The Ice Saints Read online

  ‘Oh, I can.’

  A car drew up in the street outside.

  ‘That must be Mark. I wonder if he found Rose. Rose is this girl. Please be nice to her, Adam. There was something quite interesting I wanted to tell you about her, only unfortunately there hasn’t been time.’

  ‘I’ll be very nice to her, Alexandra.’

  ‘Of course she may be awful.’ Alexandra was silent and a lost, crazy look came over her face as though stumbling, hurrying on, she had reached a part of the forest she had never expected to see. ‘I’ve never met her. Of course, she may be quite awful.’

  Mark Tatham came in, a little disarranged, pushing a handkerchief up his sleeve.

  ‘Washing her hands. Plane was late.’

  He immediately went over to Miss Handisyde, and began the effort of engaging her in conversation.

  Bringing him a drink, Alexandra interrupted: ‘Does she want to stay the night? Because if so, Simon has been sleeping in the spare bedroom and I’ll have to tell Nanny.’

  When Tatham looked up, his long white face was lined with strain and tiredness. ‘No. She’s going to Biala Gora on this evening’s plane. Apparently they are expecting her.’

  ‘Poor girl, I must say. Why is she going to Biala Gora?’

  ‘Don’t speak against that place, Alexandra. I may be deserting you all to go there one day soon.’

  ‘Oh, Adam, no. What will we all do without you?’

  Alexandra stood in her old place on the hearthrug but now with her legs crossed and the outsides of her feet laid together. Her colour was high, her eyes bright and fearsome.

  ‘Have I been there, Adam?’ Miss Handisyde asked.

  ‘No, Margaret.’

  ‘I seem to have been just about everywhere. As I say it’s been the most fascinating – I must say the spirit of the people, that’s what I find amazing. I’m going to put all that in my report when I get back. They may have political problems but they’ve got spirit.’ She stared at her empty glass. ‘That sounds rather funny, doesn’t it?’

  Alexandra snatched the glass from her. Karpinski followed across the room.

  ‘My dear, it’s simply all the time,’ he whispered. ‘We buy only the best Wodka Wyborowa, with real pounds and dollars, at the Grand Hotel kiosk every morning. And furthermore she keeps wanting to S-L-E-E-P with me.’

  This joke about the spelling out of simple words he had been amused to adopt from Alexandra herself: she had inherited it from a nurseryful of sisters, the daughters of a pre-war Conservative minister.

  ‘Adam, no! How ghastly.’

  ‘What was it you were going to tell me about this girl?’

  ‘It’s just that—’ she broke off. ‘Here she is.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘Miss Handisyde, this is Rose Nicholson. Mr Karpinski. This is Elizabeth’s friend. Darling, do give Rose something to drink. Rose, are you quite certain you can’t stay, I mean it’s so simple, really, Simon can have Nanny’s bedroom, Nanny’ll be quite glad to go into the night nursery and we can move Juliet’s cot out into the—’

  Alexandra tried to present this girl, who was extremely pretty, as just somebody else that she and Mark were obliged to deal with. The girl, however, seemed unwilling to be managed.

  ‘No. I have already booked my place on the aeroplane.’

  Alexandra’s voice trailed irritably away. There was a small silence while they all watched Rose. The world outside was still with her. How long, they were thinking, would she keep that slightly abstracted look of self-assurance? Miss Handisyde was quite forgotten. Adam Karpinski moved slowly across the room towards Rose.

  ‘Alexandra tells me that you are travelling to Biala Gora.’

  ‘Yes. My sister is married to someone at the University there.’

  Karpinski looked puzzled. ‘I have heard that there is an Englishman. But I did not think he was a married man.’

  ‘But he’s a Pole. My brother-in-law is, I mean.’

  Karpinski emitted the three humming notes by which his countrymen express dubiety and surprise. ‘I see. And she has been there a long time?’

  ‘Ten years. No, twelve. Janet is older than me.’

  ‘Obviously, if I may say so. I wonder, is she happy there?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not at first. But everything is much better now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Some people try to think so.’

  Rose dismissed any attempt to discourage her. ‘I’m looking forward to getting to Biala Gora.’

  Alexandra came up and said something like ‘Biawa’. ‘Did I do it right, Adam?’

  ‘Alexandra’s dark “l”s are always very nicely formed.’

  Alexandra took Rose’s arm and led her into the dining- room.

  ‘Rose, how I wish I was you. She’s going off to the real world where we’ve never even been. We just see all the same people at all the parties here. Rose, I wish I was you, I do really.’

  Karpinski said: ‘And do you imagine that you could see how people in fact live? The moment you go to their flats they would bring out the food they have bought on the Black Market and the Nescafé from the Komis shop and they are wearing the clothes their cousin sends them from America.’

  ‘Adam, you are so depressing. Why does Adam always have to be so depressing?’

  During luncheon Rose was so placed that she could not help watching the short-haired elderly Englishwoman opposite her. After a few more incoherences, Miss Handisyde gave up all attempts at conversation; her head bowed, her hand fell dead-heavy on the table, upsetting her empty glass which rolled on to its side.

  The new-comer had no idea of the importance of all this to any of the others but soon she noticed signs of a jubilant conspiracy between Adam Karpinski and Alexandra, who was blinking and shaking with almost imperceptible giggles.

  She turned to Mark. His sister Elizabeth was one of her best friends but she had not seen him since his marriage; there was an altered stateliness about his bearing, as though one might hope for kindness but not humour from him. Now Mark winked at her gently and after a little he too began to tremble with laughter. The rest of the meal went as a sort of wild burlesque in which every conventional remark bubbled with hysteria. Adam Karpinski kept nudging Rose and mopping his eyes.

  Finally Alexandra helped Miss Handisyde out of the room, and after a moment Karpinski followed them.

  Still laughing, Mark said: ‘I’m awfully sorry about all this, Rose.’

  ‘Who on earth is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. A progressive journalist. One of these people who get wished on to one.’

  ‘Is she always like this, I wonder?’

  ‘Perhaps not. Odd things happen to people when they arrive here. Either they hole up in the Grand or the Bristol, complaining of tummy-aches and demanding to see the Embassy doctor – who isn’t, of course, allowed to see them. Or they find that vodka is the best way out.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Shock.’

  ‘I haven’t felt any. Ought I to?’

  ‘Delayed. No, honestly I expect you’ve got enough to occupy your mind as it is.’

  The girl looked relieved that the conversation had at length turned to the only thing she could talk about.

  ‘Yes. I still don’t know what I’m going to do. There’s one or two things I must be sure of.’

  ‘We’ll do our best to help. The Embassy lawyer—’ He stopped, seeing that Karpinski had returned to the room.

  ‘Mark, I really do apologize most profoundly. I’ve seen this crisis approaching but the old girl was simply insisting on coming to luncheon here. Keeping in with the jolly old Embassy, you know. It is too very bad that it should happen in your house. Alexandra has most kindly offered to drive us back to the Grand Hotel.’

  He picked up his wine glass and drained it off.

  ‘Still, if she passes right out, it at least means I may have a rest this afternoon. And tomorrow morning, thank God, she is off to Prague.’ He turned to Rose. ‘I was thinkin
g, is your brother-in-law perhaps called Witold Rudowski?’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘I see. Then perhaps we shall meet again. I am frequently in Biala Gora.’

  ‘Oh good.’ She sounded pleased. She liked him. With his vivid smiles and his air of tightly-packed energy, he was quite unlike the glum exiles one saw in South Kensington.

  ‘That’s rather strange, isn’t it?’ Rose asked Mark when the other had gone.

  ‘Everybody knows everybody else in this country. The trouble starts when they don’t know what everybody else is up to. Let’s have some coffee.’

  While Mark fetched a bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses Rose sat staring unhappily in front of her.

  ‘Cheer up. Have some brandy.’

  ‘Thank you. All the same I do hope I’m not going to get drunk or have tummy-aches.’

  ‘Well, if you do, you need only come running back here. Alexandra would love to have you.’

  There was a moment’s pause between them, sufficiently protracted to throw some doubt on this.

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose said again. ‘You see the trouble is I’m so frightened of breaking this news to Janet.’

  ‘How long since you’ve seen her?’

  ‘Two years. Of course none of this was in the air then. Aunt Louise was still alive, though we’d none of us set eyes on her for ages.’ Rose cautiously sipped at her brandy. ‘Janet came home when my father was dying and we were pretty much taken up with that.’

  ‘Your sister doesn’t know anything about it, then?’

  ‘No. She thinks I’m just here for fun. She always spoke about not mentioning important things in letters. This is an important thing, isn’t it? Somehow, now I’m actually here, it doesn’t seem so terribly important after all.’

  ‘You were quite right not to mention it. They would think it terribly important.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That’s what we must ask the lawyer ultimately. Roughly something like this: legally any property, monies (I wonder why one always says monies) et cetera owned by a national abroad must be realized and transferred into local currency. I don’t know which exchange rate it’d be at, but there wouldn’t be much left.’

  ‘I’m sure we don’t want to do that.’

  ‘Then you have to be careful who you talk to. You’re breaking the law. Someone may object.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What about your sister’s husband?’

  He spoke with a hint of distaste. The Poles these English women married were always reprehensible, and to be admitted to the discussion as late as possible.

  ‘Witek? Why should he object? I don’t know. He came back here after the war when all his friends stayed in England, so we were always frightfully suspicious. And then they sent such cheerful letters, during the Stalin period. I liked him as far as I can remember. I was only a child.’

  ‘He’s doubtful, then?’

  ‘I suppose so. Of course he may have changed.’

  ‘You can’t tell about people here. They’ll protest any amount of pro-Western feeling but you can’t expect them to do anything about it. Why should they? Their best hope is to go on with things as they are.’

  Rose thought for a moment and said: ‘Well, that simply doesn’t apply to the Rudowski family any more. Everything is altered. Decisions have to be made. I suppose it’s Janet who must make them.’

  ‘Is she expecting this?’

  ‘No, not at all. You see, my great-aunt thought women with money were a prey to fortune-hunters. She was only going to leave her money to men. We knew she meant to leave something to Nicholas. He was my brother. He was killed in the war.’

  ‘So you’re the herald angel?’

  ‘I suppose so. I feel scared of the whole thing. The solicitors insisted I should come.’

  ‘There wasn’t any other way, Rose. You couldn’t write letters. I’m sure you’ll find the best solution in the end.’

  ‘It’s strange, with a thing like this. You feel grim but happy. Think, after all the Rudowskis have been through, to be saved by a bit of money.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘The solicitors think it’ll be almost fifteen thousand.’

  ‘You don’t know for certain?’

  ‘Probate hasn’t been given yet. But it’ll be a lot to them. It would be to me.’

  Mark smiled, hesitated and said: ‘Rose, you possibly may find they don’t consider it as important as you do. After all, money means such different things in different places.’

  Rose remembered that Alexandra was very rich.

  ‘Of course if it were changed into local currency its value would be only a third; £5,000 can’t be a lot, even here.’

  ‘You’ll have to see.’ He stood up. ‘Be careful who you tell, that’s all. There’s Alexandra back. We’d better leave for the airport quite soon.’

  Alexandra came in, pulling off a round fur hat.

  ‘We got her up in the lift and I left her being very sick. Adam spoke to the chambermaid and to the old horror in the navy sateen dress who sits at the end of each corridor and spies on you. She must have got a lot on old Handisyde, if all Adam says is true. Oh Rose, poor you, do sit down and tell us all about Elizabeth. How is she? You’ve been swigging brandy. Without me. Let me get a glass.’

  ‘Rose and I must go to the airport almost at once.’

  ‘Must you?’

  ‘We’ve been talking about Rose’s trip.’

  ‘Have you, it’s really too exciting, isn’t it?’

  ‘All the same, darling, I don’t think anyone else should know about it, except us.’

  Alexandra picked a dead flower out of the bowl of blue anemones. ‘No, of course not. Though I can’t imagine who’d be interested, can you?’

  ‘They might.’ Mark looked at his watch. ‘Will you be needing the car, darling? Because I’ll take Rose to the airport and then go back to the office. If you want it, come with us.’

  Alexandra went on pulling out shrivelled flowers. ‘The children and Nanny picked these, but they don’t last. What’s that? No, I don’t need the car. Good-bye, Rose.’

  Chapter Three

  Out of the small window with its doll’s-house curtains, Rose noticed several hares loping away into the spring grass; they looked very large in the evening light, their shadows stretching out towards the runway. Then the aeroplane humped and jolted to a halt. The passengers, who included three priests in raincoats and cloth caps, at once stood up and began pushing towards the door. The smell of winter clothes and tobacco and people, the whole very tough smell of Eastern Europe, blotted out the inward rush of the evening air. However, when Rose stood for a moment at the top of the iron steps, she thought she could hear blackbirds singing.

  The bus was already waiting. But first an assortment of objects had to be hauled out of the aeroplane and resettled beside the driver’s seat: the usual newspapers and postbags; a keg of acid; a bale of fox skins; bundles of skis; a child’s tricycle. When everything was ready they drove off through the ploughed fields towards Biala Gora.

  On the pre-1914 maps it is called Weissberg. With some effort you could distinguish a nineteenth-century German city among the factories which were now pumping bland columns of smoke into the sky. You could see, among the new blocks of flats, large houses divided into tenements and falling into ruin; they stood in gardens where the trees had been damaged by shell-fire and the earth had long ago been stamped naked and hard. The old market-place, where the airport bus stopped, had been blown up by the retreating armies; now, under a maze of scaffolding, it was being restored.

  Rose and Tadeusz recognized each other immediately, for photographs had been exchanged at intervals. He was fifteen, with reddish hair and a narrow white face. He kissed her confidently on both cheeks.

  ‘Hadn’t we better take a taxi?’

  ‘It is not necessary. I may carry your luggage.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s very heavy.’

  ‘That is nothing.’
He gathered breath and said in a rush: ‘Only last week, for instance, I was ski-ing in Tatry mountains. We made thirty-one kilometres with packs on our backs. We saw a bear.’

  ‘How exciting.’

  ‘Yes, it was very interesting. Most of the bears live now in Czechoslovakia. Mostly they are coming here only in sum- mertime.’

  Rose’s suitcases were put on the pavement. They were clean and expensive among the others of bursting cardboard. The boy picked them both up. She could see it was an effort for him but knew it would be no good asking him to give in.

  ‘I expect they come for their holidays, like me.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘The bears.’

  The boy frowned, and before she could explain he had started off through the crowd, as though pulled forward by the momentum of the two swinging cases. Rose followed as best she could. Her shoes, though they had low tapered heels, were not good on the broken pavements. She was wearing a heavy-knit sweater and, since it was a mild evening, she soon began to feel hot, and uneasy at the stares of the people who passed them. She was shocked, too, at their difference from herself. Most were dressed in little more than rags, jumble-sale clothes. There was no effort, such as you might find in a southern country, to present a façade of prosperity to the world. Each seemed to show a face and figure which said: ‘Look, this is me, smashed.’ And her nephew, with his fierce unhealthy look, fitted easily into this background.

  Once he stopped for a moment and jerked his head, without letting go of her cases. ‘Over there is the Popular Comedy Theatre. They are playing A Policeman Calls by J. B. Priestley.’

  ‘You mean An Inspector Calls.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  He scowled and began walking again. After this, she was careful not to correct him about his knowledge of English things.

  Near the market-place there had been two or three massive State department stores, and an occasional scribble of neon lighting. Now the city grew darker and dingier. Small shops crouched half-hidden under greyish-black buildings. The buildings which had stucco on them appeared to have been kicked systematically round the base of the walls, where they showed a surface of crumbling brick. Others were built only of brick, cracked and diminished by the weather.