Return to Vienna (8 page)

Why couldn’t I let it go, I thought angrily. Hadn’t Max said in his last letter that I was the only woman who had ever mattered to him?

Richard was stirring his coffee absentmindedly. After a while he said slowly, “No, it’s not true about Mitzi. You mustn’t upset yourself, Jessica. The woman is obviously trying to be vindictive for some reason—maybe because she made a play for Max and he chose you.”

That fitted in with my own hopeful reasoning. I could take anything Mitzi liked to hand out if jealousy was her driving force. But why, I wondered, had Steve seemed to be making excuses for Max about something that had never happened?

Richard was speaking again. “Don’t let Mitzi Flamm get you down—she really might be useful to us, you know. A woman of her type has so many contacts.”

I nodded. But I was still thinking about Steve. It didn’t seem fair of him, because what he had hinted about Max and Mitzi couldn’t fail to leave a scar upon my heart. I felt immensely grateful to Richard, and unhappy and bewildered about Steve.

“So you won’t go having a row with Mitzi, will you?” I heard Richard say.

“No, all right. You needn’t worry.”

“Be nice to her, and keep your ears open.”

I sighed. “I’ll do my best, but she’s not easy to be nice to.”

Richard smiled faintly. “You’re a smart girl, Jessica. I’m sure you can manage friend Mitzi without any trouble.”

He picked up his cup and drank down the coffee in a couple of gulps, pulling a face because it was cold and probably tasted awful. I’d not even touched mine, and wasn’t going to bother. As he chinked the cup back on its saucer, he said, “We’d better break it up now. I’ll be in touch again soon.”

“Richard ...” I began hesitatingly. “Isn’t there some way I can get hold of you? It makes me feel so cut off, not knowing when I might hear from you again. Suppose I was in trouble!”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Well, anything. ... I might need your help.” I had a sudden thought. “Could I talk to the man you’ve got following me?”

“No, you mustn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you see, it would be too risky. You’re supposed to be here in Vienna on your own. If you were seen speaking to one of my men, it could easily scare off for good the very people we’re hoping will come forward. And besides, it might give the game away to the enemy.”

It frightened me, the way he said that. “The enemy ... ?”

“That’s exactly what they are, Jessica, and they don’t pull any punches. Do I have to remind you what they did to Max?”

At that moment the door from the street burst open with a sudden crash, and I froze with fear, until I remembered how tightly it got stuck with the damp. The two men who came in were hefty in black reefers and shiny peaked caps—deckhands off one of the Danube boats, probably. Grinning amiably, they called for coffee and
Wurstsemmel.
There was nothing about their appearance to cause any alarm, but the incident had pointed up how ragged my nerves were. Temperamentally, I wasn’t the type to live with danger.

“Please, Richard. I must have some way of reaching you in an emergency. I promise to be very careful.”

He considered, again taking my hand and fondling it. “Very well,” he said finally. “If you really must— in a
serious
emergency—you could ring the British embassy. Give your name as ... as Miss Brown, and ask the operator to pass on a message to the assistant commercial counselor that you’d like to be hearing from him.”

“The assistant commercial counselor. Is that you?”

“It’s a cover I sometimes find useful. If you ever do have to leave that message, I’ll contact you as soon as possible. But I don’t want you to ring the embassy unless it’s absolutely vital.”

Richard asked how I was managing for money, and I told him I had enough at present. With a smile he said I needn’t be afraid of spending it, and that he’d give me some more the next time we met. “Now, look, Jessica, you’d better leave first. When you get outside, turn right and walk straight down the road, and you’ll come to a tram route.”

I stood up, and Richard did too, “Let’s make it look convincing,” he whispered, taking me in his arms again. This time, being forewarned, I was able to avert my face so that I didn’t meet his lips directly. Richard realized it was a deliberate action. Still holding me, he murmured reproachfully, “It’s only for show, you know,”

I pushed back from him quickly, feeling my color rising; it probably all fitted the performance very well —the eager man, the slightly diffident girl. But as I walked out into the wet street, hearing that absurd door crash shut behind me, I was wondering why I should recoil so fiercely from Richard Wilson’s acted embrace.

The tram I caught at the end of the street rumbled along interminably, taking me back over the Danube and through the city outskirts. Just by Schottenring the route ended, and I got off in a huddle of other passengers. With no clear objective, I started walking, and the knowledge that I was certainly being followed by one of Richard’s men gave me an eerie feeling. Once or twice I paused where a shop window reflected the view behind me, but I couldn’t identify anyone who had been on the same tram.

The rain stopped at last, and as I made my way around the wide curving avenue of the Ringstrasse, the sun began to struggle through heavy gray clouds.

This was territory I’d known so well with Max, an area of magnificent, exuberant architecture—the university, the Gothic Rathaus, and the classic-columned parliament building. Reaching the twin museums, I branched away into lesser streets, on the lookout for somewhere to have lunch. I had to abandon all idea of shopping, because it was Saturday, and the stores closed at midday. I spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly, remembering.

It was almost six when I returned to the Mahlerhof, picking up a taxi on a stand because I found I was suddenly tired out. At the reception desk I inquired if any message had been left for me, and felt a spurt of disappointment that there was no word from Steve. I’d
told him not to phone, yet it seemed like lack of interest that he hadn’t tried to get in touch.

Wearily, I took the ancient lift up to the second floor. In my room I let go, kicking off my shoes and  flopping full stretch on the bed. I felt bleak and dispirited, almost too tired to think. My body seemed heavy, and the bed was a sea of soft foam. I let consciousness slip deliciously away.

When I woke, it was already dark, with a faint glow filtering up from the streetlights below. I snapped fully awake, put on the lamp by the bed, and looked at my watch. Past seven-thirty! At eight I was to be collected for the Kolbingers’ party.

I leaped off the bed and went to the window to draw the curtains. First I glanced down to the street, searching for the Volkswagen. It was there, as though it hadn’t moved since the previous evening. But now that I knew for certain that my shadow was one of Richard’s men, there was no longer an air of menace about the featureless gray car.

Hurrying, I was nearly ready when there came a discreet tap on the door. It was the porter.

“Meine Dame,
a gentleman has come for you.”

I said to tell my escort I’d be down in five minutes. Then I hurried with doing my face and giving myself a final checkover. I didn’t do badly. When I set off downstairs, it was barely six minutes past eight.

I’d put on a taffeta dress in crocus yellow, a slick outfit to give me courage. I guessed I’d need every bit of courage I could muster for the evening that lay ahead. It would have been bad enough merely to be meeting up with the friends I had known with Max. But I had to play the undercover agent, be on the alert for the smallest signal, and throw out hints that I could safely be approached. “The prospect had me strung up almost beyond endurance.

Reaching the foot of the stairs, I turned toward the lounge, and through the glass doors I saw a man rise from one of the armchairs just inside.

My spirits zoomed and crashed all in the same instant. Steve couldn’t have chosen a worse time to call. Hadn’t he had all day, I thought unreasonably. Why did he have to choose this precise moment? And somehow I hated him seeing me dressed up like this—fit to kill, he’d think. And any minute now another man—a complete stranger, probably—would be calling to collect me.

I wanted to turn and rush straight back to my room.

But it was too late for that. Steve was coming out to meet me, smiling. Then I watched his expression change, and I realized it was on account of my own reaction to seeing him here—not pleasure at all, but a sort of horrified dismay.

“Is something wrong, Jessica?”

“I ... I can’t stop to talk to you now, Steve.” There was even a touch of hysteria in my voice. “I . . . I’m going out. . . .”

“But that’s why I’m here—to take you.”

“You don’t understand! I can’t go with you. I’m going to ... to a party.”

“That’s right! I fixed with Gretl Kolbinger to call for you. It’s almost on my route, you see.”

I was bewildered. “Your route . . . ?”

“Yes. I’ve got a flat over by the Karlskirche, if you remember.”

The dawning was slow and painful, because it just hadn’t occurred to me that Steve might be going to the Kolbingers. He had never been to one of their parties in the old days, and in fact, I didn’t realize he even knew them.

“How come you’re invited?” I asked suspiciously.

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be?”

“Well, how did you know I was going? Or did Gretl tell you, and ask you to call for me on your way?” I was beginning to get muddled, trying to sort out the possibilities. “Was it her suggestion, I mean —or yours?”

“Questions, nothing but questions! Does it matter? I’m here to take you, and you’re ready to go. So let’s get moving.”

“But Steve . ..”

He took my arm firmly and led me to the door. I felt too weak to argue anymore.

Outside, the night air was cool. But in the car it was warm, and we seemed cozily cut off from the thronging life of the city. I had a foolish wish that we needn’t go to the Kolbingers’ at all, and that this drive with Steve could last all evening.

At first he didn’t say much, concentrating on weaving through the dense traffic. Then, after we’d crossed over the Gurtel and were striking out toward Cobenzl, he relaxed a bit.

“I’ll be driving you back, too, by the way. Let me know whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks, Steve,” I said, and left it at that.

He began to ask me about my life in London. “I think I know Burton Square. I seem to remember a rather elegant facade of terraced houses with some nice iron railings at the front.”

“Your memory is doing a glamorizing job. The whole district’s a bit down at heel these days, all peeling stucco and blistering paintwork. Rather sordid, really.”

“Why didn’t you stay on at Exeter with your parents—at any rate for the time being?”

I was glad to have something I could answer quite sincerely. “It just didn’t work out, somehow. They’re absolute darlings, of course, but they can’t seem to accept the fact that I’m grown-up now. And then, they were always talking about Max, or carefully not talking about him. You know what I mean.”

“It sounds to me as if your poor parents couldn’t have done the right thing in your eyes, however hard they tried.”

“That’s exactly it—they tried
too
hard. And I was wanting to put the past behind me, Steve. Not forget it, I don’t mean, but not be reminded of it at every turn, either. . . .”

He cut across me with sudden ferocity. “So that’s why you came back to Vienna, I suppose!”

I couldn’t leave it there. Silence would have meant guilt. I said defensively, “I’ve tried to explain to you. It’s difficult, I know.”

“Yes, very difficult. Damn near impossible, I’d say.”

“Steve!”

“Pax!” He took one hand from the wheel and held it up, palm forward. “Don’t let’s start fighting again, Jessica. We’re going to a party, and it’s got to be fun and games from now on.”

The Kolbingers’ home was all functional concrete, steel and glass; stark and square, not even touching its hat to Vienna’s favorite baroque. Yet it was itself already dated. I had never liked the place.

Steve parked his Mercedes behind a string of other cars in the dead-straight tarmac drive, and we walked up to the house. There were lights on the paved terrace, and lots of talk and laughter.

We were spotted right away, and Gretl came swooping toward us dramatically. She was dressed rather formally in a long gown of silver lame, glossy brown hair piled in a coil on the crown of her head. As she greeted me, her voice was more than usually guttural with emotion.

“Jessica,
liebling!
How glad I am to see you again!” She took my hand and patted it affectionately. “My poor dear sweet! I want you to know how very courageous I think you are being.”

“It’s nice to be back, Gretl.”

She slid her arm companionably through mine and turned to Steve, giving him a somewhat amused smile. “I am happy you could come. It is Steve,
nicht?”

“That’s right—Steve.”

“And do you not agree, Steve, that darling Jessica is being very brave?”

He gave a tiny bow from the waist, which was directed at us both. “I have the highest opinion of her.”

“I bet you have! But don’t try and monopolize her. You must let the other men have a chance.” Gretl laughed up at him dazzlingly, showing her perfect teeth. She was extremely attractive, and she knew all about that. “Also, Steve, it is only fair that you should give us other women a look-in, now that you have condescended to grace us with your presence.”

He clicked his heels and bowed again, saying gravely: “It is an honor to be invited.”

I felt annoyed with Steve for playing a flirting game with Gretl. For several tiresome seconds their eyes held, sparking with some inner amusement I did not share. In the end I said rather shortly and maybe a little rudely, “Let’s go inside and meet some of the others.”

He waited, it seemed, for Gretl’s permission. Giving a tiny nod, she said, “Will you take Steve around for me, Jessica? You know everybody, so there is no need for introductions.”