In The Name of The Father by A. J. Quinnell Read Free Book Online Page A

screens. He sat down and a young blonde waitress dressed in a checked red and white dress with a frilly white apron gave him the menu and, with a smile, waited patiently while he studied it. Being still early he decided not to spoil his appetite for the promised steak. His eye caught the word Apfelstrudel and he ordered that together with a cold lager. He watched appreciatively as the waitress swung her hips away between the tables. And when he turned his gaze back to the square it was the women and girls his eyes sought. There were many of them in different shapes and sizes. At first he considered that the prettier ones were more so than those in Poland. But then he reconsidered. There were equally beautiful women in Poland. Maybe it was because during the past weeks he had seen no beautiful women. He feasted his eyes. Long fair legs scissored beneath short but elegant skirts and dresses. It made him realise that it had also been months since he had been with a woman. He felt the urge, abruptly and forcibly. So forcibly that his mind turned to practicalities. He reasoned that there must be prostitutes in this city. After all there were prostitutes in Warsaw and Cracow and in many, even most, cities of Poland . . . and this was the decadent West. He wondered whether the money that the Father Vicar had given him would cover such an eventuality. Perhaps not both that and a fillet steak. Then he discarded the idea. He had never been with a prostitute and found the idea repugnant. Besides he had never had to. He well knew that he was attractive to women. Had been since puberty. Even now he noticed that several of the women who passed by cast interested looks in his direction. So did the blonde waitress when she put the plate and glass beside him. His nostrils caught the musky aroma of her perfume and again came the powerful urge. He noticed the fine blonde hairs on her forearm and the slim fingers bereft of rings. Then his nostrils and his eyes were diverted to the plate and the massive slice of Strudel topped with a mound of fresh cream.
    He finished it all and three hours later savoured every mouthful of steak and every sip of wine while again his thoughts dwelled on finding a woman. Such thoughts were instantly dispelled when he was presented with the bill. After paying it he was left with a few coins. He estimated it cost him what would have been a week’s wages. There was nothing left for a disco or café or bar where he might pick up a girl. Instead he had walked for several hours in the city and then made his way back to the Friary. In his cell that night he thought first of the Bacon Priest, and then later again about women. Had he been a less disciplined man he might have masturbated, but walking the streets that afternoon he had promised himself that the next time he ejaculated it would be into a real woman whose passion would be genuine.
     
    Now he found himself sitting next to what must be the smelliest old hag in Vienna. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and impatience and glanced at his watch yet again. It was three minutes before one. He supposed that his contact had him under observation. He felt irritation at the whole set-up. It was unprofessional. He had been told only to be at this place at this time. There was no fallback if the ‘meet’ failed. No alternative place or time. Stupid! What if the old hag had been a policeman instead? Silently cursing the Bacon Priest, he cast his gaze around trying to spot his possible contact. There was no one who remotely resembled such a person. A young couple were strolling arm-in-arm down a path, oblivious to anyone but each other. On the grass fifty yards in front of him two young boys were kicking a striped rubber ball around, watched over by a matronly woman in a starched blue uniform whom Mirek took to be a nanny. There was no one else nearby. He cursed again under his breath and glanced again at the old woman. She was fumbling about in a tattered cloth handbag. Then