The bug was making slow progress; crawling lethargically, its movements slow and deliberate, but at the same time determined and inexorable. Towner stepped around it and went into the bathroom. He would not make the same mistake again by trying to crush it. Instead he took a glass from the shelf above the sink and returned to the room.
Crouching down, he placed the glass over the beetle, trapping it and stopping it in its tracks. He looked around for a piece of card, or something to slide under the glass in order to be able to lift the whole thing up and carry it out onto the balcony. Then another thought struck him. He’d paid a lot of money for this room, and the hotel had a five star rating. He shouldn’t have to put up with vermin like this. First thing in the morning he’d complain to the management, and he’d take the beetle with him to show them the evidence.
With that thought nestled satisfactorily in his mind, he left the glass-enclosed beetle exactly where it was, climbed back into bed and switched off the light.
He was asleep within minutes, but it was a long, torturous night, filled with disturbing dreams. Images of Caroline before her illness, fit and well. Caroline turning the corner of the street, Caroline on a boat in the middle of a lake, Caroline laughing and calling to him from an elevator, just as the doors were closing. The Caroline he’d fallen in love with, in situations where she was elusive and just out of reach.
Towards morning the dreams took a darker, more sinister turn, with himself walking the streets in an area that looked like London’s Kings Cross, being approached by garishly dressed prostitutes; blondes, brunettes, redheads, make-up plastered on their pallid faces, all looking at him expectantly through the cold, dead eyes of his late wife.
In the dream that finally woke him he was climbing a long, desperately seedy staircase in an old, near-derelict building. The doorway at the top of the stairs opened and the sounds of a party in progress drifted down to him. He climbed wearily and as he reached the top and looked inside the room he could see the party in full swing. Noise pumped from a huge stereo system in the corner. The guests were all recognisable as friends and work colleagues, drinking and talking amongst themselves. In the centre of the room was Caroline, dancing a slow smooch with a shadowy figure. Towner stepped into the room to get a better view of her partner. Taunting, the figure turned towards him, but not sufficiently for Towner to see the face. It was as if there was no face at all, just a blank vista of shadows.
In the dream, Towner said, ‘Caroline?’
The music stopped and the scene changed to one of a snow-covered, desolate wasteland. In the distance the two figures were still entwined, still engaged in their dance; Caroline and her anonymous partner dancing in silence on a carpet of snow. Snow that was shifting and undulating under their feet. Towner watched and suddenly became aware that it was not snow at all, but a lake of white polished carapaces. Millions of white beetles that crawled and scurried, all turning their waving antennae towards him and crawling relentlessly to where he stood. And in the centre of the creeping lake of insects, Caroline danced with her mysterious partner, laughing – laughing at her petrified husband.
‘My world now, Raymond! My world!’ she called in a thin girlish voice.
Towner cried out and awoke. Wasted night had drifted into weary morning.
He was sweating and trembling from head to toe. The last dream was so vivid he could still hear the echo of Caroline’s voice. ‘My world.’ What could she have meant?
He threw the duvet back irritably and padded to the bathroom to relieve himself. The face that stared back at him from the bathroom mirror was haggard and drawn; dark rings circled his eyes and the stubble on his chin gave him the look of a vagrant. He poured some water into the sink and splashed some on his face.
He looked ten years older than his forty-three years. Life had take its toll on his features and left him battle-scarred. The skin beneath his chin was beginning to slacken and small broken veins in his cheeks gave him a slightly florid complexion. It was such a contrast from the night before when he had looked in the wardrobe mirror and a dapper, young looking, smartly dressed, middle-aged man had smiled back at him.
It was Caroline’s fault, of course. Even in dreams, her presence had a depressing, debilitating effect on him. She had sucked the life from him like a leech through the long, interminable years of their marriage and, now that she was dead, the memory of her, lodged in his sub-conscious, continued to do damage.
With a long sigh of resignation he turned on the shower, set the controls to hot and stepped under it, flinching as the spray soaked his body. As he rubbed shampoo into his hair he heard voices; a man and a woman, their voices raised in anger.
At first he thought the sounds were coming from the suite next door, but as he washed the lather from his hair it became apparent the voices were drifting in from the bedroom. And the voices themselves were horribly familiar.
The woman’s voice was Caroline’s. With the rush of the shower-spray he could not distinguish all the words clearly but the tone and tempo were unmistakably hers. The man’s voice was not quite so familiar, but to Towner it sounded like someone doing a poor impersonation of his own voice.
He groped for the tap and turned off the shower. The voices ceased instantly. He grabbed his towel and rubbed his eyes, blinking furiously to clear them, then wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped from the shower-stall. Steam still rose from his body as he walked out into the bedroom.
The room was empty. His reading glasses were on the bedside table where he’d left them the night before; the duvet was in a pile at the foot of the bed where he’d thrown it. Everything in the room was perfectly normal and unchanged. Except for the glass on the floor – the glass he had placed over the beetle the night before. Now it lay on its side on the carpet. Of the beetle there was no sign. He swore. All thoughts of making a complaint to the management evaporating like the moisture from his skin.
So you imagined the voices, he thought to himself, but even the voice in his head telling him this sounded unconvinced.
He dressed quickly and went down to breakfast. Fortunately the dining room was nearly empty and he took the same table as the night before. The waitress, a different one this time but just as pretty, brought him coffee and hot water in silver jugs, and poured his first cup, telling him he should help himself to whatever he wanted from the well-stocked buffet table, set against the far wall. Fresh rolls, she explained, were in the large basket at the end of the table.
He breakfasted on cold meats, cheese and the rolls. Delicious! Better than any he’d tasted in England. He had several, all spread thickly with unsalted butter and, by the end of the meal, a feeling of well being chased away the depression that had shadowed him since waking, and the disturbed night was fading into memory,
The walk through the town to the cable-car station at the base of the mountain was exhilarating. Last night’s impression of a clichéd Tyrol was disappearing fast. Kitzbühel was really quite a beautiful place to visit. The streets were clean and the buildings had a well-scrubbed, pristine look about them; traditional Tyrolean styled house and hotels, laden with colourful window boxes containing red swathes of pelargonium, all freshly watered, with not a dead head in sight. The Austrians took a pride in their surroundings that put Towner’s homeland to shame.
The cable-car station was modern concrete and glass but the design was in keeping with the rest of the town, and did not look out of place. It nestled at the foot of the mountain, dwarfed by the mountainous edifice of the Kitzbühlerhorn. Small gondola cars emerged from a large rectangular opening at the back of the building and began their shaky ascent, hauled up the mountain by the thick strands of twisted steel, and as each car departed on its upward journey, so another gondola on its descent arrived at the station.
At a small kiosk Towner bought a ticket from a matronly woman, again in national dress. They certainly went in for such apparel, though whether it was their chosen way of dressing or simply to appeal to the touri
sts, Towner wasn’t sure. The woman smiled at him as she handed him his ticket, a smile that was mirrored by the morning sun overhead.
He walked up a flight of steps and entered the comparatively gloomy interior of the station. The air was thick with the smells of grease and hot machinery, and the sound of the huge engine that rotated the pulleys was almost painful to the ears. He walked up the final flight of stairs to the loading platform and was dismayed to see a good dozen people waiting their turn ahead of him.
What disturbed him more was the fact that the group immediately preceding him were the two couples from the dining room the night before, and their tall, blond companion; the man who had shown such an interest in him.
None of them acknowledged him as he joined the queue behind them, and Towner deliberately studied the thin guidebook he’d purchased at the kiosk, describing the mountain he was about to ascend. It was a way of avoiding eye contact with the group, and negating any possibility of conversation.
On the other side of the station the gondolas were arriving frequently, their passengers disembarking. Then the cars carried on, swinging around to Towner’s side to pick up the people traveling up the mountain.
The queue thinned rapidly as the cable-car operator – peaked cap perched precariously on the back of his head – opened the doors and ushered people inside the cramped cars, slamming and locking the doors behind them. The group before Towner made their way forward as an empty car arrived and, as the operator opened the door, the two couples climbed aboard, making themselves as comfortable as possible on the hard wooden seats. They said something in German to the blond man, whom they called Dieter.
He shrugged and stood aside as the operator shut the door to the gondola and pushed the small car back out onto the main cable. Then he turned to Towner, and said in faultless but heavily accented English, ‘The cars only take four. We’ll share the next one, yes?’
No, thought Towner. ‘I don’t think…’ he began, but the operator already had the door of the next car open and was waiting for the men to get inside. The blond man took Towner by the arm and guided him into the gondola. ‘I’d rather wait…’ Towner said half-heartedly, and then looked at the faces of the people behind him in the queue, who were staring at him as if he was the most selfish person in the world. He slumped dejectedly into the seat and the blond man, Dieter, climbed into the car and took the seat opposite him. The door was slammed, the lock clicked into place and the car swung out onto the main cable and began its ascent.
In the confined space of the gondola the silence between them was almost palpable, an unseen wall separating the two men. Both sat there quite still, staring out at the passing scenery as the stout cable pulled them ever upwards.
Towner shifted uncomfortably. Heights had never bothered him, but he was extremely sensitive to bad atmospheres. All the years with Caroline had given him a kind of sixth sense about them, until it reached a stage where he could walk into her room and, though she was lying there with her eyes closed, saying nothing, he could still judge accurately that she was in a bad mood. It was as if her negative thoughts produced a dark shadow that hung over the room.
In the gondola there was a similar atmosphere, though whether it was emanating from the other man or himself he wasn’t sure. It was there, however, an unspoken agenda between them. He stared out through the small window, aware the other man was staring at him, but tried to ignore it. It was an echo from last night in the dining room.
‘A long way down,’ the blond man said finally
Towner stared down at the tops of the fir trees over which they were passing. ‘Indeed,’ he said, without looking round.
‘Sometimes the urge is very strong to just open the door and step out into space, yes? Do you ever feel that?’
‘Actually, no, I don’t.’
‘Dieter Niederman.’ The blond man stuck out his hand. ‘We’re staying at the same hotel, yes?’
You know damned well we are, Towner thought, but said, ‘Yes, yes we are.’ He finally looked round at him, saw the proffered hand and shook it. ‘Towner, Raymond Towner.’
‘Yes, I thought I saw you in the dining room last night.’
‘Well you did manage to stare at me all the way through the meal.’
Niederman gave a small smile. ‘Was I being that obvious? I apologise. It’s just that I have the unmistakable feeling that our paths have crossed before. You know when you see a face you recognise, but just can’t place it. Have you ever been to Austria before, or Germany? I lived in Berlin during my youth.’
‘This is my first time to Austria, and all I have seen of Germany is what I saw from the plane as we flew over it.’
‘And I have never visited Britain. Extraordinary. You must have a doppelganger, Herr Towner. A double, yes?’
Towner shrugged, and did not tell the other man that he’d experienced the same recognition himself. For reasons he could not quite explain to himself, he’d taken an intense dislike to Niederman, and the sooner this journey was over the better. He turned his attention back to the scenery.
There was a moment’s silence then Niederman said, ‘It’s a beautiful country, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Towner said, not looking round. ‘Yes it is.’
‘It’s not only my homeland, but also my spiritual home. Those years spent in Berlin were like torture to me, but my father’s business took him there and my mother and I had no alternative but to accompany him. Those years were miserable.’ Niederman changed tack suddenly. ‘A photograph, that’s where I have seen your face. In a photograph…but where?’
Towner rounded on him. ‘Forgive me if this seems rude, Herr Niederman, but I couldn’t give a two penny damn if you think you know me or not. You don’t, and I don’t know you. I have never been to Austria before in my life, and I have never stayed at the Alpenblum hotel, despite the staffs’ misconception that I have. This is my holiday. I came abroad to get away from peoples’ bloody morbid sympathy after the death of my wife. I am not seeking companionship, nor am I looking to discover imaginary relationships that total strangers think they may have had with me in the past. Do I make myself perfectly clear?’
Niederman shrugged and smiled slightly. ‘You do, Herr Towner. You make your point very eloquently. Forgive me for my intrusion into your grief. I apologise.’
Towner nodded curtly, and looked away, up at the mountain. The cable car was reaching the top and, thankfully the journey was nearly over. He was shaking slightly. He hated confrontation and it was totally out of character for him to speak out like that, but the disturbed night and dreams of Caroline had left him feeling ragged and on edge. He’d noticed in the past that dreaming about his late wife, even when she was alive, put him a bad mood for the rest of the day. There was nothing he could do about it and usually the mood only lasted until bedtime. After a good night’s sleep he was usually his old self again.
Niederman was unfortunate in that he’d been in the wrong place on the wrong day, and Towner was beginning to feel guilty.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘…for my outburst. It was unforgivable and very rude. I’m a little out of sorts today.’
Niederman smiled solicitously. ‘I understand. I am in love with a very wonderful woman. If anything ever happened to her, well, I think my life would end too.’
That’s not what I meant, thought Towner, but let it pass.
‘It’s why I returned to Austria from Berlin. I was still living there and I came here on holiday, must be ten years ago now. We met, fell in love…’
‘Married?’
‘No, I’m sorry to say. She was married to someone else, you see. Oh, I know what you’re thinking – what kind of man is it that steals another man’s wife? But it really wasn’t like that. Her husband was a very cruel man, who kept her a virtual prisoner at home. He was a tyrant, but he allowed her one holiday a year, accompanied by him, of course. One day he was feeling unwell and did not want to leave the hotel room, so she slipped out to explor
e the town. We met quite by chance on this very cable car and it all began from there.’ Niederman laughed at the memory. ‘Do you know what the first words she said to me were? She said, “Sometimes the urge is very strong to just open the door and step out into space. Do you ever feel that?” Those were her first words to me. Desperately sad don’t you think?’
‘So you’re still not together?’
‘Ah, but we will be soon. Her husband is very ill. Terminal. We’ll be together soon.’
‘Well I hope it all works out for you,’ Towner said, not really giving a damn if it did or not.
‘It’s very strange,’ Niederman said. ‘Two deaths, one so very tragic and the other so liberating.’
Towner nodded, but before he could respond the gondola jerked and bucked as it arrived at the station. ‘Looks like we’re here,’ he said.
Niederman extended his hand again. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Towner. Perhaps at dinner tonight you will join us?’
‘Thank you, but…’
‘I understand. You prefer your own company.’
Towner smiled. Very much so, he thought, very much so.
The gondola stopped. The operator, a much older man than the one at the base station, opened the door and Niederman stepped out, Towner following close behind.
They walked down the steps to the exit in silence. Niederman’s friends were waiting for him, clustered around the doorway, their jackets done up to their throats to keep out the swirling mist that was eddying around the exit. With a nod of semi-recognition Towner passed them and walked outside onto the mountain.
His first reaction was one of disappointment, as the fog was thick, reducing visibility to a few yards. Then, as he started to walk through it, he realised that it was not fog at all, but low-lying cloud shrouding the mountaintop in a grey cloak, and a sense of wonder enveloped him. I’m walking in the clouds, he thought, and smiled to himself.
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