by Anne Perry
She remembered the times she had spent with Aiden, both long ago and these past days in Trieste. The excitement, the exhilaration, the daring to do anything you could think of. Above all, the passion to live every last breath of it. Had he always taken such risks, she just had not known it?
What about Gabrielle? What was her part in this? Aiden had said they had worked together. Why, thinking now, did that seem strange? She tried to think back, but she could remember nothing meaningful, at least not clearly. Why had Gabrielle given her the comb? It was far more Gabrielle’s style than Elena’s. Did that mean anything? Affection? Or was it a warning?
She leaned over and took it out of her handbag again, then unwrapped it from the tissue. It was lovely, bright polished shell, beautifully carved. She fiddled with the clasp and slid it open. That blade was sharper than a razor, a beautifully disguised weapon. But why did Gabrielle think she would need such a thing? Who was going to attack her now, at such close quarters? Only Aiden, but that was absurd.
She thought back over all the conversations they had had, she and Aiden. Nothing came to her. Aiden had told Elena that Gabrielle was one of them. What had he told Gabrielle of her? Of anything?
What did Gabrielle know of Aiden that Elena did not? Something hovered at the edge of her mind, half seen, and then pushed away. Aiden’s laughter, his excitement, the vivid, pulsing life in him. The courage. His brief sense of loss at Max Klausner’s death, and then Ferdie’s. Had Gabrielle seen that, too, at some other time, but understood it better? Elena could see in her mind the excitement in his eyes, the flush on his face as he turned to the battle. But did he care who won? How would she know? Where was the vulnerability in him? She searched her memory and found only an emptiness where understanding should have been.
Elena felt suddenly alone on the ship. Only Aiden could protect her from the crew. They liked him, he saw to it that they did. What if she had to fight for her escape, her life? Would he be there for her?
One lie that he heard in her voice, and would she even make it to the shore, never mind back to England? Here she was again, questioning Aiden!
But why had he given her a copy of the list? That was a stupid question! What on earth made her think it was the true list? What better idea than to let her give a false list to Peter Howard, a list that might blame innocent people, people who might get in the way of an alliance under the Nazis? Clever. Was that why he wanted to be sure she got back to MI6? There were high stakes in this game, but Aiden had never shrunk from that.
Was there another list—a true one—the one Peter Howard had sent her for? Or had that never existed? If there was, did Aiden carry it on him, or was it hidden somewhere in the cabin, in his belongings, where no one else would recognize it? She tried to think what she would do if she found it, but her mind was whirling. The safest way would be to carry the names in her memory, but she could not afford to rely on that. No, definitely not. She would have to have something to remind her, perhaps not obviously, but something that would have meaning for her alone.
What did Aiden always carry with him or on him that was indestructible? It would have to be something that could take getting wet, that was of no discernible value for a thief to steal, or for authorities to confiscate if he was searched. The only things she could think of were his clothes, and he changed those every so often. Different shirts, different shoes, socks, underwear. And then she knew. The only thing he always wore was his leather belt. He wore it with everything. She went over all the times she had seen him since that evening in Trieste. Yes, there was always that thin, dark leather belt. The only time he took it off was at night.
Aiden slept naked.
The thought made her almost sick with revulsion. At him, but more at herself. She would have to get into bed with him tonight, into this same lumpy bed, even though everything was different. She could already feel his hands on her skin, the smooth warmth of his body, his strength and his certainty as she caressed him, moved her body so he could come into her easily, hold her close to him.
Could his gentleness turn to violence in an instant, if she gave him cause? How easily Aiden had shot Ferdie the instant he believed him to be on the other side.
But which side was Ferdie on?
And what about Max Klausner? Had he discovered something that had cost him his life? Had their discovery of his body been far from accidental?
Elena felt the chill around her. Was Aiden playing both sides, while working for the Nazis? Perhaps he always had been. Is that what she had feared at the back of her mind, and denied each time?
Whatever the cost, she must survive, get back to London, and tell Peter what damage Aiden could do, if they went on trusting him.
How could she get the belt, or at least see what she believed it hid? If she found the list and read it, could she remember it? Could she turn the tables and play him?
And then it settled in her as a deep, cold conviction, as she should always have known: Aiden Strother had no emotions, no real ones. Nor did he have true loyalties. What he needed was the constant thrill, the danger, the risk. The wild and heart-lurching exhilaration in the place of real emotions. He seemed so much more alive than other men, but perhaps that was because he was painting a patina of life over a dead heart.
She straightened up the bed and combed her hair, but not with Gabrielle’s comb. That was for wearing. She would keep it close to her.
She went out into the cramped passage, then up the steps, clinging to the rails, and onto the deck. She must behave naturally, friendly, but not too curious.
“Hello, darling!” Aiden was there immediately. “Look!” He made a wide sweep with his arm, indicating the white wake of the ship and the wheeling gulls above. “Great unbounded sea. Not another soul on it. Except the gulls, of course. Do gulls have souls?”
She smiled. This was going to be the act of her life. “Of course they do,” she answered. “Aren’t they supposed to be the souls of lost sailors, or something of the sort? I can think of worse things to do than ride the wind and the sea forever.” She smiled up at him and deliberately met his eyes.
He was surprised. It was clear in his face for an instant.
Mistake. She tried not to make him rethink anything. “I read that once,” she lied, “and I remembered it. It was a good thought.”
He relaxed. “Did I thank you for reminding me? It’s good to be free…at last.”
She linked her arm in his and they watched the gulls over the water, the ship’s wake streaming behind them.
CHAPTER
21
The day seemed to pass on leaden feet, but eventually it was dinnertime and then the hour for bed. Elena had been dreading it, but now it was here and she wanted to get it over with. She smiled at Aiden deliberately, as if she were looking forward to the night with more pleasure than before, now that she was gaining confidence. Except that she wasn’t, of course. She was terrified, revolted, uncertain what to do, how to behave as if she were still in love, so pliant and willing, aching for his touch. If that were true, she would not be filled with doubts that were hardening by the second, lies dissolving into dreadful certainty.
Should she take it for granted that they would make love? Anticipate him a little? No, don’t take it for granted. Don’t assume that he would want her. She wore her slip, letting it slide over her naked body. She brushed her hair to make it shine and swing loose.
She was waiting for him when he came in. He smiled at her and locked the door. She had expected that, but it still made her stomach roil.
He looked at her with appreciation. Did he mean that, or was it to keep her calm?
She smiled back.
“A slightly unorthodox cruise, but fun, don’t you think?” he asked.
“Unforgettable,” she replied, then laughed at his momentary confusion. Did he like that, or would he think she needed taming a littl
e? Had she really been so naïve before, so dependent? Perhaps that was one reason he had never been in love with her. She was so predictable that he was bored.
Don’t be a fool! How nearly she had slipped. Aiden Strother did not love anyone; he merely found some women less boring than others. Love was caring about someone, being prepared to sacrifice, to think of their good and their happiness, not always your own.
He was undressing. He took off his shirt and underwear, then climbed into bed naked. For a moment, she froze, then she moved toward him and into his arms.
“What?” he asked. “You’re shivering.”
“Hold me,” she said.
“What is it?” he asked again.
“Making every minute count,” she said. “It will never be quite like this again.”
His arms tightened around her; he was already aroused.
She closed her eyes so that, even in the faintest illumination, he would not see the conflict in them. Whether he felt it in her body or not, she would have to pray that he read it differently.
* * *
—
In the morning, while he was out of the cabin at the toilet, she had two minutes in which to look in his clothes for any clue. There was nothing, just polished leather. She was at once disappointed and relieved. Could he possibly have committed a true list to memory? Or was there not one, apart from the one he had given her? His whole purpose was to incriminate the people most valuable, to destroy people’s trust in even the best. A different kind of betrayal altogether. With shaking hands, she replaced the belt exactly.
She was brushing her hair when he came back.
“I hope your shoes are comfortable,” he remarked. “We’re going ashore.” He glanced at her face.
It did not appear a very interesting port. It was in the center of a half-moon bay, with wharfs along the center and shipbuilding yards to the north. It seemed busy enough. There were five ships that Elena could see from the deck of their own, all loading or unloading cargo, and several heavy-duty cranes, some standing idle, others like long-necked dinosaurs bending and turning slowly. The town behind the harbor was small, but it would afford the only chance she had of escape.
“Looks all right,” she answered with a smile. “And it will be good to get off the ship and be able to walk more than twenty feet in a straight line.”
It was about half past ten when they were safely tied alongside the harbor, and they made their way past the piles of unloaded cargo to the street.
Elena had her bag with her passport and cameras, money and the comb. Her nerve might not hold, at least not well enough to fool him. She must not panic, but she had no idea of where the next port might be, or even if they would go ashore again. It must be at this one that she acted. She would walk with him as far as he wanted to go, making light conversation as naturally as possible. She would have to take her chance when she could, perhaps when they stopped at a café for a meal. She would go to the ladies’ room, or whatever was provided. It was the only opportunity to be alone she could rely on.
Aiden walked close beside her, taking her arm occasionally. It was absurd. In the past, she would have been thrilled to have his undivided attention, his presence so close she bumped into him if he turned too sharply.
They looked in shop windows, stopped at stalls with all kinds of goods in them, but they both knew without conversing that they had no money to spare.
They had lunch at an outdoor café. The food was edible—fish and stale Italian bread, cheap house wine—but to Elena it all tasted like cardboard.
She was turning over in her mind where she would go. There would not be any kind of British authority here; the place was far too small to warrant even a consul. If she turned to anyone for help, what would she say? The crew already thought she was lightly balanced; Aiden had seen to that.
But if she didn’t make a break now, what other chance would she have? She could not deny that Aiden would soon be on to her. He knew her too well. Her own body might betray her at the next intimate touch.
He would kill her. He would have to. Otherwise, she could tell MI6 about his success as a double agent, and his life would be over. She had to do it. Now.
They were done with their meal, the sunlight bright on the floor and on his hair.
She pushed back from the table and stood up. “Excuse me, I must go to the ladies’ room before we leave.” She pulled out some money from her purse and put it on his plate. Without waiting for his response, she walked between the tables and across the floor to the passage leading to the toilets. Would he be watching to make sure she came back? How could she evade him?
She used the facilities quickly, not knowing when there would be another chance, then came out and glanced at the dining area. Aiden was talking to the waiter and paying the bill.
It was now or never. She stepped out the back door, ran across the yard with its rubbish bins and storage shed, and into the street. It didn’t matter which way she ran, as long as it was away from here…and the front door.
How long would he wait for her? When he knew, he would be furious. It would all be in the open then, no more pretending about anything. Her life depended on getting away! She was shaking as the reality of it struck her, and she almost missed her footing on the cracked pavement. She must not run; it would attract attention. People would remember a woman running. One walking, they might not.
Elena had very little idea where she was going, or who she could ask for help. She still had some money left, perhaps enough to pay for lodging and a fare to somewhere else.
She crossed the road, hoping to lose herself in the crowd. On a side street, he would see her at a glance. This street was full of villagers, shoppers, women with children. For once, the blond hair was a disadvantage. The sun shone on it and made her stand out among darker heads. It was like a beacon.
She was nearly at the bus station when she saw him. Of course, he would have had the same thought: he knew her!
She stepped back into a doorway before he could turn in her direction and see her. But she also knew him. She must think. What would he do? What plans would he follow, what mistakes would he make?
What could she do that he would not foresee? What did he know of her? What might he have learned? That she was more resourceful than he had thought? Far braver than she used to be? But was she really any wiser underneath the brave new surface?
What choices had she? To stay in the crowd? Try to get out of the town on the first flight to anywhere? Or stay here overnight, sleep somewhere, and then try in the early morning? Nothing seemed any clearer. She went back into the crowd, bumping elbows with women who were carrying shopping baskets and overtired children, with many hours of work still ahead of them.
It was five minutes, ten, and then half an hour. She kept moving, although she was hot and tired, and her feet were beginning to hurt. Friction had rubbed her skin red and blisters would come again soon. She stopped for a little while and bought something to drink, all the time half watching over her shoulder.
It was late afternoon, the sun was beginning to sink in the west, when she saw him. He was only yards from her, the sunlight on his head. He was fairer and taller than most others around him, and she knew immediately, with an absolute certainty, that she was caught.
She turned to run, just as his hand closed like a vice on her arm. There was no point in fighting: he would only injure her. He could pull her arm out of its socket if he needed to. They were in the open, but she saw his anger, his contempt for her for having fooled him, even for a few hours.
Their eyes met. He said nothing, but it was startling how his face had changed. What was once almost beautiful now was frightening in its hatred. She thought of screaming but knew she would be dead before a sound came from her.
They went together all the way back to the port. People looked at them, but Aiden conducted a one
-way conversation, as if she were arguing with him. He twisted her arm so she cried out. People were embarrassed. Some might have been sorry for her, but no one intervened. The more she protested, the more hysterical she seemed.
Before the sky was blood red in the west, she was back on the ship.
“Don’t bother trying to persuade any of the crew,” Aiden said close to her ear. “They’ve all seen how hysterical you are, how emotionally unbalanced. I’ve told them the truth about our journey: that I’m taking you back to England for a doctor to help you. They understand, most of them, and not one of them will listen to you. I think perhaps you’d better have your meal in our cabin. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of those men.”
She could not think of any reply. Everything was closing in, getting harder, in fact, impenetrable. By nightfall, there might be nothing left. Aiden could take her up on deck after dark and easily knock her unconscious and toss her body overboard. He would say in the morning that she went out while he was asleep. He had locked the door, but she had found the key. She had been threatening suicide for a while. He was distraught with grief.
There would be nobody to argue with him, no proof of anything different, no one to question him, no one to ever know where she was. Lucas would never know.
That was the essence of spying, wasn’t it? Not being known? Utter aloneness? Disappearing without a trace.
Elena would not go quietly without leaving a mark. Gabrielle had given her a weapon. It might not save her, but she would damn well use it.
She dressed for dinner and, with some difficulty, twisted up her hair and fixed it at the back with Gabrielle’s comb. She put hairpins close to it, to stop it from falling out. If a few strands of hair escaped, it hardly mattered. She looked good, wearing a dress with red flowers, cheerful, as if she were happy.