Journey Into Fear (28 page)

“I think some food would do me good.”

“My dear Mr. Graham! How stupid of me! Some food. Of course! We can stop at Novi. You will be my guest. And if there is any champagne to be had we shall have it. There is nothing like champagne when one is depressed.”

Graham felt suddenly a little light-headed. He laughed.

The Consul raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry,” Graham apologised. “You must excuse me. You see, it is rather funny. I had an appointment to meet someone on the two o’clock train. She’ll be rather surprised to see me.”

He became conscious of someone shaking his arm and opened his eyes.

“Bardonecchia, signore. Your passport, please.”

He looked up at the wagon-lit attendant bending over him and realised that he had been asleep since the train had left Asti. In the doorway, partly silhouetted against the gathering darkness outside, were two men in the uniform of the Italian railway police.

He sat up with a jerk, fumbling in his pocket. “My passport? Yes, of course.”

One of the men looked at the passport, nodded and dabbed at it with a rubber stamp.

“Grazie, signore
. Have you any Italian bank-notes?”

“No.”

Graham put his passport back in his pocket, the attendant switched the light off again, and the door closed. That was that.

He yawned miserably. He was stiff and shivering. He stood up to put his overcoat on and saw that the station was deep in snow. He had been a fool to go to sleep like that. It would be unpleasant to arrive home with pneumonia. But he was past the Italian passport control. He turned the heating on and sat down to smoke a cigarette. It must have been that heavy lunch and the wine. It … And then he remembered suddenly that he had done nothing about Josette. Mathis would be on the train, too.

The train started with a jerk and began to rumble on towards Modane.

He rang the bell and the attendant came.

“Signore?”

“Is there going to be a restaurant car when we get over the frontier?”

“No, signore.” He shrugged. “The war.”

Graham gave him some money. “I want a bottle of beer and some sandwiches. Can you get them at Modane?”

The attendant looked at the money. “Easily, signore.”

“Where are the third-class coaches?”

“In the front of the train, signore.”

The attendant went. Graham smoked his cigarette and decided to wait until the train had left Modane before
he went in search of Josette.

The stop at Modane seemed interminable. At last, however, the French passport officials finished their work and the train began to move again.

Graham went out into the corridor.

Except for the dim blue safety lights, the train was in darkness now. He made his way slowly towards the third-class coaches. There were only two of them, and he had no difficulty in finding Josette and José. They were in a compartment by themselves.

She turned her head as he slid the door open and peered at him uncertainly. Then, as he moved forward into the blue glow from the ceiling of the compartment, she started up with a cry.

“But what has happened?” she demanded. “Where have you been? We waited, José and I, until the last moment, but you did not come as you had promised. We waited. José will tell you how we waited. Tell me what happened.”

“I missed the train at Genoa. I had a long drive to catch it up.”

“You drove to Bardonecchia! It is not possible!”

“No. To Asti.”

There was a silence. They had been speaking in French. Now José gave a short laugh and, sitting back in his corner, began to pick his teeth with his thumbnail.

Josette dropped the cigarette she had been smoking on to the floor and trod on it. “You got on the train at Asti,” she remarked lightly, “and you wait until now before you come to see me? It is very polite.” She paused
and then added slowly: “But you will not keep me waiting like that in Paris, will you,
chéri
?”

He hesitated.

“Will you,
chéri?”
There was an edge to her voice now.

He said: “I’d like to talk to you alone, Josette.”

She stared at him. Her face in that dim, ghastly light was expressionless. Then she moved towards the door. “I think,” she said, “that it will be better if you have a little talk with José.”

“José? What’s José got to do with it? You’re the person I want to talk to.”

“No,
chéri
. You have a little talk with José. I am not very good at business. I do not like it. You understand?”

“Not in the least.” He was speaking the truth.

“No? José will explain. I will come back in a minute. You talk to José now,
chéri.”

“But …”

She stepped into the corridor and slid the door to behind her. He went to open it again.

“She will come back,” said José; “why don’t you sit down and wait?”

Graham sat down slowly. He was puzzled. Still picking his teeth, José glanced across the compartment. “You don’t understand, eh?”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to understand.”

José peered at his thumbnail, licked it, and went to work again on an eye tooth. “You like Josette, eh?”

“Of course. But …”

“She is very pretty, but she has no sense. She is a
woman. She does not understand business. That is why I, her husband, always look after the business. We are partners. Do you understand that?”

“It’s simple enough. What about it?”

“I have an interest in Josette. That is all.”

Graham considered him for a moment. He was beginning to understand only too well. He said: “Say exactly what you mean, will you?”

With the air of making a decision, José abandoned his teeth and twisted on his seat so that he was facing Graham. “You are a business man, eh?” he said briskly. “You do not expect something for nothing. Very well. I am her manager and I do not give anything for nothing. You want to amuse yourself in Paris, eh? Josette is a very nice girl and very amusing for a gentleman. She is a nice dancer, too. Together we earn at least two thousand francs a week in a nice place. Two thousand francs a week. That is something, eh?”

Memories were flooding into Graham’s mind: of the Arab girl, Maria, saying, “She has many lovers”; of Kopeikin saying, “José? He does well for himself”; of Josette herself saying of José that he was jealous of her only when she neglected business for pleasure; of innumerable little phrases and attitudes. “Well?” he said coldly.

José shrugged. “If you are amusing yourself, we cannot earn our two thousand francs a week by dancing. So, you see, we must get it from somewhere else.” In the semi-darkness, Graham could see a small smile twist the black line of José’s mouth. “Two thousand francs a week. It is reasonable, eh?”

It was the voice of the philosopher of the apes in velvet.
“Mon cher caïd”
was justifying his existence. Graham nodded. “Quite reasonable.”

“Then we can settle it now, eh?” José went on briskly. “You are experienced, eh? You know that it is the custom.” He grinned and then quoted: “
‘Chéri, avant que je t’aime t’oublieras pas mon petit cadeau.’ ”

“I see. And who do I pay? You or Josette?”

“You can pay it to Josette if you like, but that would not be very
chic
, eh? I will see you once a week.” He leaned forward and patted Graham’s knee. “It is serious, eh? You will be a good boy? If you were, for example, to begin now.…”

Graham stood up. He was surprised at his own calmness. “I think,” he said, “that I should like to give the money to Josette herself.”

“You don’t trust me, eh?”

“Of course I trust you. Will you find Josette?”

José hesitated, then, with a shrug, got up and went out into the corridor. A moment later he returned with Josette. She was smiling a little nervously.

“You have finished talking to José,
chéri
?”

Graham nodded pleasantly. “Yes. But, as I told you, it was you I really wanted to talk to. I wanted to explain that I shall have to go straight back to England after all.”

She stared at him blankly for a moment; then he saw her lips drawing in viciously over her teeth. She turned suddenly on José.

“You dirty Spanish fool!” She almost spat the words at him. “What do you think I keep you for? Your dancing?”

José’s eyes glittered dangerously. He slid the door to behind him. “Now,” he said, “we will see. You shall not speak to me so or I shall break your teeth.”

“Salaud!
I shall speak to you as I like.” She was standing quite still, but her right hand moved an inch or two. Something glittered faintly. She had slipped the diamanté bracelet she was wearing over her knuckles.

Graham had seen enough violence for one day. He said quickly: “Just a moment. José is not to blame. He explained matters very tactfully and politely. I came, as I said, to tell you that I have to go straight back to England. I was also going to ask you to accept a small present. It was this.” He drew out his wallet, produced a ten-pound note, and held it near the light.

She glanced at the note and then stared at him sullenly. “Well?”

“José made it clear that two thousand francs was the amount I owed. This note is only worth just over seventeen hundred and fifty. So, I am adding another two hundred and fifty francs.” He took the French notes out of his wallet, folded them up in the larger note and held them out.

She snatched them from him. “And what do you expect to get for this?” she demanded spitefully.

“Nothing. It’s been pleasant being able to talk to you.” He slid the door open. “Good-bye, Josette.”

She shrugged her shoulders, stuffed the money into the pocket of her fur coat and sat down again in her corner. “Good-bye. It is not my fault if you are stupid.”

José laughed. “If you should think of changing your mind, Monsieur,” he began mincingly, “we …”

Graham shut the door and walked away along the corridor. His one desire was to get back to his own compartment. He did not notice Mathis until he had almost bumped into him.

The Frenchman drew back to let him pass. Then, with a gasp, he leaned forward.

“Monsieur Graham! Is it possible?”

“I was looking for you,” said Graham.

“My dear friend. I am so glad. I was wondering.… I was afraid.…”

“I caught the train at Asti.” He pulled the revolver from his pocket. “I wanted to return this to you with my thanks. I’m afraid that I haven’t had time to clean it. It has been fired twice.”

“Twice!” Mathis’ eyes widened. “You killed them both?”

“One of them. The other died in a road accident.”

“A road accident!” Mathis chuckled. “That is a new way to kill them!” He looked at the revolver affectionately. “Perhaps I will not clean it. Perhaps I will keep it as it is as a souvenir.” He glanced up. “It was all right, that message I delivered?”

“Quite all right, and thank you again.” He hesitated. “There’s no restaurant car on the train. I have some sandwiches in my compartment. If you and your wife would like to join me.…”

“You are kind, but no thank you. We get off at Aix. It will not be long now. My family lives there. It will be strange to see them after so long. They …”

The door of the compartment behind him opened and Madame Mathis peered into the corridor. “Ah, there you
are!” She recognised Graham and nodded disapprovingly.

“What is it,
chérie
?”

“The window. You open it, and go out to smoke. I am left to freeze.”

“Then you may shut it,
chérie.”

“Imbecile! It is too stiff.”

Mathis sighed wearily and held out his hand. “Good-bye, my friend. I shall be discreet. You may depend upon it.”

“Discreet?” demanded Madame Mathis suspiciously. “What is there to be discreet about?”

“Ah, you may ask!” He winked at Graham. “Monsieur and I have made a plot to blow up the Bank of France, seize the Chamber of Deputies, shoot the two hundred families and set up a Communist government.”

She looked round apprehensively. “You should not say such things, even for a joke.”

“A joke!” He scowled at her malevolently. “You will see if it is a joke or not when we drag these capitalist reptiles from their great houses and cut them to pieces with machine-guns.”

“Robert! If someone should hear you say such things …”

“Let them hear!”

“I only asked you to shut the window, Robert. If it had not been so stiff I would have done it myself. I …” The door closed behind them.

Graham stood for a moment looking out of the window at the distant searchlights: grey smudges moving restlessly among the clouds low down on the horizon.
It was not, he reflected, unlike the skyline that he could see from his bedroom window when there were German planes about over the North Sea.

He turned and made his way back to his beer and sandwiches.

BACKGROUND TO DANGER

Kenton’s career as a journalist depended on his exceptional facility with languages, his knowledge of European politics, and his quick judgment. Where his judgment sometimes failed him was in his personal life. When he finds himself on a train bound for Austria after a bad night of gambling, he eagerly takes an opportunity to earn money helping a refugee smuggle securities across the border. He soon discovers that the documents he holds have more than monetary value, and that European politics has more twists and turns than the most convoluted newspaper account.