come.’
‘That’s all right. I’d like to.’
‘No, please. See, we are at the tram stop. It is no trouble for me. You have work tomorrow.’
‘But I must take you home,’ I said in dismay. It seemed impossible that I had misread the signs.
‘No, please. It’s late. And my father waits for me. I will go alone.’
She had rooted herself solidly to the pavement, and seemed to have made her mind up. I was suddenly conscious again of her massive physique. She was holding out her hand to me.
I took it drearily. ‘Well, if you insist,’ I said, cursing the missed opportunities. We had passed several useful-looking courtyards off the embankment.
‘We can meet again, if you wish it.’
‘Does your father wait for you every night?’
‘Most nights,’ she said, dryly.
There was something about her that I couldn’t quite fathom, a certain off-beat humour lurking in the long eyes. I’d seen it in the restaurant. I said, ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow is not possible. I have to help my father with his practice. Truly,’ she said, smiling apologetically. ‘I play the piano for him.’
‘Saturday, then?’
‘Saturday would be very nice. Must you work in the afternoon?’
‘No. I’m finished then.’
‘I also. If you wish, we could swim in the river. I go everySaturday to the bathing station at Zluta Plovarna if the weather is good. Later, we could eat at Barrandov?’
‘At Barrandov?’
‘The Terasy .’
It seemed there was a kind of lido there, a pool scooped out of rock, flanked by terraces cut into the stone. In the evening one could dine and dance on the terraces.
I thought it would fill in the time, if not in hoped-for pursuits, and gave the programme somewhat grudging approval. She gave me her telephone number, which I noted in my diary.
‘Perhaps I will say one thing more,’ she said, stepping from one leg to the other, and watching my face. The flicker was back in her eyes. ‘My father will not wait for me on Saturday.’
‘Oh.’
‘You understand me?’
‘Yes. Certainly. Rather.’
I wondered if I did.
‘Good night, and thank you again,’ she said warmly.
I said good night, and walked back to the hotel, slightly punch drunk.
2
Vlcek picked me up again in the morning and we drove to Tseblic (23 km.). This proved to be more or less a repetition of the marathon at Kralovsk, except that the manager, a keen technical type, was clearly not in Galushka’s class as a force to be reckoned with. Vlcek didn’t reckon with him much. After lunch, at which he drank more freely than on the previous day, he quietly faded away – for a snooze in the car, I suspected.
It was swelteringly hot, and the red dye from the Norstrund stained my hands as we trudged for endless hours round the works. Vlcek joined us again, very perky, soon after four, and by five we were driving back.
‘Well, Pan Whistler, I hope the visits have left you with some favourable impressions?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘I think Kralovsk interested you more. I have arranged the automobile in case you should wish to return there tomorrow.’
‘No, thanks. It won’t be necessary. I’ve got everything I need.’
‘Ah, you prefer then further Discussions with Pan Svoboda?’
‘No. No. I don’t think I do. I shan’t want anything more at all. Everything’s been beautifully planned,’ I said, noting his disappointment. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible to work in so much in the time.’
Vlcek smiled with sad pleasure. ‘We try to do our best in Prague. It isn’t always obvious to – to some people. Perhaps if you are satisfied you would not mind saying so in a letter when you return to England?’
‘Of course.’
‘And when shall we see you back again?’
‘Back again?’
‘We understood this was an exploratory trip for Discussions and Visits. Pan Svoboda hoped you would return soon. With your order book,’ he said gaily.
‘Ah, yes. Well, that’s up to my directors.’
‘Your
‘That’s all right. I’d like to.’
‘No, please. See, we are at the tram stop. It is no trouble for me. You have work tomorrow.’
‘But I must take you home,’ I said in dismay. It seemed impossible that I had misread the signs.
‘No, please. It’s late. And my father waits for me. I will go alone.’
She had rooted herself solidly to the pavement, and seemed to have made her mind up. I was suddenly conscious again of her massive physique. She was holding out her hand to me.
I took it drearily. ‘Well, if you insist,’ I said, cursing the missed opportunities. We had passed several useful-looking courtyards off the embankment.
‘We can meet again, if you wish it.’
‘Does your father wait for you every night?’
‘Most nights,’ she said, dryly.
There was something about her that I couldn’t quite fathom, a certain off-beat humour lurking in the long eyes. I’d seen it in the restaurant. I said, ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow is not possible. I have to help my father with his practice. Truly,’ she said, smiling apologetically. ‘I play the piano for him.’
‘Saturday, then?’
‘Saturday would be very nice. Must you work in the afternoon?’
‘No. I’m finished then.’
‘I also. If you wish, we could swim in the river. I go everySaturday to the bathing station at Zluta Plovarna if the weather is good. Later, we could eat at Barrandov?’
‘At Barrandov?’
‘The Terasy .’
It seemed there was a kind of lido there, a pool scooped out of rock, flanked by terraces cut into the stone. In the evening one could dine and dance on the terraces.
I thought it would fill in the time, if not in hoped-for pursuits, and gave the programme somewhat grudging approval. She gave me her telephone number, which I noted in my diary.
‘Perhaps I will say one thing more,’ she said, stepping from one leg to the other, and watching my face. The flicker was back in her eyes. ‘My father will not wait for me on Saturday.’
‘Oh.’
‘You understand me?’
‘Yes. Certainly. Rather.’
I wondered if I did.
‘Good night, and thank you again,’ she said warmly.
I said good night, and walked back to the hotel, slightly punch drunk.
2
Vlcek picked me up again in the morning and we drove to Tseblic (23 km.). This proved to be more or less a repetition of the marathon at Kralovsk, except that the manager, a keen technical type, was clearly not in Galushka’s class as a force to be reckoned with. Vlcek didn’t reckon with him much. After lunch, at which he drank more freely than on the previous day, he quietly faded away – for a snooze in the car, I suspected.
It was swelteringly hot, and the red dye from the Norstrund stained my hands as we trudged for endless hours round the works. Vlcek joined us again, very perky, soon after four, and by five we were driving back.
‘Well, Pan Whistler, I hope the visits have left you with some favourable impressions?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘I think Kralovsk interested you more. I have arranged the automobile in case you should wish to return there tomorrow.’
‘No, thanks. It won’t be necessary. I’ve got everything I need.’
‘Ah, you prefer then further Discussions with Pan Svoboda?’
‘No. No. I don’t think I do. I shan’t want anything more at all. Everything’s been beautifully planned,’ I said, noting his disappointment. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible to work in so much in the time.’
Vlcek smiled with sad pleasure. ‘We try to do our best in Prague. It isn’t always obvious to – to some people. Perhaps if you are satisfied you would not mind saying so in a letter when you return to England?’
‘Of course.’
‘And when shall we see you back again?’
‘Back again?’
‘We understood this was an exploratory trip for Discussions and Visits. Pan Svoboda hoped you would return soon. With your order book,’ he said gaily.
‘Ah, yes. Well, that’s up to my directors.’
‘Your
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