by Edna Dawes
“I am getting very fond of you, Kathryn,” he said as he held her. “Don’t retreat too far from me into legend-land, will you.”
“I’ll have to go home in a few days, Robert, which may be a very long way from you. You never did tell me your home town that night. You were too busy finding out all about me.”
“London is not far from Bournemouth, so that’s no problem, but will I be welcome?”
“I shall always be pleased to see you,” she hedged.
“That isn’t what I mean, and you know it. You’re such a damned independent baggage, I’m not sure you wouldn’t get along without me quite well.”
“Let’s wait until we get back and see what happens,” she suggested. “Good night, Robert.”
His feet clattered downstairs again a few minutes afterwards, and she sighed as she leant against her window-sill gazing across the light-studded valley. It was painfully obvious he was taking their friendship more seriously than a holiday romance and she wished last night had never happened. Robert was kind, thoughtful, intelligent, fun to be with, nice-looking enough to be proud of, and appeared reasonably well-off. There was only one thing against him – he wasn’t Anton Reiter! Since the trout dance last night, her feelings for Robert had been overshadowed by her impossible reaction to the Austrian. Her clenched fists banged gently on the window-sill. Why, oh why, had those two youngsters dragged them into the kissing dance! But for that, she might well be half in love with Robert, who was eminently suitable — and English. How he would stiffen if he knew that thought! During his sports career he must have mixed with so many people from all over the world that her silly emphasis on Robert being the same nationality as herself must irk him no end. Oh dear, what a situation she had created!
As if to add to her torment, light suddenly fell on the garden below and highlighted the blond hair of the man in question as he crossed to his own house and went inside. Light appeared at the long windows and she could picture him relaxing with a drink while he listened to the hi-fi. Sure enough, it was not long before the strains of Mozart reached her ears. The sound increased her moodiness.
All desire to work on her folk tale was banished by Robert’s indifference to it, and her humiliating experience at the garage this morning returned to plague her. The self-assurance she tried so hard to acquire seemed very elusive at the moment, yet she was determined not to be hustled home by well-meaning people only to face the probing questions her mother would ask. By the end of a week the whole of Bournemouth would know how “Kathy made such a terrible mess of her holiday she had to be packed home before she created an international incident”. Oh yes, Mrs. Davis would go to town on her daughter’s latest folly until life would become intolerable!
How much better if she could leave when she wished, knowing she had solved the mystery surrounding this village. How she could set about it she had no idea. All the time they believed she was suffering from an over-active imagination, nobody would believe a word she said. Her thoughts pulled up sharply. One man would – Anton Reiter! At no time had he suggested that he doubted her, and since he knew everyone in the village, wasn’t he the ideal person with whom to discuss the mystery of the number plates on her car?
With an upsurge of impetuosity she grabbed a coat and went quietly downstairs and through the door, unseen by a soul. There did not seem to be a side entrance to the house so she made for the long sliding windows at the back and knocked hard on the pane. A startled face appeared through the curtains, then Anton slid back the window and took her hands. Any last minute doubts she may have had were wiped away by the pleasure on his face.
“Kathryn! Come in, please. I had not hoped for this.” He drew her into the warmth. “There is nothing wrong, is there?” His concern was a bit late, she thought, but shook her head quickly.
“No. I wanted some advice, that’s all.”
A shadow passed across the pleasure on his face, but he said, “Of course. I have just made some coffee. Would you like some?”
“I’ve only come for a minute.”
“A minute is not very long. I am not sure I can give advice so quickly.”
Surrender came very easily, she discovered. “Yes, I’ll have coffee, thank you.”
The words were hardly out before he had taken her coat, seated her in a comfortable chair, turned off the hi-fi and poured her some coffee.
“I have been wondering about your visit to the Gendarmerie. Did your English friend accompany you?”
The question disconcerted her because he was leaning across to give her the coffee and his shrewd blue eyes were only inches from hers.
“Er . . . no,” she faltered. “He wanted to, but I preferred to go on my own.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“He insists that I should return to England. I didn’t want any fuss at the Gendarmerie, that’s all.”
“And your plans to go home?”
Her spoon stirred the coffee vigorously. “I haven’t any.”
“Good!” He looked at her for a few seconds. “I feel flattered that you should have come to me for advice, Kathryn. Does it mean that you are at last aware that I am trying to help you?”
“Yes, though I can’t think why.”
“Can you not?” It was said very lightly, but the words conjured up that kiss at the trout dance as surely as if he had mentioned it in detail. Before she could become confused he went straight on with, “What is this advice which I can give you?”
Now that the moment had come she felt uncertain of the reception her disclosure would receive, but the smile of encouragement he gave set her talking. By the time she had finished telling him of the nocturnal switching of the number plates, Anton was leaning back in his chair with barely-concealed perturbation written all over him.
“I can hardly believe this, Kathryn. You suggest that these men who are much respected in the village are involved in an attempt to conceal a murder.”
“Peter told me he couldn’t make a start on my car. He wasn’t getting mixed up over his English, either. He meant what he said. Then, when the Inspector called shortly afterwards the bonnet had been straightened and resprayed. Because of it, the police were unable to search for any traces of blood or other signs that I had hit a person during the accident. If that isn’t hiding evidence, I don’t know what is!”
He pursed his lips. “Did you see the damaged car?”
“No.”
“Then is it not possible that the repair was already done when you called?”
“I suppose so – but why tell me a lie? He was not to know that I would not ask to see it.”
He thought for a while. “If what you say is true, it means Peter changed the cars because there was no evidence on yours to suggest that you had killed the man. In other words, he wanted the police to think you were responsible for the death.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it!’
There was a quick shake of his head. “I am sorry, Kathryn, but I refuse to believe that either of these men would kill, then try to put suspicion on to an innocent young tourist. Now wait, please,” he said as she banged her cup on to the table in quick anger, “I have not said I disbelieve your story, but I know these two well enough to be sure there must be another reason for their actions. One which we cannot imagine at the moment. You have not mentioned this to the Inspector?”
“No. After his reception of the trout farm episode, I felt I would be wasting my time. It was Dr. Hallstein who persuaded him I was nuts that time.”
“What is this ‘nuts’ that you speak of?” he asked with a wide smile.
She returned the smile reluctantly. “It’s slang. Whoever taught you your English probably never used it.”
“He used stronger words than a girl, no doubt. I never quite trusted what he told me. I preferred to check each word in the dictionary before I used it. My friends were very fond of playing tricks on me.”
“Do you speak other languages?”
“French well, Italian a little,
Swedish even less.”
“How I envy you! I expect your idea of a ‘little’ would mean ‘very well’ to me.”
“No, no, only a little, I assure you. How to ask for a beer, how to make a date with a girl – and several other things which are improper.” He had a sudden boyish look which reminded her of the photographs in his book.
“I suppose you learnt all this from your ski-friends.”
“Yes,” he said with the grin fading from his face. “Would you like more coffee?”
His abrupt change of subject made her feel awkward. “No . . . I should be going. It’s getting late.” She half-rose, but he quickly stretched a hand across the table to hold her arm.
“But you have not told me on what it is you wish me to advise you. Please stay for a little longer.”
She sank back in her chair. “I just wanted to ask you what I should do about Peter. I went to the garage this morning and he suggested I was still imagining things. He also made me look a fool in front of a customer there. Apart from tackling Dr. Hallstein, who would simply laugh it off in the same way, I really can’t think how to discover what they are up to.” She looked an appeal at him. “Don’t you think it is time someone found out?”
He drew in a deep breath. “Yes, of course. I promise to see them tomorrow. Is that enough?”
“Thank you, Anton. You have done an awful lot for me. I’m very grateful.”
“Then I suggest you do something for me in return,” was his surprising reply. “I should like you to forget about deaths and mysteries, and relax for a while. It has occurred to me that since you arrived in my country, you have had nothing but fright and worry. I should like to show you that it can be very gemütlich in Mosskirch also. Will you let me entertain you for a short while?”
Vague ideas of his showing her a few more old Austrian customs fluttered through her mind, but he was already at the hi-fi searching through the records.
“Do you like music? I hope so because we are a very musical nation, although we do not waltz to Strauss the whole time as our image suggests.”
A few depressed knobs, a switch or two and the glorious sound of a full orchestra playing ballet music washed over the room. He adjusted the volume and went to the sideboard to pour drinks. “Here you are,” he said as he approached her chair. “I have not given you Schnapps because you would fall asleep. You will like this much better.” He put the glass on the table and switched off one of the table-lamps as he sat down opposite her.
“You haven’t given me a chance to answer yet,” she protested half-heartedly.
The boyish grin appeared again. “But surely you were not going to refuse?”
“How could I in the face of all this,” she waved her hand in the air. “After all, I came to Austria to get away from it all.”
She took an experimental sip of her drink. “It tastes of apricots. It’s nice.”
“Do not drink it too fast,” he warned with an outstretched hand, “or I shall have to carry you back to the Gasthaus. Now,” he put both arms behind his head, “tell me about your life in England.”
Heady with the warm comfort of the room, the music and the effect he had on her, Kathryn found herself talking freely of her books, of the temporary secretarial jobs she took whenever funds were low, of Bournemouth in season and out, and of her ambition to write a full-length magical play like Peter Pan for young theater-goers. In all her revelations there was no mention of her mother. She was loath to bring Mrs. Davis into this special evening for fear she would, even in spirit, manage to spoil it in some way.
Anton told her of the Tyrol with its tourist attractions, about Mosskirch in winter and summer seasons, and about his taste in music, but his skiing career might never have happened for he made no mention of it whatsoever. While he talked, she studied his face so that she would remember it when she had long since returned to Bournemouth. The light from the table-lamp highlighted the gleam of his smooth golden hair as he moved his head to emphasize something he was saying. She saw for the first time, the slight pull of his right eyelid where the surgeons had operated to save his sight after the accident, and wondered again why he had made no mention of skiing to her. It must have been his whole life for most of his younger days, yet he had wiped it from his mind as though it had never happened. Her eyes travelled down to his mouth which was his most mobile feature. Fascinated by the way he accented words she had heard since a child, they lingered on the lips which had turned her world upside down on the night of the trout dance and noticed a downward line of bitterness which was evident until his bright smile banished it. Remembering the photographs in the book she had bought, she realized the line had not been there then!
They chose records together and squabbled lightheartedly about the merits of various composers, and Anton even tried to teach her some simple phrases in German which she might find useful. It was quite hilarious, and time flew past without either noticing it. At last, Kathryn saw it was past midnight and jumped up aghast.
“Heavens, I had no idea it was that late. I must go.” She picked up her coat and slung it round her shoulders as she walked to the window, but Anton called her back.
“Come this way, Kathryn. It is better than through the garden when it is dark.”
She followed him through the hall to a door at the side of the building. “Thank you for cheering me up. I was feeling low when I came over.” She smiled up at him. “I enjoyed your Austrian hospitality very much.”
“I am glad. That means you will come again.” His arms slid round her waist. “You will come again, Kathryn?”
Her answer was lost beneath his lips. This time there were no stamping feet and crazy colored lights, but the resultant chaos inside her was the same.
He lifted his head and murmured, “Du bist so schön, mein Schätzchen.” Another brush of his lips. “That phrase is part of lesson two. Good night, Kathryn. Sleep well.”
She didn’t wait for him to escort her. The minute he opened the door she fled for the Gasthaus afraid her feelings would be betrayed if she lingered. The moonlight illuminated the square yard, shining on the slight frost which sparkled on the stone pavements and etching the scene in silver and white. It could have been paradise, until she was caught by a pair of strong arms which came from the shadows. She gasped with fright, but it was only Robert.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked with a wildly hammering heart.
“I am returning from my usual walk. What you are doing is more to the point.” He sounded very angry.
“I . . . I am going to my room.”
“After your rendezvous with the ski-boy next door,” he sneered. “In future, I’d rather you tell me that you are off to meet a lover instead of pretending you have a headache. It would be more honest!”
She pulled away from his clutching hand. “Robert, I didn’t have a pre-arranged meeting with him, but in any case, I can’t see why I should tell you what I have planned. You are not my watchdog.”
“I thought that was just what I was, but you obviously have little regard for your own safety. That’s all right by me. By turning down my offer to ensure a quick return to England through the British consul you made it plain that something in Mosskirch was attracting you strongly enough to make you snap your fingers at danger. You had me nicely fooled as to what it was. Looking for a legend, you said. Ha! That sweet exterior with the fairy tale innocence hides the fact that you are no different from hundreds of girls who come abroad hoping to pick up a cheap thrill with the local Romeos. God, he must be feeling smug! You are filling the gap between seasons very nicely for him.”
In that instant she was a small girl again standing before her mother and feeling the tiny fingers of inadequacy crumbling her into a tiny ball. His cynicism crushed her gossamer dreams like a clumsy gardener blundering through fine-spun cobwebs, and she felt emotionally stripped bare. Through the thickness of tears in her throat she croaked, “Go to the devil – and take Anton Reiter with you! Then, perhaps,
you will both leave me alone.”
Chapter Six
The quilt on Kathryn’s bed suffered its worst pounding that night as she released all her pent-up emotions by attacking it. Robert’s words had pulled out her foundations of self-assurance. His inference that she was merely looking for a cheap holiday romance with the local ski-instructor made her want to curl up in a corner. At twenty-three she should be past the stage of falling victim to a sun-bronzed, blue-eyed, blond heart-throb who probably practised that kissing-dance technique on every willing girl tourist during the season.
Oh, she could just hear her mother expounding on the subject! “Kathy, dear, you surely weren’t taken in by that continental seduction routine! Everyone knows about village Lotharios. They have a wonderful time impressing immature girls who never stay long enough to become an embarrassment. Of course, with your head in the clouds so much of the time, I suppose it is only to be expected! I wish you would concentrate on something more suitable. Spending so much time thinking of fairies and such-like isn’t good for you. You’ll never become a responsible woman while you dream so much. When I was your age (one of her favorite sentence starters) I was raising a family, helping your father on the poultry farm and putting in three days’ voluntary work at the cottage hospital. I also had granny living with us then, and looking after her was one person’s work, I can tell you!”
Yes, Mrs. Davis would leave Kathryn feeling filleted after a diatribe which would manage to come full circle to end with, “and now, this ridiculous adolescent crush on a foreign shopkeeper, for that is all he is despite the glamor of the ski-slopes which seems to have dazzled you.”
Into her depressing thoughts the sound of a high-pitched toot across the valley announced the arrival of the last train from Innsbruck to Sternsee. The sound still gave her pleasure, It was not really Kathryn’s fault that she had been blessed with a vivid imagination, or that her mother’s inexhaustible capacity for social work since her widowhood had left her with very little time to devote to her daughter’s artistic ability.
