Silhouette in Scarlet vbm-3

by Elizabeth Peters

  I had Leif’s complete attention now. He quit fiddling with his moustache and folded his hands on the table. He was trying to look cool, but the whitened grip of his fingers destroyed the image.

  ‘It is known that you have been in communication with Smythe,’ he said.

  ‘How? Mind you, I’m not admitting that I have; I’m just asking what gives you that idea.’

  ‘I am not at liberty to divulge my sources. You understand – ’

  ‘No, I don’t understand. I’m sick and tired of oblique hints and vague accusations. And, what’s more – ’

  ‘Be quiet!’

  My rising voice had attracted attention. Fortunately for me, he had stopped me before my big flapping mouth had made any damaging admissions or accusations.

  We glared at one another. Leif was breathing so hard the air from his nostrils made the ends of his moustache flap. After a moment his tight lips relaxed and he chuckled softly.

  ‘The little kitten spits and hisses,’ he said. ‘It is charming. I suppose many men have told you that you are beautiful when you are angry.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the first.’

  He looked pleased. I guess he thought I was complimenting him. ‘Have you any more questions, little lady?’ he asked.

  ‘Suppose you answer the ones I’ve already asked.’

  ‘Certainly. But not here. We will walk, and find a place where we can talk privately.’ When we left the cafe he took my hand and continued to hold it as we strolled along the quay The sun was setting; it would go on setting for hours, hanging around like an unwanted guest. The water reflected the deepening blue of the western sky. The tall masts of the sailing ship Wasa, now a youth hostel, lifted like pointing fingers. She was a beautiful craft, long and sleek. I decided that if Leif suggested a boat ride, I would make damned good and sure the boat was crowded. Yet it was difficult for me to be afraid of a man who called me little lady and told me I was beautiful when I was angry. I couldn’t imagine a cop using a tired old line like that one – in fact, I couldn’t imagme any man under seventy using it. Was he, or was he not?

  He didn’t suggest a boat ride. He didn’t say anything until we reached Kungsträdgården. Then he announced, ‘This will be suitable,’ and looked around for an empty bench.

  There weren’t many. People were watching a chess game, played on a giant board laid out on the pavement, with wooden men several feet high. Children were at play; couples were talking and drinking and making out. Watching one such pair, intriguingly entwined, Leif shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Such people.’

  ‘“They are the dirtiest of creatures,”’ ‘I said. ‘“And they do not wash themselves after sex.”’

  ‘What?’

  “‘Furthermore, women have the right to claim a divorce. They do this whenever they wish.”’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ibn-Fal-Ibrahim al-Tartushi said that in the tenth ccntury, when he visited Scandinavia.’

  ‘I do not understand what you are talking about’

  ‘Everything is relative. Autre temps, autre moeurs.’

  ‘We will sit here,’ Leif said, abandoning hope of making sense out of my comments. The bench he selected was in a quiet corner under a clump of lilacs. We sat down. Leif put his arm around me and mashed me against his side.

  ‘Now we appear like innocent lovers,’ he explained.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ There were plenty of people around. Two nearby benches were occupied, and pedestrians passed constantly. ‘Now, then,’ I said.

  ‘Always business first, eh?’ Leif chuckled and squeezed me. My breath came out in a grunt.

  ‘I am sorry; I forget my strength,’ Leif said, relaxing his grip a trifle.

  ‘Leif, you’re stalling.’

  ‘No, no, I don’t stall. Believe, Vicky, I have full trust in you. In your honour, at least. But you are too trusting. What are your feelings for that evil man?’

  ‘John?’ I hadn’t thought of him as evil. Tricky, dishonest, sneaky . . . ‘I hate the bastard,’ I said.

  ‘I am glad you don’t love him,’ Leif said. ‘He is not the man for you, my Valkyrie. He is too small.’

  I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t because Leif had given me another hug and I was short of breath. When I got it back, I said, ‘Were you following John or waiting for me? Why didn’t you arrest him at the airport?’

  Leif’s right hand began making little sorties, hither and yon. The sweater frustrated him at first, but he dealt with it rather ingeniously. ‘I did not arrest him because we must catch him in the act. We have no proof, only suspicions.’

  ‘Suspicions of what?’

  Leif’s left hand, hitherto unoccupied, came swooping around like a cable car on a wire. When the heel of his hand was under my chin, his fingers curled up over the crown of my head. He turned my face towards his. His pupils looked like big chunks of amber. His moustache tickled my nose. My lips parted. I was about to sneeze. He muffled the explosion with a kiss. When he let me go I tasted blood. (That’s not a complaint, it’s only a comment.)

  ‘You distract me,’ he said gravely.

  ‘I distract you?’

  ‘Yes. Have you more questions?’

  I will not claim that I had not enjoyed that kiss. It was a masterful performance. I was pretty sure now that Leif was not what he pretended to be and, what is more, I resented his attempt to distract my feeble feminine brain by making love to me. However, his hand was resting on the back of my neck, and I despise characters who blurt out their suspicions to the villain. ‘Then it was you who destroyed Sir Reginald’s suicide note! But that – that means . . .’ ‘Yes, my dear, you have stumbled on the essential clue. Now I am forced to silence you before you can tell the police.’

  A dialogue like that was the last thing I wanted. So I said meekly, ‘I’m still curious, Leif. What is John after this time?’

  ‘It is a reasonable question,’ Leif conceded. ‘You must realize, however, that the information is classified.’

  ‘Don’t tell me Mr Smythe has gone into espionage. He used to specialize in art.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that is his expertize. But it is a state secret, all the same.’

  ‘Give me a hint.’

  ‘I would be violating my oath as a police officer if I did that.’

  I could see his dilemma. I don’t mean to disparage my ancestral homeland when I say there wasn’t much in the entire country that was worth stealing. John didn’t fool around with minor treasures, he went for the big stuff, the Mona Lisas and Koh-i-noors. Leif didn’t even know enough about the Swedish collections to invent a believable lie; he must be aware that I knew more than he did.

  I couldn’t resist. I owed him for insulting my intelligence with his inept fabrications and his macho lovemaking.

  ‘Oh,’ I cried, as if enlightenment had suddenly dawned on me. ‘You don’t mean . . . It isn’t . . .’

  Leif waited hopefully for me to finish. I just sat there, wide-eyed and fascinated.

  Finally he said between his teeth, ‘Don’t speak the word aloud. There are enemies everywhere.’

  ‘Naturally. But how is he going to do it?’

  ‘If we knew for certain, we would not be so concerned.’

  ‘I wish I could help you.’

  ‘You can help me by dropping the subject,’ Leif said sincerely.

  ‘But I’m intrigued. I can’t believe even John would try . . . What a scandal it would cause!’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Leif was sweating. I decided to let him off the hook, not because I didn’t enjoy watching him sweat, but because it was getting late. John might come or he might not; if he came, I wanted to be there in good time.

  ‘Well, I hope you can tell me about it once the case is solved,’ I said, untangling myself from Leif and rising to my feet. ‘I’d better be getting back to the hotel now.’

  ‘Must you?’ But he rose with alacrity, and offered me another stiff elbow.

  As we walked along the flower-lined path,
Leif said, ‘I did not answer your questions.’

  ‘I noticed that.’

  We left the park and stood on the corner waiting for the lights to change. Leif put his hand over mine. ‘You are not a criminal. But I think you know more of this John Smythe than you have told me. Are you not aware that one of his confederates has followed us this evening?’

  ‘You’re imagining things. Unless it was one of your men – ’

  ‘He was no police officer. I saw him at the restaurant and also at the park – short, very fat man, with large whiskers, wearing a straw hat.’

  The light changed. Leif towed me across the street.

  I had kept an eye out for followers, but I was looking for brown beards, not bushy whiskers, and for a familiar profile, however garbed. The man Leif had seen might have been John. I discounted the description; anyone under six and a half feet tall might seem short to Leif, and false whiskers and fat tummies are easily procurable.

  ‘Why didn’t you apprehend the miscreant?’ I inquired.

  ‘How could I prove what I suspected? It is not a crime to be in the same places we are in.’ He added, ‘You do not seem alarmed. Do you know who it is that follows you?’

  ‘You’re the only one I know who is following me.’

  ‘Vicky, I beg you to tell me the truth,’ Leif said earnestly. ‘I only wish to protect you. Oh, I know the power a man like Smythe has over young and inexperienced females. You think he is romantic, nicht? He is handsome and brave, he robs only the rich. But he will break your heart – he will throw you on the trash, like a wilted flower.’

  Nobody, not even my father, who thinks I am still six years old, has ever pictured me as a fragile blossom. The image had a certain eccentric charm. It was also hysterically funny, the crowning masterpiece of all the antiquated clichés with which Leif had favoured me that evening. My efforts to suppress a shriek of laughter resulted in convulsive muscular spasms and a series of gurgling noises.

  Leif looked at me in alarm. ‘Do not break down until we reach your room. You will tell me all. It will relieve you.’

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I reeled across the lobby and leaned on the desk, my face hidden in my hands and my shoulders heaving.

  ‘She is not well,’ Leif explained to the mystified concierge. ‘Pay no attention. I will escort her to her room.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ I recovered in time to grab the key, which the concierge was offering to Leif. ‘I’m fine, I’m perfectly all right. Goodnight, Leif. Thanks for a very entertaining evening.’

  ‘But – ’ Leif began.

  ‘No buts. I appreciate your efforts to protect me from myself . . .’ The image of the flower on the trash heap flashed onto my mental screen. The flower was a petunia – a wilted purple petunia. I covered my mouth with my hand and ran for the elevator.

  By the time I reached my room my amusement had faded. Leif couldn’t be that dumb. Nobody could be that dumb. Who the devil was he anyway, and what did he want? He didn’t fit into the scenario I had constructed earlier. The fat man who had been following us was another extraneous character. He might be a figment of Leif’s imagination, designed to frighten me into confidentiality. If so, he was a singularly unconvincing invention; I’d have expected Leif to come up with something far more sinister. Please, God, I prayed silently – make John keep that appointment. Once I got my hands on that sneaky devil, I’d hold on to him until he came clean.

  He was late. It was almost one a.m. before I heard the signal. I picked up one of the table lamps and held it poised as I opened the door.

  John slid into the room and closed the door. Except for red hair and a heavy tan, he had made no attempt to disguise himself.

  ‘Aunt Ingeborg, I presume,’ I said.

  ‘Damn.’ John kept a wary eye on the lamp. ‘So you’ve spoken with Gustaf. I hoped you hadn’t.’

  ‘Why? Wasn’t getting me and Gustaf together the point of this whole exercise?’

  ‘Would you mind putting that lamp down?’

  ‘I’d like to put it down on your head. Sit – over there, where I can keep an eye on you. And then talk. I want to know everything.’

  He didn’t sit down. He kept shifting his weight, like a fighter who expects attack from several directions at once.

  ‘I’ve only one thing to say, Vicky. I’ll say it as succinctly as possible, and then I’m off. Go back to Munich. Catch the first plane tomorrow.’

  He was reaching for the doorknob when I brought the lamp down on his arm. Out of consideration for the hotel and my depleted traveller’s cheques I didn’t hit as hard as I wanted to, but it was hard enough to make John pull his hand away. I got my back against the door.

  ‘Talk,’ I said. ‘You went to a lot of trouble to set this up. However, your confederate in the States isn’t very up-to-date. Aunt Ingeborg died eight months ago.’

  A shadow of vexation crossed John’s face. It was replaced by a much livelier expression. ‘Vicky, this is no time to discuss my organizational problems. Matters have gone awry – decidedly awry. The deal is off. Cancelled, kaput, finis, finito. Is that precise enough for you?’

  ‘You’re scared stiff,’ I said. ‘My God, you have your nerve, you bastard. Dragging me into a situation that terrifies you out of your wits, like a damned sitting duck – ’

  ‘Christ Almighty, do you think I’d have brought you here if I had known what was going to happen?’ We were yelling at each other, our faces only inches apart; his cheeks and forehead shone with a thin film of perspiration. ‘I didn’t realize he was involved. My informant must have double-crossed me – sold the information twice – ’

  ‘If you don’t mention a name pretty soon, I am going to call the police,’ I said, brandishing the lamp. ‘Who the devil are you talking about? Leif?’

  ‘Who the devil is Leif?’ He jumped a good inch off the floor as a heavy fist hit the door right next to him.

  ‘He is the very tall, very blond character who is beating on the door,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll let him in. He visualizes me as a frail, wilted flower.’

  Treading lightly, John moved away from the door.

  ‘I wonder what he has to do with this.’

  ‘You don’t know? He isn’t the man you’re so scared of?’

  ‘I haven’t the vaguest notion who he is.’ John was capable of lying with extreme skill, but this time I believed him. He was too nervous to do a good job of prevarication.

  Leif kept pounding on the door. He seemed to be under the delusion that he was doing it quietly, for in between bangs he kept repeating, ‘Let me in, Vicky, or I will make a loud noise. I know he is in there.’

  John sat down and folded his hands primly on his knee. ‘Police?’ he inquired

  ‘He says he is. I doubt it.’

  ‘Hmph.’

  ‘Vicky, let me in!’

  ‘If you don’t stop that, I’m going to call the concierge,’ I shouted.

  The banging stopped. After a moment Leif announced, ‘I will not go away. I will stay here all night.’

  ‘He probably will,’ I said to John. ‘Shall I call the desk?’

  ‘The less attention we attract, the better.’

  ‘I have already attracted far too much attention.’

  ‘True. How do you find these people?’ I started to make a rude remark, but John cut me off. ‘The longer I stay, the worse for you, Vicky. You had better admit the irate gentleman. Once he’s satisfied I’m not here, he’ll leave. Or will he?’

  I ignored the insolent leer that accompanied the question. ‘You are here,’ I said stupidly.

  ‘I won’t be when you let him in.’

  There was only one other exit from the room – the window.

  ‘You can’t,’ I exclaimed.

  ‘How tall did you say Leif is? Seven feet? I assume he is proportionately broad, and he is obviously proportionately irate.’

  ‘Wait.’ I grabbed his arm as he strolled towards the window. ‘I’ll telephone the pol
ice, the manager – ’

  ‘And Leif the Lucky will broadcast my presence to half the population of Stockholm.’ I continued to tug at him as he paced; he glanced at me in surprise and then put two and two together. His eyes narrowed with amusement.

  ‘Why, darling, I didn’t know you cared. Do you really suppose I’m stupid enough to climb out that window?’

  ‘Then what – ’

  ‘It’s quite simple, really. Watch.’

  He pulled away from my grasp and headed for the door.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I exclaimed. ‘You can’t walk out of here without telling me – ’

  ‘The less you know, the better for you. Get out, go home, depart.’

  ‘Damn it, John, what about Cousin Gustaf?’

  He stopped. ‘Cousin Gustaf will be all right.’

  ‘You involved him too. You’re after something he has. He told me himself he doesn’t like strangers – you planned to use me, a fictitious relative, to gain access to him. If your informant sold someone else the same information that led you to Gus, and that someone is less chickenhearted than you . . .’

  In a very quiet, controlled voice, John said, ‘Bloody hell.’

  Leif started throwing himself against the door. Every object in the room rattled.

  ‘What about Cousin Gus?’ I insisted.

  John swung around to face me. ‘Vicky, you don’t get the picture. Gus is in no danger. At least . . . No, he can’t be. The – er – the object of my present quest . . . Let me put it this way. Gus doesn’t know where it is. I don’t know exactly where it is myself. The “someone” to whom you refer knows even less than I do. He can’t . . . That is, he wouldn’t . . .’ His voice trailed off. After a moment he repeated, ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘You can’t even convince yourself,’ I said angrily. ‘Why the hell don’t you tell me what you’re after, instead of playing games?’

  ‘The less you know, the better,’ John said again. ‘All right, damn it – I’ll look after Gus. I promise.’