World War II Thriller Collection (137 page)

He drove into the city, keeping a nervous eye out for policemen, and parked at the side of the Royal Theatre. A red carpet led up to the entrance, and he recalled that the King was attending this performance. A notice informed him that
Les Sylphides
was the last of three ballets on the program. A crowd of well-dressed people stood on the steps with drinks, and Harald gathered that he had arrived during the interval.

He went to the stage door, where he encountered an obstacle. The entrance was guarded by a uniformed commissionaire. “I need to speak to Karen Duchwitz,” Harald said.

“Out of the question,” the commissionaire told him. “She's about to go on stage.”

“It's really important.”

“You'll have to wait until afterward.”

Harald could see that the man was immovable. “How long is the ballet?”

“About half an hour, depending how fast the orchestra plays.”

Harald remembered that Karen had left a ticket for him at the box office. He decided he would watch her dance.

He went into the marble foyer, got his ticket, and entered the
auditorium. He had never been in a theater before, and he gazed in wonder at the lavish gilded decoration, the rising tiers of the circle, and the rows of red plush seats. He found his place in the fourth row and sat down. There were two German officers in uniform immediately in front of him. He checked his watch. Why did the ballet not start? Every minute brought Peter Flemming nearer.

He picked up a program that had been left on the seat beside him and flicked through it, looking for Karen's name. She was not on the cast list, but a slip of paper which fell out of the booklet said that the prima ballerina was indisposed and her place would be taken by Karen Duchwitz. It also revealed that the lone male dancer in the ballet would also be played by an understudy, Jan Anders, presumably because the principal man had also fallen victim to the gastric illness that had spread through the cast. This must be a worrying moment for the company, Harald thought, the leading roles being taken by students when the King was in the audience.

A few moments later he was startled to see Mr. and Mrs. Duchwitz take their seats two rows in front of him. He should have known they would not miss their daughter's big moment. At first he worried that they would see him. Then he realized it no longer mattered. Now that the police had found his hiding place, he did not need to keep it secret from anyone else.

He remembered guiltily that he was wearing Mr. Duchwitz's American sports jacket. It was fifteen years old, according to the tailor's label in the inside pocket, but Karen had not actually asked her father's permission to take it. Would Pa Duchwitz recognize it? Harald told himself he was foolish even to think about it. Being accused of stealing a jacket was the least thing he had to worry about.

He touched the roll of film in his pocket and wondered if there was any chance he and Karen could still escape in the Hornet Moth. A lot depended on Peter Flemming's train. If it came in early, Flemming and Mrs. Jespersen would be back at Kirstenslot before Harald and Karen. Perhaps they could avoid getting caught, but it was hard to see how they could get access to the aircraft with the police watching over it. On the other hand, with Hansen out of the way there was no guard on the aircraft at the moment. If Flemming's train did not get in until the early hours of the morning, perhaps there was a chance they could yet take off.

Mrs. Jespersen did not know that Harald had seen her. She thought she had plenty of time. That was the only thing in Harald's favor.

When would the damn show start?

After everyone was seated in the auditorium, the King came into the royal box. The audience stood up. It was the first time Harald had seen King Christian X in person, but the face was familiar from photographs, the downturned moustache giving it a permanently grim expression that was appropriate to the monarch of an occupied country. He was in evening dress and stood very upright. In pictures the King always wore some kind of hat, and now Harald saw for the first time that he was losing his hair.

When the King sat, the audience followed suit, and the lights went down. At last, Harald thought.

The curtain rose on twenty or more women motionless in a circle and one man standing at the twelve o'clock position. The dancers, all dressed in white, posed in a pale bluish light like moonlight, and the bare stage disappeared into dark shadows at its edges. It was a dramatic opening, and Harald was fascinated despite his worries.

The music played a slow, descending phrase, and the dancers moved. The circle widened, leaving four people motionless upstage, the man and three women. One of the women lay on the ground as if asleep. A slow waltz began.

Where was Karen? All the girls were in identical dresses, with tight bodices that left their shoulders bare, and full skirts that billowed as they danced. It was a sexy outfit, but the atmospheric lighting made them all look the same, and Harald could not tell which was Karen.

Then the sleeping one moved, and he recognized Karen's red hair. She glided to the center of the stage. Harald was taut with anxiety, fearing she would do something wrong and spoil her great day; but she seemed assured and controlled. She began to dance on the tips of her toes. It looked painful, and made Harald wince, but she seemed to float. The company formed patterns around her, lines and circles. The audience was silent and still, captivated by her, and Harald's heart filled with pride. He was glad she had decided to do this, no matter what the consequences.

The music changed key and the male dancer moved. As he leaped
across the stage, Harald thought he seemed uncertain and remembered that he, too, was an understudy, Anders. Karen had danced with confidence, making every move seem effortless, but there was tension in the boy's movements that gave his dancing a sense of risk.

The dance closed with the slow phrase that had opened it, and Harald realized there was no story, the dances would be as abstract as the music. He checked his watch. Only five minutes had passed.

The ensemble dispersed and re-formed in new configurations that framed a series of solo dances. All the music seemed to be in three-four time, and very melodic. Harald, who loved the discords of jazz, found it almost too sweet.

The ballet fascinated him, but nevertheless his mind wandered to the Hornet Moth, and Hansen tied up in the trunk of the Rolls, and Mrs. Jespersen. Could Peter Flemming have found the only punctual train in Denmark? If so, had he and Mrs. Jespersen gone to Kirstenslot yet? Had they found Hansen? Were they already lying in wait? How could Harald check? Perhaps he would approach the monastery through the woods, in the hope of spotting any ambush.

Karen began a solo dance, and he found himself more tense about her than about the police. He need not have worried: she was relaxed and self-possessed, swirling and tiptoeing and leaping as happily as if she were making it up as she went along. He was astonished at how she could perform some vigorous step, running or jumping across the stage, then come to an abrupt stop in a perfectly graceful pose, as if she had no inertia. She seemed to flout the laws of physics.

Harald became even more nervous when Karen began a dance with Jan Anders. It was called a pas de deux, he thought, although he was not sure how he knew that. Anders kept lifting her dramatically high in the air. Her skirt would billow up, showing her fabulous legs. Anders would hold her up, sometimes with one hand, while he struck a pose or moved around the stage. Harald feared for her safety, but again and again she came down with ease and grace. Nevertheless Harald was relieved when the pas de deux ended and the ensemble began. He checked his watch again. This must be the last dance, thank God.

Anders performed several spectacular leaps during the last dance, and reprised some of his lifts with Karen. Then, as the music built to a climax, disaster struck.

Anders lifted Karen again, then held her in the air with his hand in the small of her back. She stretched out parallel to the ground. Her legs curved forward with pointed toes, and her arms reached backward over her head, making an arch. They held the pose for a moment. Then Anders slipped.

His left foot shot out from under him. He staggered and fell flat on his back. Karen tumbled to the stage beside him, landing on her right arm and leg.

The audience gasped with horror. The other dancers rushed to the two fallen figures. The music played on for a few bars then died away. A man in black trousers and a black sweater came on from the wings.

Anders got to his feet, holding his elbow, and Harald saw that he was crying. Karen tried to get up but fell back. The figure in black made a gesture, and the curtain came down. The audience burst into excited chatter.

Harald realized he was standing up.

He saw Mr. and Mrs. Duchwitz, two rows in front of him, get to their feet and push urgently along the row, excusing themselves to the people they were passing. They were obviously intending to go backstage. Harald decided to do the same.

It was painfully slow getting out of the row of seats. In his anxiety, he had to restrain himself from simply walking along everyone's knees. But he reached the aisle at the same time as the Duchwitzes. “I'm coming with you,” he said.

“Who are you?” said her father.

Her mother answered the question. “It's Josef's friend Harald, you've met him before. Karen is sweet on him, let him come.”

Mr. Duchwitz grunted assent. Harald had no idea how Mrs. Duchwitz knew that Karen was “sweet” on him, but he was relieved to be accepted as part of the family.

As they reached the exit, the audience fell silent. The Duchwitzes and Harald turned at the door. The curtain had come up. The stage was empty but for the man in black.

“Your Majesty, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “By good fortune, the company doctor was in the audience tonight.” Harald guessed that everyone associated with the ballet company would want to be present for a royal performance. “The doctor is already backstage, and is examining our two principals. He has told me that neither appears to be gravely injured.”

There was a scatter of applause.

Harald was relieved. Now that he knew she was going to be all right, he thought for the first time about how the accident might affect their escape. Even if they could get at the Hornet Moth, would Karen be able to fly it?

The man in black resumed. “As you know from your program, both lead roles were played by understudies tonight, as were many of the other parts. Nevertheless, I hope you agree with me that they all danced wonderfully well, and gave a superb performance almost to the very end. Thank you.”

The curtain came down, and the audience applauded. It came up again to reveal the cast, minus Karen and Anders, and they took a bow.

The Duchwitzes went out, and Harald followed.

They hurried to the stage door. An usher took them to Karen's dressing room.

She was sitting with her right arm in a sling. She looked stunningly beautiful in the creamy white gown, with her shoulders bare and the rise of her breasts showing above the bodice. Harald felt breathless, and did not know whether the cause was anxiety or desire.

The doctor was kneeling in front of her, wrapping a bandage around her right ankle.

Mrs. Duchwitz rushed to Karen, saying, “My poor baby!” She put her arms around Karen and hugged her. It was what Harald would have liked to do.

“Oh, I'm all right,” Karen said, though she looked pale.

Mr. Duchwitz spoke to the doctor. “How is she?”

“She's fine,” the man said. “She's sprained her wrist and ankle. They'll be painful for a few days, and she must take it easy for at least two weeks, but she'll get over it.”

Harald was relieved that her injuries were not serious, but his immediate thought was, Can she fly?

The doctor fastened the bandage with a safety pin and stood up. He patted her bare shoulder. “I'd better go and see Jan Anders. He didn't fall as hard as you, but I'm a bit worried about his elbow.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

His hand lingered on her shoulder, to Harald's annoyance. “You'll dance as wonderfully as ever, don't you worry.” He left.

Karen said, “Poor Jan, he can't stop crying.”

Harald thought Anders should be shot. “It was his fault—he dropped you!” he said indignantly.

“I know, that's why he's so upset.”

Mr. Duchwitz looked at Harald with irritation. “What are you doing here?”

Once again it was his wife who answered. “Harald has been living at Kirstenslot.”

Karen was shocked. “Mother, how did you know?”

“Do you think nobody noticed how the leftovers disappeared from the kitchen every night? We mothers aren't stupid, you know.”

Mr. Duchwitz said, “But where does he sleep?”

“In the disused church, I expect,” his wife replied. “That would be why Karen was so keen to keep it locked.”

Harald was horrified that his secret had been so easily unveiled. Mr. Duchwitz was looking angry but, before he could explode, the King walked in.

Everyone fell silent.

Karen tried to stand up, but he stopped her. “My dear girl, please stay just where you are. How do you feel?”