He visited the hotel doctor briefly to have the neck scratch bandaged, and the pompous Dutchman clucked and shook his head, muttering about careless Americans, and finally let him go.
He walked through the morning sunshine into Amschellig, following the brick-deck walk on top of the dike.
The bathers on the beach laughed and splashed in the surf. The tennis players ran grimly back and forth in their sweaty routine. The rijwielpad beside the highway was crowded with humming, speeding bicycles. The sea was calm. Sails shone and bent to the gentle wind.
It was as if yesterday’s elemental tempest had never been.
Jan Gunther was not on the Suzanne when Durell arrived at the mooring at the municipal pier. A girl in a bright summer frock was busy on deck with a picnic basket lunch, and it was a moment before Durell realized that the very feminine, petite figure belonged to Trinka Van Horn. It was the first time he had seen her wear anything but shorts or dungarees and a man’s white shirt.
Her dark hair shone softly and with luster in the sun. She wore a delicately shaded lipstick that subtly emphasized her desirable mouth. And, like herself, the Suzanne had been scoured and polished until everything about the girl and the boat shone in the gentle warmth of the noonday sun.
“Hello,” she said, and she blushed.
He kissed her. “It’s good to see you like this.”
“You are surprised? But you knew I was a woman.”
“Yes, I knew,” he said.
She blushed deeper. “A rather scarlet woman, I suppose you think, after yesterday afternoon.”
“Not at all. A lovely, wonderful woman with much to offer.”
She laughed and suddenly seemed easier. “And they say Americans have no ability for gallantry! You are marvelous. All at once I feel much better, Sam. And now I am starved! My appetite is atrocious, is it not?”
“I don’t know where you put it all,” he smiled.
“I suppose it will catch up with me later, and I will become big and fat and matronly.”
“Never.”
“You are being gallant again. Or is it hunger that makes you say such nice things?”
“Both,” he said.
She said soberly, “You notice: I do not ask if it was love.”
“Trinka,” he said. “It’s not.”
She turned her head away and busied herself with the picnic basket. There was chicken and fresh bread and butter in a small ice chest, with fruit, and bottles of Dutch beer and gin. She had spread a small table with white linen and silver. He watched her for a moment and then touched her cheek and turned her so he could see her eyes.
“Is it so bad with you, then, Trinka?”
“Oh, no. It’s just— Well, yesterday you made me a woman, and this carries with it certain responsibilities,” she said soberly. “I suppose you think I am much too serious for my age, but I can’t help being Dutch, after all— even though I don’t know where my passions may take me, as they did yesterday.” She paused. “Why do you smile?”
“You’re very lovely,” he said.
“You think I am amusing?” She laughed suddenly. “I suspect I am. You need not worry. I will not ask you for anything. I simply had to see you again, to make sure my decision is correct. I thought about it all night, you see, after we left Inspector Flaas. I’ve been ordered to the Hague for another assignment, and you and I may never meet again. And I just had to see you once more, today.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
She looked down at the table she had reset a dozen times. “I’ve decided to marry at last, that’s the thing.”
“Oh?”
She turned in defiance. “Yes. And it’s Jan. I’ve decided to marry Jan Gunther, after all.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” he said sincerely. “But— have you decided to confess to him about us—about you and me?”
“I don’t know,” she said seriously. “Should I?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Then I shan’t,” she decided primly.
Later, when he had finished the excellent and bountiful lunch, big Jan returned from the market with supplies for the Suzanne, and he toasted and congratulated the couple. Durell then left the boat and walked through the sunshine on Amschellig’s main street to the Boerderij Inn. He was not surprised when the red Mercedes-Benz eased toward him through the tourist traffic and the horn sounded gently but insistently. Cassandra was behind the wheel.
The sun turned her hair to molten gold, in a sleek and shining frame for her beautiful face. She wore a white linen dress, gold Balinese earrings, necklace, and white gloves. Trinka had looked sweet and demure, a child: Cassandra was smart and sophisticated and completely continental. She stopped the car and opened the door for Durell.
“I hope you do not think I am too bold, darling,” she said. “I stopped at the Gunderhof and picked up your luggage.”
“Reading my mind?” he asked.
“I hope so. You are going to Amsterdam, are you not?”
“Yes. First leg of my trip home.”
“Are you in a great hurry?”
“That depends.”
“I am going to Amsterdam, too,” Cassandra said, easing the powerful car out of the burden of traffic to the main highway south of Amschellig. “You don’t mind if I ask you to accept a lift? You owe me something—after all, I did save your life yesterday when Erich started to fire and I knocked his gun aside.” Her eyes slid sidewise toward him, smiling, and she looked somehow at peace with herself and the world. “So much has happened since I last saw you with the police. I am a good loser, you see. Inspector Flaas has ordered me to remain in Holland until the investigation of the general’s activities is completed. And I do not mind. I am a guest of the state, with a generous allowance.” “And what will you do afterward?”
“I think I will manage, don’t you?”
He considered the smooth line of her hip and thigh and the proud lift of her breast as she guided the Mercedes southward. “Yes, you have the equipment,” he said. “You’ll get along.”
“You rejected me, though.”
“Both times with good reason.”
“But that is all over now. It is like a nightmare—like an illness, as if all the things I said and did with you were done in a fever, when I was out of my mind. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“I feel as if I were reborn today. I want to make a fresh start. I need confidence. When I am through with the police here, I shall go to the south of France, to the Riviera. Something should turn up there.”
“Such as a rich Argentinian cattle rancher?”
“Perhaps.” She grinned. Then she added seriously, “Do you know, I rather like the name of Cassandra. Should I keep it?”
“Why not?”
“Do you say this because it suits me? Because it connotes something evil?”
“I never thought of you as evil, Cassandra. I always—thought you were as much a victim of all this as anyone could be.”
“Even when I tried to kill you?”
“That was yesterday. As you say, this is a new day.” They were silent. Already Amschellig was far behind, and the big red Mercedes traveled a small, narrow side road near the shore. They passed through a small Dutch village nestled along the dike, then another. The clean, shining land of meadows, windmills and tree-lined canals had never looked brighter, Durell thought. Now and then the car lifted as if on wings over a bridge that spanned a canal or stream. The main highway was miles away to their left. They were out of the usual traffic route for tourists, he noted, and the villages they passed, with their small inns and hotels, were unpretentious and honest, not conscious of the tourists who seldom used this route.
He was not surprised when the engine coughed and the Mercedes hesitated. Cassandra made a small sound and eased the car under the shade of a huge old beech tree. Ahead was an inn, a few other cars, and a herd of Frisian cattle in the distance.
The host, a stout and beaming
Dutchman, came out of the inn door as the Mercedes rolled to a halt.
“Ah, Frau van Uittal. You are exactly on time, as promised. I have the room all ready, very private, very discreet.”
Cassandra looked at Durell with wide and innocent eyes. “Oh, dear, I seem to have run out of petrol again.”
Durell looked at the shining, sunny world and then at the blond girl who willingly waited beside him.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Assignment - Lowlands Page 19
