Secret Kingdom (36 page)

‘Doesn’t she have the right to know who her father is?’

‘She thinks her father is a brave man who died in the defence of his country at Stalingrad.’

‘What if I tell her the truth?’

She saw Julia lying on a prison bed, eyes closed, still in death. She saw the three bodies of the young Soviet recruits floating motionless in the pool in the Dynamo Stadium. That was the only truth, and she knew that Alexei would never tell it.

‘It will be up to her to believe whom she chooses.’

*

‘Dora,’ Eva said, ‘I want you to meet General Abrasimov.’

‘Hello,’ Dora, smiling, held out her hand. Abrasimov stood up and shook it formally.

‘Are you Mother’s friend from Moscow?’

Abrasimov looked enquiringly at Eva. ‘Is that how you would describe me?’

‘It’s good enough, isn’t it?’

‘You’re the one who said you’d help me get to medical school?’

‘Yes.’

Dora smiled. ‘Thank you. That was kind of you. But my life is here, in Budapest, with my friends.’

‘How will you become a doctor?’

‘Perhaps I’ve changed my mind. I might do something else. Who knows?’

Abrasimov lit a cigarette. ‘I want you to come to Moscow.’

There was nothing she could do. She was an observer in this strange contest between a Soviet general and his Hungarian daughter.

‘Mother told you that I’ve already said no.’

‘I don’t accept your refusal.’

‘I won’t change my mind, whatever you say.’

‘What if I tell you that I am your father?’

‘Julia told me about you years ago. It didn’t mean then any more than it does now because I know nothing about you.’

How similar they are, Eva thought. Father and daughter. Each refusing to give way.

‘Living with me in Moscow would give you the chance to rectify that.’

‘I don’t want to go to Moscow. I thought I’d made that clear.’

‘I want to get to know you. I would like to be closer to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I am your father.’

‘You don’t understand why it’s impossible, do you?’

‘I think it is very possible. I would not be here otherwise.’

Perhaps if you tell him he will understand what he has never accepted from me. Alexei lives on the limit. There are no half measures with him, no compromises. The expression of love justifies anything in his eyes, even the gift of the bodies of the men who raped me, just as the expression of his duty will allow him to kill my countrymen when the time comes. He is an extremist and extremists are destructive.

‘Everything you suggest is for your benefit, not mine,’ Dora said. ‘You suddenly appear in my life, announce you are my father, say you want me to go to Moscow with you so you can get to know me. You never think of what I want, how I might wish to stay where I belong, to continue the life I’ve lived for sixteen years. You can’t drop out of the sky and expect me to respond because I won’t.’

‘Don’t you want to get to know the man who is your father?’

‘The man I think of as father died in Stalingrad. It’s too late to change that now.’

‘Does that mean you want to have nothing to do with me?’

‘If you mean nothing to me, how can it be otherwise?’

Martineau stood by the window and looked out into the street. There were no cars, only people, all walking in the same direction, towards the centre of the city. Some carried Hungarian flags, others wore a green, white and red armband.

‘It’s begun.’ She stood by his side, holding on to his hand tightly. He could feel her excitement. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘of course I am.’

They went out into the street. The crowd had swollen by now; some were singing, most were walking silently, their expressions solemn. Martineau felt their sense of purpose embrace him, sweeping him forwards, taking control of his mind and his destiny. He returned Eva’s grasp.

These people might be alone, he thought. But that didn’t matter. At this moment they gained strength from each other. They were marching as a group, their movement dictated by their need for freedom, their unspoken wish to direct their own lives, elect their own leaders, to free themselves from the shackles of an authoritarian regime. He was swept up in the force of the crowd, the movement pushing him forward so that he couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to. He was part of an irresistible idea without which life had no meaning. Even death was a preferable alternative to living with the deceits and lies that had reduced their lives to emptiness. Alone they might be, ignored by the outside world, but that no longer mattered. The limits of their patience had been broken. All that was left was their right to assert who they were, what they believed in, whatever the consequences. There was a sublimity about this moment that intoxicated him. He was no longer Bobby Martineau, he was part of something infinitely greater than himself, a movement that would make history.

‘Look,’ Eva cried, ‘look.’

From each street more people arrived, tributaries to a great stream, a Danube of people, flowing inexorably towards freedom. He was delirious, drunk on the power of the masses as they surged forward together, arm in arm, hands joined, Martineau beside the woman he loved. On, on, to the epiphany of his life.

Then, to his left, he heard the first crack of a rifle shot, the whine
of the bullet as it sped past to hit the side of a building before it ricocheted off.

The crowd marched on.

The swimming pool is deserted. The surface of the water is almost still. The lights are on, even though it is not yet dusk outside. The taps that replenish the water have been turned off. The strong scent of chlorine sits heavily on the atmosphere. It is hot in the baths, hotter inside than outside. The water waits, cold, inviting, dangerous as ever.

A man comes in. He walks slowly to the shallow end of the pool. He is dressed in a general’s uniform. His polished boots catch the light as he moves, the sound of his feet on the stone surround echoes loudly. He stops to take off his hat and hang it on a hook. He comes back to the edge of the water. He remains still, doing nothing, for a minute or more. If he is thinking, it is impossible to detect what his thoughts may be. Then he takes off his signet ring, kisses it lightly and throws it into the pool. He watches it break the surface of the water and slowly sink to the bottom.

He reaches into the pocket of his uniform and takes out a revolver. He opens the breech to check that it is loaded. He closes it again. Once more he waits, staring ahead of him. His face shows no emotion. Then slowly he raises the gun and puts its muzzle into his mouth.

The pool echoes to the sound of the explosion. Shock waves disturb the surface of the water into frantic action. The back of the man’s head flies off. Blood and matter strike the wall of the pool. For an instant his body stays upright, then slowly it keels over and falls into the water. He lies there, face down, blood pouring from what remains of his head. His left arm floats to his side, his right arm is dragged down by the weight of the revolver which remains fastened in his grip. Slowly the water covers his body as he sinks below the surface.