The Diplomat's Wife(62)
CHAPTER 16
Upstairs, I unlock the door to the hotel room and flick the light switch. The bare bulb on the ceiling splutters to life. Then there is a popping sound and the room goes dark once more. I feel my way along the wall, finding a table lamp and turning it on to reveal a small, triangular room. A twin bed is wedged into one corner, covered in a garish pink-flowered duvet. To the left of the bed, beneath a window, sits a chair with a worn gold slipcover. A damp odor permeates the room, as if there is some sort of leak.
I drop my bag onto the bed, then walk into the water closet to relieve myself after the long journey. The sink faucet is rusty and the floor tiles cracked, mold growing where the grout should be. There is a claw-footed bathtub, though, inviting and deep. It reminds me of the wood tub in our house in the village, large and sturdy, that my mother would fill fresh with heated water for each of us every week.
I wash and dry my hands, then return to the main room. Renata said to wait ten minutes, but I walk to the door, eager to find Marek. I peer into the hallway, looking in both directions, then make my way to the unmarked door at the end of the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, as Renata described, is a doorway leading to an alley. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, and it’s colder, too. I draw my coat closer, blinking and trying to adjust my eyes. The alley is narrow, tall brick buildings close on either side. The air is heavy with the smell of garbage. Something rustles by my feet. A rat. Nausea rises up in me. The rats had been everywhere in prison, scratching inside the walls, running across the floor at night. They were as rampant as flies in the ghetto, too. Once, I awoke in bed screaming as one ran across my neck. Mama chased it down, killed it with a broom. But I was too scared to sleep for days.
Someone grabs my arm. “Hey!” I exclaim, jumping.
“Shh!” Renata whispers. Still holding my arm, she leads me through the alleyway to a backstreet. “Be careful,” she adds, gesturing to the slick, wet cobblestones. As we walk, I notice that Renata somehow changed outfits in the few minutes I was upstairs. She is now wearing a short, dark skirt and a pink blouse that dips low to reveal something lacy beneath. Her practical shoes have been replaced with stiletto heels, and she is wearing rouge and bright lipstick. It is as if she is dressed for a night on the town, which, I realize, is exactly the idea, suddenly feeling very frumpy in my wool travel skirt and jacket.
She leads me to a boxy car parked at the corner, so tiny it is almost toylike. The passenger door, its dark paint gouged, groans as Renata opens it for me. I fold myself into the damp car. “We must hurry,” she says loudly as she turns the ignition. “Aunt Sophie will be worried if we are late.”
“Aunt Sophie?” I whisper.
“Talk normally now,” she says in a low voice, and I realize that she is speaking for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.
“I—I am really looking forward to seeing Aunt Sophie after so long,” I improvise as she pulls the car away from the curb. These spy games are very confusing to me.
Renata turns on the radio, which blares a mixture of classical music and static. “Sorry we couldn’t take the embassy sedan tonight. Meet Wartburg, pride of German engineering.” She pats the dashboard. “Careful that your feet don’t fall through the holes in the floor.”
I start to laugh, then, looking down, see that she is serious. “Are we going far?”
Renata pulls the Wartburg to a halt at a traffic light. “Just to a bar in the Nové Mesto. It’s just a little too far to walk in the cold and…” She stops, peering uneasily in the rearview mirror.
I turn around to look behind us. “What’s…?”
“Don’t look,” she whispers, grabbing my arm. I face front quickly, feeling my cheeks burn. As the light turns green, she slams hard on the gas and the car lurches forward. She turns right, then immediately to the left. The wheels skid sideways, sending us careening toward a light post. I grip the seat, bracing myself for the crash I am sure will come. But Renata turns the wheel hard in the other direction, pulling us back into the center of the roadway. A minute later, she slows the car, looking into the rearview mirror once more. “Sorry. There was a suspicious car and I thought we were being followed, but it’s gone.” I cannot help but wonder if perhaps she overreacted. “I didn’t mean to snap at you,” she adds. “But turning around would only arouse suspicion.”
So would a car accident. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I didn’t know.”
“You haven’t had any training for this, have you?” I shake my head, uneasiness growing inside me. It had all been so last-minute. Simon had been angry, the D.M. rushed. What else do I need to know that they forgot to tell me?
A few minutes later, Renata pulls the car into a small space along the curb on a residential side street. I look out the window in both directions, but do not see a bar. “Here?”
“No, but it is best if we park and walk a few blocks.” I start to open the car door, but she grabs my arm. “Wait a second. You don’t have any crowns, do you?”
I hesitate, then realize she is talking about Czech money. I shake my head. “I meant to exchange some money at the hotel….”
“Here.” She presses some bills and coins into my hand. “Don’t worry,” she says, cutting me off as I start to protest. “I’ll get repaid by the embassy. Let’s go.”