Silhouette in Scarlet (20 page)

‘Okay.’

‘My men will be on guard, outside and in. No one is to leave.’

‘Okay, okay.’

‘Go straight to your room.’

‘Can I get a snack first?’

‘Oh, very well. But be quick about it.’

‘I’ll take it to my room.’

He trailed along. Maybe he was hoping I’d suggest a congenial chat over a cup of coffee. I didn’t. I piled a tray with bottles of beer, cheese, bread, and sausages. Max watched, eyes
widening as the comestibles piled up, but he made no comment until I poured milk into a bowl and stooped to put in on the floor.

‘For the cat?’ he asked.

‘No, for the pixies.’

‘Perhaps it does not like milk,’ Max said seriously. ‘Marguerite will not touch it.’

‘Marguerite sounds like one damned spoiled cat.’

Max was offended. ‘Are you finished?’ he asked stiffly.

‘I guess so.’ I hefted the tray with the never-to-be-forgotten skill I had acquired one summer as a waitress at Joe’s Café and went out.

The wing in which our rooms were located was connected to the central block by a door from which a corridor led straight down the length of the wing, with doors on either side. Rudi had taken up
a position by the connecting door. He stiffened to attention when his boss appeared, his gun at the ready. The velvet armchair in which he was sitting detracted slightly from the picture of
military discipline, but one could hardly blame him for wanting to be comfortable if he was going to be there all night.

He looked yearningly at my loaded tray, and Max, who missed very little, said sharply, ‘You will take no food or drink from her.’

‘But of course not,’ Rudi said, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

I swayed on down the corridor. (Carrying a tray necessitates a certain rhythm of the hips. At least that was the custom at Joe’s.) John emerged from the bathroom, timing his exit with such
precision that we met just outside the door.

‘Any time now,’ he said, out of the corner of his mouth. Max trotted up, ears pricked; John turned the twist of his mouth into a leer and gave me a long vertical inspection, from
head to foot.

‘A little late-night supper
à deux
?’ he inquired. ‘What a super idea. Who’s the lucky lad?’

‘Not you,’ said Max indignantly. ‘Get into your room and do not leave it.’

‘But what if I have to get up during the night to – ’

Max shoved him into his room and slammed the door. ‘What a tedious person he is,’ he remarked. I could not but agree.

Since John was a master at double entendres of all varieties, I took his comments to indicate approval of the plan I had cleverly concocted. I could not be sure whether he had indicated Leif or
Hans when he spelled out ‘distract,’ but by keeping the former in situ (to use an archaeological term), I could immobilize Hans at the same time. I assumed the latter was outside. The
doors and windows were the only exits from the bedrooms, and Rudi was covering the doors.

‘Mr Hasseltine is in this room,’ Max said helpfully, indicating the door.

‘You are becoming a trifle tedious yourself, Max,’ I said. ‘Get lost, will you? Rudi is audience enough.’

Max removed himself. I kicked the door. After a minute Leif opened it. ‘You,’ he exclaimed.

‘Me,’ I agreed. ‘I thought you might be feeling a bit peckish.’

‘Peckish?’

‘Speak German. I understand it, you know.’

Smiling, he took the tray, ushered me inside, and kicked the door shut, in one movement. ‘What a pleasant idea. We may as well take what enjoyment we can from the situation.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being forward,’ I said. ‘To be truthful, I felt the need of companionship. I’m very nervous.’

‘Of course you are.’ He put the tray on a table and gallantly helped me into a chair. ‘But I’m sure we have nothing to worry about, Vicky. Max has taken a fancy to you
– which is not surprising.’

This went on for a while – me expressing girlish timidity, Leif manfully reassuring me – while we drank beer and ate cheese. Gradually the light faded to a soft grey twilight, but
the darkness I had hoped for did not come. The only encouraging note was the fact that Hans was indeed distracted. The curtains at the window fluttered in the breeze; every now and then a bundle of
fingers shaped like sausages would catch at a blowing fold to keep it out of the line of vision.

When Leif set his empty bottle down with a decisive thump and wiped the crumbs off his lips, I knew the second stage of the entertainment – the part Hans was waiting for – was about
to begin. Leif rose from his chair. With slow, deliberate strides he came to me and held out his hands. I gave him mine. He lifted me into his arms.

It may have been the change in language. People sound much more formal when they speak a tongue that is not their own unless they speak it fluently. They even act more formally, as if
constrained by the necessity of thinking what word to use next. The hands that fondled me, the lips that explored mine might have belonged to a stranger, not the big ox who had mauled me in the
park in Stockholm. I was decidedly short of breath and very, very cooperative when he picked me up, as easily as he might have lifted a child, and carried me towards the bed.

I am a declared feminist, but I have never believed that economic and political equality (which we’re a helluva long way from having, by the way) should have anything to do with the
relations between the sexes – the romantic aspects, as Schmidt would have said. Like every other woman I cherish secret fantasies. My favourite is to be short. I dreamed of having a man hold
me close, with my cheek resting on his chest, not his ear. Of feeling the steady, passionate beat of his heart, not his bristly beard. Of having his lips pressed against my hair, not the other way
around.

Now I was living my fantasy, and I didn’t like it.

Also, I couldn’t concentrate on the matter at hand. I kept thinking of Gus, languishing in his dank, dirty prison; of John, prowling the grounds; of Hans, who was probably halfway in the
room by now, the lousy Peeping Tom . . .

‘I can’t,’ I gasped, and rolled off the far side of the bed.

‘
Liebchen, mein Schatz, mein Herzliebchen –
’

‘Yes, right,’ I gabbled, tucking my blouse into my jeans. ‘I’m sorry, Leif, I’m really sorry. I can’t stand it, it’s too much. Max is probably
going to shoot me tomorrow or the next day, and Hans is watching every move we make, and I – I’m just not in the mood, dammit.’

In case he harboured any doubts as to my sincerity, I burst into tears.

The flood quenched Leif’s ardour. Possibly the idea of providing a free peepshow for Hans didn’t appeal to him either. He was very nice. He patted me and told me to get a good
night’s sleep. ‘I promise you, on my honour, that you will not be harmed,’ he said solemnly. ‘And when this is over – ’

‘Yes. Oh, yes Leif . . . No, Leif. Remember Hans.’

Somehow I made it back to my room, trying not to see Rudi’s knowing grin. My hands were shaking so badly it seemed to take forever to get out of my clothes and into my nightgown. I was
disgusted with myself, but I couldn’t help it. The night air felt bitterly cold. Even after I had gotten into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin I couldn’t stop shivering.

I was reluctant to close the shutters, even though it was still exasperatingly light outside and Hans was on the prowl. I could hear the crunch of gravel under his feet as he walked up and down.
I assumed – I hoped -John had managed to get out while Hans was playing voyeur. I wondered how he planned to get back in. Maybe he had counted on me to keep up the distraction. Too bad. There
are limits.

I was still awake, twisting and turning, when I heard an outrageous burst of noise outside – a shrill caterwauling of animal rage, a deeper howl that sounded equally inhuman. Heavy
footsteps pounded along the path. My curtains billowed and a dark form slid into the room and fell across my feet.

‘Scream,’ John said breathlessly. ‘It won’t take him long to – ’

‘You’re squashing my legs.’

‘Scream, damn it!’ He grabbed a handful of my nightie and tried to tear it. I defy Muhammad Ali to rend a wad of Dacron; it just stretches, interminably. John swore, I started to
laugh – an insane, high-pitched giggle that afflicts me in times of stress. He flung back the covers and swung the rest of his body into the bed. I yelped. His feet were bare, and as cold and
clammy as those of a corpse.

‘Louder and faster,’ said my seducer. I obliged with a series of shrieks, ranging from ‘Rape’ to ‘Fire.’ The response was gratifyingly prompt. It was nice to
know I need not fear being raped or set on fire in that house. Killed, maybe, but not sexually molested or immolated.

Rudi was the first to arrive. He had the presence of mind to switch on the light. Max and Leif were right behind him; they all stared. John had his hand over my mouth, to keep me from laughing,
and I was wriggling as I tried to get his elbow out of my stomach.

I squirmed out from under him and sat up. His dark slacks and sweater were dry, but his skin had the slimy dankness of a fish’s scales. When I saw Leif’s face I stopped laughing. He
came at the bed in a rush. I bounded up and threw myself in front of John, who had prudently retired into the farthest-possible corner. He made no attempt to prevent me.

The bed, and Max’s shout, brought Leif to a stop. Veins bulged in his forehead. ‘I will kill him,’ he said quietly.

‘Not you,’ Max corrected. ‘Where is that stupid . . . Hans!’

Hans was stuck in the window. Lacking the sense to turn sideways, he just stood there grunting and shoving. Max pointed out his options, in words that clanked like ice cubes, and Hans climbed
into the room. His cheek was bleeding freely from a long row of parallel scratches. His face went blank with disbelief when he saw John.

‘How did he get here?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ Max said through his teeth.

Now that the tension had subsided somewhat, John considered that it was safe to come out from behind my skirts.

‘He turned his back for a few moments,’ he said, with a patronizing smile. ‘That was all I needed.’

‘You turned your back?’ Max said to Hans.

Hans turned pink, like an embarrassed baby. He had very fair skin. ‘
Aber Herr Max – die Dame war hier im Zimmer, und da war das Fenster, und wenn sie aus dem Fenster geschaut
hätte . . .’

‘That shows a delicate mind, Hans,’ I said. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘
Und,
’ Hans went on, indignation replacing modesty, ‘
die Katze hat mich –
’

‘
Herr Gott allmächtigf!’
Max shouted. Then he got a grip on himself and inquired carefully, ‘How long ago did this – turning of your back occur?’

‘Not long, Herr Max, not long at all. Only a few moments ago.’

‘Hmph.’ Max’s frown lessened a trifle. ‘Then no great harm has been done. However, I grow weary of Mr Smythe’s frivolities. I think the time has come –
’ He paused, his eyes moving deliberately over each of us in turn. My mouth went dry. ‘Max,’ I said.

‘Hans,’ Max said.

John tried to get behind me again. Hans’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder and yanked him out into the open.

‘Take him into the cellar,’ Max said.

John’s face turned a pale shade of green. His complexion was the only part of him he couldn’t control; when he spoke, his voice was steady. ‘Don’t do anything you might
regret, Max.’

‘I thought as much.’ Max folded his arms. ‘You have information.’

‘A tidbit or two. I’ve been saving them for an emergency. It appears,’ John said wryly, ‘that the emergency is upon me. I’m ready for a trade.’

‘You are in no position to bargain. The cellar, Hans.’

‘You’ll get no cooperation from me if you go through with this, Max,’ I said. My voice was not at all steady.

‘I regret.’ Max gestured. Hans transferred his grip to John’s arm and shoved him towards the door. The audience had grown to include Georg, who had observed the proceedings
with a singularly unattractive smile.

‘I’ll come along,’ he said, baring a few more teeth. ‘I would enjoy watching.’

‘Georg!’ his brother exclaimed.

‘Watching is about all you’re capable of doing,’ John said rudely. ‘You ineffectual, effeminate, impotent junkie.’

He could have avoided the blow. Georg telegraphed his punch, and his coordination was shot to hell. In fact, it appeared to me that at the last moment John leaned into it. Georg’s fist
landed on his cheekbone and John went limp, as gracefully as Errol Flynn in the grasp of the Inquisition.

I sat down. There didn’t seem to be anything else I could do.

I should have worn the rest of the night away pacing and wringing my hands. Actually, my eyes closed the minute I lay down, and I slept like a baby. The weather may have been
partially responsible. When I woke, the room was in shadow; clouds hung heavy in the sky and a sharp wind snapped the curtains.

I rolled over and reached for the hard object that was poking into my hip. It was a round, squat bottle, made of dark plastic and carrying a pharmacist’s label.
‘Multivitamins,’ the label said. I shook it experimentally. There was no rattle of capsules, only the shifting of some nonliquid substance.