Rendezvous With Danger

by Margaret Pemberton

  I strained my eyes, trying to discern what was real and what was shadow, the blood pounding in my temples. My heel knocked the edge of a chair. I froze, sick with panic, but no other sound broke the silence. Stealthily I slipped one foot out of my shoe, then the other. If I could reach the gallery I wouldn’t be as easy to find. He would pass me by, search somewhere else …

  He begun to climb once more, unhurried, purposeful, as if he knew just where to find me. I could hear the sound of his hand sliding over the banister and the sharp click of a ring or watch as it came into contact with the stone dragon at the top of the stairs. In a state of semi-consciousness I reached the narrow steps to the gallery, my stockinged feet slippery on the polished wood as I flew upwards.

  Behind me were the windows looking down on to the gorge and forest. I bent double, huddling beneath them, straining to hear his next move. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was standing at the entrance to the room. The blood pounded in my temples so loudly I thought it must give me away, but he didn’t move. The wind rushed through the tops of the trees far below and over and above it came the sound of his shallow breathing.

  Hardly able to suppress the sobs that choked my throat I stared round with aching eyes, praying for a miracle. The cool lick of the wind touched my cheek. I craned my neck, searching for its source. It came again, this time quite unmistakably. Somewhere, not very far away from me, there was access to fresh air and freedom.

  Stealthily I edged forward, every inch an agony of suspense. Through the thick darkness I could sense him listening, the slightest sound …

  My heart was beating light and fast as I saw from where the breeze was coming. It looked like a door, but to reach it I still had two windows to pass. Windows which would silhouette me clearly against the star-filled sky.

  With every nerve in my body screaming at me to break loose, to run, I crouched down slowly, very slowly, every minute stretching into years. Carefully I dropped to my hands and knees, placed one hand in front of the other, and began to move forward.

  From outside the wind raced through the tops of the trees, the cold draught luring me on like a lifeline. Imperceptibly I drew nearer, then, just as I was about to straighten up again, he moved. The soft tread of crepe-soled shoes stepped hesitatingly forwards. I froze, holding my breath. He was moving down the centre of the room, away from me but in the direction of the steps that led to the gallery. The sweet night air blew full in my face as I rose, fraction by fraction, towards its source.

  Then I stopped, the breath driven out of my body. It wasn’t a door. It was only a window that had been left ajar. Another second and I think I would have broken. I couldn’t take any more. It would be easier to be caught, to get it over with rather than prolong the nightmare.

  I was vaguely aware that he, too, had stopped. Outside, the stars were now veiled with cloud and I could see the dark gleam of the water far, far below. I leaned forward, touching the cold pane of the glass lightly with my finger. Then I stiffened, staring with aching eyes into the night beyond. A foot or two beneath the window was a narrow parapet of stone running the length of the wall. But even as the idea half-formed, it vanished. To step out there would be suicide. There was nothing but a sheer drop to the black depths of the gorge, hundreds of feet below.

  He laughed softly to himself, the sound carrying and magnifying beneath the vaulted ceiling. I could hear him pick up my sandals, tapping the heels lightly together.

  ‘They’re still warm, Cinderella. This time your ball has come well and truly to an end.’

  His voice was gay, caressing almost. ‘ Your Mr Maitland is dead, Susan. Would you like me to tell you how your knight on a white charger over-reached himself?’ He laughed again. ‘By the time I’ve finished with you, Fraulein Carter, you’ll be glad to join him. Very glad.’

  He began to walk easily towards the stage, all stealth abandoned.

  I had no choice. I swung the window open and lowered myself on to the windswept ledge.

  I backed against the rough stone. It was icy cold, and my nails, scratching desperately for a handhold, could find nothing on which to grip. The wind smacked into me, pinioning me against the wall. Without it, I don’t think I would have survived more than a second.

  The ledge was no more than two feet wide and I pressed my head and shoulders back and up, facing the vast dome of the sky.

  Somehow I had to make myself look down. I had to see how far the ledge extended along the castle face; I braced myself and, with a soundless prayer, tentively turned my head. The world swung crazily, sky and gorge whirling together in a hideous kaleidoscope that sucked at me, sweeping me giddily into its vortex.

  I shut my eyes tight, eardrums bursting, fighting for survival. Gunther’s voice sliced into my nightmare, cruel and harsh.

  ‘You God-damned, stupid bitch!’ My shoes were hurled violently against a far wall. His words whipped past me on the wind, carrying out into the black void that surrounded me, sailing out over ridge after ridge of mountains, falling, falling … like a leaf spiralling down … down …

  ‘No!’ I shouted. ‘No, no, no!’

  He laughed then, only inches away from me.

  If he stretched out, tugged at my skirt …

  I began to move, my palms outstretched behind me. Raising one foot, I pressed myself back, fractionally shifting my weight, drawing my other foot to meet it, dragging my head along the crumbling stone until I was once more carefully balanced a bare six inches further along the ledge. Again I drew the other to meet it …

  ‘What the …!’ He leaned as far out of the window as possible, lunging at me, but I was beyond his grasp. His hands smacked futilely on the naked walls.

  I laughed then, half insane with fear. I heard his breath hiss and for a second thought I had defeated him. But I hadn’t. He simply moved back against the window embrasure, carefully positioning himself, his right arm extended towards me at eye level. Another minute and I would be blasted to kingdom come.

  Lost in my own private hell. I still kept shifting along the narrow ledge. So he had a gun. Of course he had a gun. The wind tugged at my skirt, beating it against the stone. From a distant turret the owl hooted and still I kept on edging inch by inch, waiting for him to pull the trigger, submerged in a sea of unreality. How could I have thought that by stepping out thousands of feet above the valley I could escape him? Hadn’t the guide said that there was no escape … none …

  ‘You’ve cheated me, Susan,’ he said, the old mockery back. ‘I had such plans for you. Still, all the best medieval maidens died virgins. Plunging into an abyss to propitiate the Gods was quite the done thing. All in all, I find it quite apt.’

  Through half-open eyes I could just make out the corner of the wall. The moon had sailed behind cloud now and I could see nothing of the sheer drop beneath me. I was isolated in an impenetrable void. I kept on moving, inch by excrutiating inch. Perhaps it was too dark for Gunther to see where the castle ended and thin air began. Perhaps if I rounded the corner before he tired of my terror …

  ‘A killing in a lonely field or ditch would have been wasted on you, Susan. This is much more your style.’

  The owl swooped out of the vast emptiness, curving down into the depths below.

  ‘It’s a great pity I don’t have the time or opportunity to drown you in the Starnbergersee as Ludwig died. That would have been even more theatrical.’

  The corner was a mere yard away. If I took bigger steps …

  ‘And if you think you are going to reach that corner, you are an even bigger fool than I thought.’ The mockery had gone, the game was drawing to a close.

  I could hear him fumbling with his left hand for his cigarette-case, was vaguely aware of the tiny spurt of flame as he lit it, could almost see the sensual pleasure on his lips as he leaned back, inhaling deeply, toying with me like a spider a fly.

  ‘Even you must have wondered at the interest I was taking in you. Do you really think you are so desirable that I would r
un round after you, behaving like an English vicar or boy scout, grateful for any crumbs that came my way?’ He laughed derisively. ‘Take it from me, Miss Prim and Proper Carter, you’re not worthy of a second glance.’

  There was a roaring in my ears as I tried to shut his voice out of my consciousness. The world was beginning to spiral again, and I knew I was going to be violently sick.

  ‘And you had the affontery to turn me down …’ His voice was savage. ‘ Well, you’re going to pay for it, Fraulein Carter. You’re going to pay.’

  I stood motionless on my narrow ledge, watching the moon slide from behind a bank of cloud, tipping the peaks of the snow-covered Alps, the tears streaming down my face, the wind whipping my hair across my eyes.

  Please don’t let it last any longer, I remember thinking. And then: Stephen … Stephen! …

  ‘Here it comes, you bitch. Here it comes.’

  There was a sharp crack. My legs jerked convulsively under me, and with the sound of my own screams ringing in my ears, I plunged downwards.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The world swam dizzily, split with noise and lights. There was the thud of feet running down the gallery and strange hands seized hold of me. The blood was throbbing in my ears. The chandeliers, the ceiling, were spinning crazily. From a far distance came voices, breathless and relieved, then another shout … this time peremptory and sharp. I was being lifted into a sitting position and someone thrust my head roughly between my knees.

  I cried out, and the thundering in my ears eased, the giddiness subsided. I raised my head, squinting dazedly against the bright light that shone in my face. A young man was holding me, speaking to me in a voice I did not recognize, then more people burst into the room below. There was the sharp crack of a pistol, then another; I struggled unsteadily, trying to free myself of the restraining hands, my terror flooding back.

  The firm grip increased. The torchlight that had been shining full in my face was directed down to the far end of the gallery, lighting the way for the booted feet that drummed past us. The noise, the shouts increased.

  ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ I yelled, wrenching myself away, forcing my shaking legs to take my weight.

  Hands closed about me once more. There was the sound of shattering glass, a long, dreadful scream, then silence.

  I knew then; as time stood still, the running feet were suddenly silent, the only sound that of the wind rushing through the tops of the distant trees outside.

  ‘Stephen!’ I cried, vainly trying to free myself. ‘Stephen!’

  The man beside me gave a brusque exclamation, his grip tightening. The shapes in the darkness broke up, lights criss-crossed the ceiling, sweeping the frescoed walls and polished floor. A police officer strode towards us, sheathing his gun, but I was hardly aware of him.

  ‘Sind Sie verletzt?’ he asked the man who supported me. Then, in a gentler voice: ‘Everything is all right, Fraulein. We’ll have you safely back in Oberammergau in half an hour.’

  I stared past him to the blood-stained figure slowly following him.

  ‘Stephen! Oh, sweet heaven, Stephen!’ The policeman let me go and Stephen caught me with one arm, laughing unsteadily.

  ‘Easy does it, darling. It’s all right now. It’s all right.’

  ‘They’ve shot you … your arm …’

  His left arm hung limp, the blood flowing freely down it, staining my dress a rich scarlet.

  ‘It’s nothing, darling. Only a graze. Truly.’

  I began to cry. ‘I … I … thought you were dead. I heard that scream … and …’

  His hand gripped my hair tightly. ‘It was Gunther, Susan. He fell.’

  I stared at his cut face and bleeding mouth.

  ‘Stephen, what …’

  ‘It was an accident, Susan. We were fighting and he lost his balance.’

  ‘But he had a gun!’

  He squeezed my shoulder. ‘Yes, I know, darling.’

  ‘But how …’

  ‘Later, Susan. First things first.’

  Surrounded by armed police and the beam of powerful torches raking the gorge for Gunther’s broken body, he kissed me. A long, long time later he let me go, and the words he whispered to me then were for me alone and not for repeating.

  The police officer cleared his throat. ‘Your arm, Herr Maitland. Bitte.’ He bound it tightly above the elbow, grinning down at me. ‘I told the Fraulein everything was well, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said faintly.

  ‘If the Fraulein could hurry,’ he said, turning to Stephen again. ‘There are still a lot of questions to be answered.’

  ‘Can’t that wait until morning?’ asked Stephen, his good arm firmly round me as we made our way across the echoing floor and out into the corridor.

  ‘Yes. Fraulein Carter has suffered only shock. The doctor will give a sedative and tomorrow we will come to the hotel.’

  Stephen said, ‘ You hear that, Pearl White? You’ve only suffered shock.’

  ‘Shock,’ I said grimly, fumbling for the hand-rail on the outer wall of the staircase, ‘ is quite enough.’

  With his assistance I managed to climb down the stairs and walk unsteadily into the cold night air. Through the gateway were two cars, and there was the sound of more speeding up the mountain road. They rounded the last bend, grinding to a spectacular halt, headlights blazing. But before any more police could spill out into the starlit courtyard, instructions were shouted at them and they began to reverse. The night was ripped by the roar of their engines as they sped back the way they had come.

  ‘It shouldn’t take long,’ the officer remarked, opening the door of the car for me.

  ‘Long for what?’ I asked, slipping across the smooth leather of the seat, Stephen’s body close beside me.

  ‘To pick up the pieces.’

  I concentrated hard on not being sick.

  ‘I … I suppose there’s no chance he’s still alive, is there?’ I said, turning to Stephen.

  ‘From that height even if he’d landed at the foot of the walls he would have been dashed to pieces. As it is—’ he shrugged, ‘ he must have dropped straight into the gorge. The woods are so thick it may take them a little time to find him …’

  I leaned back against his shoulder, taking a shuddering breath, grateful for the cool breeze that blew in through the open window and for his arm, loving and protective, around me.

  As we dipped down through the pines I had a last glimpse of Neuschwanstein, towering black and jagged against the night sky, then the headlights sliced a brilliant path through the rapidly enclosing forest, and it was gone.

  ‘Who shot you?’

  Stephen grinned. ‘The local constabulary. But they didn’t have much choice.’

  ‘What happened up there? Was it you who pulled me inside?’

  ‘Of course, my love. There was a cool breeze. Another minute and you would have caught your death.’

  ‘Too true,’ I said feelingly. ‘But it wouldn’t have been with cold. How come you arrived before the police?’

  ‘I didn’t. The officer at Oberammergau—’ Stephen nodded in the direction of the man in the front seat—‘and three of his men and myself came together, for reasons which I will explain later,’ he added hurriedly as I opened my mouth to ask another question. ‘I was under strict instructions to behave myself and not get in the way. They began a swift search of the King’s apartments, and I, not being very good at discipline, went up to the Singers’ Hall.’

  ‘Is that what it was?’

  ‘You mean you didn’t even notice the frescoes?’

  ‘Not one.’

  ‘Well, Gunther was too engrossed in your little tête-à-tête to hear me creeping about. I came into the room seconds after you’d stepped on to the parapet, but unfortunately the police had already relieved me of my borrowed pistol. If they hadn’t I’d have shot him there and then. If I had gone back for the police and they had burst into the room, he would have shot you immediately, and if
he hadn’t, the sound of the police firing at him would have sent you over the edge. I managed to climb up the stairs to the gallery and crawled along to the window on the far side of you. Gunther was about ten yards away, but he was propped in the window and intent on you. If I’d reached out for you then, he would have shot us both, so I just prayed he’d keep talking long enough for the police to arrive and for me to grab you when they did. It wasn’t much fun,’ he said, his voice reflecting a little of what he had suffered. ‘Then it seemed as if time had run out and he was finally going to shoot, so I grabbed your legs and pulled you backwards.’

  ‘And the police burst into the room?’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Stephen devoutly.

  ‘So the shots I heard were the police firing at Gunther?’

  ‘Yes. He would have made an easy target up there against the window and would have been wasting his time trying to shoot into the dark below, so he bolted. I’d thrown myself on top of you, but he just leaped over us and ran down the gallery, presumably to find a better vantage point to shoot from. And I went after him.’

  ‘But why? The police had arrived, we were safe.’

  ‘What sort of a man do you think I am?’ he asked quietly. ‘ That bastard abuses, manhandles and tries to murder you, and you think I should just have stayed where it was safe and let the police deal with him! I’d have knocked hell out of him for what he did to you at the farm alone.’

  ‘Did you … kill him?’ I asked hesitantly.

  He was silent for a minute, then he said slowly, ‘Not intentionally. I brought him down with a tackle and we were fighting for the gun. I managed to prise it from his hand and he was trying to force me back against the window. By this time the police were racing down the gallery towards us and two shots were fired, one of them catching me in the arm. Gunther seemed quite oblivious of them, he was so intent on forcing me through that window. He damn near succeeded too. I twisted to one side as he hit out, and his own momentum hurled him to his death.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, clasping his hand tightly in the dark. ‘What I don’t see is why it took you so long to arrive. What happened?’