failed to register her address."
"Suspicious in itself."
"Yes. And she paid her bill in cash, so they've no way of tracing her."
"And consequently neither have you."
"None at all. Apart from just.. . looking."
"Looking where?"
"Anywhere."
"That sounds pretty hopeless."
"I know."
"Besides, she admitted sabotaging your films. Doesn't that prove she was planning to cut you adrift while you were still in Vienna?"
"I think she may just have been desperate."
"On account of her husband."
"Yes. There was something about the way she described him or didn't. Something .. . fearful."
"You're saying she might need rescuing?"
"Possibly, yes."
"By you?"
"Who else?"
"On the other hand, she could be an accomplished actress who got a kick out of making a fool of you."
"I don't think so."
"I did say accomplished."
"I still don't think so." I drained my glass and looked at him. "Same again?"
"I've only just started this one."
"So you have. Back in a minute."
I stood up and went to the bar for a refill. When I returned to the table, Tim's frown had deepened.
"What's wrong?"
"That won't help, you know." He pointed at my glass.
"It'll help me sleep."
"And then?"
"I'll start looking."
"What about work?"
"If I get offered any, which after the Vienna cock-up is doubtful .. ." I shrugged. "It'll just have to wait."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
"You're determined to go after her?"
"Yes."
"Rather than try to patch things up with Faith and lose yourself in your work for a while?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have to know why she did it. And to do that I have to find her."
"She told you not to try."
"Yes. But I'm no good at following instructions. Ask my agent. I'm going to try all right. And, the way I feel at the moment, I can't imagine I'll stop. Until I learn the truth. Whatever it might be."
Bold words for what was actually the only thing my self-respect would let me do. Marian needed me as much as I needed her. I was determined to cling to that belief because there was, quite simply, nothing else to cling to. And I wanted her, too, more than ever. The memories of our days and nights in Vienna were goads to the flesh as well as to the mind. I couldn't bear the loss of so much so soon without fighting to regain it. And the only way I could fight was to start looking for her and to go on looking just as long and as hard as I needed to.
It was a desperate course, no question. But the alternatives were worse. Faith had made it clear she wouldn't have me back. Besides, I couldn't have gone back even if she'd asked me to. I loved Marian, even more potently now I couldn't see her or speak to her or touch her. As for photography, the loss of my Viennese pictures had shocked me into a raw-nerved abstinence. I hadn't taken a single photograph since. I'd made a pact with myself. The next photograph I took would be of Marian.
My first recourse was to return to Vienna, hoping I might be able to pick up her trail there. A doorman at the Imperial remembered her well and seemed to think that when he'd hailed a taxi for her on the morning of her departure she'd said she wanted to go not to the airport, but to one of the railway stations: the Sud-Bahnhof. It was a destination that made no sense, since trains from there headed south, into Hungary and Italy. But then nothing else made sense, so why should that be an exception? I hung around the concourse at the Sud-Bahnhof pondering the point, then wandered out into the park of the Belvedere Palace, where I'd walked with Marian and taken one of the best of my lost pictures of snow-draped Vienna. The snow was gone now, succeeded by rain and slush and a dismal air of wasted chances.
I went everywhere we'd been, asking waiters and passers-by and people at nearby tables in cafes if they remembered me and my glamorous companion of a couple of weeks before. A few thought they did, but none had any recollection of seeing Marian since. I took the 71 tram from outside the
"Suspicious in itself."
"Yes. And she paid her bill in cash, so they've no way of tracing her."
"And consequently neither have you."
"None at all. Apart from just.. . looking."
"Looking where?"
"Anywhere."
"That sounds pretty hopeless."
"I know."
"Besides, she admitted sabotaging your films. Doesn't that prove she was planning to cut you adrift while you were still in Vienna?"
"I think she may just have been desperate."
"On account of her husband."
"Yes. There was something about the way she described him or didn't. Something .. . fearful."
"You're saying she might need rescuing?"
"Possibly, yes."
"By you?"
"Who else?"
"On the other hand, she could be an accomplished actress who got a kick out of making a fool of you."
"I don't think so."
"I did say accomplished."
"I still don't think so." I drained my glass and looked at him. "Same again?"
"I've only just started this one."
"So you have. Back in a minute."
I stood up and went to the bar for a refill. When I returned to the table, Tim's frown had deepened.
"What's wrong?"
"That won't help, you know." He pointed at my glass.
"It'll help me sleep."
"And then?"
"I'll start looking."
"What about work?"
"If I get offered any, which after the Vienna cock-up is doubtful .. ." I shrugged. "It'll just have to wait."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
"You're determined to go after her?"
"Yes."
"Rather than try to patch things up with Faith and lose yourself in your work for a while?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I have to know why she did it. And to do that I have to find her."
"She told you not to try."
"Yes. But I'm no good at following instructions. Ask my agent. I'm going to try all right. And, the way I feel at the moment, I can't imagine I'll stop. Until I learn the truth. Whatever it might be."
Bold words for what was actually the only thing my self-respect would let me do. Marian needed me as much as I needed her. I was determined to cling to that belief because there was, quite simply, nothing else to cling to. And I wanted her, too, more than ever. The memories of our days and nights in Vienna were goads to the flesh as well as to the mind. I couldn't bear the loss of so much so soon without fighting to regain it. And the only way I could fight was to start looking for her and to go on looking just as long and as hard as I needed to.
It was a desperate course, no question. But the alternatives were worse. Faith had made it clear she wouldn't have me back. Besides, I couldn't have gone back even if she'd asked me to. I loved Marian, even more potently now I couldn't see her or speak to her or touch her. As for photography, the loss of my Viennese pictures had shocked me into a raw-nerved abstinence. I hadn't taken a single photograph since. I'd made a pact with myself. The next photograph I took would be of Marian.
My first recourse was to return to Vienna, hoping I might be able to pick up her trail there. A doorman at the Imperial remembered her well and seemed to think that when he'd hailed a taxi for her on the morning of her departure she'd said she wanted to go not to the airport, but to one of the railway stations: the Sud-Bahnhof. It was a destination that made no sense, since trains from there headed south, into Hungary and Italy. But then nothing else made sense, so why should that be an exception? I hung around the concourse at the Sud-Bahnhof pondering the point, then wandered out into the park of the Belvedere Palace, where I'd walked with Marian and taken one of the best of my lost pictures of snow-draped Vienna. The snow was gone now, succeeded by rain and slush and a dismal air of wasted chances.
I went everywhere we'd been, asking waiters and passers-by and people at nearby tables in cafes if they remembered me and my glamorous companion of a couple of weeks before. A few thought they did, but none had any recollection of seeing Marian since. I took the 71 tram from outside the
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