A Question of Betrayal

by Anne Perry

  “Wasn’t it?” She couldn’t imagine the pain and the fear. He was safe now, although perhaps he would always have pain in his arm, and always dream about what had happened to him.

  “No, it was just a really big shell hole,” he explained. “I remember he swore dreadfully, strings of words I barely knew, but I knew the intonation and the meaning didn’t matter. I joined him, in German. It became a competition. He wasn’t hurt, but I knew he was as exhausted and frightened as I was. But he didn’t leave me. I don’t remember it all. I was in and out of consciousness, and after a while I couldn’t think of anything but the pain.”

  “But you got out? Both of you?” Now she had to know.

  “Yes. I couldn’t go any further, and he realized that. He left his water bottle with me and went to look for help, just as another volley of shots came over. In the light of the flare, I saw the terror in his eyes…”

  “But he wasn’t hit?” Her voice was nearly strangled.

  “No. He took a long swig of the whisky he was carrying, then gave me that, too. Then he scrambled out of the hole and disappeared. I never saw him again, but he must’ve found someone because a couple of Brits came and got me. They said he had sent them. It seemed he’d got lost, no sense of direction. He rejoined his men. I don’t know if he survived or not. I’d like to think that he did.”

  “What made you think of him tonight?”

  He looked around the room. “Well, I believe his name was Driscoll. We sometimes forget that good men fought on both sides.”

  Tears filled Margot’s eyes and she could not stop them. It took a moment before she could force out the words. “Yes…indeed.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with instant remorse. “I’ve upset you.”

  “My husband…he died in that battle, the fifth in Ypres. Along with my brother.”

  His voice, too, was thick with old, deep grief: “That is why we must never, ever do it again. Whatever our differences…” He trailed off, staring around the room.

  Margot looked at him, then away, and over to where Cecily had gone with Hans, where Winifred, clinging to hope, was doing her duty. Roger must be somewhere. She could not recognize his head among all the others. How many of them were clinging to the coattails of peace and felt anger or shame for what their allies and enemies alike were doing? Above all, their fellow countrymen? What was patriotism compared with humanity? They were busy with avenging old wounds, rather than preventing new ones?

  “Thank you for telling me about this,” she said, swallowing hard and managing to keep control. “It makes my husband more…real. I tried to imagine how he could not be afraid, and I never really succeeded. It took him away from me somehow. Can you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes. Tales of courage, rather than the real thing, fragile and very mixed. Real courage is being terrified and doing it anyway. Sometimes, it’s just because letting everyone else down would be even worse than being shot. Certainly than losing an arm.” Konstantin smiled at her, and this time there was nothing in it but the gentleness of memory shared for a moment.

  She turned away before emotion overcame her. When he departed she brought her mind back to the present.

  Behind her, two men were talking, their heads together, wineglasses in their hands, almost touching. “Dollfuss won’t bend,” one of them was saying. “He’s got a taste of power and he’s going to run with it. You think he’ll listen to us? You’re whistling in the wind. You’ll be overtaken. Believe me.”

  “It’s for the greater good,” the other man said with certainty.

  “Whose greater good?” There was derision in his voice. “Ours? Austria’s? Europe’s?”

  “Europe’s, of course! Can’t you see that?” the second man said sharply. “Think what we could accomplish in a hundred years of peace! A thousand!”

  “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous! Hitler’s lifetime, at best.”

  “By then, people will have come to accept it. England’s coming around already. Did you see who was here tonight?”

  “Yes, of course I did, and it’s a start, but we must be careful about Austria.”

  “Dollfuss will crack like an eggshell, you’ll see.”

  “He could surprise you!”

  “He’ll have to be got out of the way, that’s easy enough. The Fatherland Front is very strong; their victory is inevitable, and soon. Don’t be so damned lily-livered…”

  “More wine?” a voice said at Margot’s side.

  “What?” She turned and saw Roger Cordell. She was unreasonably, overwhelmingly pleased to see him. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was watching—”

  “Two rising soldiers of the Führer’s new army,” he answered, so quietly she barely made out the words.

  “They were talking about Austria,” she began.

  “What about it?”

  “Something to do with getting rid of Chancellor Dollfuss.” She stopped, seeing the shadow across his face. “Roger, you don’t…” She had been going to ask if he believed there was anything in it, but that seemed a facile question now. He clearly knew what she was talking about, because he had not asked her to expand.

  “There’s only so much we can do,” he said quietly. “I feel as if we have one finger in the dike, but there are more holes springing up all the time.”

  She looked at him and saw more clearly the tiredness in his face, so evident now, this close to him at the end of a very long day in which he had said goodbye to his only child. He did not believe that it would be all right, and neither did she.

  CHAPTER

  14

  “You can’t go like that,” Aiden said when they had left the café and walked half a block along the road, then into a third narrow street and finally into a slightly better district. “You look too casual.”

  “So do you,” Elena replied, regarding his old trousers of indeterminate color, so well worn were they. His sweater was a heavy fisherman’s knit, equally faded. One could only guess that once it had been blue.

  He smiled. “We’re going to Gabrielle’s apartment. Just along this way. I keep clothes there.” He did not explain. “You can borrow something of hers. We don’t want to look as if we’ve come to deliver the food.”

  She looked him up and down. “You look more as if you’d come to sweep the pavement. And I don’t think Gabrielle lends her clothes to relative strangers, even in the unlikely event that they should fit.”

  They were stopped on the narrow footpath at the end of the street, waiting for a break in the traffic. He looked at her carefully, slowly, his face touched with amusement. “A bit more on top, perhaps, but I dare say Gabrielle can arrange it so you don’t actually fall out. Come on, don’t stand there, we must get changed and ready. It’s late…” He took her hand and pulled her forward, into the street, and quickly to the far side, too rapidly for her to argue. He led her to the vestibule of an apartment building and into the rickety-looking elevator. The door closed and the whole contraption jerked and rattled upward.

  Elena drew in breath to say something, then realized that she had nothing to say.

  They stopped at the fourth floor. Aiden led the way toward the back of the building, then knocked on the door of the last apartment. It was opened after a few moments and Gabrielle immediately looked beyond Aiden to Elena.

  “Come in,” she said with perfect composure, as if she had been expecting them. She stood aside for them to pass. She was wearing a simple, dark dress, but it still managed to look elegant. Aiden seemed to know where he was going. Gabrielle did not ask him; instead she looked briefly at him—his face, not his clothes—then followed them both to the large sitting room.

  The view was magnificent. Nothing blocked it at this level. A panorama was spread out in front of them, over rooftops at all angles, some softened by trees, others cut by the shining waterways that the setting sun caught like
scarlet ribbons carelessly thrown.

  Elena stopped, ignoring both Aiden and Gabrielle, and reached automatically for her camera. Then she froze, realizing what she was doing, taking for granted someone else’s home. “May I?”

  “Of course,” Gabrielle replied, laughter in her voice. “As long as you do not name me or give the address.”

  Elena stood absolutely still. It had not occurred to her that Gabrielle might also be dangerously involved in secret information. She had supposed the woman was exactly what she appeared to be.

  “Thank you,” she said, remembering herself and where she was. “I will put no names on it, should it be accepted.” She turned round and spent the next ten minutes taking photographs at different angles, with different views and exposures. Perhaps one of these would be her defining picture of Trieste? Not the magnificent white castle over the sea at Miramare, or the sunrise on the canal with all its boats, which could so nearly have been Venice, except that the light was different.

  When she was finished, she turned back to face the room and saw that Gabrielle was alone.

  “I’ve got a gray dress,” Gabrielle offered. “That sounds very drab, but it isn’t. Sequins really lift it. I think a bright color would stand out too much. Make you more visible than you want to be. Don’t worry, the sequins aren’t everywhere. Come and try it on.”

  Elena followed obediently. It sounded like nothing she would ever wear, but she had little choice, and making a fuss would be absurd.

  Gabrielle led her into a charming bedroom. It was feminine, but oddly severe for such a glamorous woman. What was most surprising was a second bed too small to be hers. It was in the corner, neatly made up for use, and a little rumpled, as if someone had been in it recently. There was a teddy bear on the pillow.

  Gabrielle saw Elena’s glance. “My son’s,” she said very quietly. “He has a nursery to play in, but I like to be close to him at night. He’s…only four…” She stopped explaining, emotion powerful in her face, obliterating the sophistication Elena had seen before.

  “Your son?” Elena asked, then wished she had not. There was no evidence of a man in this room. It was classic, but very definitely feminine. And the main bed was made for one, two pillows piled on top of each other instead of side by side. One bedside table of fragile glass, and a small bunch of late roses.

  Gabrielle walked over to one of the two large wardrobes and opened its door. She reached in and took out a dress on a hanger. It was gray, as she had said, but not a dense or leaden color. There was nothing heavy in it at all. It was more like a veil, and where the light fell on it, it shone a moment of silver, like streetlamps reflecting on mist.

  Gabrielle was slender, dark, and genuinely beautiful. What on earth would Elena look like in it?

  Gabrielle did not wait for Elena’s consideration. She held out the hanger. “Here, put it on. You don’t want to stand out as being different.” She gave a smile of gentle amusement. “At least, not as if you don’t mean it.”

  What has Aiden told this woman about me? Elena had a sudden chill, thinking about it. For that matter, what did Gabrielle know of Aiden? She had a momentary vision of Trieste full of spies, all watching each other and pretending they were not. Watchers and listeners, all trailing each other through the narrow streets and the elegant promenades.

  “Thank you.” She took the garment. There was nowhere separate to change, so she hesitated only an instant before taking off her own clothes and slipping on the gray dress. Gray dress? What an inadequate description! It was a gown, not a mere frock. It was so light, she barely felt it slip over her shoulders and down almost to the ground. It was obviously silk. Nothing else felt the same on the skin.

  “Oooh!”

  She turned round. It was not Gabrielle who had spoken, or rather sighed with wonder. It was a small boy. His hair was soft and fair, his eyes blue, his skin blemishless, as only a small child’s can be. When he smiled, he showed milk-white teeth.

  “You like it?” Elena asked him.

  He looked up at her through his eyelashes, embarrassed now that she had noticed him.

  “Do I look nice?” she asked. “It would be good to have a man’s opinion.”

  He gave a tiny little giggle.

  “Tell her, Franz,” Gabrielle said softly, her voice filled with tenderness. “Do you think she looks nice?”

  He nodded. “Yes, she’s pretty…” Then shyness overcame him and he went to Gabrielle to stand just touching her, where he was safe.

  “Thank you,” Elena replied. “Then I shall definitely wear it. If your mother is kind enough to lend it to me.”

  He bumped up against Gabrielle, but his smile widened as he gazed at Elena.

  She turned around slowly, then reached for the zipper to fasten it at the side. It was, as Aiden had suggested, a little tight across the bosom.

  “Excellent,” Gabrielle approved. Then she turned to the child. “I think you had better go to bed, now that you’ve seen us off. Marta will read you a story.”

  He held on to her a little more tightly.

  “I’ll say good night to you when I come home,” she promised.

  For a moment, he looked like refusing, but a young woman appeared in the doorway and held out her arms.

  Elena bent down toward the boy, careful not to lean on the soft fabric of the dress, which spread around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the light flashing on sequins, just a few. “Thank you, Franz. Now I can go, feeling beautiful.” She kissed her fingertips and touched them to his cheek, which was as soft as the silk of the gown.

  He smiled at her, then after the briefest hesitation, turned and went to Marta to hear his bedtime story. Only once did he glance at Gabrielle, as if she might change her mind. It was a routine he was used to, if unwillingly.

  Elena looked at Gabrielle, at her rich, dark hair and brown eyes and, most of all, the warm tones of her skin. She had never been blond, even as a child. And yet Franz had the same smile, the same delicate brows, even if his were no more than a suggestion as yet.

  There was nothing to say. It was all in Gabrielle’s face. Whatever she said or did, or whatever other loyalties she had, Elena understood that Franz was first.

  “Thank you for lending me the dress,” she said with a straightforward smile and an even voice, although her heart was beating hard, almost in her throat. Why? Because in the middle of all this lying and pretending, there had been this intrusion of something real, whatever else happened.

  “It suits you better than I expected…” Gabrielle began. Then, as if she realized Elena was not really listening, she changed the subject. “Shoes. You need shoes that go with it.” She glanced at Elena’s feet, and her face expressed her opinion of the shoes Elena was still wearing. She went to the wardrobe and brought out a pair of sandals, so constructed that a size or two one way or the other would make little difference.

  Elena put them on. “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  Gabrielle regarded her. “You need a little more lipstick,” she decided. “You look pale, sort of unfinished. Try the top drawer on the left,” she said, pointing to the dressing table. “And take a dab to touch your cheeks. We’re going to face the enemy.”

  “Oh…” But Elena obeyed, even as she said it.

  “I don’t know who they are,” Gabrielle said with laughter and apology, even regret, in her face. “I just know that they will be there. And don’t look like that. We are probably all wasting our time if they’re not.” She walked over to the wardrobe and took out a heavy purple satin gown, held it up for a moment, decided it was right, and changed her dark dress for the purple. She looked at Elena inquiringly.

  “Let’s go and find the dangers,” Elena said. Her voice was higher pitched and tighter than she had meant it to be. Gesturing toward Gabrielle, she added, “They will give up without a fight.”


  * * *

  —

  Aiden had changed into a dark suit that he’d kept at Gabrielle’s apartment. Neither of them explained, and Elena did not ask.

  They took a taxi. After twenty minutes or so, driving through heavy, noisy traffic, Elena had completely lost her sense of direction. When they got out and Aiden paid the driver, she had no idea where they were, except that it was clearly in the older and generally poorer quarter of the city. They went down steps, gaslit from a single lamp, to a door well below street level. A small window allowed someone inside to check who was at the door.

  As soon as Aiden knocked on the window, it opened.

  “Yes?” A man’s face appeared and he looked at them critically.

  Aiden stood so the light was on his face. “Anton Salinger, and my guests.”

  “Good evening, Signor Salinger. Ladies. Come in.”

  The window closed. There was a second or two of silence, then a click and the door opened.

  Gabrielle went first, clearly knowing the way. Elena followed and Aiden came last.

  They walked a lengthy corridor before double doors opened into a large, cavernous space, transformed with lights and music into a Viennese nightclub. Elena had an impression of lilting voices, a singer in a scarlet gown, people laughing, and the clink and gleam of raised glasses. From the dark narrow street above, it was unimaginable.

  Quickly, they melted into the crowd, watching, listening, offering the occasional comment or appreciation for a joke. What could Elena do that was useful? She was here merely to stay with Aiden, and to be safe. But there might be something to learn. Several languages were spoken around them: Italian, German, Hungarian, Serbian, French, and now and again Elena heard a word or two of English.