Stamboul Train (28 page)

I remember. I haven't forgotten. But she could not restrain one cry. It was so low that the humming motor drowned it. It never reached Miss Warren's ears any more than the renewed whisper which followed it: I haven't forgotten.

‘Exclusive,' Miss Warren said, drumming with her fingers on the rugs, ‘I want it exclusive. It's my story,' she claimed with pride, allowing somewhere at the back of her mind behind the headlines and the leaded type a dream to form of Coral in pyjamas pouring out coffee, Coral in pyjamas mixing a cocktail, Coral asleep in the redecorated and rejuvenated flat.

CONSTANTINOPLE

‘Hello, hello. Has Mr Carleton Myatt arrived yet?'

The small lively Armenian, with a flower in his buttonhole, answered, in an English as trim and well cut as his morning coat, ‘No. I am afraid not. Is there any message?'

‘Surely the train is in?'

‘No. It is three hours late. I believe the engine broke down near Belgrade.'

‘Tell him Mr Joyce . . .'

‘And now,' said the reception clerk, leaning confidentially over the counter towards two rapt American girls, who watched him with parted lips, under beautiful plucked brows, ‘what can I advise for you two ladies this afternoon? You should have a guide for the bazaars.'

‘Perhaps you, Mr Kalebdjian,' they said almost in the same breath; their wide avaricious virginal eyes followed him as he swung round at the buzz of the telephone: ‘Hello. Hello. Long-distance personal call? Right, Hello. No, Mr Carleton Myatt has not arrived yet. We expect him any moment. Shall I take a message? You will ring up again at six. Thank you.'

‘Ah,' he said to the two Americans, ‘if I could, it would be such a pleasure. But duty keeps me here. I have a second cousin though, and I will arrange that he shall meet you here tomorrow morning and take you to the bazaar. Now this afternoon I would suggest that you take a taxi to the Blue Mosque by way of the Hippodrome, and afterwards visit the Roman cisterns. Then if you took tea at the Russian restaurant in Pera, and came back here for dinner, I would recommend you to a theatre for the evening. Now if that suits you, I'll order you a taxi for the afternoon from a reliable garage.'

They both opened their mouths at once and said, ‘That'll be swell, Mr Kalebdjian,' and while he was ringing up his third cousin's garage in Pera, they moved across the hall to the dusty confectionery stall and wondered whether to buy him a box of candies. The great garish hotel with its tiled floors and international staff and its restaurant in imitation of the Blue Mosque had been built before the war; now that the Government had shifted to Ankara and Constantinople was feeling the competition of the Piraeus, the hotel had sunk a little in the world. The staff had been cut, and it was possible to wander through the great empty lounge without meeting a page and the bells notoriously did not ring. But at the reception counter Mr Kalebdjian opposed the general inertia in his well-cut coat.

‘Is Mr Carleton Myatt in, Kalebdjian?'

‘No, sir, the train's late. Would you care to wait?'

‘He's got a sitting-room?'

‘Oh, naturally. Here, boy, show this gentleman to Mr Myatt's room.'

‘Give him my card when he comes in.'

The two Americans decided not to give Mr Kalebdjian a box of Turkish delight, but he was so sweet and pretty they wanted to do something for him and they stood lost in thought, until he appeared suddenly at their elbow: ‘Your taxi is here, ladies. I will give the driver full directions. You will find him most reliable.' He led them out and saw them safely away. The little stir and bustle subsided like dust, and Mr Kalebdjian went back into the silent hall. For a moment it had been almost as in the old days at the height of the season.

No one came in for a quarter of an hour; an early fly nipped by the cold died noisily against a window-pane. Mr Kalebdjian rang up the housekeeper's room to make sure that the heating was turned on in the rooms, and then he sat with his hands between his knees with nothing to think about and nothing to do.

The swing doors turned and turned, and a knot of people entered. Myatt was the first of them. Janet Pardoe and Mr Savory followed him and three porters with their luggage. Myatt was happy. This was his chosen ground; an international hotel was his familiar oasis, however bare. The nightmare of Subotica faded and lost all reality before Mr Kalebdjian advancing to meet him. He was glad that Janet Pardoe should see how he was recognized in the best hotels far away from home.

‘How are you, Mr Carleton Myatt? This is a great joy.' Mr Kalebdjian shook hands, bowing from the hips, his incredibly white teeth flashing with genuine pleasure.

‘Glad to see you, Kalebdjian. Manager away as usual? These are my friends, Miss Pardoe and Mr Savory. The whole of this hotel is on Kalebdjian's shoulders,' he explained to them. ‘You are making us comfortable? That's right. See that there's a box of sweets in Miss Pardoe's room.'

Janet Pardoe began softly, ‘My uncle's meeting me,' but Myatt swept aside her objection. ‘He can wait one day. You must be my guest here tonight.' He was beginning to unfurl again his peacock tail with a confidence which he borrowed from the palms and pillars and Mr Kalebdjian's deference.

‘There've been two telephone calls for you, Mr Carleton Myatt, and a gentleman is waiting to see you in your room.'

‘Good. Give me his card. See to my friends. My room the usual one?' He walked rapidly to the lift, his lips pursed with exhilaration, for there had been in the last few days too much that had been uncertain and difficult to understand, and now he was back at work. It will be Mr Eckman, he thought, not troubling to look at the card, and suddenly quite certain of what he would say to him. The lift rose uneasily to the first floor and the boy led him down a dusty passage and opened a door. The sunlight poured into the room and he could hear the yapping of cars through the open window. A fair stocky man in a tweed suit got up from the sofa. ‘Mr Carleton Myatt?' he asked.

Myatt was surprised. He had never seen this man before. He looked at the card in his hand and read Mr Leo Stein. ‘Ah, Mr Stein.'

‘Surprised to see me?' said Mr Stein. ‘Hope you don't think me precipitate.' He was very bluff and cordial. Very English, Myatt thought, but the nose betrayed him, the nose which had been straightened by an operation and bore the scar. The hostility between the open Jew and the disguised Jew showed itself at once in the conjuror's smiles, the hearty handclasp, the avoidance of the eyes: ‘I had expected our agent,' Myatt said.

‘Ah, poor Eckman, poor Eckman,' Stein sighed, shaking his blond head.

‘What do you mean?'

‘My business here really. To ask you to come and see Mrs Eckman. Very worrying for her.'

‘You mean he's gone?'

‘Disappeared. Never went home last night. Very mysterious.'

It was cold. Myatt shut the window and with his hands in the pockets of his fur coat walked up and down the room, three paces this way and three paces that. He said slowly, ‘I'm not surprised. He couldn't face me, I suppose.'

‘He told me a few days ago that he felt you didn't trust him. He was hurt, very hurt.'

Myatt said slowly and carefully, ‘I never trust a Jew who has turned Christian.'

‘Oh come, Mr Myatt, isn't that a little dogmatic?' Stein said with a trace of discomfort.

‘Perhaps. I suppose,' Myatt said, stopping in the middle of the room, with his back to Stein, but with Stein's body reflected to the knees in a gilt mirror, ‘he had gone further in his negotiations than he had ever let me know.'

‘Oh, the negotiations,' Stein's image in the mirror was less comfortable than his voice, ‘they, of course, were finished.'

‘He had told you we wouldn't buy?'

‘He'd bought.'

Myatt nodded. He was not surprised. There must have been a good deal behind Eckman's disappearance. Stein said slowly, ‘I'm really worried about poor Eckman. I can't bear to think he may have killed himself.'

‘I don't think you need worry. He's just retired from business, I expect. A little hurriedly.'

‘You see,' Stein said, ‘he had worries.'

‘Worries?'

‘Well, there was the feeling that you didn't trust him. And then he didn't have any children. He wanted children. He had a lot to worry him, Mr Myatt. One must be charitable.'

‘But I am not a Christian, Mr Stein. I don't believe that charity is the chief virtue. Can I see the paper he signed?'

‘Of course.' Mr Stein drew a long envelope folded in two from the pocket of his tweed coat. Myatt sat down, spread the pages out on a table, and read them carefully. He made no comment and his expression conveyed nothing. No one could have told how great was his happiness at being back with figures, with something that he could understand and that had no feelings. When he finished reading, he leant back and stared at his nails; they had been manicured before he left London, but they needed attention already.

Mr Stein asked gently, ‘Had a good journey? Trouble in Belgrade didn't affect you, I suppose?'

‘No,' Myatt said, with an absent mind. It was true. It seemed to him that the whole unexplained incident at Subotica was unreal. Very soon he would have forgotten it because it was isolated from ordinary life and because it had no explanation. He said, ‘Of course you know we could drive a coach through this agreement.'

‘I don't think so,' Mr Stein said. ‘Poor Eckman was your credited agent. You left him in charge of the negotiations.'

‘He never had the authority to sign this. No, Mr Stein, this is no good to you, I'm afraid.'

Mr Stein sat down on the sofa and crossed his legs. He smelt of pipe smoke and tweeds. ‘Of course, Mr Myatt,' he said, ‘I don't want to force anything down your throat. My motto is: Never let down a fellow businessman. I'd tear that agreement up now, Mr Myatt, if it was the fair thing to do. But you see, since poor Eckman signed this, Moults' have given up. They won't reopen their offer now.'

‘I know just how far Moults' were interested in currants,' Myatt said.

‘Well, you see, under the circumstances, and in all friendliness, Mr Myatt, if you tear that agreement up, I shall have to fight it. Mind if I smoke?'

‘Have a cigar.'

‘Mind if I have a pipe?' He began to stuff a pale sweet tobacco into the bowl.

‘I suppose Eckman got a commission on this?'

‘Ah, poor Eckman,' Mr Stein said enigmatically. ‘I'd really like you to come along and see Mrs Eckman. She's very worried.'

‘She has no need to worry if his commission was big enough.' Mr Stein smiled and lit his pipe. Myatt began to read the agreement over again. It was true that it could be upset, but courts of law were chancy things. A good barrister might give a lot of trouble. There were figures one would rather not see published. After all Stein's business was of value to the firm. What he disliked was the price and the directorship granted to Stein. Even the price was not out of the question, but he could not bear the intrusion of a stranger into the family business. He said, ‘I'll tell you what I'll do. We'll tear this up and make you a new offer.'

Mr Stein shook his head. ‘Come now, that wouldn't be quite fair to me, would it, Mr Myatt?' Myatt decided what he would do. He did not want to worry his father with a lawsuit. He would accept the agreement on condition that Stein resigned the directorship. But he was not going to show his hand yet; Stein might crumple. ‘Sleep on it, Mr Stein,' he advised.

‘Well, that,' Mr Stein said cheerfully, ‘I doubt if I shall be allowed to do. Not if I know the girls of today. I'm meeting a niece here this afternoon. She travelled out on your train from Cologne. Poor Pardoe's child.'

Myatt took out his cigar-case, and while he chose and cut a cigar, decided what he would do. He began to despise Stein. He talked too much and gave away unnecessary information. No wonder his business had not prospered. At the same time Myatt's vague attraction to Stein's niece crystallized. The knowledge that her mother had been a Jewess made him feel suddenly at home with her. She became approachable, and he was ashamed of the stiffness of his company the night before. They had dined together in the train on his return from Subotica, but all the time he had been on his best behaviour. He said slowly, ‘Oh yes, I met Miss Pardoe on the train. In fact she's down below now. We came from the station together.'

It was Mr Stein's turn to weigh his words. When he spoke it was at a slight significant tangent. ‘Poor girl, she's got no parents. My wife thought we ought to have her to stay. I'm her guardian, you see.' They sat side by side with the table between them. On it lay the agreement signed by Mr Eckman. They did not mention it; business seemed laid aside, but Stein and Myatt knew that the whole discussion had been reopened. Each was aware of the thought in the other's mind, but they spoke in evasions.

‘Your sister,' Myatt said, ‘must have been a lovely woman.'

‘She got her looks from her father,' Mr Stein said. Neither would admit that they were interested in Janet Pardoe's beauty. Even her grandparents were mentioned before her. ‘Did your family come from Leipzig?' Myatt asked.

‘That's right. It was my father who brought the business here.'

‘You found it a mistake?'

‘Oh. come now, Mr Myatt, You've seen the figures. It wasn't as bad as that. But I want to sell out and retire while I can still enjoy life.'

‘How do you mean?' Myatt asked with curiosity. ‘How enjoy life?'