He took her hand and, gently pulling her, brought her to her feet and led her towards the stair.
There may have been people watching them, but she had no consciousness of other people in the foyer and later, when she tried to remember how they had reached the floor above, it seemed to her she had been levitated, as though in a dream. They went down a passage with numbered doors. There was no noise. She thought there was no one else in the hotel – at least, no one who mattered: yet when a door opened in the passage, she had an immediate prevision of encounter. She stopped, alarmed. Charles, with no such feelings, tried to pull her on.
The door, opening at the end of the passage, showed a lighted window. When, for a moment, a tall young man was outlined against it, Harriet recognized him at once. She jerked her hand from Charles’s hold. The young man, closing the door behind him, moved towards them with an apologetic smile and, reaching them, stood aside.
Harriet said: ‘Sasha.’
The young man, slight, with drooping shoulders, his smile unchanged, lowered his head and tried to sidle past her.
‘It’s Harriet,’ she said.
He said: ‘I know.’
‘You seem to have forgotten me.’
‘No.’
‘Then what’s the matter?’
Still smiling, he shook his head. Nothing; nothing was the matter. He only wanted to pass and get away. Puzzled and hurt, she said: ‘They must have done something to you.’
‘No. They didn’t do anything. I’m all right.’
He certainly looked well enough. He was wearing a suit of fine English cloth – an expensive suit in this part of the world. His face, with its prominent nose and dark, close-set eyes, showed no sign of ill-treatment or spiritual damage, yet it had changed. It was no longer the face of a gentle domestic animal, unconscious of its enemies, but an aware face, cautious and evasive. The meeting, that should have been a delight for both of them, had merely embarrassed him.
At a loss, she looked at Charles and said: ‘This is Sasha.’
‘Is it?’ Charles smiled, a slight, sardonic smile. At one time she might have thought he was amused by the incident; now she knew better. He could hide his anger, but not his pallor. Cheated and humiliated, or so he imagined, his desire had changed to rage. He was, she realized, transported by rage and she thought how quickly she had come to know him. If she had lived with him half a century, she could not know him better.
She did not try to speak to him but turned to Sasha and asked where he was going. Sheepish and miserable, the boy replied: ‘Just downstairs. I’m here with my uncle. He’ll be back soon.’
‘Let’s all go and have tea.’ She gave Charles an appealing look that said: Let me solve this mystery, then we can talk.
He laughed and moved down the passage. ‘Not me, I’m afraid. I have too much to do.’ He entered his room and shut the door sharply and firmly. And that, she was made to understand, was that. She went downstairs and Sasha followed, meekly enough. She talked about the explosion. He said it had broken windows at the top of the hotel but he spoke as though it meant nothing. It was not his concern.
She led him to the sofa where Charles’s book still lay. As soon as they sat down, she began to interrogate him with a vigour that resulted from her own painful confusion.
He said he had come from Belgrade with an uncle, his mother’s brother. How did he get to Belgrade? The Rumanian authorities had given him a ticket and put him on to the train. He was more interested in the future than in the past and, as soon as he could break in on her questions, he told her that his uncle was trying to arrange their departure from Greece. They did not care how they got away: all they wanted was to leave Europe and as soon as possible. His uncle kept going to the Yugoslav legation. He had been there that afternoon. The official said the British would arrange for the evacuation of the Yugoslavs who were either here or on their way here. He supposed they would be sent to Egypt, but his uncle was in touch with Sasha’s sisters and aunts who were now in South Africa. His uncle had said: ‘It’ll be a long time before the Germans get to Cape Town,’ so that was where they would go. They intended to fly there at the first opportunity.
This finished, Harriet said: ‘Guy went once or twice to meet the Belgrade train. I suppose you didn’t see him?’
‘Yes, I did. He didn’t see me. He was talking to a man.’
‘And you made no attempt to speak to him?’
Sasha did not reply.
‘Why? I don’t understand, really I don’t. What is it all about? Why didn’t you speak to Guy?’
He looked blank, having, apparently, no explanation to offer. When their tea had been set out, she pinned him down in a more decided manner. ‘Now! That night our flat was raided – the night you disappeared – what happened? The men who came in were Guardists, weren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they do anything to you? Were they brutal? Did they try to bully you?’
‘No. They knew who I was. They had my picture at headquarters: they said they’d been looking for me. They made me sign a paper … It was for the Swiss Bank. They said if I signed, they’d let me go.’
‘So you signed your money away?’
He gave a shrug, slight, expressive, his head hanging down in a shamefaced way. Something about his manner suggested that he was reassuring her. He had not been physically ill-treated, so she need not reproach herself.
‘And did they let you go?’
‘Not then. When I’d signed the paper they locked me up. I said: “When can I go?” and they said: “This has to be arranged.” They kept me so long I thought they wouldn’t let me go. I thought, “Now, they’ll put me in prison, like my father”, but one night they took me in a car to Jimbolia. My uncle was waiting on the other side. One of the men had a permit to cross and my uncle gave him a lot of money – three million lei, I think it was: so I was allowed to go. They gave me papers. Everything was in order and I was able to walk across the frontier. It was terribly exciting. And the Guardists were quite decent, really. As soon as the man came back with the money, they were all jolly and laughing and we all shook hands. Then I found my uncle at the Rakek Customs and he took me to Belgrade.’
‘I didn’t know you had an uncle in Belgrade.’
‘I didn’t know where he was, but they knew. They knew where all my relatives were.’
‘So they held you to ransom! I never thought of that. And what of your father? Did you learn anything about him?’
Sasha, his voice more defined, said: ‘They said he was dead.’
‘I’m afraid that could be true.’
‘I hope it’s true.’
She paused in her interrogation while she poured the tea. After she had handed him a cup, she asked: ‘When the Guardists took you to headquarters, what did they tell you?’
He gave her a sudden side glance but did not reply.
‘Did they say anything about Guy and me?’
He shrugged, head hanging again.
‘You didn’t think it was our fault that they came to the flat and found you?’
‘How could I tell?’
‘You thought we’d informed on you?’
His head jerked up and he gave her a swift smile, placatory, suspicious and wretched.
‘What did they tell you?’
‘They said: “See what your English friends have done to you.”’
‘Meaning, we’d given you away?’
‘Yes, they did mean that.’
‘But you didn’t believe them?’
‘I didn’t know. How could I know.’
She saw he had not only believed them: it had never entered his head not to believe them. She was shocked into silence. In any case, there was nothing to be said.