Lydia (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} watchergrrl) wrote,@ 1997-08-25 00:19:00 |
|
homecoming
Dear Pamela:
right, I WILL wrap this up now.
Fortunately I saw her first; and fortunately, since I had changed my clothes and covered my hair, she didn't immediately recognize me. I slid back behind a pillar and considered my options, and then walked as nonchalantly and unobtrusively as I could to the side door and out into the warm, wet evening. I ducked under an awning, into a side street, and repeated, with some variations, my afternoon of getting lost in old Prague, to make sure I wasn't followed. Half an hour later I came up behind the bus station.
I couldn't cash my train ticket in for a bus ticket - they suggested, doubtfully, that I might be able to get a refund in Munich. The next bus to Munich was at noon the next day, and I didn't want to spend that long in Prague. The bus station was bound to cross her mind at some point, too. And I rather thought I'd mentioned coming from Munich, also. She might think to check for the busses.
But there was a 4:30 a.m. bus to Paris, arriving fourteen hours later. I could make it across town and catch the Chunnel train (perhaps cashing in my Prague-Munich ticket? I could hope) and be back in London by midnight.
Fourteen hours by bus. The price of my stupidity in coming here to begin with, I told myself firmly, and pulled out the last of my cash. I had my emergency credit card with me but was not absolutely certain what resources Miss Post had at her disposal, and was afraid she could find me if I used it. I would have to use it in Paris, but she might not be looking for me there.
I bought my ticket, picked up a bag of crisps and a soda at the concession - all I now had money for - and headed for the Ladies', where I stripped off the green jacket and exchanged the scarf for the fishing cap, stuffing my hair up into it. I also changed into that dull beige shirt with the stain on one cuff; it's ideal for travelling because I don't really care what happens to it. So when I came briskly back out the door into the main concourse, and saw Miss Post standing at the counter across the hall, looking, as it happened, directly at me, I did not look at all like the woman she might have seen in the train station, and was some distance away from her. I had that crucial two seconds before recognition came to her, and stepped back into the Ladies', gasping as if someone had thrown cold water in my face.
I took a second until my heart stopped racing, ran to the last stall, which was under a louvered window in the back wall. I stepped on the toilet, shoved my pack out the window, and with some difficulty hauled myself out as well. I dropped onto the ground outside just I heard the hydraulic hiss of the door opening.
I did not feel entirely safe wandering around in the streets of Old Prague until 4:30 a.m., where I would increasingly stand out as the only person out at that hour. I walked briskly through alleyways, trying to look as if I belonged there, until I found myself behind a large old building, with an open door, and ducked into it. There were a few people standing around, as far as I could tell stagehands of some kind, turned through a doorway towards some basement stairs, and after a few more turns, found myself in a storeroom full of marionettes.
I had found my way into the Prague Puppet Theatre. I'd meant to see a performance before I left. well, at least I could examine the props. Except, of course, footsteps approached and I secreted myself under a table.
It was only the stagehands, putting things away. At last they left. I curled up in the company of a seventeenth-century wooden princess and a beautifully carved wolf, stored under the table beside me, set my wristwatch alarm for 3:30 a.m., and fell asleep.
Well, it may have been foolish, but I was exhausted.
The rest of the story has very little by way of drama. I found my way back to the bus station by 4:00 a.m. It was locked up for the night, but the Paris bus picked us up in front of the building, conveniently for me, since I could hide in the shadows nearby until I was sure no one was following me. I slept on the bus, and used my credit card in Paris for the Chunnel ticket and also for a meal in the station before the train left, since I hadn't eaten all day. It was recklessly extravagant, too.
It was slightly after midnight on Tuesday when I finally staggered in my doorway. I set down my pack, exhausted, dropped my coat and hat on top of it, and turned on the light. There was someone in the armchair and I had a moment's panic before I recognized Rudi, asleep in full clothing, his tie loosened, unshaven, looking exhausted.
As I stared, unable to take this in - why wasn't he in Italy, or waiting for me in Munich or - ? - he awoke. His eyes focussed on me and I have never seen such a look of astonished, heartfelt relief and surprise, of expectations joyfully confounded, in anyone. He started from the chair and I found myself wrapped in his arms before I had time to react.
"Oh, Lydia," he said. "Lydia, thank God. I thought I had lost you. I thought you were dead."
It was such a relief to feel him in my arms. I had not until that moment acknowledged how afraid I was that I would never see him again. I laid my head against his chest and relaxed for the first time in days. "Didn't you get my letter?" I asked.
"Haven't you seen the news?" he answered. "You fell off a fourth-floor balcony in Prague yesterday afternoon."
"That wasn't me," I said, confused. "That was someone else."
"Clearly." He pulled back a little and looked down at me. "You're exhausted. Have you eaten? Where were you?"
I thought over these questions and chose the most urgent. "I"m starving," I said. "Have I got any food?"
***
He made me an omelette and watched me eat it, his eyes following every bite as if he was seeing, moment by moment, a miracle unfold in front of him. He had been certain I was dead. He kept touching my hair, getting up to get me water, asking if I was too hot, too cold, comfortable, tending me anxiously as if I was an illusion and might vanish again without proper care.
Rudi's last few days had been enough to turn his remaining hair grey. He had come into Munich Sunday in the late afternoon, and found that I'd never checked into the hotel. The archives were closed, but he phoned Dr. Mueller at home and ascertained that at least I had been in Munich, and found from him the address of my hostel. He also heard the unwelcome story of the vampires I had reported there, but when he found, at the hostel, that I had checked out in an orderly fashion early that morning, and hadn't simply vanished, he decided there must be a rational explanation, and sensibly checked into his own hotel and went out for dinner with Dr. Mueller.
One thing I like about Rudi is that he doesn't panic easily, and trusts my judgment - at least he used to! After this episode it may take him a little while to remember that.
Monday morning he came by the archives to see if I'd checked in, and Dr. Mueller, who had found my letter by then, told him that I had apparently gone to Prague. Rudi was a little disappointed - he had wanted to show me Munich after all - but since he had no idea where I was in Prague, nor indeed what I was doing there, he decided to return home. (Where I would have left him a message on his voicemail, if I'd realised - but no matter.)
Nor was he particularly concerned that I didn't contact him there, since after all I had no way to know he had returned to London early. It wasn't until he turned on the evening news on Monday,
and found a report of a "British tourist" killed in Prague, with a foggy photograph of someone who looked a fair amount like me, in tweedy clothes, that he began to be seriously anxious. Although the name hadn't yet been released, he contacted Travers, who confirmed his worst fears; the Watchers Academy had been told through separate channels that it was one of their own, and a British lady, who had been found in the alleyway outside the vampire lair.
My suspicion is that Miss Post has covered up her murder of Watcher Kundera, with whom she probably is known to be connected, by identifying the body as belonging to someone else. If Kundera has no family, she'll probably get away with it, too.
Rudi didn't sleep at all that night, and around noon on Tuesday, at a loss for anything else he might do, he came round to my flat to see if I had left any information at all. He didn't even know why I had gone to Prague; and of course Travers couldn't help him there, as I hadn't informed him I was going. I think it comforted Rudi a little to look at the things I'd left in the flat, and tell himself that perhaps I wasn't dead. As, indeed, I was not. Somewhere close to evening he fell asleep in my chair, and so I found him when I came home.
I am so sorry to have caused his dear heart a moment's pain.
We were both too tired to talk much; I ate with one hand, holding his with the other. I told him I had gone to Prague to investigate the latest William and Drusilla sighting, but when I tried to tell him what I had seen and everything that had happened there my mind was too foggy to track, and we settled it that I would give him the whole account in the morning. I did tell him that I had met a Gwendolyn Post, who seemed to me to be almost certainly dangerous. I saw his face change when I said her name, and asked if he knew her. Why yes; they had been in the same class at the Academy, he answered.
I knew immediately there was more to the story, but wished only to fall into bed by then, which we did, stripping off enough of our outer garments to be comfortable, far too exhausted to do more than cuddle.
The fight didn't start until the next morning, when we were better rested, and he grasped for the first time that I had not asked Travers' permission to go to Prague. Had it not occurred to me that Travers might have some good reason for not wanting me there? That, perhaps, there was some danger of which I was not aware? Was I always going to make his life a misery by being this reckless and foolhardy?
I defended myself as best I could, but I was conscious of a certain weakness in my efforts, since, in fact there had been a great deal going on in Prague that I still couldn't make head or tail of, but which had, in the event, turned out to be highly dangerous. Though I thought it very unlikely that Travers knew anything about any of it.
I think Rudi's anger was fuelled in large part by the fear and grief he had endured the previous day, and I forgave him for it instantly. It took him a little longer to forgive me for putting him through it, however unwittingly. I did not immediately perceive what pain he had been in, because, of course, it was hard for me to truly grasp that he thought I was dead, when I knew very well that I wasn't. Once I did realise it I was so shocked that I had hurt him that I am afraid I burst into tears. (I must have been a little tired still.) This calmed him immediately and he came over to embrace me and kiss my face, whispering reassuringly, and I am not sure at what point we both realised that there were better ways to relieve our feelings than a shouting match, but it cannot have been more than two minutes later that I found myself in a highly compromising position, on my own kitchen table.
I admit I was surprised. Rudi has always been gentle and slow with me before. And kitchen tables hadn't figured in my previous experience either.
Nor had twelve-hour marathons - some of it, just for variety, gentle and slow - involving every stick of furniture in the apartment as well as the showerstall.
Not, I assure you, that I am complaining.
It was, as I said, at some point during the making-up activities that Rudi proposed. Some time after that we adjourned to his apartment, pausing in Knightsbridge to choose me a ring.
It wasn't until the following day, feeling greatly reassured (a sentiment he shared, judging by the relaxed grin on my sweetheart's face), after a huge breakfast that I felt I had thoroughly earned, that I gave him the full account of everything I'd seen in Prague. I still did not know what to make of most of it. We pieced it together as best we could before we took our information to Travers.
Who blew his stack, as I've already told you. But I'll tell you what we think must have been happening in Prague tomorrow.
Love, Lydia
Dear Pamela:
right, I WILL wrap this up now.
Fortunately I saw her first; and fortunately, since I had changed my clothes and covered my hair, she didn't immediately recognize me. I slid back behind a pillar and considered my options, and then walked as nonchalantly and unobtrusively as I could to the side door and out into the warm, wet evening. I ducked under an awning, into a side street, and repeated, with some variations, my afternoon of getting lost in old Prague, to make sure I wasn't followed. Half an hour later I came up behind the bus station.
I couldn't cash my train ticket in for a bus ticket - they suggested, doubtfully, that I might be able to get a refund in Munich. The next bus to Munich was at noon the next day, and I didn't want to spend that long in Prague. The bus station was bound to cross her mind at some point, too. And I rather thought I'd mentioned coming from Munich, also. She might think to check for the busses.
But there was a 4:30 a.m. bus to Paris, arriving fourteen hours later. I could make it across town and catch the Chunnel train (perhaps cashing in my Prague-Munich ticket? I could hope) and be back in London by midnight.
Fourteen hours by bus. The price of my stupidity in coming here to begin with, I told myself firmly, and pulled out the last of my cash. I had my emergency credit card with me but was not absolutely certain what resources Miss Post had at her disposal, and was afraid she could find me if I used it. I would have to use it in Paris, but she might not be looking for me there.
I bought my ticket, picked up a bag of crisps and a soda at the concession - all I now had money for - and headed for the Ladies', where I stripped off the green jacket and exchanged the scarf for the fishing cap, stuffing my hair up into it. I also changed into that dull beige shirt with the stain on one cuff; it's ideal for travelling because I don't really care what happens to it. So when I came briskly back out the door into the main concourse, and saw Miss Post standing at the counter across the hall, looking, as it happened, directly at me, I did not look at all like the woman she might have seen in the train station, and was some distance away from her. I had that crucial two seconds before recognition came to her, and stepped back into the Ladies', gasping as if someone had thrown cold water in my face.
I took a second until my heart stopped racing, ran to the last stall, which was under a louvered window in the back wall. I stepped on the toilet, shoved my pack out the window, and with some difficulty hauled myself out as well. I dropped onto the ground outside just I heard the hydraulic hiss of the door opening.
I did not feel entirely safe wandering around in the streets of Old Prague until 4:30 a.m., where I would increasingly stand out as the only person out at that hour. I walked briskly through alleyways, trying to look as if I belonged there, until I found myself behind a large old building, with an open door, and ducked into it. There were a few people standing around, as far as I could tell stagehands of some kind, turned through a doorway towards some basement stairs, and after a few more turns, found myself in a storeroom full of marionettes.
I had found my way into the Prague Puppet Theatre. I'd meant to see a performance before I left. well, at least I could examine the props. Except, of course, footsteps approached and I secreted myself under a table.
It was only the stagehands, putting things away. At last they left. I curled up in the company of a seventeenth-century wooden princess and a beautifully carved wolf, stored under the table beside me, set my wristwatch alarm for 3:30 a.m., and fell asleep.
Well, it may have been foolish, but I was exhausted.
The rest of the story has very little by way of drama. I found my way back to the bus station by 4:00 a.m. It was locked up for the night, but the Paris bus picked us up in front of the building, conveniently for me, since I could hide in the shadows nearby until I was sure no one was following me. I slept on the bus, and used my credit card in Paris for the Chunnel ticket and also for a meal in the station before the train left, since I hadn't eaten all day. It was recklessly extravagant, too.
It was slightly after midnight on Tuesday when I finally staggered in my doorway. I set down my pack, exhausted, dropped my coat and hat on top of it, and turned on the light. There was someone in the armchair and I had a moment's panic before I recognized Rudi, asleep in full clothing, his tie loosened, unshaven, looking exhausted.
As I stared, unable to take this in - why wasn't he in Italy, or waiting for me in Munich or - ? - he awoke. His eyes focussed on me and I have never seen such a look of astonished, heartfelt relief and surprise, of expectations joyfully confounded, in anyone. He started from the chair and I found myself wrapped in his arms before I had time to react.
"Oh, Lydia," he said. "Lydia, thank God. I thought I had lost you. I thought you were dead."
It was such a relief to feel him in my arms. I had not until that moment acknowledged how afraid I was that I would never see him again. I laid my head against his chest and relaxed for the first time in days. "Didn't you get my letter?" I asked.
"Haven't you seen the news?" he answered. "You fell off a fourth-floor balcony in Prague yesterday afternoon."
"That wasn't me," I said, confused. "That was someone else."
"Clearly." He pulled back a little and looked down at me. "You're exhausted. Have you eaten? Where were you?"
I thought over these questions and chose the most urgent. "I"m starving," I said. "Have I got any food?"
***
He made me an omelette and watched me eat it, his eyes following every bite as if he was seeing, moment by moment, a miracle unfold in front of him. He had been certain I was dead. He kept touching my hair, getting up to get me water, asking if I was too hot, too cold, comfortable, tending me anxiously as if I was an illusion and might vanish again without proper care.
Rudi's last few days had been enough to turn his remaining hair grey. He had come into Munich Sunday in the late afternoon, and found that I'd never checked into the hotel. The archives were closed, but he phoned Dr. Mueller at home and ascertained that at least I had been in Munich, and found from him the address of my hostel. He also heard the unwelcome story of the vampires I had reported there, but when he found, at the hostel, that I had checked out in an orderly fashion early that morning, and hadn't simply vanished, he decided there must be a rational explanation, and sensibly checked into his own hotel and went out for dinner with Dr. Mueller.
One thing I like about Rudi is that he doesn't panic easily, and trusts my judgment - at least he used to! After this episode it may take him a little while to remember that.
Monday morning he came by the archives to see if I'd checked in, and Dr. Mueller, who had found my letter by then, told him that I had apparently gone to Prague. Rudi was a little disappointed - he had wanted to show me Munich after all - but since he had no idea where I was in Prague, nor indeed what I was doing there, he decided to return home. (Where I would have left him a message on his voicemail, if I'd realised - but no matter.)
Nor was he particularly concerned that I didn't contact him there, since after all I had no way to know he had returned to London early. It wasn't until he turned on the evening news on Monday,
and found a report of a "British tourist" killed in Prague, with a foggy photograph of someone who looked a fair amount like me, in tweedy clothes, that he began to be seriously anxious. Although the name hadn't yet been released, he contacted Travers, who confirmed his worst fears; the Watchers Academy had been told through separate channels that it was one of their own, and a British lady, who had been found in the alleyway outside the vampire lair.
My suspicion is that Miss Post has covered up her murder of Watcher Kundera, with whom she probably is known to be connected, by identifying the body as belonging to someone else. If Kundera has no family, she'll probably get away with it, too.
Rudi didn't sleep at all that night, and around noon on Tuesday, at a loss for anything else he might do, he came round to my flat to see if I had left any information at all. He didn't even know why I had gone to Prague; and of course Travers couldn't help him there, as I hadn't informed him I was going. I think it comforted Rudi a little to look at the things I'd left in the flat, and tell himself that perhaps I wasn't dead. As, indeed, I was not. Somewhere close to evening he fell asleep in my chair, and so I found him when I came home.
I am so sorry to have caused his dear heart a moment's pain.
We were both too tired to talk much; I ate with one hand, holding his with the other. I told him I had gone to Prague to investigate the latest William and Drusilla sighting, but when I tried to tell him what I had seen and everything that had happened there my mind was too foggy to track, and we settled it that I would give him the whole account in the morning. I did tell him that I had met a Gwendolyn Post, who seemed to me to be almost certainly dangerous. I saw his face change when I said her name, and asked if he knew her. Why yes; they had been in the same class at the Academy, he answered.
I knew immediately there was more to the story, but wished only to fall into bed by then, which we did, stripping off enough of our outer garments to be comfortable, far too exhausted to do more than cuddle.
The fight didn't start until the next morning, when we were better rested, and he grasped for the first time that I had not asked Travers' permission to go to Prague. Had it not occurred to me that Travers might have some good reason for not wanting me there? That, perhaps, there was some danger of which I was not aware? Was I always going to make his life a misery by being this reckless and foolhardy?
I defended myself as best I could, but I was conscious of a certain weakness in my efforts, since, in fact there had been a great deal going on in Prague that I still couldn't make head or tail of, but which had, in the event, turned out to be highly dangerous. Though I thought it very unlikely that Travers knew anything about any of it.
I think Rudi's anger was fuelled in large part by the fear and grief he had endured the previous day, and I forgave him for it instantly. It took him a little longer to forgive me for putting him through it, however unwittingly. I did not immediately perceive what pain he had been in, because, of course, it was hard for me to truly grasp that he thought I was dead, when I knew very well that I wasn't. Once I did realise it I was so shocked that I had hurt him that I am afraid I burst into tears. (I must have been a little tired still.) This calmed him immediately and he came over to embrace me and kiss my face, whispering reassuringly, and I am not sure at what point we both realised that there were better ways to relieve our feelings than a shouting match, but it cannot have been more than two minutes later that I found myself in a highly compromising position, on my own kitchen table.
I admit I was surprised. Rudi has always been gentle and slow with me before. And kitchen tables hadn't figured in my previous experience either.
Nor had twelve-hour marathons - some of it, just for variety, gentle and slow - involving every stick of furniture in the apartment as well as the showerstall.
Not, I assure you, that I am complaining.
It was, as I said, at some point during the making-up activities that Rudi proposed. Some time after that we adjourned to his apartment, pausing in Knightsbridge to choose me a ring.
It wasn't until the following day, feeling greatly reassured (a sentiment he shared, judging by the relaxed grin on my sweetheart's face), after a huge breakfast that I felt I had thoroughly earned, that I gave him the full account of everything I'd seen in Prague. I still did not know what to make of most of it. We pieced it together as best we could before we took our information to Travers.
Who blew his stack, as I've already told you. But I'll tell you what we think must have been happening in Prague tomorrow.
Love, Lydia
