‘I know it. I’ll give you a lift with pleasure, if only to find out what you’re doing with a crashed car you didn’t travel in. Should prove interesting.’
‘Oh, it’s that all right.’
He grinned. ‘My name is Stephen Maitland. I’m staying in Ohringen, practically the next village to Niedernhall.’
‘I’m Susan Carter. I’m on holiday there, the idea being to get away from it all, though I didn’t intend carrying it to quite such lengths.’
‘I think,’ he said dryly, ‘you’d better explain.’
‘I warn you, it’s going to sound very far fetched.’
‘I’m very gullible,’ he said, looking anything but.
‘I’d parked the car, my car, at the roadside and had climbed the hill for a picnic, when that other car—’ I nodded disparagingly across the road—‘came tearing round the corner, lost control and ended up in the ditch. The two men who were in it got out, then, as I was on my way to help them for heaven’s sake, they had the cheek to steal my Morris and continue on their merry way.’
He frowned. ‘Very ungentlemanly. Did you get a good look at them?’
‘Oh yes.’ I patted the binoculars beside me. ‘I saw it all through these. I’d certainly know them again, given the chance.’
‘I shouldn’t worry too much. I imagine they’ll abandon the car pretty quickly.’
‘I hope they don’t do it in the same way they abandoned that.’
He laughed. ‘ I see your point. Well, first things first. Let me give you a lift to Niedernhall.’
Stephen Maitland’s car was an open topped Sprite and I pulled my scarlet head-square out of my bag and knotted it securely beneath my chin. As I did so, there came the faint but unmistakable throb of a car. It was coming fast. The sound swelled, filling the still afternoon: whoever it was, was in a hurry. Seconds later a red Mercedes swept round the bend in the road. On seeing the crashed car, the driver pulled up sharply, halting in a cloud of dust beside us. A window was wound down and a young, fair-haired German leaned out.
‘Wie schwer ist ihr Wagen beschadigt?’
Stephen replied, the car door swung open, and a tall, toughly-built young man, elegantly dressed in cream trousers, suede jacket and silk shirt, emerged. Adding Stephen’s accent and GB plate together, he said: ‘ Perhaps I can be of assistance. I see there has been an accident. Gunther Cliburn is the name.’
Stephen shook the proffered hand. ‘ Stephen Maitland.’ He turned to me. ‘And Miss Susan Carter.’
I smiled, and when I judged that Herr Cliburn had held my hand long enough, politely removed it. He reached inside his jacket for his cigarette case and offered it, saying to me as he did so: ‘You were very lucky to walk out of that …’ He gestured towards the crashed car.
‘I wasn’t in it, thank goodness.’
‘My apologies.’ He steadied my hand as he lit the cigarette, and turned to Stephen. ‘Did you skid?’ These corners can be the—how do you say—the very devil.’
‘I had the good fortune not to be in it either.’
Herr Cliburn raised an enquiring brow.
‘Miss Carter had parked her car here,’ Stephen went on by way of explanation, ‘and then climbed the hill for a picnic. This car came along some little while later, crashed, and its two occupants took Miss Carter’s car and disappeared. I arrived on the scene some ten minutes ago.’
‘Wirklich?!’ he said in astonishment. ‘You are on holiday, Fraulein?’
‘Yes. I’m staying at Niedernhall.’
Herr Cliburn stared at me as if I had said in the land of green cheese. The hand holding his cigarette remained poised motionless in mid-air, then, recollecting himself, he said: ‘ But how extraordinary. How very extraordinary. I live there.’
It was my turn to be surprised. Munich yes. Niedernhall most definitely no.
‘Perhaps I exaggerate a little,’ he explained. ‘I have a cottage there, a holiday retreat.’ He looked down at his wrist-watch. ‘ I presume your first thought would be the police?’
I murmured agreement.
‘Perhaps I could be of assistance. I know the police chief at Kunzelsau and also the local officer at Niedernhall. It would be no inconvenience for me to report the matter for you. Regrettably neither of these gentlemen speaks English. I feel sure your car will be found abandoned soon. I think this one here was stolen also, and the thieves simply joyriding.’
‘I hope you’re right. Otherwise I’m stranded.’
Herr Cliburn laughed. ‘ That, Fraulein, I would not permit. Where do you stay in Niedernhall?’
‘Frau Schmidt’s, in the Ringstrasse, number twenty-six.’
‘Then I will call there and inform you as to what the situation is,’ he said, waving my feeble protestations aside. ‘Can I ask if you saw the men?’
‘Yes. I had my binoculars with me.’
Herr Cliburn dropped his cigarette stub and ground it out under his heel thoughtfully, then said: ‘If you will give me all the particulars, Fraulein Carter.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ I searched hastily in my handbag for pen and paper, scribbling down my car number and anything else I could think of, while Herr Cliburn and Stephen strolled over to the wrecked car, giving it a cursory examination. When I had finished, Herr Cliburn took the slip of paper with a smile.
‘Irregular though it may seem, things will be quicker if I report this matter without your presence. I will say the affair has left you rather distressed. Thoroughness is a national trait and when it comes to dealing with foreigners, bureaucracy can be interminable. Herr Heller is a friend of mine and though no doubt your car will be found very soon, if you reported it yourself, he would feel obliged to go through all the formalities. You understand? As it is, I will see him and then I will call you. My telephone number is here. I am sure Herr Maitland will escort you back to Niedernhall.’ He shook my hand again. ‘Till later, Fraulein.’
With a nod of the head, he walked briskly back to his car. The Mercedes hummed into life and, with a wave of the hand, he disappeared round the bend and out of sight. I turned to Stephen.
‘Is it a bit late to ask if I did the right thing?’
‘A little. Perhaps if we go somewhere for a drink we can ponder on it for a while. If Herr Cliburn doesn’t materialize, as promised, at your guest-house, then only a couple of hours will have been lost. I don’t think it will make much difference to the outcome.’
‘I suppose you’re right. And he did seem to know what he was doing, didn’t he?’
‘Oh, indubitably,’ said Stephen dryly, opening his car door for me. Without a backward glance at the empty car to our right, we headed down the dusty road.
‘Are you holidaying by yourself?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘Why this part of Germany? It’s a little dull and quiet, isn’t it?’
‘Not at the moment,’ I said wryly.
He laughed. ‘It’s not going to do you a bit of good hanging round Niedernhall waiting for James Bond to return. Ohringen is only minutes away. Would you like to go over there for a drink? I’m sure Christina would be delighted.’
‘Christina?’ I glanced at the ringless hands on the wheel.
‘Christina runs the guest-house where I’m staying.’ As he spoke he turned left, leaving the Niedernhall road.
If it hadn’t been for all the doubts and worries in my mind I would have enjoyed that ride through the sloping fields of vines and lush woodland, with the warm sun on my back and the handsome Mr Maitland by my side. As it was, I kept glancing at my watch and wondering how Herr Cliburn was making out. Stephen had been right about my needing some diversion until he appeared again. Left to myself, I would have been a nervous wreck.
His guest-house turned out to be a pretty, chocolate-box chalet surrounded by a narrow wooden balcony ablaze with flowers. A few tables were set outside, covered with brightly checked cloths. An apple tree grew at the balcony’s edge, and the leaves traced moving patterns on the tables be
low. There was no sign of any other visitors.
A black cat, who had been sunning himself on the balcony rail, leaped languidly to the ground at our approach and led the way, tail erect, up a couple of wooden steps into the surprisingly large hall. It was refreshingly cool inside. Bare stone slabs paved the floor and in the far corner was a half-mooned desk of dark oak. Behind it sat a girl of nineteen or twenty, in a white blouse and yellow dirndl skirt. As my high-heeled sandals rang metallically on the stone floor she raised her head, and on seeing Stephen, she smiled welcomingly. Her long brown hair was plaited and coiled in a halo round the top of her head. The well-defined brows were swept in smooth arcs over large green eyes, and though she wore no make-up her skin had an enviable lustre. The simple clothes she wore were the perfect foil to her fresh, natural beauty. Mentally re-assessing my own appearance after my scramble down the hillside, I felt I came off badly in comparison.
‘Susan, this is Christina. You’ll have no language problem as Christina spent three years in England, first as an au pair, then in the hotel trade. She came here last year when her father opened this guest-house. Christina, this is Susan Carter.’
We shook hands and she smiled shyly.
‘Susan has just had her car stolen,’ said Stephen matter-of-factly.
‘No! But that is terrible.’ Her expression changed to one of disbelief. ‘ Who would do such a thing? Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Not really. Someone is reporting it for me at the moment.’
‘How did it happen?’
Briefly I told her about the crash and the two men, finishing with Herr Cliburn’s appearance and offer of help.
‘I expect you could do with a drink,’ she said practically.
‘An excellent idea.’ Stephen looked questioningly at me. ‘ What would you like, Susan? A lager or something a little stronger?’
‘A lager would be fine.’
Christina disappeared through the arched doorway and we walked out to the balcony, sitting at one of the tables beneath the trees. I took off my scarf and put it with my shoulder-bag on the ground. I leaned back, relaxing slightly.
‘I feel as if I’m going to wake in a moment and find it’s all a bad dream.’
‘What did actually happen? Were they swerving to avoid an oncoming car?’
‘No, there was nothing else on the road.’
‘Except your Morris.’
‘Except my Morris,’ I agreed miserably.
‘I think you’ll find Herr Cliburn is right,’ said Stephen, as he paused to take the drinks from Christina’s tray. ‘ I mean, if the crashed car was their own, they’d hardly leave it like that, would they?’
‘You mean you think the car was stolen?’ asked Christina, pulling up a chair.
‘Looks like it,’ Stephen said.
‘Whether it was their car or it wasn’t they behaved in a most peculiar manner.’ I shook my head, mystified. ‘It was as if someone was following them.’
‘You mean because they immediately grabbed your car?’
‘That’s one of the things, and also their behaviour when they got out of the car. They both seemed to be in a state of panic, looking back up the road as if they expected the hounds of hell to come galloping round the corner.’
‘And all they got was Stephen,’ said Christina, grinning.
I laughed. ‘Yes. They couldn’t have been being followed after all. It must have been a good twenty or thirty minutes before he came along and there was no other traffic in all that time.’
A bell rang and Christina sighed. ‘Just when it is getting interesting. I shan’t be long.’ Unwillingly she rose from the table and disappeared inside the guest-house.
‘I imagine any signs of panic you saw would be due to the crash,’ Stephen said. ‘They were both very lucky men. The car is practically a write-off. An experience like that would unnerve anybody.’
‘I hope they treat my car with a bit more care.’
‘After the shake-up they’ve just had, they’ll be crawling along at thirty miles an hour now.’
‘I hope so,’ I said fervently.
‘Trust my intuition. When they’ve got where they want to go, they’ll dump your car like a hot brick. It will be returned to you within hours. You see. The German police are very efficient.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had anything to do with them. Do you know Germany well?’
‘Not as well as I’d like to. That’s why I’m pottering around here by myself. I’ve spent a lot of time in Munich this last year or so. I’m in advertising and the head office of our biggest account is there. This time I decided to combine business with pleasure and instead of heading back to London, hired a car and motored down here.’
‘How many more days have you left?’ I asked casually.
‘That depends on when your car is returned. I could hardly disappear now, not knowing the outcome, could I?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, it’s time we were making tracks for Niedernhall now. If your friend fails to appear, I’ll run you straight to the police station myself.’
‘Cross fingers it won’t be necessary,’ I said, picking up my bag and following him inside, to say goodbye to Christina.
She was busy setting a tray for afternoon tea.
‘Oh, you are not going so soon?’ She pushed the tray to one side and hurried across to us. ‘Perhaps Stephen could bring you back later on.’
We strolled out into the brilliant sunshine and she said chattily, slipping her arm through mine, ‘ It’s a small world, Susan. Stephen works in Hanover Square, and for eighteen months I worked round the corner at Claridge’s, yet we never met. Now in London I could believe it if you’d had your car stolen, but down here, where nothing ever happens …’
‘Stephen thinks the men who took it were joy-riding and that they’ll abandon it when they get where they want to go.’
She nodded her head in agreement. ‘I’m sure he’s right. You must let me know what happens. Perhaps I can take you on a tour round on my day off.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I’d put a little booklet that I thought might interest you on the reception desk, and I’ve come out without it.’ She paused, making no effort to go back for it herself.
The inference was obvious, and I left them together, going back in the coolness of the foyer for the booklet. Feeling rather a gooseberry, I took my time and as I glanced through the window I saw my assumption had been correct. Christina had wanted to talk to Stephen alone. Her gaiety had left her and she was talking hurriedly, her face anxious. Uncomfortably I strolled back down the wooden steps and across to the car. Christina turned, smiling once more.
‘Yes, that’s the right book. It has a whole list of places that most tourists miss. Have a look through and tell me what you think. I do hope you hear good news when you get back.’
She stood, smiling and waving, as we took the Niedernhall road once more.
After a little while, Stephen said, ‘As was no doubt obvious, Christina wanted to speak to me alone.’ He paused, changing gear and sweeping round the bend of the road. ‘ She says she spoke to her father about the Herr Cliburn we mentioned, and he tells her there is no one of that name living in Niedernhall that he knows of. She also said,’ he added impassively, ‘that her father knows everyone in the district and couldn’t possibly be mistaken.’
Chapter Three
I sat silently for a while, gazing unseeingly at the vineyards and fruit trees that sped past. I should have gone straight to the police myself, it was what any sensible person would have done, not leave it to a complete stranger to report. Turning to Stephen I said with more confidence than I felt, ‘I’m sure Christina’s father can’t know everyone in Niedernhall.’
He made no effort to banish my doubts.
‘Can he?’ I asked tentatively.
‘That, Susan, is what we’re going to find out. I’m beginning to think Mr Cliburn was just a little too good to be true.’
There was no answer to that, and I
stared moodily at the shining surface of the nearby river, its banks thick with celandines and buttercups. A kingfisher, the sun glinting on its bright blue and emerald plumage, swooped and dived, but I was scarcely aware of it. Even Stephen’s presence did nothing to dispel my growing anxiety.
There was a stiff breeze blowing and I pushed my hair out of my eyes and opened my shoulder-bag, reaching for my head-square. It wasn’t there. I searched through the bag hastily, then felt in my pockets.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘My scarf. I must have left it at Ohringen.’
‘Do you want to go back for it?’
‘No. I’m more worried about the car at the moment.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to it you’re not left without transport,’ said Stephen capably, ‘and I’ll bring your scarf along next time I see you. What is it like?’
‘Scarlet silk. You can’t mistake it. Oh goodness, are we forced to drive this fast?’ I asked nervously, as the passing trees merged into a green blur. Stephen obligingly slowed down. We rounded the next bend at a more leisurely fifty miles an hour and he began to tell me of his visit to Wies.
‘It really is incredible, Susan. Quite isolated. You walk through dark forest then suddenly emerge in green meadows and in the middle is the church. Very unobtrusive and ordinary looking. But inside it’s fantastic. Baroque gone mad. You must see it before you leave.’
‘Is there a shrine?’
‘Oh yes, that’s the reason the church was built. Way back in the early seventeen hundreds a couple of friars made a wooden statue of the Saviour out of fragments of saints’ figures. Apparently it was carried round on Good Friday but aroused the faithful to such a degree that it was put away owing to its “ghastly and frightening” expression. A peasant’s wife eventually took it and installed it in her farm at Wies, and claimed that, while praying in front of it, she had seen tears on the face. This so-called miracle was the beginning of a rapid rise of pilgrims. By the seventeen forties it was quite famous and lots of people came. The original church at Wies was too small to hold them all and so the present church was built. It really is worth seeing, though I can’t promise any tears.’
Rendezvous With Danger Page 2