Expo 58: A Novel by Jonathan Coe Read Free Book Online Page B

young, attractive woman in uniform.
    ‘Mr Foley?’ she said, extending her hand. ‘My name is Anneke and I am here to escort you to the British pavilion at the Exposition site. Would you follow me please?’
    Without waiting for his reply she turned and began walking towards the exit, two or three paces ahead of Thomas. He hurried to catch up.
    ‘I was expecting Mr Carter,’ he said, ‘but this is a very pleasant surprise.’
    Anneke allowed him a smile which was neither warm nor cold, just highly professional.
    ‘Mr Carter has been detained,’ she said. ‘He will meet you at the site.’
    Anneke’s uniform was smart, discreet and studiedly sexless. The heels were high, but not too high. The navy-blue skirt was cut well below the knee. Beneath the trimly tailored maroon jacket she wore a white shirt with collar and tie. The whole ensemble was crowned by a cheerful – but sober – pill-box hat. It was an unexceptional uniform, but Thomas found himself feeling slightly revolted by it. He felt that Anneke would have been much easier to talk to had she been wearing something else.
    ‘So you are one of the famous Expo hostesses,’ he said.
    ‘Are we famous already, even in England?’ she asked. ‘I will tell my colleagues. They will be excited.’
    Thomas was entertained by a passing image of a group of these young women, all in their early twenties, all wearing the same uniform, sitting around a table in some Brussels café or works canteen, giggling together over their English celebrity. It made him feel very elderly.
    Outside the arrivals hall, the sunshine of early spring was breaking through tentatively. Anneke came to a halt and looked to the left and right, newly indecisive.
    ‘There should be a car waiting for us,’ she explained. ‘I will go and find it.’
    Left to his own devices for a few minutes, Thomas attempted to savour what should have been a significant occasion for him: the first time he had ever stood on the soil of Belgium, his mother’s country. He had been looking forward to this moment all week, and was grateful for the opportunity to enjoy it alone. But soon he began to feel foolish. There was nothing significant about it really. This was just a country like any other: it had been naive to suppose that he would feel anything like an immediate sense of belonging. In any case, perhaps the paradox of Belgium was going to be that it made him feel more British than ever.
    The car arrived: it was a pale-green Citroën, the driver’s door emblazoned with the distinctive, irregular star-shaped logo of Expo 58. Anneke jumped out and opened the rear passenger door for him. They set off quickly in the direction of Heysel.
    ‘Just a short journey,’ Anneke promised him. ‘Twenty minutes or less.’
    ‘Fine. Will we be passing near Leuven, by any chance?’
    ‘Leuven?’ Anneke seemed surprised. ‘Leuven is not far away, but it lies in the other direction. You wanted to visit there?’
    ‘Perhaps not today,’ said Thomas. ‘Another time, I hope. My mother was born there. My grandparents had a farm nearby.’
    ‘Ah, so your mother was Belgian! Do you speak the language?’
    ‘No, not at all. Just a few words.’
    ‘Well then, I suppose I should say, Welkom terug , Mr Foley.’
    ‘ Dankuwel, dat is vriendelijk ,’ said Thomas, carefully.
    Anneke gave a delighted laugh: ‘ Goed zo! But I won’t test you any more. It wouldn’t be fair of me.’
    After that, their conversation flowed more easily. Anneke told him that she came from Londerzeel, a village to the north-west of Brussels, where she still lived with her parents. She was one of 280 young women who were lucky enough to have been chosen as hostesses. All of them spoke four languages – French, Dutch, German and English – and most were being sent to seaports, railway stations and airports, where it would be their job to greet the expected thousands of visitors from overseas and ensure that they had an easy onward journey to