Survival. That was what Studley was going to do...survive. One way and another...any way, he'd survive. Jane would need him; they'd need each other.
Jane...God, dear Jane. For twelve years they'd loved each other. It was hard to know exactly when it had all begun, or even how it had started. There wasn't a particular hour or even day when he'd suddenly thought he loved her, wanted her. There had been mess dinners, mess balls; the three of them always seemed to to together. Sometimes he took a lady guest with him, but it wasn't too easy to meet single women as you got older. Sometime during the evening he would find himself dancing with Jane; Max preferred to remain near a bar. The number of dances seemed to grow...the number of times she was in his arms. Even then, neither of them had said anything nor made a positive move. It was just that somehow over the years it changed; the way they held each other while they danced...the way their arms had linked as they walked from the floor.
One night they had stood together on the mess terrace; it had become too hot inside, after midnight. It had been the summer ball, and quite a grand affair...three bars, a disco for the younger officers, the regimental band in the main hall. He and Jane were close enough for their bodies to be touching and he had automatically put his arm around her waist. He felt at the time it had been a protective movement, not suggestive. She moved even closer and he had felt the firmness of her hip against his thigh, and known at that second they both wanted each other desperately. Jane had felt the same, he knew, for instinctively their eyes had met and he had seen her quickly hide the emotion.
'Let's go and have a drink. I'm very thirsty...something long and cool.' Her voice was over-flippant, sounding very young, uncertain. He noticed she avoided his eyes now and shook her dark hair back over her shoulders, nervously. She and Max had married young. Paul had been born before she was twenty, he was seven only a few weeks before the ball.
'I don't know if I can face the crowd for a few minutes.' He intended it as an excuse to delay her, but she had misunderstood him.
'I can't either.' Her voice had been flat, weary. 'Sometimes I think they're watching us...their eyes following us everywhere. Sometimes I think they can read my mind.' She became angry. 'I hate these evenings. I hate the dressing up, all the gold braid, the artificial camaraderie and the inane conversations...I hate anaesthetizing myself with gin and tonics so I've got the guts to dance with you all night in front of them, and the courage to let you leave me at the end.' She had turned away from him and stared across the dark lawns and rose beds. She was gripping his hand tightly.
'What can we do?' Her outburst had startled him, forcing him to acknowledge his own feelings.
'Nothing! If I'd once loved Max and now I hated him, it would be easy; I'd be strong enough to leave him. But I never loved him, so my feelings haven't changed. I've always liked him, and I still do. And you can't hurt someone you like so much.'
They avoided each other during the following weeks, until it became obvious to Max. 'You and Jane had a fight?'
'Jane? Good heavens, no!'
'We haven't seen much of you.'
Studley had lied. 'It's not been deliberate, Max. I just don't seem to have got around to socializing lately.'
'Dinner, Saturday evening then? Drinks about eight. Bozy and Felicity will be along. Jane and I thought we should invite Challace, introduce his wife to some of the other ladies of the regiment. It's never easy for a new officer's missus.'
Max, always friendly, concerned and dependable. He wasn't even built like a soldier, stocky, rounded. Gieves and Hawkes found it difficult to get a military cut to his suits. In civvies he always managed to look like a contented country vicar; perhaps he should have been, it would have suited his easy-going temperament. 'Thanks, I'll be along.'
There was another evening, later, in the mess. He and Max were alone. 'Ever think of getting married, James?'
'Thought, once or twice.' He had attempted to change the subject, but Max persisted; he had downed several drinks.
'You should look around.'
'It's hardly possible here in Germany.'
'When we're in Ireland then. Daughter of a wealthy Irish landowner.'
'For God's sake, Max...what opportunity do we get for socializing in Ireland?'
'The Queen Alexander's Nursing Corps; there are some smashers amongst the nurses. Point one out to me and I'll get Jane to invite her to dinner. Being a batchelor is no life for you, James.'
'It suits me.'
'It'll make you sour. You need a wife and a couple of kids.'
'Something I wanted to mention; the MT, sheds...there's a hold-up with...'
'Have you ever met Charlesworth's daughter? I know she's quite young, but...'
'Max!'
It had been a full year after the incident at the ball before he and Jane had become lovers. It hadn't been planned. Again, it was summer...long and dry, the grass scorching brown and the leaves becoming dusted on the trees near the roadsides. Max had suggested the trip into the mountains south of Hildesheim; it was an easy run down the autobahn. 'Find ourselves an inn and stay overnight. Get some good food and a breath of fresh mountain air. Take a rod, James, there may be a decent trout stream.'
It had been too tempting to refuse; not the thought of being with Jane, but the chance to get away from the barracks and the countryside around Bergen.
Saturday morning came and with it the unexpected arrival of a friend of Max's from the Royal Tank Regiment at Herford, passing through on his way to a NATO posting in Denmark.
Max's apologies. 'Go on ahead. I'll have lunch with him here in the mess, and we can meet this evening at Salzdetfurth. Take rooms at the
gasthof,
and I'll be there in time for drinks.'
'It doesn't matter, we'll wait...well travel together later. Or we can put the whole thing off until another weekend.'
Max wouldn't hear of it. 'Jane can't stand the fellow. Hates him! Didn't even like him when we were at college together. No, you two go ahead.'
They had driven down the long highway, busy with weekend traffic. The holiday season had not yet ended, and there were families heading south with camping trailers, their cars heavy with luggage. Repair works slowed the journey, funnelling the traffic across the central barriers, reducing the cruising speed. They had stopped for lunch at an autobahn restaurant south of the Hannover intersection, and been happier once they had left the main highway after Hildesheim and taken the narrower mountain roads.
They stopped near a wooded stream, a tributary of the Leine near Bockenhem, and sat beneath the rowans and beeches. There was a kingfisher hunting the shallow pools, and the cool sounds of water bubbling amongst the rocks. They were both cautious, shy, avoiding any physical contact, aware of the dangers of such a trigger. They talked a little. Jane dozed, while Studley rested with his back against the bole of an old beech and let the problems of the week slip away.
It was five by the time they reached the
gasthof
and booked rooms; almost seven when Max telephoned from the mess at Bergen.
'Damn him, Max. We're booked in here.' Studley could hear Jane's voice, peeved with the knowledge Max was probably only delayed because he couldn't deny his hospitality. 'James and I will have dinner, then drive back...pretty crowded but they'll have cleared...no, of course not...well, I'm not exactly delighted...Charles should have given you warning, anyway...well, yes, it would probably be better...about eleven...if we've gone out, we'll leave a message for you. Yes...I'll see you then...' She hung up and spoke to Studley. 'Charles has decided to stop over for the night, and Max is having dinner with him.'
'I suppose I'd better unbook our rooms.'
'No need. Max suggests we stay. He'll be down in the morning, about eleven.'
He knew by her tone of voice she had decided that some time in the next few hours they would make love. He was uncertain for a while if it was because of her annoyance with Max or a decision to relax the tight control she had maintained over her feelings for the past months. There had been occasions when he had considered that some time in the future this kind of situation might arise, and he had wondered how he would deal with it. The simple answer was to avoid it, but now it was happening. He didn't feel like a gentleman, but neither did he feel guilty.
'I noticed a prettier restaurant further down the road, shall we give it a try?'
'I'd like that, James.'
She had hooked her arm in his, affectionately, once they had left the
gasthof
to stroll through the town. The restaurant had been small, intimate, Bavarian in its conception. He couldn't remember what they had eaten, only her face; her eyes watching him across the candlelit table.
Sometime after midnight they had returned to the
gasthof,
its stone-flagged hallway smelling of cigar smoke and beer, echoing their footsteps. It seemed deserted.
Their two rooms were adjoining. He had opened the door to his own, and she had walked inside, there had been no suggestion, no invitations. There was moonlight in the room, and for the first time they kissed. It was gentle, tender. He could taste the perfume on her neck and shoulders as he undressed her, the light summer clothing slipping away until she was naked; there was a moment of awkwardness as he stripped, then she was in his arms, her body small, warm against his own.
She was slender, and be felt her pelvis against his thighs and let his hands trace her soft curves. The bed had been only a step away in the small room, and she had lain in the bright square of moonlight that shone through the uncurtained window.
He remembered how careful the lovemaking had been, unhurried, almost measured at first as though they were both inexperienced, then intensifying, gathering urgency and excitement as he entered her and felt the heat of her body envelop him. She had cried out with her orgasm and her fingers had dug deep into his muscles.
The thoughts of her normally warmed him, but now, trapped in the gloomy interior of the enemy vehicle and filled with an inescapable sense of failure, he felt even more lonely and despondent.
There was no retreat from the present. The metal hatch above his head was pulled open, and a thick-set guard gestured that he should climb out. The rich orb of the autumn sun had already dropped below the tops of the trees, and the clearing was streaked with lengthening shadows. Studley began to walk towards the tent where he first met the GRU officer, but the guard stopped him and pushed him in the direction of the woods with the barrel of his AKS-74.
Studley's calf wound made it difficult for him to move quickly, and the guard was impatient. Studley didn't understand the man's Russian, but knew he was being cursed. He wondered if he were about to be shot. It was a frightening thought. He wouldn't make it easy for them. He decided to wait until he was further into the woodland and then tempt the guard to get closer to him. If the man was foolish enough to prod him with his rifle again, there was a chance he might be able to overpower him and with a weapon in his hands his chances of survival were greatly improved. But there was no opportunity for him to begin to put his plan into operation for only a few paces into the woods, hidden beneath carefully draped branches and netting, was an armoured vehicle. Unlike the BMPs this was wheeled, and Studley thought it was probably a version of the BTR, perhaps a modified command post.
The GRU captain was waiting inside, impatiently, the clipboard of Studley's details beneath his arm. He spoke brusquely, making no attempt to maintain his apparent former respect for Studley's senior rank. 'You have had the hour I promised. Where is the paper I gave you?'
Studley met the Russian's eyes and held his gaze. 'I threw it away.' He could feel the muscles of his shoulders and back tightening, a childhood defence against anger which he had not experienced for many years. He straightened himself deliberately into a military posture he knew would make him appear arrogant.
The Russian noticed the action but ignored it. 'I have another sheet prepared. We shall work with that.'
'You're wasting your time.'
'We shall see.' There was the hint of a threat in the man's voice. He was twenty-nine or thirty years old and clean-shaven. He wore his peaked hat pushed casually back off his forehead, and the hair above his ears seemed longer than the normal Soviet military style. Hi face was sallow, angular, hollowing sharply beneath the cheekbones; hinting at an ancestry in the eastern regions of the USSR. 'You must realize it will be better for you to assist me. All senior officers of your military services will be required to face a Soviet People's Court in due time. The decisions they reach will be influenced by our reports. If your records show you have attempted to help us, then the People's Court will be lenient. If not, your punishment will be greater. At the very least you will face a long term of imprisonment. Do you understand me?'