The Pornographer of Vienna by Lewis Crofts

Author:Lewis Crofts [Lewis Crofts]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781906964689
Publisher: Old Street Publishing
Published: 2011-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Egon scraped the soles of his boots on the balustrade, clods of mud thudding onto the hollow terrace. As he opened the front door a mouse scurried under his legs, scampering over the lip of a plank into the grass of the riverbank where it was swallowed by the wash of breeze and swaying meadow. The wind blew off the river and up to the back of his house, bringing with it the hint of blossom sharpened by the chill of impending dusk. Inside, unopened letters stood to attention on the kitchen table propped between chipped mugs and corkless bottles.

A fist banged at the door.

‘Is anyone there?’

A young woman’s voice.

‘Hello?’

He stood up and placed his ear next to the door jamb.

‘Please open up if you are there.’

A fist. Egon moved back from the door.

‘Please open up.’

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

‘Me.’

‘Who?’

‘Wally.’

‘What do you want?’ he asked through the gap between the door and the frame.

‘Please let me in.’

He unlocked the door, peering out into the street.

‘Thank you.’

She stood alone, a suitcase in each hand. She wore a long, thick coat and a threadbare hat hung down behind her neck on a ribbon. Her eyes widened at the sight of Egon, his hair straggly, his face pinched and gaunt.

‘I’ve disturbed you.’

‘Not at all. Come in.’ Egon leant forward and took her bags, beckoning her inside. She walked in and removed her coat, laying it over the back of a chair.

‘It’s not quite as welcoming as you remember, I suspect. Still, make yourself at home.’

She looked at the piles of sketches tossed on the floor and cluttering the surfaces. Layers of dust blunted the colours of trees and flowers, the papers curled and torn, strewn like leaves, the detritus of a past season. She looked over at the crude bed in the corner, its blankets still in the shape of the body that had vacated them several hours earlier. The couch was laden with clothes and smeared crockery.

‘There’s nowhere to sit.’

‘You’ll have to sit on the floor, I’m afraid. Firewood over comfort.’

Valerie knelt down then extended her legs in front of her. ‘I’ve disturbed you, haven’t I?’

Egon closed the door to the terrace and turned back to Valerie. He sat down opposite her on the carpet, putting a hand to her chin and raising her damp eyes to his.

‘Don’t be afraid.’

She smiled, the expression releasing two tears down her cheeks.

‘Why have you come, Wally?’

‘Gustav sent me.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Is he ill?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘So, he’s gone some place?’

‘No.’

‘An argument?’ asked Egon, puzzled.

‘No.’

‘Has the old bastard thrown you out?’

‘Not really.’

Egon walked out on to the terrace and pulled a rotten balustrade out from under the banister. Its soft wood broke easily over his knee. He returned and knelt down next to the fireplace, pushing aside the ashes with the back of his hand.

‘So, he’s still in Vienna?’

‘He told me that you needed something.’

‘He knows I can barely support myself, let alone someone else.’

‘I should never’ve come.’ Valerie moved to stand up but Egon laid a hand on her shoulder and held her back.

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