The second message was from Karoly. "Hi. Just checking to see you got home all right. Sorry I was such a jerk."
I ignored them both. No doubt Cybil was going to tell me what horrible thing Karoly had done to her that would make her a member of the new Vengeful Divas. Karoly was going to apologize one more time, and maybe make another pitch to come over. I made myself a cup of herbal tea that claimed relaxing powers, sat down in my favorite armchair at the back of the house overlooking my garden, and decided it could wait. I had rather a lot to think about.
Was it possible someone had slipped a drug into my drink? Did I want to believe so because it would make me feel better, absolve me of responsibility, or did it really happen? And if someone had slipped me a drug of some kind, one that made me appear drunk, and leave me with no memories of what happened, who would it have been, and more importantly, why would they? I went over and over the events of that night in the bar, insofar as I recalled them. What had happened just before I started feeling peculiar?
Anna had come into the bar and made a little scene. So what could that possibly have to do with it?
As I sat there, at 3:30 by my watch, the motion detectors I'd installed at the back of the house suddenly kicked in, and the yard was awash in light. I got up and peered into the yard, but could see nothing. The lights switched off after a few seconds, but then switched on again.
My property backs on a cemetery, one that starts at my back wall and ends down in the valley where Anna met her death. Other than having to endure repeated jokes on the part of everyone who notices this for the first time—ones about how people are dying to get into the neighborhood and so on—the location has much to recommend it. The cemetery is a very old one, rife with history, acres of old, gnarled trees, and yes, the neighbors are really quiet. The gates are locked at sunset, presumably to keep out the undesirable elements in society, but quite frankly, most people, no matter how malign, don't like to spend the night in a graveyard. I've often considered it one of the safest places in the world.
But perhaps not at this very moment. The moon was full, casting shadows across the yard. My porch lights kept flicking off and on. I turned out the light in the back room, and when the lights came on, peered toward the back of the yard. I still couldn't see anything, but I knew with absolute assurance that something was out there, something in the graveyard, just a little beyond where the beam of my lights could reach.
I thought of waking my neighbor Alex Stewart, a lovely man who is both friend and occasional staff in the shop, but I remembered that he'd gone to his cottage in Ireland for a couple of weeks. I couldn't call Rob, and certainly not Karoly. I grabbed a flashlight and headed out into the yard.
The moon went behind a cloud for a moment just as my flashlight failed, and a spectral vision rose above the gravestones and floated toward me. It was Anna, one arm up and pointing, the same way she had in the bar. It appeared she was pointing at me. In the other hand she held the Magyar Venus, which she held out toward me. Her mouth opened and closed as if she was trying to tell me something. She was crying. I tried to speak, to ask her what had happened and to tell her I was sorry if I'd been involved in any way, but the words stuck in my throat. She turned and gestured across the graveyard, and I knew she was pointing in the direction of the bridge where she'd met her death. Then she turned back to me, her eyes grew very large, her mouth gaped wide in a scream, and she started straight for me.
I awoke, heart pounding, gasping for air. I was sitting in my favorite armchair and the garden outside was dark. As the stark terror of the nightmare subsided, I realized that I would never find any semblance of peace of mind, nor sleep through the night, until I knew why and how Anna died. I also knew that I'd spent enough time wallowing in my own anxieties and insecurities, and not enough actually doing something that would let Anna's soul, and my conscience, rest. My subconscious was telling me that Anna's death and the Magyar Venus were related. My conscious brain was telling me that one of the people I'd thought were friends had drugged me. That's all I had to work with.
And then it came to me. I would check out the Venus's provenance, just as I'd been asked to do. I'd prove it was a fake, or I'd prove it was genuine. It didn't much matter which, in terms of what I really needed to know. If it was genuine, it would go a long way toward making me trust my old love again. If it was a fake, and he'd covered it up, then I'd vindicated the others. Either way, I was sure to find out what happened that night. Either way, the road ahead was the same. I sat down at my computer and booked a flight to Budapest for the very next night. I left a voice mail for Clive at the shop to say where I'd gone, and how he could reach me. Then I sent e-mails to the Divas, Karoly, and Frank telling them only that I was off to Hungary. At least one of them would have to wonder why.
CHAPTERSIX
April 30
My Journey to Budapest was a difficult one, not because my accommodations were unacceptable, nor even because of the mal de mer that afflicted me as soon as the ship left England, but because of anxiety as to what I would find on my arrival. As to the city itself Budapest is a wonder. Although I had heard much from T, who extols the beauties of his native city with great enthusiasm, I believe I still laboured under the Englishman's staunch belief that of London there is no equal. I have seen with my own eyes that this is not so.
I felt great apprehension, almost oblivious of the splendid vistas on the river, as the steamer from Vienna made its way through the gorge and turned almost due south toward the city. Or to be precise, I should say cities. To my right, I saw Buda, its castle, not yet completed, but still impressive, having a fine vantage point high atop cliffs over the Danube. To my left lay the city of Pest, not so grand perhaps, but rather to my liking with its industrious nature. I am pleased that I chose to reach my destination by steamer rather than by train, and happy indeed that the disagreeable condition that plagued the first part of my journey did not reappear on the river, because it seems to me that arriving by boat is to capture the essence of the city, the Danube being so great a feature of it.
I am most fortunate in my choice of lodging, having found an apartment that is clean and well situated in what is called the Lipdtvdros not far from the Danube for a price that I am able to manage with some care. The building is owned by a family called Nddasdi who live on the piano nobile, the first floor, in what I am told are quite splendid accommodations, although they summer at their country estate in the mountains. The smaller apartments are above them, mine on the fourth, the top, floor. The janitor lives on the main floor near the front door, but behind the rather wide main stairway to the first floor. His name is Fekete Sandor, his wife Marika, whom I am to refer to as Fekete Neni, which means, I believe, Mrs. Fekete. The Hungarians put their family name first. My little apartment looks over the central courtyard, and yet, as I am on the corner of the building, if I stand just so, I can see the Parliament, and beyond it, just a glimmer, the Danube. The Parliament is not yet complete, but nonetheless rather grand. I walked the short distance to view them the day after I moved into my lodgings.
I am happy to find that many here speak some German, and my pitiful efforts in that same language are by and large understood. While we do not understand each other well, Fekete Neni is very kind and much concerned for my comfort.
I am most taken with the city. My walks about my neighbourhood are quite agreeable. The building in which I now stay is rather pleasing in aspect, neoclassical, with four columns in front. The main portal, up a few steps, is protected by a wrought-iron gate and there is some interesting tile work which I am told is porcelain from a famous Hungarian factory called Zsolnay. Across the street is an apartment one story higher than mine, modern and lavish in aspect. If I walk south and a little bit east, I come to the Basilica of Pest, and a little beyond that is a magnificent street which is referred to as a Sugdrut, a radial avenue. If I am correct, ut in Hungarian is a word for street or avenue. This avenue is shaded by chestnut trees, is wide and most impressive, and flanked by very beautiful buildings in many styles. One of the most beautiful of all is the Opera House, quite the equal of any in London, and if I husband my allowance, it may be that I will be able to see a performance there.