The Glass Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

wondered, would he appear out of the only context she had for him, that fantasy world of Venice in the spring? There he had seemed a character as unreal as the city itself, a creature of imagination and fantasy, capable of conjuring quaint
palazzi
or overwrought churches or melancholy squares out of the mists of the lagoon as though by some kind of innate magic. How would he seem now, coming off the Vienna train into the literal world of Mĕsto?
    ‘Just another smug Viennese, I expect,’ Viktor suggested as they waited on the platform amongst the milling crowds and the idle porters.
    ‘Why should he be smug?’
    ‘All Viennese are smug. It comes from having lorded it over the Empire for so long.’
    She felt indignant on behalf of the man. ‘He’s not that kind of Viennese at all! How cynical you are, Viktor.’
    ‘I’m realistic.’
    Amidst apocalyptic clouds of steam the Vienna train drew in. Doors slammed open and passengers stepped down. She saw von Abt standing at the door of his carriage before he caught sight of them. In a grey homburg hat and black coat he did indeed have the look of a smug businessman. ‘There he is!’ Liesel waved. Von Abt was peering over the people on the platform with an expression that was almost disdainful, as though he despised both the seething crowd below him and the explosive rattle of the Czech language all around. Then he saw her waving and an expression of relief passed across his face. ‘My friends!’ he cried, climbing down from the carriage and flinging out his arms. ‘My friends!’ For a moment he seemed about to hug them, but in the event he merely clasped Viktor’s hand in both of his own and raised Liesel’s to within breathing distance of his lips. How enchanted he was to see them once more.
Enchanté
, he said. If it were possible, they were looking even happier than they had been in Venice; and Frau Liesel even lovelier.
    She laughed at the absurd compliments. He was not a smug businessman, he was a performer, an artist of verve and flair. She took his arm and led him along the platform, addressing him as
du
rather than
Sie
, the familiar rather than the formal. ‘How is Vienna?’ she asked. ‘Do you miss Venice? Wasn’t it wonderful there? Don’t you love the place?’
    Von Abt made a disparaging face. ‘As always Vienna is stimulating and depressing in almost equal measure. Over wrought and undercooked, like its cuisine.’
    ‘And did you have a good journey?’
    ‘Certainly, because of the anticipation of seeing you both again. But passport control at the border was ridiculous. It seems ironical that, though the world is moving forward, it has created a new border control where before none existed.’
    ‘I suppose that’s the price of change. It’s a small loss of freedom compared with other freedoms we have gained.’
    He looked at her with that disturbing smile. ‘And are
you
free, Frau Liesel?’
    Viktor was striding ahead, past signs saying
Ausgang
and
Vychod
. She tried to read the meaning of von Abt’s question. ‘Of course I’m free.’
    They reached the approximate sunshine of the station forecourt. The scene outside the station seemed the epitome of that freedom — the bustle of people coming and going, the taxi cabs stuttering past, the trams clanging and grinding along the Bahnring, the whole energy and enthusiasm of the new republic. There was a small crowd round a newsstand where the newspapers were announcing the latest technological marvel, the first flight of Germany’s new airship, the Graf Zeppelin. Photographs showed the great beast floating like a huge marine animal over the seabed while bottom-dwelling creatures scurried around in its shadow. ‘One day soon,’ von Abt suggested, ‘we’ll be able to fly across the Atlantic as easily as taking a train from here to Paris.’
    Would it really be possible? Liesel felt all the possibilities of the future. How remarkable this century, which had started so disastrously, might