‘Yes, it’s me,’ she was saying. ‘But Theo I can’t possibly explain over the phone. I suppose I hoped you’d never know. I can’t imagine how you’ve found out about Matthew.’ She broke off, then said, ‘Listen, I’ll drive down this afternoon. No, don’t argue, this will have to be sorted out. What time is it? Just on one. I can set off in half an hour. I should be with you by about four.’
‘But…’ began Theo, but Petra had already rung off.
He turned to see Lesley standing in the doorway of the room.
‘Matthew again,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t help hearing that. The same Matthew who did the convent sketches?’
‘Yes.’
‘And probably the one of Aunt Petra?’
‘Let’s make some lunch,’ said Theo. ‘It seems years since I had breakfast. I’ll tell you while we eat.’
He told Lesley and Guff the whole story while they ate soup and hastily cut sandwiches, and he was deeply grateful to them both for listening and not ridiculing anything. He described to them the galaxy of people he had believed to be his own invention, but who were turning out to be real. Annaleise and Sister Teresa. Matthew and Mara and Mikhail and their strange uneasy life in Romania. ‘They’ve all turned out to be actual people,’ he said. ‘Documented. Mikhail and Mara are here. I’ve met them, and you’ve met Mara, Lesley.’
‘Sister Miriam,’ said Lesley, who had listened with absorption to Theo’s story, her eyes huge and fascinated. ‘She came with us to look at the paintings on Monday. Very quiet – rather watchful of everyone. What’s Mikhail – Michael Innes like?’
‘Intelligent and serious. Nice.’
‘Whatever else he is,’ put in Guff, ‘he must be incredibly brave to do what he did. Dear me, I remember all those dreadful news reports about Romania – the orphanages, the political prisons. We never knew the half of what went on in those years. So many tragedies. You know, I do wonder how you plugged into all this, Theo.’
‘So do I,’ said Theo, wryly.
‘I suppose you read it all somewhere and forgot about it. I mean, it’s the only explanation.’
‘Yes,’ said Theo, unconvinced. ‘Oh, and there’s also this.’ He reached for the convent’s book, and opened it at the page with the photo taken of the Romanian convent.
‘Until this morning I’d have said that was Charmery,’ said Lesley, leaning over to look.
‘So would I. But what if it’s my mother?’
‘I’d say it is your mother,’ said Guff, peering at the page.
‘But what was she doing in Romania? I never knew she’d been there, did you, Guff?’
‘No, but she’s always travelled about a good bit. Is there another sandwich to be had? Thank you. What about Matthew and Andrei? And Elisabeth? Is there any way of tracing them?’
‘I don’t know. Michael might know.’
‘I hope at any rate Matthew found Andrei and got him out of Jilava,’ said Lesley.
‘So do I,’ said Theo. ‘When Michael told me about leaving Matthew in Jilava, one of the things that came strongly across was that although he tried to hide it, Matthew was very frightened.’
Romania, early 1980s
Matthew thought he had managed to hide from Mikhail and Mara how extremely frightened he was at being inside Jilava on his own. As he went deeper into the prison’s labyrinth, going stealthily along the dank stone passageways, he was trying not to remember how gaunt and strange Mara had looked or the way another person – a stranger – had seemed to look at him from her eyes.
He squared his shoulders, deliberately adopting a stance of authority, and began to walk. Authority, thought Matthew, that’s what I must convey if I meet anyone. Authority and a sense of familiarity – as if I know all about this place.
His plan to search for his father was simple: he would work his way systematically along the stone corridors, opening every door he came to. He could not think what he would do if he did not have keys to them all, or if the knocked-out guard was found and described his assailant. But surely if the guard had been found already, Jilava would be echoing with the sounds of warning bells, shouts and running feet.
As he went down the stone steps to the lower level, he encountered two guards. His heart leapt with panic and he expected to be recognized as a stranger and pounced on. He managed to nod casually, and experienced a huge relief when they seemed to accept him, nodding back and continuing on their way. It’s all right at the moment, thought Matthew, but it could go all wrong at any minute.
He assumed he would have to unlock doors to look inside the cells. This was worrying him because there were ten or twelve keys on the keyring and it would be time-consuming and noticeable to try them one at a time. But quite a number of the doors were unlocked; they turned out to be storage rooms or offices. Twice people were working at desks, but each time Matthew glanced round the room as if looking for someone, sketched a brief salute, murmured an apology, and went out again. But his heart was hammering and sweat was sliding slickly between his shoulder blades, and he knew he was treading a very precarious tightrope.
He worked his way along, eventually reaching several intersecting passages in the bowels of the old fortress. The doors here had small spy holes at eye level. That means it’ll be easy to look inside each one, then move to the next, thought Matthew, knowing it would not be easy at all, knowing that finally and at last he was faced with the nightmare of his childhood. The stone corridors with people locked away in dank stone cells. The forgotten ones, the people whom the world barely remembered. I’ve walked these corridors in my mind, he thought, horrified. But how did I know about them? How did I get it all so right? How did I know that human creatures were herded into such places and I would feel this knife-twisting pity at seeing them?
But here and there he saw unmistakable defiance in the faces and eyes of some prisoners, and it heartened him, even though by this time he was shaking with pity and anger. Deep down a new fear was unfolding. If Andrei was here for ten years, and Jilava might have broken him as it had so obviously broken these prisoners, he might be weak, beaten, despairing, Matthew would find that hard to bear. Even harder to bear was the knowledge he might not even recognize his father.
But he did. He looked through a spy hole and saw six men in the cell. He looked at the one who sat nearest the window and a wave of emotion so strong it almost blinded him, engulfed him.
His hands were shaking so badly he thought he would not be able to unlock the door. Then he thought the key to this particular cell was not on the keyring, and he could have wept with frustration and his own ineptness. He peered through the tiny square of window again and saw the men had heard him. They were looking up, vaguely questioning of this guard who fumbled and took so long. Matthew swore under his breath and jammed another key into the lock. It turned, the door swung open, and he saw the figure by the window stand up and walk towards him.
The present
Petra arrived at Fenn House just after four o’clock. She hugged Theo and Lesley, told Guff he was looking terrific, and went upstairs to unpack and wash. When she came down again she went straight to Matthew’s sketch which Theo had put back in its original place.
‘So it was here all the time,’ she said, half to herself. ‘I always wondered what happened to it.’
‘I’d never seen it before,’ said Theo, ‘but it looks as if Charmery found it and decided to put it on display. I thought,’ he said, carefully, ‘that it actually was Charmery.’