by Cathy Ace
I knew what I wanted, so I asked for it. “Zsófia, I’d like to read the manuscript for book six, if you have it.”
“I do,” said the girl, rising. “I think Uncle Valentin still has some surprises up his sleeve, if what he said here earlier is true, but I could bring it to you in the salon, if you’d like to read it now.”
“That would be most helpful. And maybe, while I read it, you could gather together some old family photos and the like for me. It always helps me to see the people I’m researching.”
“His books are too long; you’ll be here for days. Zsófia, give it to her to take away.” Alexa was becoming almost impossible to understand.
I looked at Zsófia and said quietly, “I am an extremely fast reader. I won’t need more than a few hours. I’m happy to do it here, if that’s okay with you.”
“I’d prefer that,” she whispered. Then, in her normal voice, she added, “Cait will come to my rooms to read it. We’ll leave you in peace and quiet, Mama. Unless you’d like me to take you to lie down.”
Thrashing arms dismissed us from the room, and I suspected Alexa would be asleep before we’d even climbed the stairs.
About four hours later I left the Takács/Seszták home and made my way back to my little apartment. I had a bag full of goodies to work with, and the entire final book to think through as I sat on the metro, then the bus. It had been quite a day.
Dinner Talk
THE FOLLOWING DAY SPED PAST, and almost before I knew it, I was getting into one of the buses they’d organized at the HUB to take us to the picturesque Vajdahunyad Castle. St. Martin’s Day being such a big deal, this one had become an integral part of the celebrations marking the HUB’s 380th, or possibly 360th—depending on whom you believed—anniversary. The original university had been established in 1633 in what is now Serbia, but it had moved to Budapest in 1653—hence the discussion about the number of years of existence the university could claim. The mirroring of my own university’s peripatetic existence was not lost on me.
The castle sits in a city park, and as we approached it through the darkness, it looked for all the world like a medieval whimsy floating on a lake, its floodlit walls and turrets reflecting in still, ancient waters. In reality, it had been built in 1896 as part of an exposition that had celebrated one thousand years of the Hungarian State. Sometimes carefully constructed façades can trick us into believing a place is something it is not, and I was dwelling on that concept when a voice close by whispered my name and made me jump.
“Ah, Patrik, what a pleasant surprise,” I said with a forced smile when I discovered it was him. Uttering the word “pleasant” required a particular effort.
As we walked—well, I walked, and he sort of minced and hopped, which was how he always propelled himself forward—it became clear the castle was a hodgepodge of architectural styles from different eras. I didn’t know what to expect of the interior, and was pleasantly surprised by the large space where tables had been laid out around a gallery atop a wide staircase. I suspected it would be a rather drafty evening, but it wasn’t too bad. Besides, I had Patrik’s smile to keep me warm.
I decided I simply had to bite the bullet and accept his company for the entire dinner. As we all settled and chatted, and wine was poured, I decided upon my strategy; I put it into action as soon as the ceremonial carving of the goose had been performed by the HUB’s chancellor, who opted for the 380th anniversary in his toast.
“Now that we have a chance to talk,” I began, as conspiratorially as possible, “tell me all about your time in Canada. It must have been fascinating for you.” I tucked into the plate of goose liver pâté in front of me, hoping it would be delightful, even if his company wasn’t.
Patrik’s chest swelled with pride. “Indeed it was. The academic culture there was a great change from that with which I was familiar. It was much more . . . open. That was it. Quite different.”
“And you worked with Hollingsworth, you told me. I bet that’s been a hard act to follow.”
Patrik appeared to give my remark some thought. “Not so much. It was a pinnacle for me, of one sort, but my teaching has been rewarding in different ways.”
“How so?”
“My students have excelled in their chosen fields, and I have set them on their path. That is as satisfying as taking the path myself.”
I had to admit I agreed with him, and told him so. He’d put it elegantly, and I often told myself, while grading in the dead of a winter night, that what I was doing was worthwhile. I was surprised to discover I’d almost not noticed the main course of moist roast goose as I’d eaten it; Patrik and I had enjoyed a cogent conversation about the teaching life, as two colleagues. It was almost refreshing, and, as he spoke, I noted a light in his eyes I’d not seen before—the gleam of enthusiasm for the achievements of others. I wondered if my initial judgment of the man had been too harsh; maybe he just wasn’t blessed with good social skills. Goodness knows Bud’s told me on many occasions that mine are pretty appalling.
The dessert arrived, a glistening chocolate tart topped with a raspberry compote, and I was hoping I’d be able to accommodate it when Patrik said something that allowed me an opening to get onto the topics I’d wanted to press him about.
“I met some wonderful people when I was at your university. People from every part of the world, it seemed to me at the time,” he said with a smile of reminiscence on his face.
I didn’t miss a beat. “Did you know Professor Kristóf Seszták, by any chance?”
“Did you know him?” Patrik sounded puzzled and guarded.
Why didn’t he just say yes or no? Any Hungarian on the UVan campus in those days would have known of, if not known, Seszták.
I aimed for “casually interested” when I replied, “He’s quite famous at UVan for bringing the faculty of psychology from the HUB in the 1950s. It was quite a feat. It must have been difficult for all those people to leave their families behind and flee their country.” I wondered if he’d bite. He did, but not as I’d expected.
“I was so young when all that happened,” he said with an alarmingly coquettish smile. “I was only six years old when the Prague Spring uprising took place. With the exception of my short time in Canada, I didn’t really know anything but Communism until I was in my forties.” Was that a wistful look I spotted, or a pained one? “It was difficult for me to adjust.”
I wondered which “adjustment” he was referring to. “Whatever is normal for us, when we are young, it helps us construct our life views and comfort zone,” I said, hoping he’d be more forthcoming.
“You are correct, though we do not always see it that way. Since the Communists have left, my life has changed a great deal.”
“For better, or worse?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
Patrik hesitated only slightly before he said, “For the better, of course.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.
I decided to take my chance and said, “I understand Professor Seszták’s wife was murdered not far from their home on the UVan campus itself. It was long before my arrival there, of course, but it’s a case that’s always fascinated me. Were you there at the time?”
A flicker of his right eyelid was his tell—I’d spotted it, and now it was as though he was winking, it was so obvious. “I heard about it.”
It was the sort of reply that might have suggested he was nowhere near the university when Ilona Seszták was killed. I decided to play along as if that was what I believed.
“I bet you were glad to not be there at the time. It must be tragic to be caught up in a murder investigation.”
He licked his lips just slightly before he said, “You should know.”
My heart gave one almighty thump in my chest, and I stuffed a piece of chocolate tart into my mouth so I didn’t have to speak for a moment. I tried to make my eyes smile. I didn’t want this man to see he’d surprised me. Had the folks at the HUB checked me out before they’d invited me to visit? I reasoned that
if they had, my head of department might have mentioned my arrest on suspicion of murder in the UK before I immigrated to Canada as part of some sort of “full disclosure” thing, but he also knew I’d been released. Since then, I’d been cleared by multiple Canadian law enforcement agencies as suitable to have access to their files. Surely if he’d mentioned one set of circumstances he’d have mentioned the other?
Wiping crumbs from my bosom-shelf, I decided to become Patrik’s “victim,” and whispered, “I expect you know all about my problems in the UK?” He raised his eyebrows above the frames of his spectacles, his mouth pursed, suggesting he did. “Well, although I was cleared—completely cleared, you understand—it was an upsetting experience. I’d be grateful if you’d keep this between just the two of us. Unless, of course, everyone else at the HUB already knows.”
His smile was small and sly. “Just the dean and I know of your troubles, I believe.” He patted my hand. My skin crawled.
I feigned relief. “I’d be happy if it could stay that way, Patrik. Thank you. And I can tell you this, you missed nothing by being nowhere near the crime scene when that poor woman was killed.”
“Less of the ‘poor woman,’ Cait. The professor’s wife had something of a reputation around the campus. One she richly deserved.”
“Really,” I said, sounding as scandalized as possible. I leaned closer to my co-conspirator and hissed, “Details please.” I even managed a little school-girlish giggle.
Hunching in, Patrik dropped his voice so I could barely hear him above the babble of the post-dinner chatter. “She wasn’t a young woman, and she had grown children. One of them a son not much younger than me. But that didn’t stop her. She made it clear she was interested in various men on campus.” He paused and scanned our nearest tablemates. “It was a difficult situation. I was an innocent abroad—quite literally. I wanted to focus on my work, but she was a great . . . distraction. I didn’t say anything to anyone at the time, of course. One must not speak ill of the dead.”
I touched his arm in what I hoped he would take as the sympathetic act of a confidante. “Oh you poor thing,” I gushed, “that must have been terrible for you. How embarrassing. And you say she had a son about your age? Did the son know his mother was pursuing you?”
Patrik puckered his entire face. “No. If I don’t want someone to know something, they don’t.”
“Well done,” I said, patting his arm the way I sometimes pat Marty’s head when he’s been a particularly good dog. “So you say she made a habit of chasing after young men? Do you think that might have been what got her killed? I believe they never solved the crime—at least, that’s the gossip at the campus.”
Patrik’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you did not like gossip at your university.”
Rats! “I meant when it comes to students, which I don’t think is fair.” I hoped I’d made a good catch. “But this is all ancient history.” I forced myself to gush when I added, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply you are ancient . . . but . . . oh, I’m sure you know what I mean.” My eyes pleaded with him for forgiveness. “My husband’s also terribly keen for me to not gossip, you see—he doesn’t like me to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. He tells me this often. But I’d welcome any personal insights.”
My colleague smiled like a naughty schoolboy. “I understand. Gossip can be divisive. But this was long ago, so what can it matter now? I was so young, and foolish, and some thought I cut quite a dashing figure.”
I decided to rise to the bait. “You are still dashing, Patrik, and let’s have less of the ‘foolish’ too. You must have been quite outstanding, even then, to have been accepted into Hollingsworth’s team at UVan, and—thinking about it, and the times of which we are speaking—you must have received some extraordinary clearances from the Hungarian regime to be allowed to leave the country to study at all. How on earth did you manage that?” I hoped I’d played a convincing part, that he’d accept the flattery and give me the information I wanted.
Disappointingly, it seemed Patrik couldn’t be so easily swayed. “You’re right, I was always exceptionally bright, and Hollingsworth was happy to have me. As for going to Canada to study? Many tourists from all around the world came to Hungary during the 1970s. They opened the Hilton Hotel in the Castle District in 1976, and Hungarian students went to universities that were global centers of excellence throughout the Communist years. It wasn’t so unusual. At that time education was seen as a linchpin in building a better world.”
“You don’t think it is now?” I couldn’t resist.
Once again, the “normal” Patrik was back—the Patrik with the jovial, yet prudish expression. “I am an academic, Cait, like you, which means I have dedicated my whole life to furthering man’s understanding of humanity. In my case, I especially focus on man’s understanding of how he sees himself, and then presents himself in the company of others. Of course I believe education is critical to humanity’s future. I would hope you do too. Or maybe you’re in it for the money.”
I laughed so loudly I almost choked. “The money, Patrik? You must be joking. I don’t know of anywhere we academics are well paid.”
Once again I saw that little flicker of his eyelid. He pursed his lips then replied quietly, “I know we are paying you thirty thousand Canadian dollars to be here with us. I think that’s being well paid.”
“I beg your pardon?” I couldn’t make sense of what the man had just said. “You think I’m being paid thirty thousand dollars to work here for less than a full semester? What makes you think that?”
“I saw the dean sign the invoice with my own eyes.” Patrik looked shocked that I would doubt him. “I agree the payment was to your university, not to you in person, but I assumed they would pass on the payment. This would be correct.”
I was beginning to feel quite warm. “It would be correct, but it’s not what has happened. I haven’t received anything above my normal pay for my time here, Patrik. And that’s a great deal less than the amount you stated. It seems my head of department has been less than forthcoming about the amount of money I’m worth in the marketplace. He appears to be using my skills and reputation to pad the departmental coffers.”
Patrik sat silently for a moment while I fumed. I was absolutely incensed, but didn’t dare utter a word. Once again I found myself seething about something in the company of this obsequious little man. But I was glad he’d let that little nugget slip.
I poked the last crumbs of my dessert around my plate, and Patrik seemed to be hunting for something to say. He pulled his wallet from his jacket and flashed a photograph of a woman with a good set of teeth she wasn’t afraid to show off and four children who might well have had the biggest heads I’d ever seen on human beings.
“Yours?” I asked, as winningly as possible.
He gushed and beamed. It hadn’t occurred to me Patrik would be married, let alone the father of four. My surprise must have shown, because he giggled softly and whispered, “Yes, the four children often shock people. I married late in life, but we are Catholic so—well, you understand, I am sure.” He pursed his little mouth.
“Did that prove to be a challenge during the years of occupation? I understand religion was frowned upon at that time.”
Patrik glanced around and moved even closer. “People find ways to follow their faith, even under tyrants.”
I grappled with this new vision of Patrik. “I’m sure they do,” was my glib response.
“You cannot possibly understand what it is like to live in this country, this city,” he said, snapping the wallet closed and shoving it back into his inside pocket. “You’ll be here for a little while and think you know the place, the people. You won’t. As I don’t really understand the experience of growing up and living in a country like Canada, or a city like Vancouver. You people take everything for granted.”
I gave his words some thought, and felt my perspective on my entire time in Budapest shift in that instant. Other tha
n the bizarre antics of the Seszták/Takács family, I’d focused on everything familiar—the similarities between the university life I knew in Canada and now in Hungary had been at the fore. But I was truly a stranger in an unknown land, adrift within a culture I didn’t really understand at all; one built upon a complex mixture of Magyar nationalism, proudly free Europeanism, and a still-seething anger at the hardships of the recent past. Hungarians had proved themselves an adaptive race throughout centuries of invasion and tyranny. Not unlike the Welsh, I supposed, though I couldn’t pretend to truly understand the Hungarian brand of resilience in the face of adversity.
Even as I felt my world shift a little, it struck me as odd that it had taken one sentence from the unnerving Patrik to make me feel that way.
Patrik frowned at me as I sat there, reassessing my place in the universe. The furrows on his brow deepened as the moments passed. He cleared his throat, a little too loudly, and I snapped out of my reverie.
I rallied. “While you were studying at UVan, Patrik, there was another young Hungarian there, I believe. A Peter Mezey. Did you ever run into him? I gather he, too, was from Budapest.”
Patrik looked surprised by my change of topic, then his eyes all but closed behind his spectacles. “Peter Mezey? It is a common enough sort of name, I suppose. Maybe it sounds familiar.”
I had no idea if “Mezey” was a common family name in Hungary, so I couldn’t really comment on Patrik’s observation. But I certainly noticed he hadn’t answered my question.
Any further chance at conversation was halted when the chancellor of the university rose to make a long, rambling speech, which Patrik unnecessarily translated for me. The moment the polite applause stopped, a great deal of chair scraping and coat wrestling ensued. Patrik began to chat with a colleague who collared him about something or other, and I was pleased to have the time it took to return to the waiting bus to consider not just what Patrik had said but how he’d said it. And, of course, what he hadn’t said at all. I felt I’d spent the evening in the company of a man who was somehow playing a part. Was that why his bonhomie grated on me so much?