time and went to the café for a coffee. The woman from earlier, the one in the purple hat at the Metropol, was sitting by the window. That surprised me. I didn’t think that translators were allowed in here. She smiled at me and waved me to her table. Before I could react, I felt someone take my arm, and Ursula turned me towards her. Her clothes looked thrown on, and she was worried.

  ‘Have you been with Alan?’ She dragged me to an empty table.

  ‘I haven’t seen him. Why?’

  ‘He was supposed to meet me at half past nine. I tried calling his room, but there was no answer.’

  ‘He’ll definitely be here for the Italian film. He was looking forward to it.’

  Ursula bit her lip. ‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

  I ordered coffee from a passing stone-faced waitress. ‘He’s probably just gone to one of the other cinemas.’

  ‘But that’s where we’d decided to go together. We were going to take a walk along the Moskva and go to the Illusion cinema to see The Mirror. He loves that film, and he never forgets about me. When we have a plan, nothing would stop him keeping to it. Nothing small.’

  I didn’t know what to say. She’d clearly thought through all the options. She looked around the café and then watched the people approaching the hotel from Red Square. I turned to look too, hoping I would see him rushing towards us, eager not to miss anything. I noticed that the woman in the purple hat had gone.

  Ursula pushed her coffee away and drew herself upright. ‘We know he was aiming to see this film, so let’s go and watch it, see if he turns up. If not, we’ll go to the Inturist and knock on his door. Either he’s in, or the floor attendant has his key. It will give us an idea, anyway.’

  I said, ‘He probably just had his phone hidden in the wardrobe and couldn’t hear it.’

  ‘Yes, the strange calls. Do you have them?’

  ‘Not yet.’ That was weird, now that I thought of it again. I hadn’t had any here.

  I finished my coffee, and we went through to the cinema with a group of Italians. We took seats at the back and put our headphones on, Ursula watching whoever came in and out the doors. I’d expected them to be closed for the duration of any film, but people were in and out constantly. What with the light from the door, the shouted Russian translation, the film soundtrack and the translation through the headphones, the film had to be really good to hold your attention.

  The lights went down and the film started. There was no sign of Alan.

  When the film ended, he still hadn’t turned up. I’d been distracted by the film, but I was sure Ursula would have noticed him. As we walked from the Rossiya she took my arm. I was the new Alan. That was fine by me.

  We passed the ice cream stall on Red Square, the cobbles pressing against the card in my shoe.

  ‘What do you think might have happened?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t want to say it aloud.’

  I looked around. No one was near. Did that mean she didn’t trust me?

  We entered the Inturist hotel, but were stopped by the doorman.

  ‘Papers?’

  I made a show of searching my pockets. ‘I must have left it in my room. We’re with the Thomson tour.’

  He shrugged and let us past. Ursula guided me to the lift.

  ‘Huh. Brains open doors. What is a Thomson tour?’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s a British package tour. I saw them arriving on Wednesday.’

  In the lift, she pressed 8 and we waited quietly. She was breathing very fast. I had missed something, some reason for her concern. What had Alan been up to?

  We stepped out of the lift, and the floor attendant watched us walk to 812. She looked almost identical to my floor attendant; late sixties, grey haired, brown smock-like top. Ursula knocked for Alan. There was no answer. I looked at the attendant, but there was no clue on her face. She just watched.

  Ursula put her ear to the door. ‘Alan?’ She turned to the attendant and spoke to her in Russian. The woman put her upturned hands in front of her. She didn’t know. Ursula said something else, and the woman became angry. She started shouting at Ursula, and Ursula was shouting back.

  The door to 808 opened, and a man looked out. Ursula tried Russian, and then English.

  ‘Have you seen the man from this room today?’

  The man shook his head and closed the door.

  The attendant got up from
her desk, and moved us towards the lift. She continued to argue with Ursula until we were safely back inside and on our way down.

  Ursula took some deep breaths. ‘I am not a relation so I can’t be told anything. I tried to say that you were related, but she wasn’t having it without papers. Relatives are always put in the same hotel, she said.’

  Back in the lobby, the receptionist from my first day was waiting for us. She grinned.

  ‘Wro-ong ho-tel,’ she said, and escorted us out.

  We stood on the pavement, watched by the doorman who had crossed his arms.

  ‘What do we do now?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s get something to eat.’

  She took my arm again, and we headed to the almost full Natsional café, joining a couple of Russian men at their table.

  ‘I’ll just have wine and blini, please.’ She sank her head into her hands, and ignored the chatter and movement around her. When the waitress arrived, I ordered the same for both of us and waited for Ursula to come up with a plan. Alan, as far as I knew, had done exactly what Ursula had done. They left the hotels together, they ate together, and they watched films together. I couldn’t imagine what he could have done in the time he spent alone. Well, I could, but I couldn’t see him doing any of it. He was so aware of the pitfalls.

  Our blinis arrived. When she’d finished, Ursula said, ‘We can’t ask anyone Russian. We don’t have the right. The festival organisers won’t want to get involved in anything like this. That leaves the British Embassy. Your embassy. I can’t go in.’

  ‘I have a copy of Smith’s Moscow upstairs. It has the embassy opening times and phone number.’

  ‘No, you need to go in person. Tomorrow.’

  ‘But, it’s Friday. It won’t be open until Monday.’

  ‘Oh God. Are you sure it’s Friday?’ She put her head in her hands. ‘I should have gone straight away, or phoned them. Why did I wait?’

  ‘It was reasonable to wait. They would want you to. A missing person isn’t technically missing for a couple of days.’ I said it without believing that it would be true of Moscow. London, maybe. ‘They will take it seriously if he isn’t back by tonight, but I’ll bet he will be. Maybe he had a small accident and had to go to hospital.’

  Ursula looked at me. ‘Yes. An accident. They wouldn’t tell me that, would they?’

  ‘No. Probably not, if you’re not family.’

  ‘No.’

  I was amazed that I seemed to be saying the right thing. ‘So, we can just relax over the weekend and, if we don’t find out anything, the embassy can chase him down on Monday.’

  ‘I can’t wait until Monday.’ Ursula lifted her head fully, and sat back in her chair. The café was loud and busy. She was still thinking it through. ‘We have to wait, though, don’t we? Do you have the itinerary?’

  I pulled it from my pocket and tried to smooth it.

  ‘I need to stay busy,’ she said. ‘Tell me what you are seeing, and I’ll tell you what I want to see. You don’t mind us pairing up?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  We decided that on Saturday morning we would have a long breakfast in the upstairs restaurant of our hotel, and films in the afternoon and evening were booked for both Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday morning I was taking the tour of the Lenin mausoleum, so I would collect her for lunch.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be back long before that,’ she said.

  She was so convinced that I began to feel uncomfortable for suggesting it. If it didn’t come true, she might blame me.

  ‘And tonight, we will go to the Beriozka and get some wine. The leftovers from yesterday are in my refrigerator, if you get hungry, but I will buy any food you like. As a thank you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’ I mentally counted my change. I’d take what was left of the £5 note I was saving. ‘We can go halves. I just need to go upstairs and get my money.’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby.’

  I ran up the stairs, not wanting her to be alone too long. I felt responsible for her, but I didn’t mind.

  I asked the attendant for my key, and opened my door. There was something different, unlike any other day. Something I couldn’t exactly put my finger on, like the faintest of smells, yet I was sure.

  Someone had been in my room.

  CHAPTER 21

  We hadn’t even drunk a bottle of wine between us when I left Ursula to go to bed. She gave me some bread and olives to take back to my room. I bathed and got into my bed, but I was too hungry to sleep so I got up and ate first the olives, then the bread. I kept having the feeling that I’d forgotten something, but it was just the sense that something had changed. The maid had cleaned, but I hadn’t noticed anything different except clean towels in the bathroom. I wondered if the person I was supposed to meet at the tomb had taken a more direct approach, but I couldn’t see that anything had been left. There was something else which had changed that I couldn’t see.

  I didn’t sleep well. In the morning I suspected I looked as unrested as Ursula. I’d learned nothing new about her the previous night. I couldn’t ask anything personal and she couldn’t touch on anything that made her think about Alan. That left food, and I headed to the restaurant to meet her. I hoped that she was going to make it through the day without him. She had put make-up on, which I thought was a good sign.

  ‘Good morning, Ted.’

  I awkwardly half stood for her, and she laughed.

  ‘Let us eat well and honour our ancestors.’

  ‘Is that what you say in Finland?’

  ‘No.’ She leaned in. ‘We say, when you try to be friends with a Russian, keep a knife close.’ The waitress came across. ‘Tea with lemon, tea with milk, and for both of us black and white bread, butter, soft boiled eggs and ham. OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know I could get tea with milk.’

  ‘You just ask for milk. It’s not a good way to drink tea, but you can.’ She tried to smile. ‘Tell me about where you live, Ted.’

  ‘I’m living in London. It’s just a room in a house. I haven’t been there long.’

  ‘But your employer is sending you around the world. You must be clever to get that job.’

  ‘Just lucky, I think.’

  I fiddled with my cutlery. She looked out at the Kremlin. It was cloudy in the distance yet the red brick was bright, as if the sun was a spotlight.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘It was a big deal to come back here after that first year. It was so stressful, and Alan was the only person who understood. He still gets the phone calls, but I haven’t felt threatened since we teamed up. I feel adrift without him.’

  I tried not to take it personally, but she noticed.

  ‘I know you care what happens to me. You just haven’t experienced the bad bits yet.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure someone searched my room last night.’

  She tilted her head. ‘Weren’t you told that would happen?’

  I rubbed my neck. ‘I’m not sure I was paying as much attention as I should have.’

  She drew herself upright. ‘Well, hopefully Alan is recovering from a twisted ankle, and everything is fine.’

  As our food arrived I realised that there were other people from the festival around the dining room. The group of North Vietnamese women that I’d been sitting with were on one table, and I recognised a few Spanish people on another.

  ‘What’s Helsinki like?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh.’ She swallowed. ‘Full of rich Russians stocking up on everything they can’t get here.’

  ‘Rich Communists? How does that work?’

  She put her fork down. ‘Are you joking?’

  Mouth full, I shook my head.

  ‘You are kidding me.’ She buttered her rye bread, smiling to herself. ‘The Russians still think Finland belongs to them. Apart from that, it’s very nice. Good schools for the children, good jobs, good economy and welfare state. Just a bit chilly. Alan taught me that word. Chilly.’

&nb
sp; ‘It’s a lot warmer here than I was expecting.’

  ‘This is nothing. Even at home it can get very hot.’

  ‘Why did you settle in Finland?’

  She answered quietly, avoiding eye contact. ‘I didn’t settle. I was born there.’

  It was back, that tightly buttoned look of the first night when I’d asked if she was American. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?

  ‘Do you and Alan see each other at different festivals?’

  ‘Just here.’ Her voice was flat. She’d gone back to worrying about him.

  We finished the meal in silence.

  On the way out of the restaurant I asked, ‘Would you like a walk before we go over to the Rossiya?’

  ‘No. I’d like to hang around to see if Alan appears. I left a note for him yesterday. I’ll leave another one, saying where we’ll be until the evening. Hopefully, he’ll have collected the first one. We’ll see.’

  ‘Do you want me to take it?’

  ‘No. They don’t like you much at his hotel. I’ll run upstairs and write a note. Could you wait here and walk me over?’

  ‘I’ll get my notebook, and meet you back here.’

  Back first, I stood in the lobby, the chairs all being taken by what seemed like the same men I’d seen on the day I arrived. A smartly dressed man came along the corridor, shoes tapping, and I guessed he was American. I tried to listen to the sound of my shoes on the marble floor, but they just squeaked. Maybe I should see if I could get some of those handmade shoes from GUM. I’d wait and see how much money I had left.

  Ursula came down the wide staircase, and took my arm.

  I waited for her outside the Inturist, then we walked across to Red Square. Ursula had changed into flat shoes and we were nearly the same height. I pretended that she was happy to be with me. She gripped my arm hard, and I stopped.

  ‘It’s that man, what’s his name?’

  A slight man with fair hair.

  ‘Christopher Hughes,’ I said. ‘Of course, he’ll know. Or, if he doesn’t know, he can ask the right people.’