Return to Vienna (7 page)

The rain had persisted overnight, and it was a dull and uninviting morning. I hurried along the narrow streets to the Alser Strasse, and found I could get a number-eight bus right through to the city center.

It seemed sensible to head for the glossier shops within the circle of the Ringstrasse, because I might with luck be spotted there by people who knew me. The sooner I got through this hateful job I’d come here to do, the better. Then I could return to my anonymity in London.

Without really thinking, I got off the bus in the Graben, and to my dismay, found myself looking slap at the Pestaule, the great baroque Trinity Column erected in thanksgiving for escape from the plague. I’d forgotten for the moment that it was there. It brought a nightmare reminder of that other Trinity Column in Langenlois, which Max and I had been looking at only seconds before the crash....

I fled, diving blindly into the first turning I came to and it was quite a while before I was calm enough to think again about shopping.

The prices seemed sky high—now that I no longer had Max to pay the bills and encourage me to be extravagant. In the end I began to strike through to the Mariahilfer Strasse, where I knew I’d find cheaper things in the big stores. I was in a side street, momentarily lost and about to ask the way from a passerby, when a car pulled up alongside me.

“Taxi?”

Rather surprised because I’d not noticed prowling cabs in Vienna before, I shook my head.

“Es ist nass”
said the driver, pointing out the obvious. I knew very well it was raining.

“Nein, danke. . .
.” ‘Again I shook my head, and began to walk on briskly, though I still wasn’t sure which way I wanted to go.

He kept abreast of me, leaning across and speaking confidentially. “Herr Wilson sent me.”

I stopped again, my heart pounding. It was what I’d been waiting for, but somehow I hadn’t expected anything quite like this.

I asked eagerly, “Are you to take me to him?”

“Westbahnhof?” he said loudly, as if answering me.
“Ja, ja!”

I got into his cab and settled back in the seat. The Westbahnhof, he’d said. Well, probably a mainline station was as good a place as anywhere for us to meet. An inconspicuous sort of rendezvous, where everyone would be too intent on their own business to worry about a man and a woman talking together.

But I soon realized that we weren’t heading for the station. In fact, I got hopelessly confused by the route we took, which seemed to wind around in a crazy fashion. Once we swung into an underground car park, racing down the ramp and zigzagging through lines of cars and out through another exit. We turned into a narrow cul-de-sac and waited there a minute or so; when the driver reversed out, he took the opposite direction. Obviously, he was shaking off any possible pursuit.

I got back my bearings as we crossed one of the bridges high over the Danube—the very unblue Danube, even grayer than usual on this wet morning— and then we plunged straight on through a district I didn’t know at all.

Without any warning the taxi stopped outside a very ordinary cafe in a very ordinary street. It was called Mirabel, I remember. The driver, who hadn’t said another word since I’d got into the cab, jerked his thumb as a signal for me to get out.

“In the cafe?” I asked.

“Ja!”
he said, with distaste.

I got out and asked what the fare was. Still presenting the back of his head to me, he mumbled that there was nothing to pay. It was as if he wanted to avoid me seeing his face too clearly, and I recalled that when he’d first approached me his cap had been pulled down to one side and his profile half-hidden by a shielding hand.

Even if I’d wanted to get a better look at the man, it was by now too late. The taxi swerved out from the curb and streaked off, disappearing around the first corner.

I was alone on the pavement. It had begun to rain more heavily, and there were few people in sight. The area was only partly residential. Opposite was a building like a warehouse, and next to it a used-car lot. There was a dreariness about it all that wasn’t the Vienna I used to know.

The windows of the cafe were steamed up so that I couldn’t see through them. It took quite an effort to muster courage enough to enter the place.

The door was stuck, swollen by the humid atmosphere. I had to push it hard, and then it suddenly gave way, nearly throwing me inside. I scanned the place quickly. The counter was mounted with a huge
espresso
contraption, watched over by a fat and dark-haired woman. There were perhaps ten tables, only two of them occupied. One man alone, and a group of three. Not a sign of Richard Wilson.

I dared not ask for him; that might be quite the wrong thing to do. Should I order coffee and wait? The cafe wasn’t exactly sleazy, but neither was it quite the place for a girl on her own.

“Jessica!”

I
spun around, and there he was, rising from a small table tucked away behind the door. He wore the same belted trench coat, the fawn gabardine stained darker on the shoulders by the rain, his brushed-back hair looking even sleeker now that it was wet. His long lean face split into a happy smile of greeting.

“Darling! I thought you’d never get here!” He spoke in English, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then, reaching out his arms to me, he muttered quickly under his breath, “I’ve got to kiss you, to make it look right.”

It all happened too quickly for me to act up to Richard’s lead, but my relief at seeing him there could have passed for delight. I was held tight in his arms, and his lips found mine and lingered. Not too long, but long enough to demonstrate that this was more than just a friendly kiss.

Gripping my elbow, Richard guided me to the chair next to his. We sat down together, and he held my hand clasped in his own for everyone to see.

“Sorry about that little performance,” he murmured. “You didn’t mind?”

“No, of course not.” But I glanced away, staring
down at the yellow plastic surface of the table, because I
had
minded. No man had kissed me on the
lips since Max. That it should be Richard Wilson, the
man who was so closely involved in the hidden side of my husband’s life, somehow gave the incident a particularly bitter taste.

He seemed to take the way I was avoiding his eyes as a sign of shyness. He murmured with the lightest of laughs, “Well, if you didn’t mind, Jessica, I certainly didn’t!”

The threesome at the table across the room were whispering and chuckling—and we were the joke. A furtive meeting in a shabby little cafe in the suburbs, with me dressed—as they’d see it—out of the top drawer. Wasn’t the setup blatantly obvious? And that was how Richard had planned it. The fat proprietress and her customers would enjoy a good laugh at our expense, and promptly forget all about us.

I played my part by looking at Richard with fond eyes as I said quietly, “I’ve been wondering how you’d get in touch.”

“We have to be very careful.” He signaled for a cup of coffee for me. “I don’t expect you have any news yet?”

“No, not really. Except….”

“Well, except what?”

“I was followed yesterday. Was it one of your men, Richard?”

He hesitated. “What was the chap like?”

“Oh, middle-aged, grayish hair. He was driving a gray Volkswagen. And he was in the plane from London, too. . ..”

Richard nodded, and for the benefit of the woman who was bringing my coffee over, he said, “What a clever little thing you are, darling! You’ve got it absolutely right.”

When she had gone away again, I asked him, “Why, Richard? Why should you have me followed?”

“It’s for your own protection—just in case.”

“But it seems so silly!”

“Not silly at all. I warned you, Jessica, there’s danger in this work we do. You understood that before you agreed to help.”

“Yes, I know.” An element of risk had seemed so unimportant at the time. Without Max, I’d thought, what did it matter if I ran into danger; even if I were to get myself killed? Now, to my surprise, I realized that the thought of death was terrifying. I wanted to live.

My face must have given away my fear. Richard said quickly, “Cheer up, Jessica, it’s not that bad. We’ll take good care of you.”

I made an effort to steady myself, and asked, “Did you know my hotel room was searched last night? Was that done by one of your men, too?”

Richard stared at me. “Do you mean the place was turned upside down—is that what you’re saying?”

“No, it was done very carefully indeed. In fact, I couldn’t be absolutely sure at first, because nothing seemed to have been disturbed.”

Richard was looking relieved. “You’re imagining things, Jessica.”

“No, really, I’m quite positive.”

“Look,” he said gently, “it’s terribly easy to get the jitters. Believe me, in this game it happens to all of us at times. But you’ve only got to think for a moment—who knew last night that you were back in Vienna? I did, and Steve Elliott. It wasn’t one of my men, and you were with Elliott at the time you think the job was done. You see!”

“But I could have sworn!”

“Forget it, Jessica.” He smiled indulgently, then switched direction so suddenly that it unnerved me. “I’m told that you spent a lot of time with Elliott yesterday evening. What did he have to say?”

“Oh . . . nothing special. Steve just took me out to dinner.”

“And on to a bar afterward.”

Richard made me feel on the defensive. “We just had a beer each, that’s all. And then he drove me back to the hotel.”

“You also sat in the car and talked.”

“Oh, that! Only for a few minutes.”

Richard had assumed the look of a jealous lover. He was playing his part skillfully for the benefit of our little audience. “Is there anything between you two?” he asked.

“Between Steve and me? Don’t be absurd! I’ve explained how good he was to me while I was in the hospital.”

“Gratitude can grow into something more. You mustn’t let it, Jessica, not until we’ve sorted this business out”

I said hotly, “You sound as if you really do suspect Steve of being involved somehow.”

Richard took my hand in both of his. “You really mustn’t think in terms of good old British justice now. With us, everyone is guilty until they’re proved innocent. All I am asking is that you don’t get too friendly with Elliott for the time being. Afterward, it’ll be up to you.”

“There is nothing between Steve and me,” I said stubbornly. “Nothing at all!” But even as I said it I remembered how I’d kissed Steve last night outside the hotel, and no doubt it was included in the meticulous report given to Richard. That kiss, that brief brushing of Steve’s cheek with my lips! I’d not understood the impulse that made me do it, yet to Richard there could be only one explanation.

Richard went on to ask if I had any more to tell him. “Did Mitzi Flamm and her boyfriends say anything of interest last night when you were with them?”

“No, but afterward she passed on the news that I was back in Vienna. First thing this morning I had a phone call from Gretl Kolbinger, and she’s asked me to a party at her place tonight.”

He sounded pleased. “Tell me about this Gretl Kolbinger.”

“She’s one of our old set. Her husband is quite a big noise in television, and they live somewhere out toward Cobenzl.” I was rather surprised that Richard seemed not to know them. “Didn’t Max ever mention the Kolbingers to you?”

Richard considered. “Yes, I believe he did, now I come to think of it.”

“It’s a useful contact for me, because Otto and Gretl are always throwing parties, and I shall get to meet a lot of the old crowd through them.”

“Good! She didn’t lose much time getting in touch with you, did she?”

“Do you think that’s significant?”

He shrugged. “It could be. Anything could be.”

I hated this business of having to suspect everybody and everything. And yet there was a horrible sort of fascination about always looking for hidden motives.

“There’s probably nothing in it,” I said hastily. “I gathered from Gretl that she met Mitzi at the Strip Bar X Club. Having only just left me, it was perfectly natural for Mitzi to mention I was here in Vienna. And Gretl was always a great one for asking people to parties.”

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see what develops. Keep your eyes open, won’t you?”

The three men across the room had finished their snack. As they passed us on their way out, they nudged one another and smirked. The ill-fitting door slammed behind them, and the cafe was suddenly quiet. The only other customer, the man on his own, was reading a newspaper. The fat woman rested her elbows on the counter, and I could tell she was hoping to eavesdrop. I had no idea whether she understood English.

Richard was saying, “That Mitzi woman gets around, by all accounts. She might be worth cultivating.”

“I doubt that!”

Unthinkingly, I’d spoken with a good deal of heat, and Richard lifted his eyebrows. Lamely I added, “She’s absolutely man-mad. She thinks of nothing else.”

“You don’t like her!”

“I never did very much. Even less now.”

“Why?”

I clamped back the bitter words on the edge of my tongue. Then it struck me that Richard had known Max very well, almost better than Steve. Perhaps I’d be able to get the full truth from him. I was still tormented by the idea of Max making love to Mitzi Flamm.

Pent up, the words came tumbling out. “She claims that she and Max were lovers at one time.”

“What?” Richard looked absolutely astounded.

With relief I saw that the fat woman had disappeared through a curtained archway behind the counter, so I guessed she didn’t understand English at all.

I whispered, “Is it true, Richard? Did Max ever. .?”

“Of course it’s not true! You don’t imagine Max was that sort of man, do you?”

It didn’t tie up with Steve’s comments, and I wanted to confront Richard with the contradiction. But something held me back from admitting I’d already discussed this with Steve. I knew that Richard wouldn’t approve.

I said weakly, “Are you quite sure? I mean, Max never pretended there hadn’t been other women before he met me. It was just the idea of Mitzi Flamm . .. That’s silly of me, I suppose.”