Above Suspicion (16 page)

“Where’s your friend?” asked Richard, when the rush of conversation offered its first pause.

“Tony? Oh, he should be here any day, I hope. That’s why I’m hanging about Innsbruck. We went to Prague, you know, and didn’t find ourselves very welcome by the—authorities. Things were a little difficult, really. It seemed easier if we split up, and if I came here to let him get his job done.”

The mention of Prague had interested van Cortlandt.

“Did you run into trouble?” he asked.

Thornley nodded. “A little.” He saw that they were all waiting for him to explain. He could hardly ignore the interest in all their eyes.

“Is Tony in danger?” asked Frances. At least that would give him the chance to say no, and to turn the conversation.

“Actually, he is looking for a girl.”

Van Cortlandt and Richard exchanged glances.

“What’s wrong with that?” asked the American with a smile.

“Nice healthy pursuit,” agreed Richard.

“Usually,” said Thornley. “But in this case she is the daughter of a professor who wasn’t exactly popular with the new regime.”

“Don’t tell us unless you want to,” said Frances suddenly.

“Probably I’d be better confiding in someone. You’ve no idea how miserable you begin to feel inside when you can’t talk to anyone. I’ve been waiting here just like that for two weeks… The story is simple and innocent enough, heaven knows. Tony began worrying about this girl when he heard her father had been removed. He had met her in England last summer, and since May he has become determined to get to Prague to see if she were all right. He had the idea of marrying her and getting her out of the country as a British citizen. Well, we got to Prague. It wasn’t particularly pleasant for us,
being English.” He paused reflectively. “It became obvious that I was inclined to get involved in things, and there was no sign of Tony’s girl. In the end he thought it was better for him to do the job alone. He can control his temper better than I can. So I came on here, and I’m waiting for Tony and his girl to arrive. I said I would wait until the end of July.”

“What happens if he doesn’t turn up before the end of the month?” asked van Cortlandt.

“That would be a nuisance. I’d have to go back to Prague.”

“I’d like to join you.”

“Would you?” Thornley was pleased. “It’s mostly strain, I warn you. Not very pleasant, really. The Czechs are suspicious, the Germans are intolerable. I can’t say I blame the Czechs at all. It is just like that all the time, you see, and then you start to be haunted by the girl too. Tony’s infected me.”

“Did you know her?”

“I’ve seen photographs. And Tony would say something now and again. She seemed a winner.”

“Perhaps she is in hiding with her father,” suggested Frances.

Thornley looked at her. His grey eyes were colder, brighter. “He is definitely dead,” he said gently. It was the kind of gentleness which shocked them all into silence. Frances noted, as she lit another cigarette, that van Cortlandt was looking at Thornley in a different way. The revision process had no doubt begun.

Richard ordered more beer, and coffee for Frances.

“We are leaving tomorrow,” he intimated, “for Pertisau.”

Frances blinked her eyes, and tried to look unconcerned. It was hardly the change in conversation which she had expected.

“I envy you,” said Thornley. “Good place. Mountains and
lake, and plenty of atmosphere. At least, it was four years ago. I suppose it is still: the small villages keep to their own ways longer than the towns, and mountains and forests don’t change.”

“I envy you, too,” agreed van Cortlandt. “Sidewalks in summer become just one cafe table after another for me. Climbing isn’t up my alley, though. I’ve never understood why people go up, when all they can do is come down again. But I’d like some real swimming. I haven’t had much chance of it this summer.”

“Then why don’t you both take a few days off, and come along?”

Both van Cortlandt and Thornley looked surprised.

“You both look as if you could do with some time off,” said Richard, and left it at that.

Thornley and van Cortlandt eyed each other speculatively. Each was probably wondering if the idea would be as attractive tomorrow as it seemed tonight.

“It sounds all right to me,” said the American.

“It certainly seems a good idea,” said Thornley.

“I’ve some business to do here. It depends on that,” qualified van Cortlandt.

“And I’d hate to butt in,” finished Thornley.

They both looked at Frances. She sipped her coffee, and regained her composure.

“Richard never makes a suggestion out of mere politeness,” she said. “If he actually invited anyone then that means he really would like them to accept.” She smiled to the two men, and added, “I think it would be fun.”

“Yes,” agreed Thornley.

“Well, I’ve had a grand evening,” said van Cortlandt. “It would be a pity to miss any others we could have. If I can arrange the business on hand, I’ll take you up on that suggestion.”

Richard finished the debate. “We’ll be there for about a week, and if we leave before you arrive we shall ’phone you and let you know. If you can make it, then turn up any time you feel like it. We’ll leave it at that. I don’t know where we shall stay, yet. Let’s say the Hotel Post; there’s always a Post in Austria. If you can’t manage it, then we’ll see you in London, we hope.”

They rose and straggled to the door. The restaurant was nearly empty; it must have been later than any of them had imagined. They parted with a good deal of warmth. Frances, who had been drinking coffee, wondered how much the beer had to do with it all. She watched the American and the Englishman walk away together, still talking their heads off.

“I’d like to see them again,” she said and took Richard’s arm. “I wonder if they’ll come. You know, Richard, you did give me a shock when you suggested it. Won’t it complicate matters?”

Richard shook his head. “Beer or no beer, I liked them. It’s strange how you can meet some people, and you might as well have been spending the evening looking at a fishmonger’s window. And then, again, you meet others, and a small flag waves, and you are a fool if you ignore it.”

“Especially nowadays,” said Frances. “I’m all for gathering the rosebuds while we may.”

The street was almost empty. The light tap of Frances’ heels alone broke the silence. She waited until they had reached a part of it where they were sure of being quite alone. She lowered her voice.

“Did the second bill tell you whom we are to see?”

“He’s a chess collector, this one. Welcomes any fellow-enthusiast to view his collection. It should be easy getting in touch with him.”

That was all Richard would tell, then. When Frances spoke again, it was about van Cortlandt and Thornley; she was still worrying about endangering them.

“They can take very good care of themselves, these two. If they come. What’s more, we were told to behave completely normally. So I did.”

Frances added nothing to that. For one thing, they were approaching the hotel. For another, she had the dawning suspicion that Richard was going to leave her under the young men’s protection while he was being a fellow-enthusiast. She would see about that.

Johann was charmingly regretful in his mild way next morning when he found them completing their packing. He advised Richard about the trains, and arranged to take their suitcases to the station. As he spoke he watched Frances pack bottles and hairbrushes into her fitted hand case.

“How beautiful,” he said involuntarily, and then reddened as Frances looked up in surprise. “That leather, how is it made? I have admired your shoes each day. The material is so good.” He looked at their flannel suits. “I don’t quite understand it,” he went on. “Are English sheep and cattle and horses so very much better than other countries’?”

Frances kept her face serious. “No, Johann, I don’t think they are. Perhaps it is because the English are a slow and careful sort of people. Sometimes slowness has results.” She would like to have added that even if his country hadn’t got materials like these, they had always plenty of tanks and aeroplanes,
but she didn’t. Johann’s sense of humour didn’t stretch to the irony of that.“Yes, they are slow people, I have heard. Their thoroughness is different from ours; sometimes it seems strange that they should ever get results.” He hesitated. “May I ask the Herr Professor a question? Do you think there will be war?”

Richard paused in locking his suitcase. He chose his words carefully.

“Well, that depends, Johann. It depends on Germany. If she makes war against Poland, then there will be war.”

“But why should England go to war for Poland? The Poles are not worth it.”

“They do not deserve to be obliterated.”

“But you did not go to war for the Czechs.”

“You agreed that the British are slow. It has taken time to change them from hopes of peace to a determination to fight, if it is necessary. If Poland is attacked, the British will see
that
as a sign that fighting is necessary. It is quite simple, Johann. If Germany does not want war then she must not attack Poland.”

“Another war would be a dreadful thing,” said Johann.

“Do many of your friends feel that way?” asked Frances.

“Of course,
gnädige Frau.
We are human beings.”

“It seems so strange then that Germany should have twice built up the most powerful army in the world, within thirty years. Armies cost a lot of money, Johann. And the money is wasted unless the armies are used and pay for themselves by winning. It is a very dangerous thing to build up a huge army when the rest of the world is at peace.”

Johann was searching for a reply; what was it he had heard so often?

“But,” he said at last, “we have to prepare against attack.”

“From whom?” asked Frances gently.

“From all our enemies. France, for instance.”

“Johann, do you really think that if France was prepared for attack she would ever have had to sign at Munich? Tell me, when you lived in what was called Austria, were you all afraid of being attacked by France? Did you feel then that you must have the biggest air force in the world?”

Richard signed to Frances to ease up. As he explained afterwards, it would only land the boy in trouble if he really started to think for himself.

Johann was, indeed, looking worried. “If only you could live in our country for some years, you would understand,
gnädige Frau.”
Frances, in obedience to Richard’s signal, contented herself with smiling.

Richard spoke. “The cases are ready, Johann; you can take them away whenever you like. Leave the checks for them downstairs at the desk, and we shall get them there.”

“Yes, Herr Professor.” Johann looked unhappy about something. Perhaps it was that he hadn’t made any converts to his cause. Or perhaps, thought Frances, he had found a question which the answers he had learned did not fit.

“You have made our stay very comfortable,” said Frances, and was glad to see him cheer up. “And when you have that hotel of your own in the Tyrol you must let us know, and we shall come and stay there one summer.” Johann flushed with pleasure; he saw that she meant what she said.

“It would give me the greatest pleasure to have you at my hotel,
gnädige Frau.”
Johann said with unexpected dignity.

“Goodbye, Johann,” said Richard. It was always he, it seemed, who had to close Frances’ conversations. Johann
bowed deeply, smiled for Frances again, and left them at last.

Frances walked over to a window, and looked silently down on the street.

“You would have made a good father confessor,” said Richard, and lit the cigarette which she held between her lips. It was really extraordinary how people would talk to Frances; more extraordinary how she would listen.

“Don’t let the tragedy of the human race get you down at this time of the morning. Come and have some breakfast first.” He drew her gently from the window. “An empty stomach only turns thought into worry.”

Frances smiled and kissed him. “You keep worrying about me, Richard.”

“Well, whenever you start a train of thought these days, it runs non-stop to the sorrows of the world.”

“I’m sorry, Richard. I’ll give up the habit.”

“Do. It would be frightful if you ever began to enjoy it.”

Frances laughed. “A kind of mental pervert, working herself into depths of depression to enjoy her secret thrills of pity No, thank you, Richard. Instead I’ll become accustomed to the idea that man is born in pain, lives in struggle, dies in suffering.”

“Well, that’s a better defence against the new Middle Ages than the nice ideas you got from your liberal education.”

Over a cafe table they made their plans. Frances was suddenly demanding action. She wanted to get to Pertisau as soon as possible. By the time they had finished their late breakfast and had walked back to the hotel, the luggage checks a waited them, along with a final bill. Herr Kronsteiner had already
left, it seemed, and Richard paid the grim woman who sat behind the desk. He left more than the usual tip for Johann, placing it inside an envelope along with his card on which he had written “Good luck with your hotel,” and a tip for their invisible chamber-maid. Perhaps she had been this grim-faced silent woman.

At the station their luck still held. The train for Jenbach would leave in less than half an hour. From Jenbach they could hire a car to take them to Pertisau… But it wasn’t until they were in the train, with their suitcases settled safely above their heads in their compartment, and they were watching the pleasant valley of the Inn spreading out before them, that Richard actually relaxed. He admitted to himself for the first time that he was surprised they had got away so simply, that his distrust of Herr Kronsteiner had been unfounded. He had looked like a man who would sell his own sister to the highest bidder. He must be a pretty useful kind of agent to have; crooked men would trust him, because they thought they could use him. Richard was still speculating about Herr Kronsteiner when their short journey ended, and the train stopped briefly at Jenbach to leave them and some other tourists on the sunlit platform. Richard lifted the two suitcases and joined the largest group which had jammed round the exit. Frances kept very close to him, slightly behind and slightly to one side, so that the man who was taking the tickets would only notice her and no more. And then they were out into a broad roadway of hot white dust. There were two decrepit buses and some cars. The tourists, once the first burst of activity of leaving the station was over, had begun to straggle as they made up their minds. That gave them the chance to hire one of the cars. They had already left the station
road, and were turning into the outskirts of the little town, before the others had found seats which suited them and places for their luggage.