Rendezvous With Danger (2 page)

I could see the precise moment its presence registered on him. He pointed it out to the still raging bald man and they both simultaneously began running towards it. I was just about to put the glasses back in my bag and increase my speed when, in utter amazement, I saw the stout man give a hasty look round, raise the bonnet of my car and lean over. The other stood, his hand shielding his eyes, scanning the surrounding hills, presumably for the car's rightful owner.

‘What the …' I began, waving furiously. For a moment he seemed to be looking straight at me and then his eyes moved, ranging further up the hill to where I had been sitting. Looking through the glasses I saw him quite clearly.

He was a burly man, of about forty to forty-five, with a heavily jowled face and full lips, and obviously not in the best of moods. It seemed impossible that he should fail to see me, but I was by now standing just above the belt of pines that grew thickly on the lower slopes, and no doubt from below was obscured from view. If the sun had been in the right direction it would have glinted on the lens of my glasses. As it was, his gaze, searching, slid up and over me.

Then, as I watched in utter disbelief, he gave up his search, turned, and began forcing my car door. Within seconds, as I stood helplessly watching, unable to do a thing to prevent him, he was in the driver's seat.
My
driver's seat. The bonnet was hurriedly slammed down and even while the puffing, tweeded and brogued figure of his associate was wrenching open the other door and clambering aboard, my little Morris was bursting into life and disappearing from my horrified gaze down the road.

For a second or so I just stared. Then as the full realization of what had happened sank in, I began running over the grassy slope and into the trees.

It didn't occur to me that racing down the hillside was not going to do any good whatever, but I was filled with blind fury. All I could think of was reaching the road in the shortest time possible. What I would do when I
did
reach it, marooned and without transport, I didn't stop to think.

Slipping and sliding I plunged steeply downhill, stumbling over gnarled tree roots and broken branches that lay murderously concealed in the thick undergrowth. This time I made what was practically a vertical descent, heedless of the sudden, hidden drops that threatened at any moment to result in a broken leg, or at the very least, a twisted ankle. The lower branches caught at my hair, their leaves slapping into my face, as I pushed my way through them. The hill had taken me an hour to climb. I emerged some thirty minutes later by the roadside, gasping for breath, legs scratched and bleeding.

My dress was covered with dark green stains and caked with dirt from the loose topsoil. I was already regretting my haste. Much good it had done me.

Here I was, stranded by a little-used roadside, with only the prospect of a lengthy walk of several miles to the nearest telephone, and
how,
for goodness sake, was I going to report the theft of my car in German? I groaned, remembering the arduous conversations I had carried out in the past. They had all been conducted with the aid of a phrase-book and sign language, and over nothing more involved than a request for directions or accommodation. The worst I thought, and how rightly, was yet to come.

With a gasp of exhaustion I collapsed on the grass verge.

Five minutes went past, ten, and still the road remained empty. A few white clouds drifted across the sky and a light breeze fanned my cheeks, rustling through the long grass on either side of me, but bringing little comfort. With each minute that ticked away I thought of another problem.

Uppermost was my inability to explain my loss to the authorities. And what authorities? From what I'd seen of Niedernhall there wouldn't be the counterpart of the English village bobby. I plucked at the grass nervously. Just suppose I didn't get my car back, at least not within the next ten days, what then? Goodbye little Morris for ever? Why, oh why, didn't I read the small print on my insurances? Vainly I tried to remember precisely what was covered. Theft certainly … But in another country? Would they return the car to me once I was home in England? How would I
get
home, come to that?

Other worries came thick and fast. If the thieves were so careless with what was presumably their own property, how shabbily would they treat a car they had stolen? I looked at the wreck opposite me and groaned, envisaging my twenty-first birthday present lying similarly abandoned and damaged.

Anxiously I rose and began pacing up and down the grass verge. The scenery that surrounded me was as lovely as ever. The forest of pines that cloaked the hills in a dark green sea looked even more majestic from below than above, but I was no longer appreciative. The rhythmic surge of the water as it flowed languorously southwards some yards distant, the sun glinting on its shining surface, fell on deaf ears. The only sound I craved was that of a car engine.

At last it came. The distant hum grew stronger and I stepped out into the road. The driver of the car braked hard, tyres screeching, halting a dozen yards away.

He slammed the door behind him and sprinted towards me, face ashen. I hadn't bargained on my rescuer filling the traditional role quite so adequately and was suddenly aware of my dishevelled appearance. Mentally I could hear Charlotte's
‘Very
nice …'

‘What the hell happened? Are you all right?' and then:
‘Sind Sie
…?'

‘You're English,' I said tactlessly. ‘Thank goodness. Yes, I'm all right. I wasn't in it actually.'

‘Then who was and where …' He spun on his heel in search of the dead and dying.

‘That
I only wish I knew.'

He raised his eyebrows. He was about twenty-seven or eight, with thick dark hair curling into the nape of his neck, and a tanned skin that must have had the aid of a hotter sun than the one we were now under. The eyes that looked at me questioningly were as dark as his hair and there was strength as well as sensuality in the curve of his mouth. He looked extremely self-confident and assured and was quite the most handsome man I had ever met. I found myself blushing like a schoolgirl.

‘There's no need to worry. No one was hurt. Could you give me a lift to the nearest police station or, better still, Niedernhall? It's about ten miles away, further down the river …'

He waved my directions aside.

‘I know it. I'll give you a lift with pleasure, if only to find out what you're doing with a crashed car you didn't travel in. Should prove interesting.'

‘Oh, it's that all right.'

He grinned. ‘My name is Stephen Maitland. I'm staying in Ohringen, practically the next village to Niedernhall.'

‘I'm Susan Carter. I'm on holiday there, the idea being to get away from it all, though I didn't intend carrying it to quite such lengths.'

‘I think,' he said dryly, ‘you'd better explain.'

‘I warn you, it's going to sound very far fetched.'

‘I'm very gullible,' he said, looking anything but.

‘I'd parked the car,
my
car, at the roadside and had climbed the hill for a picnic, when that other car—' I nodded disparagingly across the road—‘came tearing round the corner, lost control and ended up in the ditch. The two men who were in it got out, then, as I was on my way to
help
them for heaven's sake, they had the cheek to steal my Morris and continue on their merry way.'

He frowned. ‘Very ungentlemanly. Did you get a good look at them?'

‘Oh yes.' I patted the binoculars beside me. ‘I saw it all through these. I'd certainly know them again, given the chance.'

‘I shouldn't worry too much. I imagine they'll abandon the car pretty quickly.'

‘I hope they don't do it in the same way they abandoned that.'

He laughed. ‘ I see your point. Well, first things first. Let me give you a lift to Niedernhall.'

Stephen Maitland's car was an open topped Sprite and I pulled my scarlet head-square out of my bag and knotted it securely beneath my chin. As I did so, there came the faint but unmistakable throb of a car. It was coming fast. The sound swelled, filling the still afternoon: whoever it was, was in a hurry. Seconds later a red Mercedes swept round the bend in the road. On seeing the crashed car, the driver pulled up sharply, halting in a cloud of dust beside us. A window was wound down and a young, fair-haired German leaned out.

‘Wie schwer ist ihr Wagen beschadigt?'

Stephen replied, the car door swung open, and a tall, toughly-built young man, elegantly dressed in cream trousers, suede jacket and silk shirt, emerged. Adding Stephen's accent and GB plate together, he said: ‘ Perhaps I can be of assistance. I see there has been an accident. Gunther Cliburn is the name.'

Stephen shook the proffered hand. ‘ Stephen Maitland.' He turned to me. ‘And Miss Susan Carter.'

I smiled, and when I judged that Herr Cliburn had held my hand long enough, politely removed it. He reached inside his jacket for his cigarette case and offered it, saying to me as he did so: ‘You were very lucky to walk out of that …' He gestured towards the crashed car.

‘I wasn't in it, thank goodness.'

‘My apologies.' He steadied my hand as he lit the cigarette, and turned to Stephen. ‘Did you skid?' These corners can be the—how do you say—the very devil.'

‘I had the good fortune not to be in it either.'

Herr Cliburn raised an enquiring brow.

‘Miss Carter had parked her car here,' Stephen went on by way of explanation, ‘and then climbed the hill for a picnic. This car came along some little while later, crashed, and its two occupants took Miss Carter's car and disappeared. I arrived on the scene some ten minutes ago.'

‘Wirklich?!'
he said in astonishment. ‘You are on holiday, Fraulein?'

‘Yes. I'm staying at Niedernhall.'

Herr Cliburn stared at me as if I had said in the land of green cheese. The hand holding his cigarette remained poised motionless in mid-air, then, recollecting himself, he said: ‘ But how extraordinary. How
very
extraordinary. I live there.'

It was my turn to be surprised. Munich yes. Niedernhall most definitely no.

‘Perhaps I exaggerate a little,' he explained. ‘I have a cottage there, a holiday retreat.' He looked down at his wrist-watch. ‘ I presume your first thought would be the police?'

I murmured agreement.

‘Perhaps I could be of assistance. I know the police chief at Kunzelsau and also the local officer at Niedernhall. It would be no inconvenience for me to report the matter for you. Regrettably neither of these gentlemen speaks English. I feel sure your car will be found abandoned soon. I think this one here was stolen also, and the thieves simply joyriding.'

‘I hope you're right. Otherwise I'm stranded.'

Herr Cliburn laughed. ‘ That, Fraulein, I would not permit. Where do you stay in Niedernhall?'

‘Frau Schmidt's, in the Ringstrasse, number twenty-six.'

‘Then I will call there and inform you as to what the situation is,' he said, waving my feeble protestations aside. ‘Can I ask if you saw the men?'

‘Yes. I had my binoculars with me.'

Herr Cliburn dropped his cigarette stub and ground it out under his heel thoughtfully, then said: ‘If you will give me all the particulars, Fraulein Carter.'

‘Oh yes, of course.' I searched hastily in my handbag for pen and paper, scribbling down my car number and anything else I could think of, while Herr Cliburn and Stephen strolled over to the wrecked car, giving it a cursory examination. When I had finished, Herr Cliburn took the slip of paper with a smile.

‘Irregular though it may seem, things will be quicker if I report this matter without your presence. I will say the affair has left you rather distressed. Thoroughness is a national trait and when it comes to dealing with foreigners, bureaucracy can be interminable. Herr Heller is a friend of mine and though no doubt your car will be found very soon, if you reported it yourself, he would feel obliged to go through all the formalities. You understand? As it is, I will see him and then I will call you. My telephone number is here. I am sure Herr Maitland will escort you back to Niedernhall.' He shook my hand again. ‘Till later, Fraulein.'

With a nod of the head, he walked briskly back to his car. The Mercedes hummed into life and, with a wave of the hand, he disappeared round the bend and out of sight. I turned to Stephen.

‘Is it a bit late to ask if I did the right thing?'

‘A little. Perhaps if we go somewhere for a drink we can ponder on it for a while. If Herr Cliburn doesn't materialize, as promised, at your guest-house, then only a couple of hours will have been lost. I don't think it will make much difference to the outcome.'

‘I suppose you're right. And he did seem to know what he was doing, didn't he?'

‘Oh, indubitably,' said Stephen dryly, opening his car door for me. Without a backward glance at the empty car to our right, we headed down the dusty road.

‘Are you holidaying by yourself?' he asked.

I nodded.

‘Why this part of Germany? It's a little dull and quiet, isn't it?'

‘Not at the moment,' I said wryly.

He laughed. ‘It's not going to do you a bit of good hanging round Niedernhall waiting for James Bond to return. Ohringen is only minutes away. Would you like to go over there for a drink? I'm sure Christina would be delighted.'

‘Christina?' I glanced at the ringless hands on the wheel.

‘Christina runs the guest-house where I'm staying.' As he spoke he turned left, leaving the Niedernhall road.

If it hadn't been for all the doubts and worries in my mind I would have enjoyed that ride through the sloping fields of vines and lush woodland, with the warm sun on my back and the handsome Mr Maitland by my side. As it was, I kept glancing at my watch and wondering how Herr Cliburn was making out. Stephen had been right about my needing some diversion until he appeared again. Left to myself, I would have been a nervous wreck.