Chapter 9

9

The following evening, Jana met Pavel in a small Czech restaurant in the Hrad?any district not far from Prague Castle. They chose here because it was a small, run-down place – one of the few spots not frequented by Germans. The shabby appearance belied the quality of the inexpensive food and the two friends dug into their hearty onion soup hungrily.

‘Delicious,' said Jana, sipping melted cheese and baked croutons from her spoon.

‘It's the local beer that gives it that rich flavour,' Pavel said in between gulping down large spoonfuls. His brown hair was tousled and his cheeks flushed. He glanced at her, pausing to eat and gave her one of his boyish smiles that instantly produced the dimple in his left cheek. Jana's chest expanded with appreciation of their friendship.

Whilst they ate, he asked about Michal.

‘Well, considering the situation, he's doing very well. Papa took some time off to visit him today while I was working at the bookshop. He'd just returned as I was getting ready to meet you.'

‘How's your grandma coping? '

‘I think coping is the wrong word.' Jana laughed. ‘She's thriving! Papa said that Babi and Michal put on a full puppet performance with my grandfather's old marionettes, with a script they'd written themselves and even sang Czech folk songs.'

Once they'd finished the soup, their conversation turned to Lenka and Ivan.

‘Soon to be a family.' Jana beamed.

‘It was love at first sight when those two set eyes on each other.' Pavel's expression turned wistful. ‘They became inseparable after that.'

‘Not everyone falls in love straight away,' said Jana. ‘I think sometimes, love can grow.'

She grew warm and looked away. Why had she said that?

They sat in silence for a while, Pavel studying her, then he checked his watch.

‘Time for me to walk you home since that damn Heydrich has ordered an early curfew again.'

Jana flinched at Heydrich's name and wondered what Pavel would think if he knew she was now spying on the tyrant herself.

They crossed the Vltava on the Charles Bridge, passing the brooding statues that loomed in the dark. Jana knew everything there was to know about the thirty statues that lined the bridge. Some days, she would touch the sandstone of the monuments, absorbing the vibrations of history: of priests, saviours, saints and kings. Her mother had told her as a child the myths and legends surrounding the bridge, some of them quite terrifying.

She linked her arm in Pavel's. It was an innocent action. The two friends often walked like this. The night air was freezing and she yearned for summer when the city was bathed in golden sunshine and the Gothic buildings appeared more enchanting than sinister .

They arrived outside the front door that led up to her apartment.

‘I hope you're keeping out of trouble, Pavel.' She smiled.

‘Just annoying the odd German here and there. A few slashed tyres, a bit of graffiti, and helping smuggle the occasional child out the city.'

‘Thanks again. I appreciate it.'

‘I'm always here for you, Jana. Always. You know that, don't you?' His voice had turned husky.

‘I know,' she said, stepping towards him.

She hesitated. She was filled with the warmth of gratitude, but could there be more? She felt lonely, yearning for something. For Pavel?

It was time to find out.

On tiptoes, she lifted her face and pressed a kiss on his closed lips. She could sense his shock. Putting her arms around his neck, she kissed him again, prising his lips apart with her tongue. His chest heaved with a sigh and he retuned her kiss.

Their embrace was brief; the chatter of passersby and a low wolf whistle broke them apart.

‘You better go,' said Jana. ‘It must be nearly curfew.'

‘What just happened, here?' asked Pavel, breathlessly.

‘Let's think about it.'

‘I definitely will.' He adjusted his hat and walked away with a bounce in his step.

As Jana turned out the light later, she thought about that kiss. She had yearned for it to ignite some passion within her, reveal her true feelings for Pavel, fulfil something missing in her life. But as they kissed, she'd felt very little. It wasn't unpleasant, just a bit awkward. A little cumbersome. Nothing like the earth-moving, overwhelming flood of emotion she'd read about in books such as Wuthering Heights or Anna Karenina . Now, she felt disappointed, but most of all guilty. She had given Pavel the wrong signals. No, worse than that: false hope.