by Anne Perry
There was no time to waste. This was urgent. Time to dream later. Peter Howard had told her only as much as she needed to know. She could not find Aiden’s handler, Max Klausner, and she had to warn Aiden and convince him to leave.
* * *
—
She got up fairly early, and, as she had done in the few days since she had come to Trieste, dressed, and went out for breakfast. The street was cool, and busy already. There was a café around the corner where she could buy newspapers in English, Italian, or German. She could not read the Serbian, so she left them. The German newspapers were best. They were actually from Vienna and gave a little bit of the news she most needed, specifically stories of unrest and criticism of Chancellor Dollfuss. It seemed whatever the poor man did, people were displeased. He was too autocratic, changed his mind too often; there was too much he was still learning and too much he didn’t know. He was certainly heavy-handed—but then, so was Hitler in Germany, and there was nothing but praise for him. And Mussolini in Italy? Pompous, ridiculous man. Apparently, he had been a pretty good journalist before he became Il Duce. What had happened to him? Power was like that: enough of it and it strips you of the inhibitions that keep you outwardly sane. But inwardly? Judgment is affected and eventually you become dangerous and absurd.
She enjoyed her freshly baked rolls and two cups of coffee, then read the political articles in the Viennese newspaper and made her plans for the day. These included one last look around at the restaurants where Max had served. Then, if she did not find anyone who had seen him this week, she would go to where Gabrielle had said they would be this evening, a public place with delightful music. Gabrielle had mentioned it with an invitation to join them. Elena felt it was brash to accept, and in a way rather pathetic, but that was immaterial now. She must speak to Aiden alone and warn him, however it appeared to others.
She found no trace of Max this morning, either. She came as close as she dared to questioning openly without attracting too much attention, then gave it up and went back to her apartment. She hated making a fool of herself and appearing desperate, but defensive feelings were self-indulgent now. In fact, when she thought about it, they were just a pathetic vanity.
How should she dress? Conspicuously, of course! If there were questions, the answers would be of no use. The blonde in the scarlet silk dress, what was her face like? No idea. Would you know if her eyes are brown or blue? No.
How was she going to approach Aiden? He was bound to be with other people. Gabrielle, at least, and from the way she had spoken, others as well. It didn’t matter if she embarrassed them or what they thought of her, except that they must not know she was MI6, or whatever they thought the British Secret Service was called. She must look casual, harmless, even socially inept, or desperately lonely. No, that was galling. She shivered at that thought. It was the ultimate humiliation. She should have a life, a purpose that would make her seem more like everyone else. It was not hard to create.
Might one of them be the person who had killed Max Klausner? They might be shallow, trivial, or even absurd on the outside, but underneath, desperately serious. It was literally a matter of life and death. And not only for them, but perhaps for many others. She had seen that in Berlin. One minute she had been on the street, the next in a Gestapo prison. She had been rescued, but others had not. To hell with embarrassment!
She put on the scarlet dress and surveyed herself in the abbreviated mirror in her bathroom. The space was too small to get a full impression, but maybe that was just as well. Her appearance was eye-catching, but not necessarily the way she wanted to look. Or more honestly, the way she dared to look. She would be noticed, that was certain. She had gained weight in one or two places she had not realized. She had been a bit boyish at sixteen; there was nothing boyish about her now! Margot would be amused.
She put her cape around her shoulders and felt a good deal less conspicuous, then went downstairs to the street. She was tall enough to be elegant in fairly low heels, which was just as well, in case she needed to walk any distance. Or even to run.
She found a taxi in the first main street she came to and asked the driver to take her to the address Gabrielle had given her. The journey was not long enough to sort out her thoughts. It seemed like they had barely navigated the busy street when the driver pulled in at the curb and told her she was there. She paid and thanked him, then stepped out, forcing herself to walk inside casually, as if she had done it a dozen times before.
“Have you a reservation, signora? Or perhaps there is someone expecting you?” the man at the desk inquired. He was charmingly polite, but there was a steel in him that said he did not allow unaccompanied young women into the establishment. She knew exactly what he was asking and what he suspected might be her true business here.
She smiled with all the confidence she could fake. “Madame Fournier invited me to join her. I’m sure she will say so, if you ask her.” She wished she were as sure as she sounded.
“Of course, signora.” He inclined his head. “Madame Fournier is over there,” he indicated, with the slightest turn of his head.
Elena followed the line of his glance and saw Gabrielle immediately. She was unmissable. She was not quite Elena’s height, but one did not compare Gabrielle with anybody else. She was elegant, slender, yet also voluptuous. Her dark hair was coiled at the back of her head, sleek and shining. She wore a gown of gold lamé that caught the light and would have exposed even the slightest flaw, had there been any. One looked at nobody else.
Elena took a deep breath and let the cape slide off her shoulders and trail from one hand. Then she walked over toward Gabrielle as if she did this every day…and had all the time in the world. She heard, rather than saw, a slight movement, the scraping of chair legs, as people turned to watch her. She took no notice.
Several people were staring, but the only one she cared about was Aiden. She noticed the light on his hair as he turned, and then the look on his face, almost instantly masked. She stopped in front of Gabrielle. “You were kind enough to invite me,” Elena said calmly, although she felt as if her whole body was shaking with the beating of her heart. “So, I accepted. It looks as if everybody who matters in Trieste is here.” She did no more than glance at the nearby tables and the two couples nearest to them, whom she recognized from the previous night.
Aiden covered his surprise immediately. “I’m sorry, signorina, at first I did not recognize you.”
He smiled the same wide, charming smile she remembered from years ago. She refused to let it turn her heart over again. It did not matter what she felt, only what she did. Was there time to be subtle? Even slightly?
“May I get you something to drink?” he offered.
“Yes, please,” she accepted, looking straight at him. There was no recognition in his eyes, not even a flicker. Apparently, she was infinitely forgettable to him. She could remember every gesture, every intonation, as if it had been a month ago, not years. She could remember his laughter, the long holiday they had taken together on the coast of Northumberland, exploring a hundred places. She remembered the rising sea thundering up the pale sand, and Bamburgh Castle towering above them, its battlements seeming to guard the whole coast from invasion. She could picture exactly how the sun fell on his face and the feel of his body that night as she lay listening to the roar of the surf as the tide came in.
She jerked herself back to the present. They must play this game now! Their lives and others’ depended upon this. What should she ask for? She wasn’t going to drink much of it anyway. “Whatever you think best, but not too sweet. You know the region, any white wine,” she said, staring back at him. “You’ve forgotten my name. It’s Elena.”
“Elena,” he repeated. “Good name. It’s a version of Helen, isn’t it? Legendary, quite something to live up to.”
She recalled how he loved the Greek classics. Not just the romance of them, but
the whole structure of the myths, the tragedies, and how, if you looked at them properly, they contained such wisdom. “There are quite a lot of us,” she agreed. “Mothers with dreams we can’t live up to.”
“Dreams to reach for?” he suggested. And then he added, “I…I’ll get you some wine.” He turned and took a step toward the nearest waiter.
He might take the opportunity to speak to her alone, but he might not. Was he afraid she would give him away? Make a scene? That would be hideously embarrassing, and more to the point, it would endanger both of them.
She turned to Gabrielle. “Excuse me, I think perhaps I would prefer a red.”
She took a couple of quick steps and caught up with Aiden. She gripped his arm to slow him before he could reach the waiter and they would no longer be alone in the crowd.
“Aiden.”
“Anton,” he said harshly under his breath.
“I won’t forget,” she said, her smile twisted this time. “But I have to speak to you.”
“It’s over.” He swung round and stared steadily, his eyes angry, cold. And yes, frightened.
She met his gaze with perfect clarity. “Yes, it is. Max Klausner is missing, very possibly dead, and your cover is blown. You must get out of here as quickly as you can. With grace, that is.”
“Vino, signor, signorina?” the waiter offered. He must have seen they were talking, but so was everyone.
“Thank you,” Aiden accepted, barely looking at the man. He took the two glasses from the tray and passed one to Elena.
“Thank you,” she smiled graciously, taking a sip.
As soon as the waiter moved on, Aiden turned back to her, leaning closer, so as to be certain no one else could overhear them. “Keep your voice down,” he warned. “How do you know this…and who the hell sent you?”
“MI6, of course,” she replied evenly, so quietly he had to lean over to hear her.
“You’re hardly MI6 material.” His voice was hard. “This is no time for playing stupid games, Elena, or for personal emotions. This is—”
“This is not personal, Aiden. I know you by sight, and that’s why they sent me. It’s important.”
“How did you find me? You haven’t the…” He stopped.
“Brains? Seems I have! It took me only a couple of days. You weren’t difficult to find. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now, you have to leave.”
“Why should I believe you?” he asked.
All sorts of arguments came to her mind, rational in many ways. But it would mean explaining things to him that he did not need to know. And as she thought that, she realized she had not believed everything unquestioningly that Peter Howard had said. There was still a dark shadow of doubt in her mind. Was it personal? Only because Aiden had betrayed her? How petty. Hurt feelings had nothing to do with this. What if he had cared for her to begin with, and then her devotion to him had cloyed? She had been too young, too naïve, looking for passion where all he wanted was fun.
“Why should you believe me?” She repeated his question, not looking at him, but looking at Gabrielle and the light catching her gold lamé. Gabrielle had already begun making her way over toward them. She would be here in less than a minute. “Because without Max Klausner, you can’t get in touch with England. You can’t get funds. You can’t get your reports back safely.”
From the moment Gabrielle was beside them, his attitude changed utterly.
“Elena knows several of my favorite places in England,” he said, pleasure suddenly back in his voice, a lightness of tone.
“How fortunate!” Gabrielle smiled. “For a relatively small country, there are so many places of beauty and history. I’m always amazed by the variety.” She looked genuinely interested, not merely polite. “And you are looking for historically notable places in Trieste? Places most people would not know of, or perhaps that are related in history to other places. There are a lot of those here. We are a kind of crossroads for many things.” She spoke clearly, above the babble of other voices and the clink of glass and china.
“History?” Aiden asked, with slight mocking in his voice.
Was this a warning not to get too deep into the conversation? What was his relationship with Gabrielle? Personal? Or something to do with the dangerous and complicated recent political history? There were so many strands at play: Austrian occupation of the whole Trieste area; Serbia; the rising intrusion of German interest and power in Austria; even Mussolini’s growing power.
“No,” Elena said with a slight smile. On the surface, this was polite interest and must remain so. “I’m sure there is plenty, but there are also more knowledgeable people to admire it than I. I think I want to concentrate on the smaller streets. I know they are far less spectacular, but they have their own beauty.” She saw boredom in Aiden’s face and a struggle to keep interest in Gabrielle’s. But this part of her cover, at least, would be honest. “I did not realize it until I got here, but the light is unlike anywhere else. Not just beautiful, it’s…” She struggled for the word. “It’s as if it were all backlit in gold. That’s—”
“Do you paint?” Gabrielle asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Perhaps you should. You have an artist’s eye.” Gabrielle smiled. “I should be interested to see what you create.”
“Reflect,” Elena said modestly. “I’m a photographer. I don’t create beauty, but I try to catch an element of it that people might not notice, or see from a different and less interesting angle. It’s mostly in the light. Or should I say, in the shadows and the light, and the change of emphasis?”
“Really?” Gabrielle seemed genuinely interested, but Aiden was beginning to move his weight from one foot to the other, as if he was bored.
This was slipping out of Elena’s control. At least Aiden knew why she was here and she had passed him the warning, but that was only the beginning. She had money to give him, in case he needed it. She could fly back to England if she needed to, but she had to be sure he was safe first, and that, if he was not leaving, he gave her the list Peter Howard thought was so important. She wondered how well Peter really knew Aiden. Was he only relying on other people’s beliefs?
She had believed Aiden once, everything he said. She again recalled their time at the seashore, and how he had shouted into the wind, “Elena, I love you!” a smile on his face, that charming smile that made her heart beat loud enough to choke her.
Perhaps he had meant it…for that day.
She turned to him. “Maybe you could suggest some places for me, Anton. You know the city quite well. What is unique, beautiful? Not too crowded: Somewhere I can set up a good photograph? And what time of day do you suggest for the light to be at its best?” She meant to ask when they could meet. He must realize that, surely. “The light makes all the difference.”
She waited.
“That depends on what kind of effect you’re looking for,” he said, as if choosing his words carefully. “What are your favorites? Your signature images? Cloud effects? Patterns of shadows? There can be a lot of them.”
He was looking at her curiously, analytically. There was nothing in his eyes but slight, cautious interest. Was he so good an actor? Had he always been? Why her? She had been of no particular use to him years ago. She wasn’t senior enough in the Foreign Office to have known any secrets worth his while. His own were far more valuable.
“Light on water,” he suggested, watching her. “Sunlight, moonlight, lamplight, the sea. Or, better for a close-up, a canal.”
She could not meet his eyes. He was remembering those images she had thought most lovely, and what she had said to him about them, her most vivid dreams, sleeping or awake. She felt the heat burn up her face at the memory of where and when she had told him of those things. She had even told him the vision that went with them in her heart, the hope, the momentary belonging to the whole realm of thi
ngs composed of light. They had always been the most magical of images for her: light of any sort, on water in any form; clouds, soft rain, a puddle in the grass, moonlight on surf…ice. She did not know whether it was with pleasure or pain that he remembered it; he quoted it back to her without any expression in his eyes. As memories jostled her mind, she drew a darkness over them deliberately, protective of herself and of them.
“Yes,” she replied, forcing a smile of her own. “I think any kind of light on the canal water, and stones, of course. They give it weight, character. Where do you suggest? And what time for the best effects?”
“You could begin on one of the old bridges, and this time of the year sunrise could be good, if the sky is almost clear,” he replied. “And you’ll try sunset, too, of course. Midday, the light is a little hard. You get too much glare and too much clarity to do anything clever.”
“Thank you.” She tried to smile, but he had to be specific. Didn’t he realize that? She felt the certainty that he had been in her hand a few moments ago, but then slipped out of her grasp like a dissolving cloud. She must not look desperate.
“You might try the wharf at sunrise,” Aiden suggested. “There will be plenty of boats to see by seven o’clock in the morning, if you can be bothered to get there so early.”
“Thank you,” she said, nodding slightly. “I can probably manage that, it’s not too far from where I’m staying. That’s very good advice. I will take it.” She gave him a quick smile, glanced at Gabrielle, and then turned and walked away into the thickening crowd.
She went toward the ladies’ cloakroom. She would leave when Aiden and his friends were absorbed in their conversation. He knew she had come specifically to meet him. Surely, he would not be rash enough to ignore her arrangements to accomplish that? His life depended upon her help, and there was no time to waste in games.