Return to Vienna

by Nancy Buckingham

  Chapter 11

  Steve was waiting in the hall. Jakob, the manservant, was there too, standing guard, but he vanished the moment his master came back.

  “Jessica!”

  The way Steve said it, he sounded greatly relieved to see me—as if he’d half-expected to find I’d been spirited away.

  I forced my face into hard and unwelcoming lines. “Why have you come here?”

  Steve didn’t answer. He was scowling, and after a moment Leopold Hellweg took the hint.

  “Perhaps, Frau Varley, you would care to take Herr Elliott out onto the terrace.”

  I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be left alone with Steve, or whether it would be easier to have Leopold present while I got rid of him. But the decision was taken out of my hands. Giving a single cold nod, Leopold went striding into the library and shut the door after him with a very definite click.

  Steve muttered quickly: “What in the hell’s going on, Jessica?”

  I controlled myself, not knowing who might be able to overhear. “You’d better come outside, like Herr Hellweg said.”

  When we reached the terrace, I swung around on Steve fiercely. “I explained in my note that I’d be getting in touch with you. Why did you have to follow me out here? It’s most embarrassing.”

  He frowned, the furrows cutting deep. “Embarrassing? Just because a friend drops in to see you? It’s not as if I expect to be invited to stay.”

  “You weren’t invited to come at all. I’ve told you before, Steve, I wish you wouldn’t keep trying to interfere.”

  I watched him flush, but he managed to stay at a low temperature. “I’m not the only one who’s worried about you. Klara Hutyens is, too.”

  “Klara? I didn’t realize you knew her.”

  I guess my tone must have implied that he had no business knowing Klara Hutyens. Steve reacted by shedding just one thin layer of self-control.

  “I happen to be quite friendly with Bruno and Klara these days. Is that a crime, too?”

  I dodged answering the sarcasm. “But what did Klara - say to you? Just because I canceled a dinner invitation doesn’t mean that...” I stopped.

  “Doesn’t mean what?”

  I floundered. “Naturally, I’m sorry if my behavior struck her as rude.”

  “It’s nothing to do with rudeness, Jessica. Klara’s worried about whether you’re okay.”

  “Well, then, she needn’t be. I’m perfectly all right.”

  Steve used the technique of hitting swiftly and suddenly from a different direction. “You didn’t know these Hellweg people at all before last night, did you?”

  “They were friends of Max’s,” I countered.

  “You didn’t know them yourself, though. I’ll take a bet on that.”

  “Well, no, I’d never actually met Leopold and Ilse before, but . . .”

  “And yet, after meeting them casually at a party last night, you come belting out to their country home as a house guest. It would be interesting to know why.”

  This was crazy. I’d intended a quick no-nonsense brush off, and here I was on the defensive again. I was finding it so hard to fight Steve. Gathering the shreds of my anger together, I made a final effort.

  “What I choose to do is none of your business, Steve.”

  “I think it is.” He was really annoyed with me now.

  “And I say it isn’t.”

  We stood there glaring at each other, continuing the battle in a furious silence. The strain was almost beyond bearing, when Steve suddenly gave in.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry…”

  He had said that to me before, more than once.

  “You can’t put everything right just by saying you’re sorry. Will you please go away and not come back. And I don’t want you phoning me or writing, either.”

  “When do I see you again, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you will get in touch with me, won’t you?”

  “Yes—when I get back to Vienna.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  He hesitated, then said quietly, “Jessica, I want you to do something for me. It’s not much to ask---something you can do quite easily.”

  “What is it?” I said suspiciously.

  “Give me a ring at the office tomorrow.” Seeing the instant objection in my face, he added hastily, “Just to say hello and that you’re okay. Nothing more.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Can’t?”

  He was ready to seize on every single word I said. “It would be silly,” I amended. “There’s no point.”

  “It will take only a minute.”

  “No, Steve.”

  “I’d have thought it wouldn’t hurt you to do that small thing for me.”

  I had to get rid of him, and quickly. The longer we talked out here, the more suspicious Leopold would become. I didn’t want to spoil things just as it seemed we were on the point of a breakthrough.

  I sighed. “Oh, all right, then, if it’s that important to you. And now, good-bye, Steve.”

  He didn’t budge. “That is a promise, Jessica?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You really mean it?”

  I flared up again because I was so impatient for him to get going. “Do you want me to swear an oath or something? I’ve said I will, and that ought to be good enough for you,”

  “Thanks.” He relaxed a little. “I’ll be in the office all day tomorrow, so you can make it anytime before five-thirty.”

  I began to lead the way back into the house and was relieved that Steve followed me without any further argument. He remarked conversationally: “Quite a place your friends have.”

  “Yes,” I said shortly.

  At the front door he paused, looking at me very straight. “I’ll say good-bye, then, Jessica. See you soon—I hope.”

  I shut the door at once, before he’d even reached his car, but I waited there in the hall until I heard him drive off. And, when all sound of the Mercedes had died away in the distance, it was still some time before I went back to my chair on the terrace.

  A young maid, buxom and solidly built, brought me some tea—typical Austrian stuff, every bit as bad in its way as most English coffee. She informed me that dinner at the Villa Imwald was always served at eight o’clock.

  I saw nothing more of my hosts till then, so I had plenty of time to think about Steve’s visit. He had been really anxious about me, guessing in the face of my denials that I was in some sort of trouble. And I’d repaid his concern by packing him off as if I couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  One day, one day very soon, I promised myself, I’d give Steve a full explanation. I owed him that. And there was another thing I longed for—to alter his opinion about Max. It had hurt me bitterly to realize that there was something like contempt in Steve’s memory of my husband.

  Changing for dinner, I saw myself telling Steve all about Max’s undercover work, but the scene was only hazy in my mind, because I didn’t know it all yet—not the details. Lately my mental image of Max himself had become cloudy, and that was too cruel. For reassurance I glanced across to his picture on the table by the bed. Max wasn’t a man who liked being photographed, and this was the only one I had of him except for our wedding pictures. Tall and marvelously built, laughing into the sun, he was leaning against an elaborate stone balustrade. Somehow it seemed familiar. The area was paved, with flowers in marble urns.

  I recognized it now. Max had been standing on the terrace here at the Villa Imwald. And who had held the camera? Leopold—or Ilse?

  Miserably I went to hide the photograph away at the bottom of a suitcase. Then I paused. The maid— or even Ilse herself—might notice it was missing and make some comment. Slowly I replaced the picture on the bedside table, but turned it at an angle so that I wouldn’t be able to see it from the bed.

  At dinner the Hellwegs were both untalkative, and I
had a feeling that they weren’t very pleased with me. We went into the drawing room for coffee, and as soon as Jakob had gone they became businesslike. I found their attitude very puzzling and ambiguous.

  Leopold opened fire. “Are we to take it that you wish to discuss terms?”

  “That’s hardly for me to say....” I stammered, and wondered how to go on.

  Both Leopold and Ilse were nodding their heads as if they understood me very well. “You realize that we have to be sure, first,” he said. “Quite, quite sure.”

  “Of course. I don’t expect you to take me just at face value.”

  I suppose it was a curious thing to say, because that was exactly how I did expect them to take me. As Max’s wife, carrying on his work. But the Hellwegs seemed to find nothing odd about my remark. They were both leaning forward expectantly in their chairs.

  At length Ilse murmured in that richly husky voice of hers, “How is it that you propose to convince us, my dear Jessica?”

  “Surely ...” I took a slow glance at each of them in turn. “Isn’t it enough that I am Max’s wife?”

  They seemed amused. Grimly amused. Leopold shook his head with great emphasis. “Are you expecting that for this reason we should trust you?”

  I sipped my coffee to give me time to think this over. “Why not? You trusted Max....”

  “And look where it has got us.”

  I protested hotly. “It wasn’t Max’s fault that he was killed. Everything would have been going smoothly now if he had lived.”

  For some reason that shook them. Leopold ex-claimed incredulously, “Are you saying that if he had lived, Max would have made this same approach as you are making now?”

  “That was the whole idea.”

  They looked across at one another, quite lost. Their eyes turned on me, hovered, then slid back to seek explanation from each other again.

  Leopold spoke at last. “We thought your husband had bigger ideas. If only he had told us what he had in mind, so much trouble would have been avoided. We have never been averse to a little hard bargaining.”

  I was every bit as lost as they had been a moment ago. Trying to keep things moving, I said doubtfully, “Please understand that I am not here to bargain with you.”

  Leopold leaned back in his chair and laughed. At first his wife glared at me angrily, but then she joined in the laughter.

  “We shall need evidence of your ability to deliver,” said Leopold. “What do you suggest?”

  Everything was rushing forward at such a pace. I needed some further instructions from Richard to cope with this curious development, and I wondered dismally how on earth I could reach him.

  I took the only course I could think of. I parried by playing for time. “I’ll need to consider that. It’s difficult.”

  Leopold seemed to reckon this was fair enough. “We’ll talk again in the morning,” he said, “when you have had a chance to sleep on it.”

  I knew from his tone and Ilse’s resentful glance that in the morning I’d have to come up with something that made sense. The trouble was, knowing so little about the whole affair, I hadn’t a clue what to say to them. Somehow or other I’d got to get hold of Richard. And at once, this very night.

  He had told me that in an emergency—a serious emergency—I could phone the British embassy and leave a message. This was a serious emergency, if ever there was one. Could I use the phone in the library without being detected, I wondered. And even if I could, how was Richard going to get in touch without the Hellwegs’ knowledge?

  But that last problem, I decided, was up to him to solve. It was as much as I could do at the moment to think about my own part.

  As early as I decently could I said good night and retreated to my bedroom with the book I’d chosen earlier. But I was unable to read a line, so I just sat in the armchair, still fully dressed, and waited for time to pass.

  Mercifully, I dozed off in the chair. When I woke, with my neck stiff and one arm numb, the house was quiet. So utterly silent, in fact, that night sounds from the woods, coming through the open windows, seemed loud and very near. I saw from my wrist-watch that it was twenty minutes to two. A good time, surely, if any time was good!

  I had planned to creep downstairs to the library and make a stealthy phone call. But now that I came to do it, I realized there were a lot of stumbling blocks I’d not thought of before. First, I had no light. No flashlight, no matches. I dared not put on any lights to guide me down, even if I could find the switches in the dark.

  I clipped off my reading lamp to let my eyes grow used to the darkness. Even after waiting a few moments, I could still see nothing, until I recalled that the bedroom curtains were made of heavy damask, and lined. When I groped across to the door and turned the handle, I was able to see well enough to make my way easily along the corridor.

  At the head of the stairs I discovered why. There was a moon. Just a thin crescent, like last night, when Steve and I had looked down upon Vienna from the wooded heights of Cobenzl. The pale moonglow coming in through a tall leaded window was giving me all the light I needed.

  Noiselessly, I slipped down the solid, uncreaking staircase to the hall below. As I reached the great heating stove in the corner, a restless tapping noise had me backing into the shadows. If I were caught here, what excuse did I make? Richard had warned me against giving the smallest hint that I wasn’t to be trusted—it might easily scare off these important contacts for good. I wished I’d had the foresight to put on my robe over my clothes. At least that would have looked less suspicious.

  I waited breathlessly, listening to the hammering of my heart. Then, just as I felt reassured enough to move on, the tapping came again, and I froze. But a moment later I had guessed that it was only breeze-tossed leaves against a windowpane.

  The library was on my right, on the farther side of the hall. I could see the way clearly; nothing in my path. In seconds I was inside and closing the door. It was black as a tomb, no hint of moonlight seeping around the drawn curtains. That meant, therefore, that they would be an effective blackout. I decided to risk the light.

  Still just inside the door, I groped against the wall and found the switch. I flicked it on, and a massive chandelier sprang to life, too frighteningly bright. I streaked over to the writing table where the telephone stood and switched on a shaded desk lamp, then hurried back to the door and put off the central lights.

  I paused and listened. There were lonely hoots from a preying owl, and faint rustling noises. But inside the house the night silence breathed steadily on.

  And then came the second problem. I cursed my stupidity for not having armed myself in advance with the British-embassy number. Was there a directory here?

  Luck was still with me. I found the directory in a small drawer, and in thirty seconds I had the number.

  Only as I eased the receiver gently off the hook did it occur to me to wonder if I’d get an answer at such an hour. Was the embassy staffed throughout the night? And even if so, could they possibly pass on a message to Richard in time to be of any good? And there was still the question of how he was to get in touch with me, even if he did receive my message.

  I gave up thinking and started dialing. Holding the receiver to my ear, I waited. Nothing was happening.

  I was about to start dialing all over again when I realized that the phone was dead. I joggled impatiently, but it stayed quite dead.

  It still took some seconds for it to penetrate that the telephone was of no use to me. Broken down, cut off deliberately, or perhaps switched through to a bedroom extension for the night. Whatever the cause, my luck had failed at last. There was nothing to do now but retreat to my room and keep my fingers crossed for tomorrow.

  Feeling wretchedly cast down I switched off the desk lamp and glided silently to the door, opening it a slit. All quiet still. I waited again for my eyes, to adjust, and then carefully made my way upstairs.

  Inside my bedroom, I closed the door behind me thankfully. My hand
reached up for the light switch, then halted there, petrified. No longer was the room in total darkness as I had left it. A shaft of cold moonlight struck diagonally across the carpet.

  Before, the curtains had been tightly closed, but now at one window they gaped apart.

  Chapter 12

  There was no sound in the room, but I knew that I wasn’t alone. Terrified, I stood there with my back to the door and stared around, picking out the furniture piece by piece in the faint glimmer from the moon. An oval table with chrysanthemums in a big vase. Farther along, an armchair, and then a tallboy against the wall. On the nearer side was the dressing table and built in closets.

  But near the dressing table there was something else, a patch of black shadow.

  Had Leopold Hellweg found me out? But surely he wouldn’t be standing here in the dark, and anyway, why should he have disturbed the curtains? It must be an intruder.

  Should I yell for help?

  With a conscious effort I opened my mouth, ready —and the light caught me, a brilliant, dazzling beam that shot across the room. My cry died to a tiny whimper.

  “Jessica. Don’t scream.”

  I knew the voice, and in my relief cried out too loud. Dangerously loud. “Richard!”

  “For God’s sake, keep quiet, or someone will hear.”

  I sighed on a long breath. “You did give me a scare.”

  “Sorry.”

  He came softly across the carpet, flicking off his flashlight when he was only halfway. He felt for me, fingers brushing against my breast before he found my arm.

  “We must make sure we haven’t disturbed them,” he whispered. “Listen.”

  We waited there just inside the door, utterly still, until Richard was satisfied. Then he took my hand and began leading me across the room. We sat down side by side on the edge of the bed, and I was reminded of the time we’d sat like this once before, ages ago, it seemed, in London.

  My voice a husky murmur, I said, “How did you know I wanted you to come? It’s such a relief to see you. I felt desperate when I couldn’t get through.”