The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories (37 page)

The Minister seemed bubbling over with some inner pleasure. He said, “Richard, come with me, Just for a moment. I have prepared a special gift for you. I won’t keep you from the party very long.”

Mainwaring followed, drawn as ever by the curious dynamism of the man. The Minister ducked through an arched doorway, turned right and left, descended a narrow flight of stairs. At the bottom the way was barred by a door of plain grey steel. The Minister pressed his palm flat to a sensor plate; a click, the whine of some mechanism, and the door swung inward. Beyond was a further flight of concrete steps, lit by a single lamp in a heavy well-glass. Chilly air blew upward. Mainwaring realized, with something approaching a shock, that they had entered part of the bunker system that honeycombed the ground beneath Wilton.

The Minister hurried ahead of him, palmed a further door. He said, “Toys, Richard. All toys. But they amuse me.” Then, catching sight of Mainwaring’s face, “Come, man, come! You are more nervous than the children, frightened of poor old Hans!”

The door gave onto a darkened space. There was a heavy, sweetish smell that Mainwaring, for a whirling moment, couldn’t place. His companion propelled him forward, gently. He resisted, pressing back; and the Minister’s arm shot by him. A click, and the place was flooded with light. He saw a wide, low area, also concrete-built. To one side, already polished and gleaming, stood the Mercedes, next it the Minister’s private Porsche. There were a couple of Volkswagens, a Ford Executive; and in the farthest corner, a vision in glinting white. A Lamborghini. They had emerged in the garage underneath the house.

The Minister said, “My private short cut,” He walked forward to the Lamborghini, stood running his fingers across the low, broad bonnet. He said, “Look at her, Richard. Here, sit in. Isn’t she a beauty? Isn’t she fine?”

Mainwaring said, “She certainly is.”

“You like her?”

Mainwaring smiled. He said, “Very much, sir. Who wouldn’t?”

The Minister said, “Good, I’m so pleased. Richard, I’m upgrading you. She’s yours. Enjoy her.”

Mainwaring stared.

The Minister said, “Here, man. Don’t look like that, like a fish. Here, see. Logbook, your keys. All entered up, finished.” He gripped Mainwaring’s shoulders, swung him round laughing. He said, “You’ve worked well for me. The Two Empires don’t forget. Their good friends, their servants.”

Mainwaring said, “I’m deeply honoured, sir.”

“Don’t be honoured. You’re still being formal, Richard…”

“Sir?”

The Minister said, “Stay by me. Stay by me. Up there… they don’t understand. But we understand… eh? These are difficult times. We must be together, always together. Kingdom, and Reich. Apart… we could be destroyed.” He turned away, placed clenched hands on the roof of the car. He said, “Here, all this. Jewry, the Americans… Capitalism. They must stay afraid. Nobody fears an Empire divided. It would fall!”

Mainwaring said, “I’ll do my best, sir. We all will.”

The Minister said, “I know, I know. But Richard, this afternoon. I was playing with swords. Silly little swords.”

Mainwaring thought, ‘I know how he keeps me. I can see the mechanism. But I mustn’t imagine I know the entire truth.’

The Minister turned back, as if in pain. He said, “Strength is Right. It has to be. But Hess…”

Mainwaring said slowly, “We’ve tried before, sir…”

The Minister slammed his fist onto the metal. He said, “Richard, don’t you see ? It wasn’t us. Not this time. It was his own people. Baumann, von Thaden… I can’t tell. He’s an old man, he doesn’t matter any more. It’s an idea they want to kill, Hess is an idea. Do you understand? It’s
Lebensraum
. Again… Half the world isn’t enough.”

He straightened. He said, “The worm, in the apple. It gnaws, gnaws… But we are Liaison. We matter, so much. Richard, be my eyes. Be my ears.”

Mainwaring stayed silent, thinking about the book in his room; and the Minister once more took his arm. He said, “The shadows, Richard. They were never closer. Well might we teach our children to fear the dark. But… not in our time. Eh? Not for us. There is life, and hope. So much we can do…”

Mainwaring thought, ‘Maybe it’s the wine I drank. I’m being pressed too hard.’ A dull, queer mood, almost of indifference, had fallen on him. He followed his Minister without complaint, back through the bunker complex, up to where the great fire burned low and the tapers on the tree. He heard the singing mixed with the wind-voice, watched the children rock heavy-eyed, carolling sleep. The house seemed winding down, to rest; and she had gone of course. He sat in a corner and drank wine and brooded, watched the Minister move from group to group until he too was gone, the Hall nearly empty and the servants clearing away.

He found his own self, his inner self, dozing at last as it dozed at each day’s end. Tiredness, as ever, had come like a benison. He rose carefully, walked to the door. He thought, ‘I shan’t be missed here.’ Shutters closed, in his head.

He found his key, unlocked his room. He thought, ‘Now she will be waiting. Like all the letters that never came, the phones that never rang.’ He opened the door.

She said, “What kept you?”

He closed the door behind him, quietly. The fire crackled in the little room, the curtains were drawn against the night. She sat by the hearth, barefooted, still in her party dress. Beside her on the carpet were glasses, an ashtray with half-smoked stubs. One lamp was burning; in the warm light her eyes were huge and dark.

He looked across to the bookshelf. The Geissler stood where he had left it. He said, “How did you get in?”

She chuckled. She said, “There was a spare key on the back of the door. Didn’t you see me steal it?”

He walked toward her, stood looking down. He thought, ‘Adding another fragment to the puzzle. Too much, too complicated.’

She said, “Are you angry?”

He said, “No.”

She patted the floor. She said gently, “Please, Richard. Don’t be cross.”

He sat, slowly, watching her.

She said, “Drink?” He didn’t answer. She poured one anyway. She said, “What were you doing all this time? I thought you’d be up hours ago.”

He said, “I was talking to the Minister.”

She traced a pattern on the rug with her forefinger. Her hair fell forward, golden and heavy, baring the nape of her neck. She said, “I’m sorry about earlier on. I was stupid. I think I was a bit scared too.”

He drank slowly. He felt like a run-down machine. Hell to have to start thinking again at this time of night. He said, “What were you doing?”

She watched up at him. Her eyes were candid. She said, “Sitting here. Listening to the wind.”

He said, “That couldn’t have been much fun.”

She shook her head, slowly, eyes fixed on his face. She said softly, “You don’t know me at all.”

He was quiet again. She said, “You don’t believe in me, do you?”

He thought, ‘You need understanding. You’re different from the rest; and I’m selling myself short.’ Aloud he said, “No.”

She put the glass down, smiled, took his glass away. She hotched toward him across the rug, slid her arm round his neck. She said, “I was thinking about you. Making my mind up.” She kissed him. He felt her tongue pushing, opened his lips. She said, “
Mmm
…” She sat back a little, smiling. She said, “Do you mind ?”

“No.”

She pressed a strand of hair across her mouth, parted her teeth, kissed again. He felt himself react, involuntarily; and felt her touch and squeeze.

She said. “This is a silly dress. It gets in the way.” She reached behind her. The fabric parted; she pushed down, to the waist. She said, “Now it’s like last time.”

He said slowly, “Nothing’s ever like last time.”

She rolled across his lap, lay watching up. She whispered, “I’ve put the clock back.”

Later in the dream she said, “I was so silly.”

“What do you mean?”

She said, “I was shy. That was all. You weren’t really supposed to go away.”

He said, “What about James?”

“He’s got somebody else. I didn’t know what I was missing.”

He let his hand stray over her; and present and immediate past became confused so that as he held her he still saw her kneeling, firelight dancing on her body. He reached for her and she was ready again; she fought, chuckling, taking it bareback, staying all the way.

Much later he said, “The Minister gave me a Lamborghini.”

She rolled onto her belly, lay chin in hands watching under a tangle of hair. She said, “And now you’ve got yourself a blonde. What are you going to do with us ?”

He said, “None of it’s real.”

She said, “
Oh
…” She punched him. She said, “Richard, you make me cross. It’s happened, you idiot. That’s all. It happens to everybody.” She scratched again with a finger on the carpet. She said, “I hope you’ve made me pregnant. Then you’d have to marry me.”

He narrowed his eyes; and the wine began again, singing in his head.

She nuzzled him. She said, “You asked me once. Say it again.”

“I don’t remember.”

She said, “Richard, please…” So he said, “Diane, will you marry me?” And she said, “Yes, yes, yes,” then afterwards awareness came and though it wasn’t possible he took her again and that time was finest of all, tight and sweet as honey. He’d fetched pillows from the bed and the counterpane, they curled close and he found himself talking, talking, how it wasn’t the sex, it was shopping in Marlborough and having tea and seeing the sun set from White Horse Hill and being together, together; then she pressed fingers to his mouth and he fell with her in sleep past cold and loneliness and fear, past deserts and unlit places, down maybe to where spires reared gold and tree leaves moved and dazzled and white cars sang on roads and suns burned inwardly, lighting new worlds.

He woke, and the fire was low. He sat up, dazed. She was watching him. He stroked her hair awhile, smiling; then she pushed away. She said, “Richard, I have to go now.”

“Not yet.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

He said, “It doesn’t matter.”

She said, “It does. He mustn’t know.”

“Who?”

She said, “You know who. You know why I was asked here.”

He said, “He’s not like that. Honestly.”

She shivered. She said, “Richard, please. Don’t get me in trouble.” She smiled. She said, “It’s only till tomorrow. Only a little while.”

He stood, awkwardly, and held her, pressing her warmth close. Shoeless, she was tiny; her shoulder fitted beneath his armpit.

Halfway through dressing she stopped and laughed, leaned a hand against the wall. She said, “I’m all woozy.”

Later he said, “I’ll see you to your room.”

She said, “No, please. I’m all right.” She was holding her handbag, and her hair was combed. She looked, again, as if she had been to a party.

At the door she turned. She said, “I love you, Richard. Truly.” She kissed again, quickly; and was gone.

He closed the door, dropped the latch. He stood a while looking round the room. In the fire a burned-through log broke with a snap, sending up a little whirl of sparks. He walked to the washstand, bathed his face and hands. He shook the counterpane out on the bed, rearranged the pillows. Her scent still clung to him; he remembered how she had felt, and what she had said.