“Because Mark Bohn distrusts him?”
That might be a very good reason, David decided. He said, “I’ve met Krieger. I know how he thinks.”
“But you have met Bohn too.” Bohn...had he noticed where her pencil had broken on the map? Oh, surely not. Certainly he had looked at the map as he folded it, but his face had shown no interest at all—quite unlike the way he had riffled through her father’s note-book. That really had caught his attention. Irina slipped the pencil back into her pocket. David had been long in answering her: perhaps he didn’t want to talk about Bohn. Yet she did: a strange compulsion she couldn’t even explain to herself at this moment.
“You have met him many times. Haven’t you?”
“Off and on—yes, we’ve met.” David paused, then admitted frankly, “And I’ve never known how he thinks.” Just a sum total of amusing talk, easy camaraderie; a touch of wit, currently fashionable phrases, name-dropping and general know-it-all-ness; and nothing solid to remember him by. “I don’t even know how he’d handle himself in an emergency. He’s as nebulous as those mists on the mountaintops—and as full of surprises.”
“Isn’t Krieger?”
“Yes. But his surprises don’t baffle me. They’ve got hard sense behind them. They aren’t—” he searched for the right word “—they aren’t erratic.”
“Is that how you think of Mark Bohn—erratic?”
“Right now, it’s the kindest judgment I can make about him.”
Perhaps too kind, she thought. She put out her hand, laid it along the side of his cheek, held it there for a few moments. Then she went back to studying the travel folder, a small pretence to cover her sudden display of emotion. “And I love you, David,” she said very softly. “And you, too, never forget that.”
15
They outran the rapidly advancing storm, leaving the lightning flashes crackling around the savage peaks behind them. They came to Merano, its surrounding hills terraced with vineyards, its half circle of gentler mountains open to the warm south, its spread of red roofs giving a merry welcome under the sparkling sunlight. A fast-flowing river, edged by flowers and trees and promenades, swept through the town, cosying a central mass of houses within the curve of its arm. This was the old section, six hundred years old at its core, pressed back against a steep hillside covered with vines.
“We’ll head in that direction,” David said. “Not actually into the Old Town, but just outside its gates.” The Old Town itself would make a good rendezvous: narrow sidewalks sheltered by arcades, busy little shops, Saturday crowds in local costumes from neighbouring villages, dark wine rooms, small inns, and a general feeling of country market. “As far as I remember, there’s an inn—three hundred years old—just in the right spot. The Golden something or other. I’ll recognise it when I see its sign.”
“You’ve been here before? You know Merano?” Irina was relieved. The twists and turns of the streets, so closely packed together, were bewildering. They might spend hours wandering around, she had thought, searching for some place to rest.
“A little, but enough. A two-day visit sixteen years ago.”
After Vienna, she thought... He came here after he had waited for me in Vienna. “If I had been with you then—”
Yes, that would have saved them both a lot of heartache. “You are here now.”
“Was that why you chose Merano?”
The old subconscious at work? He laughed and said, “Could be.” They had passed through a busy thoroughfare, short like all the distances inside this town, and were now climbing a curving street that was densely packed with houses and small shops. David slowed up, his eyes on a quiet service station. There should be an inn just beyond it: Goldener Adler, he remembered now, in one of those strange leaps back into the long ago. But he couldn’t see its sign, only the name of an Italian café. He drew up at the service station, noticed that it fronted on a small garage. Now, if only the inn were near here, this would be a useful setup.
“So soon?” Irina asked. One minute they had been inside a bustling city: now, within easy walking distance, they were in a country town. “But where is the inn?”
“My memory wasn’t so good,” David said, getting out of the car, trying to make light of his disappointment. The Golden Eagle would have been perfect. But once the fair-haired and blue-eyed Austrian—the only attendant in the garage, it seemed—came over to talk with him, it turned out that the Caffè d’Oro had replaced the Goldener Adler. “They gave up and moved away. Went to live in the North Tyrol.” The young man shrugged. He had learned to live with Italian street signs and Italian spoken in schools. He could always talk his own language when he was with his own friends, or—as now—with a foreigner who made the effort and wouldn’t report him. He studied David, and the Mercedes, and the pretty girl who still sat in the car. “Looking for a room?”
“Just for a short stay.”
“My mother has a free room. Nice place.”
David eyed the man in turn: a frank open face; no guile, the smile friendly. “Where is it?” It could be a mile away or more.
“Just back of here. You can reach it by driving up this street, making a right turn, and then—”
“No direct way through the garage?” David asked, noticing a rear door, half-open, leading into a yard.
“You’d have to walk.”
“Yes,” David said, and resisted a comment.
“Only a few steps. A short cut. How much do you pay?”
“How much does your mother charge?”
The young man laughed. It was all settled as far as he was concerned. “She won’t ruin you.”
“Running water?”
He nodded. “But not in the room.”
“Any telephone?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a corner of the garage. That’s extra, of course.”
“Of course,” David said gravely. “Show us the way, will you?”
The young man did more than that. He helped David get the luggage out of the car and even carried the two coats as far as the back door. “Can’t leave here. The other fellow is off; Saturday. Just cross the courtyard and take that alley directly opposite. Turn left, and you’ll be at the house. There’s a notice in the window: Zimmer Frei. Got that?”
I hope so, David thought.
“The name is Hartmann. Tell her Franz sent you. And don’t worry about your car. I’ll put it in the garage for you. Need any work on it? It could do with a wash.”
“Okay. Gas and oil. And check the battery and brakes.” That should keep Franz happy for the next hour, David thought. He’d be too busy to pay much attention to any ’phone call.
The courtyard was small, and the alley—a dark slit separating two gable walls—was short. “If we don’t like the look of the place,” David said quietly to Irina, “we leave. With thanks and apologies.”
But a few seconds down the alley brought them to a road, squeezing between a row of houses and a terraced vineyard that climbed the hill opposite. David turned left, and there, at the corner of the alley and the road, was the Hartmann cottage with its Zimmer Frei carefully displayed between pots of geraniums. It was old and pleasant; white walls and red roof, window boxes heavy with bright petunias. “I love it,” Irina said. And I love that road, David thought, as he saw it ended in a busy street only a minute’s walk away: it gives us a second exit out of here. His fears that they might be trapped by an alley leading into some cul-de-sac began to disperse.
Frau Hartmann also was reassuring. She had deep troubles of her own, and paid only polite interest to the strangers. Except for one bad moment. “You are not married?” she asked, noticing Irina’s hands bare of any ring. Her anxious frown deepened, her melancholy blue eyes were horrified.
“The room is for my sister,” David said quickly. “A place to rest, and wash, and change her clothes. We have been travelling all day. She is very tired.”
Frau Hartmann softened a little, back to her usual patient suffering. “But I
have only one room to let.”
David pressed his case. “We shan’t be here very long. I’ll pay for tonight in advance.”
“There are two beds.” The frown was deepening again. A nervous hand pressed the faded blonde hair more tightly into place.
“I’ll pay for both of them.”
“But you will not use—”
“For both of them,” David said firmly, taking out his wallet. “It is worth it to have a quiet room where my sister will feel safe.”
“She will be very safe here. No one will disturb her.” And that seemed to ease Frau Hartmann’s conscience about any extra payment for an unused bed. She led the way up a wooden staircase, scrubbed white, to a small and equally scrubbed room with spotless linen, and a view of the vineyard. There was a parting smile, surprisingly warm even if brief, but no more conversation. Frau Hartmann had the habit of silence. And there will be no asking for passports, either, David thought with relief: no problem about getting them back in time for a quick departure.
“I’m going to telephone Krieger,” he told Irina, “and I’ll pick up something to eat at the café. Can you hold out that long? I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Twenty minutes,” she said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, darling. I couldn’t feel safer. Isn’t this a wonderful place?” She kicked off her shoes, flopped on the bed. He bent over, kissed her, caught her in his arms. “Still more wonderful if you did not have to telephone.”
Half an hour later he actually was on his way to the telephone. Damn this living by timetable, he thought, but his mood was high. There was no interference from Frau Hartmann either: she was busy in the kitchen, judging by the clang of pots. And none, too, from Franz, who only stopped work to ask, “Everything fine?”
“Everything’s fine,” David said, and put in his call to the Bristol. It went through with no delay. Krieger was there, waiting.
“What the hell kept you?” Krieger began. “And where are you?”
“We’re in Merano.”
“Not on your way here, I hope.”
“No. We found a room.”
“Nearby?”
“Just outside the Old Town.”
“Good. A big hotel? Or an inn?”
“It’s a room in a cottage behind a garage.”
“Well that’s original. Safe, too.”
“It feels that way.”
“The only snag is—how does Jo find it? I don’t want to hear street names—”
“Does she know this section of town?”
“I do.”
“Well enough?”
“Yes. And if you don’t trust my memory, I’ve got a street map. Have you?”
“Yes. Remember the Golden Eagle?”
There was a slight pause. “I know where it is.”
“It’s under new management. Now a café. The garage is almost next door. Franz Hartmann owns it. He will show Jo the way to his mother’s house. But why send her—”
“You and I have to meet.” There was silence, and then the sound of muffled voices. Jo must be with Krieger, David thought. He’s probably briefing her. But what’s the haste?
“Are you there?” Krieger’s voice came clearly back.
“Yes,” David said with marked patience.
“You’ll reach the arcades in the Old Town in a few minutes. Wait for me in the Red Lion. It’s on the left-hand side, up-street. Leave right now, will you?”
“I’ll leave as soon as Jo arrives here.”
“I thought you told me the room was safe,” Krieger said testily.
“It is. But right now I’m going out to find some food. We’ve had nothing since breakfast. And that was seven hours ago.”
Another small pause. “Be careful, then.”
The warning note in Krieger’s voice caught David’s attention. “Trouble?”
“In three sizes.”
“They’re here?”
“All over the damned place. The sooner we meet, the better.”
“Then get Jo to move that pretty little—”
“You too,” said Krieger, and rang off.
* * *
“Jo is coming. Any minute,” David told Irina as he returned to the room. “Better get dressed, honey. And here’s something to keep us going.” He produced golden-crusted rolls, a quantity of thinly sliced dark ham, outsize peaches, and a bottle of Chianti. “Not fancy,” he said as he split open two of the rolls with his pocketknife and slapped some ham in place, “but sustaining.” He poured the wine into a tooth glass, tasted it, and said, “Well, this is no time to fuss over vintages. It won’t poison us, at least. Or will it? I just grabbed the first things the café had for sale.”
All this light talk, thought Irina, is covering something. He’s worried, and he doesn’t want me to know. “How was Krieger?” She pulled on her dress, brushed her hair.
“I have to meet him as soon as Jo arrives.”
“Oh.” She picked up her sandwich from the dressing-table. “Well, this looks beautiful. I’m starving.” And then she said, “David—what about the note-books? Will you tell Krieger about them?”
“Why not?”
She managed to make a first bite into the roll, laughed at herself as she struggled with it. And then, once the mouthful was swallowed, she said, “What if he asks for them? Would you give them to him?”
“No.”
“Would you carry them for me?”
“They are safer with you. But not in that handbag.”
“Yes. I know. I forgot all about that bag today when we stood near the precipice. I could have walked away—left it there.” She shook her head, smiling. “Really, David—” She bit into the golden crust once more. It was hard to believe, she thought, how relaxed she had become in a matter of twenty-four hours, even less: relaxed and unthinking, since David was there to do all the worrying for her. “Do you like Jo?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you trust her?”
“Sure.”
“Then I can talk with her. Quite naturally. I hate feeling that I have to be on guard. It is so—so easy being with you, David.”
“Then let’s make it a permanent—” There was a voice on the staircase, light footsteps. “Jo,” he said. He made a grab for Irina, gave her an intense kiss. “That’s to keep you thinking about me until I get back.” He rose from the bed and was standing casually at the window as Jo pushed the door wide.
Jo unbelted her trench coat, took off her dark glasses, pulled her scarf away from her hair. She was sparkling with her triumph. “Twenty-two minutes flat,” she said. “And that included a short trip in a taxi, and some backtracking through twisty streets to where I had parked my car—it’s rented, of course; a tan Ford coupé—you’ll see it in the garage downstairs—and—well, here I am. Just in time for a picnic. These peaches! They smell like gardenias. I knew a girl once who ate gardenias, kept them in her refrigerator and had them petal by petal.”
David watched Jo with amusement. She is very much like me, he thought. All this talk to conceal embarrassment. Or perhaps some real anxiety. “Who was watching the hotel?” he tried.
“Ludvik. Disguised by sitting behind a newspaper in the lobby. Earlier this morning it was the tall fair-haired man—Jan. Didn’t see the dark-haired one called Milan. But he’s around. Possibly they have some reinforcements as well. Krieger will explain.”
David took the hint. He moved to the door, his half-eaten sandwich still in his hand.
“Better carry your raincoat too,” Jo said. “It looks like thunder. That’s all we need now, isn’t it? One good drenching downpour to soak us through.” She looked from David to Irina, and then at him again. “If,” she said casually, “You’re late in getting back here, David, I’ll take off with Irina. Okay?”
Irina glanced at him worriedly.
“I won’t be long,” he assured her. He photographed her in his mind, sitting on the bed, hair falling loosely over her cheek, blue eyes wide and questioning. Crisp wh
ite curtains on the window behind her, red geraniums; a picnic scattered on the dressing-table: a sweet interlude while it had lasted. He gave a cheerful wave of his hand, saw Irina smile, and ran down the steep narrow stairs. Outside the road was empty, the alley dark and peaceful. A safe house, he thought, and felt better.
He finished the sandwich as he crossed the yard, and slung his raincoat over his shoulder. One pocket bumped hard into his ribs that damned automatic he had been carrying around. It brought him back to less pleasant realities. You’re another of these clowns, he told himself, picnicking near the edge of a thousand-foot drop, thinking the ground is solid because it doesn’t tremble and crack underfoot. A safe little room, is it? Nothing is safe while Ludvik and his friends are prowling around this town.
In the garage there was the same feeling of peace and quiet, time ticking away unnoticed. Franz was at the entrance, enjoying the air and a cigarette. Work on the Mercedes was finished. And near it there was a tan-coloured Ford. A British-made Consul, he noted: not new, but in good condition. Excellent tyres. Trust Jo to get some, traction for a mountain journey. In fact, he told himself, trust Jo altogether: she’d take care of Irina. The deceptive thing about Jo was the fact that she was young, pretty, and elegant. With all that going for her, she didn’t need brains, but she had plenty of them too. What did she mean by that small remark, seemingly offhand? If you’re late in getting back... Who’s going to be late? he thought, as he headed for the street. Franz was following him out, asking, “Did Fräulein Schmidt find you?”
Schmidt? Good old Smith. In any language, a useful name. David glanced along both sidewalks, checking the nearby doorways and parked cars. “She did.”
Franz halted at the gas pump, looking at the sky, shook his head. “Heavy clouds. They’d better start breaking them up, or else we’ll lose the grapes.”
David stared at him, saw Franz was going to launch into an expansive talk about vine harvests. He said, moving away, “Got to buy some aspirin.” Behind him he could almost feel Franz’s disappointment—resentment?—at being so unexpectedly cut off at the beginning of a ten-minute lecture. Sorry, chum: another time. Now is for keeping my eyes open and my memory sharp. If I cut down to the right I’ll reach the Corn Market; then turn left and I’ll be at the beginning of the arcades. Simple enough. But these crowds—good God, the whole countryside has come into town for Saturday afternoon—well, if I’m finding it difficult to see anything but a mass of heads, all unrecognisable, it may just be that Ludvik and friends are having the same trouble. I’ll take that as some consolation; not much, but it’s all I’m going to get.
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