Masaryk Station (John Russell) Read Online Free PDF Page A

groaning with food, supplied by her recent Soviet employers, and enough unopened bottles of vodka to induce the traditional Russian stupor. Fortunately, the Americans had also deemed it politic to send their respects in liquid form, and so Effi chose a small glass of Bourbon to wash down the Russian hors d’oeuvres. Angela had wandered off, and Effi scanned the crowd for another familiar face. She caught the glance of Sonja’s first husband, the actor Volker Heldt. He and Effi had worked on a DEFA project only the previous year.
    He walked across to join her. ‘A good crowd,’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ Effi agreed. ‘Don’t look now, but who’s the man leaning against the wall in the grey suit? He keeps staring at me.’
    ‘Who wouldn’t?’ Volker said gallantly, taking his time to look around. ‘Oh him—he stares at everyone. He’s one of the Russian culture people. MGB most likely. It was their police who found her, you know.’
    ‘I didn’t. I still can’t believe she killed herself.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any doubt, despite what some people are saying.’
    ‘How did she do it?’
    ‘Sleeping pills. And there’s no doubt she bought them. She paid a fortune for them on the black market.’
    ‘Did she leave a note?’
    ‘No, and that was strange. But she’d only just broken up with her last boyfriend—the one almost half her age—so who knows what was going through her mind. And anyway what reason would the Russians have for killing her?’
    ‘Is that what people are saying?’
    ‘A few. Like Eva here.’
    The blonde joining them had done the costumes on several of Effi’s films. Eva Kempka was in her forties now, and thin enough to look a little stretched. She had been married once, but according to Berlin’s cinematic grapevine, had since changed her sexual proclivities.
    ‘What are you accusing me of?’ Eva asked Volker, with more than a hint of disdain.
    ‘Of believing the Russians killed Sonja.’
    ‘I’ve never said that. I just don’t believe she killed herself.’ The way she said it made Effi think there’d been some emotional involvement, either real or unrequited.
    ‘Well, maybe not you,’ Volker admitted, ‘but there are a lot of people out there who think the Russians are behind every mysterious happening. Good or bad. And the Russians are really not that smart.’
    ‘Yes, but Sonja was …’ Eva began, then, for some reason, suddenly stopped.
    ‘Sonja was what?’ Volker asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ Eva said quickly. ‘And you’re right about everyone blaming the Russians for everything. But they are in control. They closed down the all the help stations on the autobahn yesterday—it took a friend of mine eleven hours to reach Helmstedt.’
    ‘Are they still closed?’ Effi asked. She had the feeling that Eva had only just realised that she was talking to one of Sonja’s ex-husbands, and was eager to change the subject.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ Volker answered her. ‘But they could be again tomorrow, and there doesn’t seem much we Berliners do about it. Appealing to the Americans is a waste of time—they’re too scared of starting another war.’
    ‘A good thing to be scared of,’ Effi argued. ‘But we can’t complain about what the Russians have done for our business—if it hadn’t been for them, there wouldn’t have been any new German films. The Americans would have been happy to sell us theirs, and make the occasional one here using their own crews and actors.’
    ‘Like Foreign Affair ,’ Eva suggested.
    ‘Exactly. Marlene was the only German with a decent part.’
    ‘True,’ Volker agreed, ‘but things seem to be changing over the past few months. Last year the Americans were only interested in propaganda, while the Soviets were encouraging thoughtful movies, but these days the roles seem almost reversed. I’ve no idea why.’
    ‘Neither have I,’ Effi said, having just noticed that the grey-suited Russian was listening intently to