by Mary Stewart
‘I see. I saw the camera, but I didn’t know whether I’d got on to it or not, and of course I was hoping I wasn’t recognisable. I suppose you went to see it yourself?’ I nodded. ‘How recognisable was it?’
‘Fairly clear, I’m afraid. Does it matter?’
He didn’t answer that. ‘Fancy your seeing it. It’s one of those things.’ He was silent again for a moment. ‘It never entered my head it could get as far as you. But as soon as I saw you here in Oberhausen I realised you must have found out somehow, and that was all I could think of. Have you any idea if it got on to television?’
‘Not in England, I’m pretty sure. I usually watch the news, and I haven’t seen it. And I’m sure if it had been on, and anyone had recognised you, it would have got back to me.’ I sat up, hugging my knees, and pulling the feather puff round me. ‘Lewis, what is all this? I got your cable from Stockholm on the Monday. Did you send it?’
‘No.’
‘I thought you couldn’t have. And then there was the letter; that came on Friday. I suppose that was given to someone to post for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But – why Stockholm? Why not just Vienna anyway?’
‘I had to have somewhere clear away from where you and I were going. It wouldn’t have been easy to stall you off coming if it had been more or less on the way. As it happens,’ said Lewis a little bitterly, ‘I’d have done better to spare the extra few lies, if I was going to be so bloody careless as to get myself into the news.’
‘And you had to stall me off?’
‘Yes.’
I said miserably: ‘You can see what I thought when I saw the news reel. I couldn’t believe there was anything wrong between us, not really . . . but I – I’d been so unhappy, and after what we’d said to each other that dreadful afternoon—’
‘That’s over. We’ll not talk about that any more.’ That it was over, had never even been started, had been agreed between us some half-hour earlier.
‘No, all right. I love you very much, Lewis.’
He made the kind of noise a husband considers sufficient answer to that remark – a sort of comforting grunt – then reached across to the pocket of his jacket where it hung over the chair, for cigarette and lighter, and lay down again beside me on the single bed.
‘There. Decent enough for you? No, keep that beastly puff thing; wrap it round you, sweetie, I’m warm enough now . . . I see. You saw this news reel thing, worked it out that I was here in Austria when I’d told you I was going to Stockholm; thought, presumably, that I might have been sent from Stockholm to Austria on business; but when you got the note allegedly written from Stockholm on the day you knew I was near Graz, you decided you’d come to see what it was all about. That it?’
‘More or less. I think in a silly sort of way it was Carmel Lacy asking me to travel with Tim that really made me decide to come. It seemed to – well, to fit in so. It was as if I was being pushed to Austria, as if I was sort of meant to come. Besides, I had to know what you were up to. It was obvious there was something.’
‘And what did you think I was up to?’
‘I didn’t know. When I saw the girl – Annalisa – she was on the film too, you know—’
‘Was she? Yes, I see.’ He sounded rather pleased than otherwise. He blew a smoke-ring which feathered up, ghostly in the frail light that showed through the gap in the window curtains. ‘Don’t you trust me, then?’
‘No.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said mildly, and a second smoke-ring went through the first.
I shot up beside him. ‘Lewis!’
‘Keep your voice down, for pity’s sake!’ He reached a lazy arm and pulled me down close to him. ‘You can, as a matter of fact. I thought I’d just given you the best of reasons why you should.’
‘Or why I shouldn’t.’
‘Depending on the point of view? There’s something in that.’ He sounded no more than placidly amused. ‘Lie still, girl, and don’t be unrestful. We haven’t much time, and I want to hear the rest.’
I obeyed him. ‘All right. And don’t forget there’s quite a lot that I want to hear as well.’ I told him, as quickly as I could, all that had happened. ‘After you’d left us this evening with Annalisa, I didn’t know whether to tell Timothy the truth or not, but I thought I’d better wait until I’d talked to you, so I pretended I’d made a mistake. You’d given me a hint you’d be seeing me soon, so I half expected you at the circus.’
‘I came down later. I watched you operating.’
‘I know you did. My spies are everywhere.’ I felt him laugh quietly to himself. ‘What’s the joke?’
‘Nothing. I take it you got the buns?’
‘Yes, thank you very much. You’ve a life-long admirer in Timothy; he thinks you show real executive sense. Why didn’t you stay? You must have known I was looking round corners for you.’
‘I thought I’d keep out of your way till we could talk alone. Anyway, I was afraid of putting you off. You do a nice job, Mrs March.’
‘Poor old Piebald, Herr Wagner was going to put him down, I think. He was Franzl’s, and he’s pretty well useless. However, he’ll be all right now, and officially, I gather, he’s Annalisa’s, and I’ve a feeling she’ll let him end his days in peace for her uncle’s sake. Incidentally, I warn you, you’re about to lose her to Timothy.’
‘Well, I hope he can shoot straight,’ said Lewis. ‘Half the rodeo act and all the clowns are in love with her, not to mention that Balog character, and the dwarf. And if you say “Are you?” I shall do you a violence.’
‘Are you?’
He tightened his arm round me, and I snuggled my cheek close into the crook of his shoulder, against the rough sweater. There was a long, comfortable silence. I heard the tiny hiss of tobacco as he drew on the cigarette, and the fire ate along the tube.
‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, muffled, ‘I don’t care any more why you’re here. You’re here, that’s all. Darling Lewis. The only thing is, mayn’t I stay with you? Can we have our holiday now, soon, here? Whatever it is you were doing, have you finished it?’
‘Almost. Once I’ve reported back to Vienna, that’s probably it.’
‘You’re going there tomorrow?’
‘Today. Yes.’
‘I gather you’d rather go alone. Then if I wait for you here – no, not here, somewhere where you can be Lewis March – could you come back when you’ve made your report, and we could have our holiday together as from then?’
‘It’s possible. What about the boy?’
‘Annalisa can have him,’ I said sleepily. ‘Fair exchange. Lewis, you’re not lying on this clean bed with those ghastly trousers on, are you?’
‘Good heavens, no. Those were the ones I wore for mucking out the stables.’
‘They looked like it.’ I chuckled. ‘Did you really groom the horses?’
‘I did. Did I tell you one of those damned yellow ones bit me? The things I do for England . . . I should get both danger money and dirt money this time.’
There was a silence.
‘Well, I suppose it’s my turn now. Listen, Van, my dear, I ought not to tell you even now, but as things are, I think I’ve got to, and in any case I know by this time I can trust you with anything I’ve got, and’ – I heard the smile – ‘I’m quitting, anyway. Besides, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve a feeling I’ll want your help.’ He stretched the other arm and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bed-side table. Then he put the hand behind his head. ‘Now, we haven’t much time, because we must both get some sleep. I’ll make it fast, and give you only the bare facts. You’ll be able to supply the details for yourself, once you know the score. All this tangle about Stockholm, the cable, the letter, the Lee Elliott nonsense, the lies – you’ll see why, when I’ve told you the rest.’
He paused, then went on softly, his eyes on the ceiling, where the dark beams were swimming faintly into the first light of dawn.
‘What I
told you earlier this evening about my job in Oberhausen was true, as far as it went. Paul Denver and I worked for the same employer, and I was on my way down here to meet him, when the fire happened, and he died. I got into Oberhausen in the small hours of Monday morning. I knew Denver was in touch with the circus, and as soon as I got to the village I saw the fire in the circus field, and went straight in. When I didn’t see Paul, and people were shouting about there being a second man in the wagon, I guessed who it was.’
‘Annalisa said you just came running out of the dark and helped them.’
‘Yes. When we got him out he was dead. Franz Wagner was still alive.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘So much was true. Now for the rest. Here it is. My job at PEC is a perfectly genuine one, but I also do other jobs from time to time for another employer, sometimes under other names. This was one of them. Some of my trips abroad are for my – well, call it my secondary job. PEC don’t know, of course, and I won’t tell how the trips are fixed; nor will I tell you the name of my own Department . . . but take it from me, in the Sales Department of PEC there’s so much coming and going that all things seem to be possible.’ I heard the even, soft voice alter as he smiled. ‘There you have it, in all its sizzling drama. Some of my jobs – the ones I’ve refused to take you on – have been what you’d call cloak-and-dagger assignments.’
‘Cloak-and-dagger? You mean Secret Service? Lewis!’ I struggled to take it in. ‘You mean you’re a – an agent? A . . . spy?’
He laughed. ‘Take your pick of titles. We’re not choosey.’
‘Lewis, it’s – I can’t believe – you?’
‘As ever was. I’m sorry if it’s a wild disillusionment.’ He turned his head sharply. ‘Why, darling, you’re shivering! Honey, it’s not dangerous . . . We don’t all go roaring off in special Aston Martins loaded down with guns and suicide pills – more likely a bowler hat and a briefcase and maybe a roll of notes for bribing some snotty little informer. Good God, you’ve seen how dangerous this job is – grooming horses.’
‘“The things you do for England.”’
‘Exactly that. And all that’s happened is I got bitten by a palomino stallion.’
‘And Paul Denver died.’
‘And Paul Denver died.’ The smile left his voice. ‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no evidence that it’s anything but an accident. Heaven knows the police have kept the circus standing long enough, while they went over everything with a fine toothcomb. Franz Wagner had had a small fire break out in his wagon once before – and he was a drunk. Mind you, that made him the person for Paul to get next to, if there was information to be got: another thing, I couldn’t see Paul getting equally so sozzled that a fire could break out round him. But the reason for that wasn’t far to seek. He’d had a crack on the head. Which is why, with my nasty suspicious nature, I’ve spent so long trying to find some shred of evidence that would make it something other than an accident. But I can’t. On the other hand, there was evidence that the hook holding the oil lamp had broken, and the lamp had fallen, and it seems it could have knocked Paul silly for long enough to burn him to death, while old Franz, who was merely very drunk, survived long enough – he was farther away from the source of fire – to be pulled out. He was able to speak – just. One imagines that if there’d been “foul play” he’d have tried to say something about it, but he didn’t.’
‘I hadn’t realised he was coherent.’
‘He was conscious, but I wouldn’t say coherent, poor old chap. The shock had knocked the drink out of him, but he was in pain, and besides, there was a terrible flap going on, with men trying to get the horses out of the stable lines just beside where he was lying, and he could talk about nothing else but the horses and all the gear in the stable . . . There was a bit of a wind, and at one time they were afraid the stables might catch fire. We tried to question him, but all he would do was rave on and on about the horses – the Lipizzaner, mostly – and some precious saddle or other from Naples that he seemed to set store by.’
‘That was all?’
‘As far as we could make out. We tried to tell him the horses were safe – the white stallion was out first of all, as a matter of fact – but I don’t know if it got through to him. He was still talking about him – the Lipizzaner – when he died.’ He paused for a moment. ‘It was Annalisa he was trying to talk to . . . She was there all the time. It’s fairly distressing to watch anyone die of burns, Van. Afterwards, when the police descended on them, and her father had to leave her . . .’
I knew he was trying to explain, without seeming to explain, the apparent swiftness of intimacy between himself and the girl. I said: ‘It’s all right, I understand. You’re a comforting person to have around. Couldn’t she make out what Franzl was saying, then?’
‘Not really. She says that none of the harness is Italian, it’s all Austrian made, and there’s nothing of any value, as far as she knows. It all seemed to mean nothing. So there’s your mystery. Whatever Franzl had on his mind, it wasn’t murder. Paul’s death looks like one of those damned accidents that can cut right across the best-laid plans. If I’d got here a couple of hours earlier, I might have located him in time to stop whatever happened, and to hear what he had to tell me.’
‘You say you were already on your way to meet him. You’d been sent to get some information from him?’
‘Yes. What seems to have happened is this: Denver’s been in Czechoslovakia, and he came out a few days ago. He put in his report at Vienna Station – that’s what we call our clearing-house for Eastern Europe – and then he went on leave here in Austria. As far as anyone knew, I gather, he was just doing as he said, and taking a holiday. All right. Next thing, the Department got a message – coded cable – asking for me to go out immediately, me and no one else. He had made contact with the Circus Wagner, and I was to pick him up there as Lee Elliott (I’d worked with him under that name before). Well, what Paul asked for he usually got, so I came. The rest you know.’
‘And you’ve no idea why he sent for you?’
‘The only clue I have is the contact he’d made with the circus – that, and the fact that he insisted on its being I who joined him. You see, the circus is crossing into Yugoslavia in two days’ time, and Paul and I had worked there together before. I speak pretty good Serbo-Croat. Now, Paul’s cover and Lee Elliott’s are quite good enough to get across the border without burying ourselves in a circus, so I can only imagine that Paul had got himself into the circus because whatever he had found, and was following up, is centred there.’
‘Something or someone who hasn’t got good cover, trying to get over the border?’
‘That’s the obvious conclusion. A circus is one group of people that tends to have the freedom of frontiers, even of Iron Curtain ones; but among all that crowd of men and goods and animals . . . Well, without a lead, it’s hopeless. I’ve hung around and made myself useful, and fraternised madly – and I’ve found nothing.’
‘And that’s your report? Just negative?’
‘A nice useful negative. A splendid last assignment.’
‘Will they leave it at that? I mean, is there any chance they’d want you to stick with it – to cross the border?’
He stirred. ‘I don’t think they’ll send me, no. But . . . well, I can’t think why else Paul insisted on the “Lee Elliott” stuff, if he hadn’t expected to go back there.’ His hand moved to ruffle my hair. ‘Don’t cross bridges, darling, it may not be necessary. But if it were, the only risk would be another bite from that perishing yellow stallion.’
I said: ‘What you’re trying to tell me is, you might go for your own personal satisfaction?’
He said slowly: ‘If you put it like that, yes. I don’t see that the Department will want me to take it further, as things are; but . . .’ He hesitated for the first time. ‘My own satisfaction, yes, call it that. It isn’t a hunch: I don’t ride hunches. But I knew Denver, and if he had something to tell me,
it’s probable that it mattered. You’ll have to forgive him. He had no idea that I was going on leave, or that I was quitting. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t. We’ve had all that. I’m not saying any of those things again. If it matters, it matters. The only thing is, I’ll come too, this time. No, don’t laugh at me, I mean it. If you’re going under your own steam, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t, and I may even be able to help. I’ve got as good a connection with the circus as you have – I’m vet-in-chief, and I’ve been invited in any time I like. Besides, I’ve got a patient I have to see to.’
‘Entendu. Have you also got a visa?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then . . . No, I’m not laughing you off; I told you I want your help, and I do want you to do just what you’ve said – stick with the circus till it leaves. Listen to me. I’ve got to go back to Vienna in the morning, and in any case my reasons for sticking around the circus are wearing a bit thin, and will hardly survive the pull-down, let alone the move across the border. But by the sheerest luck you’re here, and you’ve got this cast-iron – and totally innocent – connection with them. They’ve got two more nights in this country, at Hohenwald, then Zechstein, then the border. Now, if you and Timothy should just happen to be travelling much the same route as that . . . and if you happened to take such a keen professional interest in your old piebald patient that you felt you must look in on them again . . . That’s all, don’t ask any specific questions, just look and listen. Get in back stage, talk to people, move around and keep your eyes open. I told you I don’t ride hunches, but I can feel it in my bones, there’s something up . . . The point is that whatever’s wrong, whoever’s wrong, they’ll relax once they’re rid of Denver’s friend and colleague – me. And if they do relax, you may see or hear something.’
‘And if we do?’
‘Do nothing. Understand? Do nothing. Wait for me.’
