The Dictator’s Wife by Freya Berry

Author:Freya Berry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline Publisher
Published: 2021-03-24T17:00:00+00:00

Out in the lobby, I looked around. No one there. I hurried across to the cloakroom, went to lift the little latch on the door – and jumped back as the stick-thin attendant appeared.

‘The director wants to see you,’ I said.

‘I cannot leave these.’

‘It’s fine, I can look after our things. No problem.’ I gave her my best smile.

She considered me, then shrugged. I could see her thoughts. Who cares? Life: just people telling you what to do, then you die.

She went off and I clenched my fist in victory. Seven minutes, assuming they weren’t early. Plenty of time. Quickly I let myself into the cloakroom to where our coats hung neatly, Mr Gabor’s in the middle. I checked the pockets. Nothing.

Somewhere above, a door opened and I heard Pavel’s voice. They were early! I frisked the coat again. Nothing beyond fluff and a mint humbug. In the briefcase? But that was not practical if he was stopped . . . What about inside the coat? I tore it open. There! Two pockets, tightly zipped. Now I heard footsteps descending the stairs. The first pocket yielded nothing. The second contained a wallet. I flipped it open, rummaging through the small wad of currency. There it was: the ID card, and also a photograph of a woman looking over her shoulder, smiling. I stuffed the photo back, restored the wallet and shoved the card into my pocket just as the company rounded the corner.

‘Laura. Let’s go.’ Pavel’s eyes flicked towards the clock again before he spotted me in the cloakroom and frowned. ‘New career?’

‘The attendant went off, so I was getting our things.’

He and Mr Gabor seemed to accept this, but the museum director was frowning, wondering where her staff member had gone. Quickly I whisked the coats off their hangers. Pavel was watching the clock again.

We got in the car without incident, but I did not relax. As we bounced across the cobbles, I noticed how Sorin’s seat did not indent around him, as if he weighed nothing at all.

After five minutes, heart in my throat, I said, ‘Wait.’ My voice reverberated oddly: Pavel had spoken at the exact same time.

‘I’ve left my scarf,’ I said.

‘I have to stop in on a friend.’

We looked at one another.

‘Why did you not say before?’ Sorin was irritable. ‘I told Marija we would be back.’

‘You go ahead. I can find my own way.’

‘Same.’ I tried not to speak too quickly.

He gave us both a long look. ‘Do not take a taxi to the mansion by yourselves. It is not safe. Here, ask for this place. You will fetch up close to it.’ He scribbled an address on a piece of paper.

I thanked him and said, ‘Pavel, why not leave your bag with Sorin?’

Pavel stared down at the item in question. I noticed how tightly he was gripping it.

‘Take these,’ he said at last, and withdrew a bunch of papers, practically shoving them into the sculptor’s hands. Once again I heard that faint, mysterious chink.

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