‘You will be when it works.’
The Czechoslovak railways seemed in worst shape than the German, and it was early evening before their train entered the outskirts of the capital. As they rumbled into Wilson Station, Russell remembered Karel hustling him into the bathroom. ‘When we get to our hotel room, be careful what you say,’ he advised Effi. ‘It’ll probably be bugged.’
‘Will there be hidden cameras to film our love-making?’
‘God only knows.’
They barely had their feet on the platform before a familiar face turned up. ‘This is Petra Klima,’ Russell said, introducing her to Effi. ‘Ministry of Culture,’ he added.
‘I loved your film,’ Klima told Effi, as if she’d only made the one.
There was a car waiting outside, along with a young male chauffeur. He quickly stamped out his cigarette when they saw them approaching, then opened a door with studied insolence, as if regretting the show of deference. Once Effi and Russell were in the back, Klima joined him in the front.
Their hotel was supposedly close to Cisar’s apartment, and the drive to Smichov took about twenty minutes. En route they passed the sites of several lacunae in Russell’s espionage career, but given Klima’s probable fluency in German he forbore from pointing them out to Effi. It looked as though their time in Prague would be highly supervised, which might be a problem when it came to meeting Janica.
The hotel was on Zborovska, one block west of the Charles River. It didn’t look much from the outside, but their suite was large and well-furnished. Once Klima had left them to get settled in, they left the tap running noisily in the wash-basin and sat either end of a brimming hot bath, discussing their plan for the next two days. They were still there when Klima started banging on the outer door, intent on escorting them down to dinner.
While Effi was dressing, Russell told the Czech woman that their travel plans had changed, that while he still planned on travelling on to Vienna, Effi would be going straight back to Berlin. Could Klima check the Vienna trains on Wednesday, and arrange the appropriate permit?
She didn’t foresee any problem.
There were no other guests in the dining room, which seemed a trifle strange, and Klima’s explanation-that people ate late in Prague-bore no relation to Russell’s experience. She didn’t sit with them, claiming she’d already eaten, but sat alone at a table near the door, as if on sentry duty. Her German, they’d discovered, was as good as her English.
The food and wine were both excellent, but the thought of microphones close by inhibited conversation. After coffee, when Russell announced that they were going to take a romantic stroll by the river, the Czech woman said she would join them.
‘How are we going to get rid of her?’ Effi asked Russell, once back in their bathroom with the tap full on.
Russell had already come up with an answer. ‘After lunch tomorrow, you’ll say how you’ve never been here before …’
‘I haven’t.’
‘… And ask to see some sights. I’ll say I’m coming, too, and then I’ll drop out at the last moment. I’ll say I’m tired, and am coming back here for a snooze.’
‘You are fifty next year.’
‘Thanks for reminding me. I still have some youthful vigour, you know.’
‘Remember the cameras!’
‘They’ll be in the bedroom.’
The appointment with Jaromir Cisar was at ten the next morning. He was clearly overjoyed to meet Effi, kissing her several times on both cheeks and cupping her face in his hands to study it more thoroughly. Russell would have slapped him, but she took it all in her stride. Bloody thespians, he thought, echoing a character in a movie whose name he couldn’t remember.
‘What a lucky man!’ was all Cisar said to him, but even that was four words more than Klima received. She just hovered in the background, smiling an uncertain smile.
One of the apartment’s two bedrooms had been converted into a projection room, with four seats facing a plain white wall. Cisar had already seen two of the sampled films, so they watched the rushes from Effi’s performances in the other two. The director sat with a rapt look on his face, expressing his appreciation of a particular look, gesture, or spoken line by patting Effi’s hand with his own.
‘I already have a project in mind for us,’ he told Effi when they emerged. ‘An adaption of a book by one of our best young writers, which our Culture Minister has publicly praised, so there should be no problems from that direction.’ He shot Klima a glance, and received an angry one back.
‘What’s it about?’ Effi asked.
‘It’s about who we are. Czechoslovaks, that is, but also human beings. The central character, which you would play, is a Sudeten German mother. People assume that all Sudeten Germans were eager to join the Reich in 1938, but they weren’t. This woman’s family opposes the Nazis, and she loses a son as a result. And seven years later, she loses another one, when the Czechs take out their frustrations on all the Germans they can lay their hands on. And through it all, she refuses to grow bitter-she’s convinced that people are people, no matter which group they think they belong to. When she finds out that her daughter is having a love affair with the son of one of the Czech vigilantes-a nod to Romeo and Juliet, of course-she moves heaven and Earth to save the girl from the wrath of her own third son. That’s a very crude summary, but you get the idea. When I’ve finished the adaption’-he nodded towards the desk, where a pile of pages and an overfull ashtray flanked his typewriter-‘I shall send you a copy.’
Their leave-taking was extended by another long examination of Effi’s face from various angles, but eventually Cisar let them go. The Skoda was waiting outside, the driver smoking another cigarette, which he took his time stubbing out. ‘Hollywood suddenly seems less appealing,’ Effi remarked once they were seated.
‘I don’t suppose Mickey Mouse has heard of the Sudetenland,’ Russell added flippantly.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, of course. But they do make good movies in Hollywood. Just not the sort that he makes.’
The car was on the move.
‘Where are we going?’ Russell asked.
‘To lunch,’ Klima told him.
The restaurant was only a few minutes away, and a table had been reserved in the garden, which overlooked the Charles and offered a panoramic view of Mala Strana and its looming castle. This time Klima did eat with them, and Russell set out to disarm the young woman with questions about her family. It half-worked, but no matter how many times he offered the bottle of wine, she refused to take a refill. She was, he decided, depressingly single-minded.
He asked if she’d remembered his train ticket. ‘Yes,’ she said, digging in her handbag, ‘I forgot to give it to you.’ The hand emerged with an envelope. ‘Here it is. The Vienna express leaves Wilson Station at 10 A.M.-that’s half an hour after Fraulein Koenen’s train to Berlin.’
Russell pocketed the envelope and thanked her, glad that his train was departing after Effi’s. After his recent experiences in Prague he hadn’t fancied leaving her on the platform.
‘So what shall we do this afternoon?’ Klima asked, like a mother inviting suggestions from the children. ‘Now that your business is done, some sightseeing perhaps. Prague is a very beautiful city.’
‘I’ve been here many times,’ Russell told her, ‘and I think I’d rather have a lie-down at the hotel. But I’m sure Effi would like to see some sights.’
‘I’d love to,’ Effi agreed enthusiastically.
Klima looked flustered for a moment. ‘But how would you find your hotel?’ she asked, adding with more than a hint of suspicion that she hadn’t thought he spoke the language.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Russell replied cheerfully. ‘But you can hail me a cab and tell the driver where to take me.’
She looked relieved at that. ‘Yes, why not?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But first I must, how do you say it in English? Powder my nose.’