The String Diaries (12 page)

Don’t take your eyes off him.

The boat was closer now. Hannah could hear the creaking of the oars in their rowlocks and their splash as they parted the water. She could only see the fisherman’s back. He wore a rope-knit jumper of cream wool, ragged at the sleeves and collar. A blue hat was pulled down over his head, and from beneath poked a shock of jet-black curls. He was about Nate’s build. Perhaps not quite as broad.

‘Stay close to me, Leah. Do as I say. Don’t say anything about Daddy. Or the Bad Man. Do you understand?’

The girl slid behind Hannah, mumbling her agreement.

As the boat glided to the shore and nudged up on to the shingle, the man pulled in his oars. He turned, looked both of them up and down, and broke into a wide grin. The whiteness of his teeth was a shocking contrast to the pallor of the day.

‘Well, hello there, ladies!’ he said. His voice was rich with a musical Irish brogue. Blue eyes, a vivid cobalt shade, twinkled with merriment. When they failed to respond he hesitated, tilting his head to one side. ‘Ah, will you look at that. Caused offence already, I have, and before I’ve even known your names.’ He flashed them another sharp smile.

‘We weren’t expecting any company,’ Hannah replied, folding her arms. ‘I understood this lake belonged to the farm.’

‘Ah, but surely it’s God’s lake, is it not?’

Leah burst out from behind her mother’s back. ‘We’ve got God’s dog!’

The man threw his head back and laughed. ‘Have you now? Well, there’s a thing. God’s dog. And what do you call the fine animal?’

‘Moses.’

He laughed again, looked up at Hannah and winked. ‘A fine name for a dog, that. Listen, I was only pulling your leg. It might be God’s lake but it also, by rights, belongs to your farm. Which makes me, for want of a better word, a poacher. But!’ He held up his fishing rods. ‘An unsuccessful poacher. So I’m sorry. For being on your lake. And not nicking your fish.’

Hannah nodded. ‘And what’s a born-and-bred Irishman like you doing in the heart of Snowdonia?’ Despite all the alarms chiming in her head, she found herself unaccountably charmed by him, and knocked slightly off balance by his openness. The more sober part of her mind screamed one word.

Danger
.

‘Running away from Ireland, of course,’ he replied, laughing.

‘Were you running
from
something?’

‘Aren’t we all running from something?’ His eyes shone, and she did not miss the challenge they held. ‘Oh, but I haven’t introduced myself. Allow me. Name’s Gabriel. You can call me Gabe, if you like.’

‘Nice to meet you, Gabriel.’

‘And I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I had no idea there was anyone staying at the farm. Renting it, are you?’

‘A holiday.’

‘Grand. Me, I’ve a place over the hill.’ He pointed. ‘Just myself, a smallholding, and the horses.’ He turned his attention to Leah and the flashing smile returned. ‘Do you like horses, little miss?’

‘Yes!’

Gabriel nodded, then cast his eyes appreciatively over Hannah’s body. ‘And what about your ma now? Can she ride?’

His lascivious double meaning was not lost on her; every sentence he uttered seemed to contain a private joke. She scowled.

‘Mummy’s the best. She used to compete.’

Hannah laid a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, determined to curb the girl’s excitement before she let something slip. ‘Come on, that’s enough. It was nice to meet you, Gabriel. I’m sorry you haven’t managed to catch anything, but I gather there are plenty of lakes around here. Perhaps you’ll have better luck elsewhere.’

Chastised, Gabriel flicked his eyes to Leah, then nodded his agreement to Hannah. He replaced his oars in the rowlocks. ‘Well,’ he announced brightly. ‘I won’t hold you up any longer. It won’t take me long to row back. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it. It was a delight to meet you both. Little miss. Tall miss.’ He pulled off his hat and raised it theatrically. Dark curls spilled out to frame his face. ‘Now, I wonder. Is there any chance of you ladies giving me a shove-of
f
?’

Hannah planted her boot on the boat’s prow and shunted it out into the lake. Gabriel lurched backwards. He gripped the gunwales and just about managed to keep his balance. Leah laughed.

On the way back to the farmhouse, holding her daughter’s hand, Hannah glanced back at the rowing boat as it moved across the lake. Gabriel lifted an arm and waved.

Turning away from him, she heard the same word echoing in her head.

Danger
.

C
HAPTER
9

Gödöllö, Hungary

1873

The week leading up to the second
végzet
passed unbearably slowly for Lukács. His father, as was the custom, asked him nothing of his evening at the palace. Even Jani seemed content to leave him alone. Izsák had hounded him to share his story, but Lukács brushed off his little brother’s enquiries with an abruptness that sent the boy crying from the room.

He could hardly work out how he had occupied his time prior to his journey to Budapest. Krisztina consumed his thoughts, consumed his blood. When he closed his eyes he could feel the soft weight of her breast pressing against his arm, the warmth of her skin as he traced his finger down her cheek, the suggestion in her eyes as she said goodbye to him.

I look forward to seeing you again, Lukács.

He needed to see her. It took him days of debate, but Lukács decided he would not attend the second
végzet
. Nor would he attend the others. The ambassador’s
kurvá
bitch daughter and her coven of privileged and pampered butterflies were welcome to their masked harlequins. Lukács refused to settle for the life prescribed for him. He would no longer allow others to dictate what he wore, what he thought, how he behaved. He would not observe the ridiculous social dance a millennia of conceited
hosszú életek
had designed for their offspring. Before his evening with Márkus and Krisztina, he had felt suppressed by fear: fear of rejection, fear of solitude. But the humiliation he had experienced at the
végzet
had been immediately counterbalanced by the acceptance he had received from the young couple. For the first time, he had mingled with low-born, and had found that he preferred their company by far to any sour-faced
hosszú élet
.

Lukács was confident he would not be missed until the third
végzet
, perhaps even the last. At that point, of course, his absence would be obvious. The consequences for his position in the community would be catastrophic; his relationship with his father, his brothers, would be destroyed. But although József had tried to scare him with his talk of life as a
kirekesztett
, Lukács had now tasted a piece of that life. Far from fearing it, he
coveted
it. Yes, he would lose privileges, the easy passage through life his identity afforded him. For the first time, he would need an income, somewhere to live. But he would be free.

He had made preparations. Already, a few valuable timepieces had disappeared from his father’s workshop. While he had not yet dared to remove any of the gold bullion from its hiding place beneath the drawing-room floorboards, he had calculated the value of the extraordinary quantity his father stored there, and discovered that it would fund him a luxurious life several times over. Although he would not leave his family destitute, he would feel no shame in taking what he needed when the day arrived.

On the evening of the second
végzet
, his father drove him to Pest as before, and they visited Szilárd’s house, where Lukács changed into starched shirt, waistcoat and frock coat. This time a different mask awaited him on the dressing-room table. It was much lighter than the first, wrought from a delicate leaf of copper and polished to a high shine. Unlike the pewter mask that preceded it, this one covered less of his face – just a narrow strip above his cheekbones.

He would not wear it for long.

Looking at himself in the mirror and liking what he saw, he slipped his pocket watch into his waistcoat and walked outside. The journey from Szilárd’s house was farcically short. They did not cross the Danube this time, but pulled up instead outside a sprawling mansion in Pest that overlooked the water.

‘Make me proud,’ József said, as a porter opened the door of the carriage.

Smiling, Lukács patted his father’s arm and stepped down into the courtyard. He marched up the steps of the property and waited until József’s carriage had turned the corner. Then he pulled off the mask and walked back out of the gates.

It was a warm evening, so he decided to cross the Széchenyi bridge by foot. He enjoyed the exhilaration of being so far above the water. The sun was setting, a glowing disc that painted the stone lions of the bridge with fire. Halfway across, he stopped and turned full circle, surveying the unified cities separated by the great river. Leaning out over the water, he fished the mask from his pocket. Whatever it meant to the
hosszú életek
hierarchy, to him it symbolised a shackle. On a whim, he launched the mask into the air, watching it spiral down, a glinting flicker of copper, towards the water below. He saw it touch the surface of the Danube, and kept sight of it a moment longer before it slid beneath the ripples. Lukács drew a breath, exhaled, and walked the rest of the way across the bridge.

Márkus’s directions led him to a tavern as raucous and grubby as the first. Even though he had removed his coat and had rubbed grime into the front of his shirt before he entered, his finery still jarred. He felt hostile eyes upon him as he fought his way through the crowd.

He found Márkus at a bench, nursing an empty tankard. Krisztina sat beside him. When they spied him, their eyes widened in surprise. Márkus jumped to his feet with a laugh and embraced Lukács, slapping him hard on the back. Krisztina welcomed him with a smile that made his heart pound and his stomach flip.

It was strange seeing her without a fog of alcohol clouding his judgement. She aroused him still, but she was not as pretty as he remembered, nor as clean. His tongue left him and he mumbled a greeting at her, noting as he did that she wore the same dress as before. It was grubby and stained, but accentuated her curves no less as a result.

He suggested drinks and Márkus congratulated him heartily. Soon Lukács was swigging back mouthfuls of beer and laughing as his friend related the week’s events, the highlight of which seemed to have been a riverside collision between a merchant and two sailors lugging a barrel of spoiled fish.

They talked, joked, drank. As the beer flowed, and Márkus became more animated and less observant, Lukács traded glances with Krisztina, and her flirtation became more daring. Once, beneath the table, her leg bumped against his and he almost leaped off his stool with surprise. He cursed himself for blushing.

Finally Márkus, red-faced, pulled himself to his feet. ‘A piss!’ he announced, staggering into the noise of the crowd.

Heart racing, Lukács met Krisztina’s eyes. ‘I would ask an imposition of you, if you would allow it.’

The corners of her mouth twitched. She leaned forward and planted her elbows on the table, cradling her chin on her fingers. ‘I would allow it.’

He cleared his throat, stared at the table. ‘There’s something I would like to discuss with you. Alone.’

‘I see.’

Lukács glanced back up at her. Her expression was flat, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. He decided to test his luck. ‘Your answer?’

Her smile returned. ‘I’m intrigued to hear what it is.’

‘Good. I confess, though, I don’t know how to engineer an opportunity for me to tell you without . . .’

‘Márkus.’

‘You see my dilemma.’

She chewed her bottom lip. ‘Do you know the new statue of the king, on the riverbank?’

He nodded. Krisztina opened her mouth to continue just as Márkus arrived back at the table. She clamped her lips shut.

Frustrated, Lukács ordered more drinks. They bantered for another hour. By the time Krisztina stood up, he was drunk.

She placed a hand on her chest and turned to Márkus. ‘You know, I think I’m going to leave you two rogues to it. I’ve an early start, and last week my head hurt all day after you both led me astray like that.’

Laughing, Márkus waved her off. Lukács continued to drink for another ten minutes, then picked up his coat.

Márkus frowned. ‘You’re going too? Already?’

‘Things to do, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘But I enjoyed it.’ He rolled some coins towards his friend. ‘That should see you through.’

Márkus snatched up the money. ‘You, sir, are a gentleman among gentleman. Will I see you again?’

‘Oh, I’ll definitely see you again.’

Shrugging on his frock coat as he left the tavern, Lukács hurried down to the river. Night had fallen, and the moon was hidden behind a bank of cloud. It was far darker along the riverbank than he had been expecting.

He found Krisztina leaning up against the statue of Franz Joseph. She pushed herself away from it as he approached, and fell in step with him.

‘Let’s keep walking,’ she said.

Lukács nodded. He stole glances at her as they strolled along the bank, and she met his eyes once, her expression unreadable. The expectation that hung between them was palpable. The air crackled with it. He told himself to savour the moment, and he tried to absorb every detail of her: the swish of her dress as it rubbed against her legs, the sway of her hips, the taunting shadow of her cleavage.

‘For someone who wanted to talk,’ she said, ‘you’re remarkably quiet.’

Lukács went to the railing overlooking the water. He leaned against it. Krisztina came to a stop beside him, so close that he thought he could feel the heat radiating from her.

For the first time he noticed her smell. Not the delicate perfume of the coiffured
hosszú élet
ladies. This was an earthy smell, a musk of sweat and woman and sex that filled his nose, overpowered his airways and inflamed him. It made him feel nervous and joyous and invincible all at once.

‘You know exactly what you do, don’t you?’ he said.

She turned towards him and looked up, her face inches from his own. ‘Do I?’

Lukács reached out and pulled her to him, pressing his mouth to hers. She responded instantly, parting her lips and pushing her tongue into his mouth. He nearly cried out, outraged at the filthiness of the act yet fired with lust as their saliva mingled and he tasted her.

Her hands reached up to caress his shoulders. They moved around to the front of his chest and lingered there as the kiss deepened, and then with unexpected force she shoved him away.

Krisztina panted, grinning, eyes greedy for him but shaking her head. ‘That’s all you get, Lukács. I’d love to, but no more.’

‘What’s wrong?’ He moved towards her but she held him at bay with a single finger.

‘You. Me. This. It’s wrong, and we both know it. Márkus might be Márkus, but what I’ve got with him has a future, at least. This doesn’t.’

Lukács frowned. ‘Why not?’ He lunged at her but she pushed him off easily, laughing.

‘Why not? Are you joking? Look at you – your fine clothes, your gold watch. I’ve never seen such wealth so naively displayed. I live in a house with two rooms and share it with my parents and six siblings. My father works the river and I wash linen for a pittance. You’ll ride home tonight in a carriage, no doubt. I know what you want. And I’m a silly girl for being tempted. But it’s not yours to take.’

His lust, frustrated, became annoyance. ‘Why isn’t it?’

Krisztina’s eyebrows creased and her eyes flashed with anger. ‘You think your purse can buy a night with me, is that it?’

‘It’s bought two nights with you.’

She slapped him.

He slapped her back. Hard.

Krisztina cried out, more in indignation than pain. She touched her hand to her cheek. Eyes narrowed, she backed away from him. ‘Don’t
ever
come near me again, Lukács,’ she spat. Gathering up her skirts, she marched off.

Lukács’s fingers stung where he had slapped her cheek. He was breathing hard: from excitement, from anger, from arousal. The smell of her lingered in his nostrils, her taste on his lips. He watched her stride along the bank of the Danube until the night wrapped her up in its arms.

Lukács’s scowl of anger became a smirk.

The third
végzet
was conducted without masks. It represented the symbolic entry of the
hosszú életek
youth into adulthood, and allowed the participants to interact free of the constrictions of childhood. It was also the first time the celebrants could make known any interest they bore. Potential partnerships would be weighed and judged by the
tanács
at the final
végzet.
Appropriate matches would be approved, and courtship could begin.

Although he did not consider it a blessing, Lukács knew that to have two siblings was a rarity.
Hosszú
életek
did not produce offspring easily, and even then for only a short period in their lives. The low birth count, along with the extreme nature of their longevity, meant that the entire community had an interest in the successful courtships of its youth.

Lukács had been making alternative preparations.

His last encounter with Krisztina had incensed him at first. He could understand – just about – the scorn of the ambassador’s bitch, but rejection by a Buda tavern slut was a different matter. He would not let it stand. He had felt the changes within him accelerating during the last few weeks. Despite the pair of rejections – perhaps, ironically, because of them – he was feeling comfortable with himself for the first time in his life, and could see a future where he made his own decisions free of the constraints imposed by the
tanács
.

He could not, obviously, attend the third
végzet
. Although the consequences of his continued absence loomed closer now, he viewed the coming confrontation with József as the fulcrum on which his new life would turn.

When he told his father he wanted to revisit the city, József lent him a horse, gave him money and ushered him out of the house, professing his delight at the changes he was witnessing in his son. Lukács used the opportunity to go drinking with Márkus and Krisztina.

The atmosphere at the table that night amused him greatly. He knew Krisztina could not divulge what had happened between them. She had too much to lose. Lukács sat there laughing with Márkus, ignoring her until she made flush-faced excuses and left them. Together, the two young men drank late into the night, swapping stories and details of each other’s lives.