Rendezvous With Danger

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘How about visiting Wies with me tomorrow?’ Stephen asked, as he backed the car on to the road.

  ‘That would be lovely. Are you sure you want to? I mean, if you’ve seen it already you may not want to see it again.’

  ‘Susan,’ he said with exaggerated patience, ‘if I hadn’t wanted to go myself I wouldn’t have suggested it to you. Now, are you coming?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said meekly. ‘ I’ll bring the food and wine.’

  ‘Good girl. And wear some flat shoes, those are ridiculous.’

  I glanced down at my muddied sandals. Considering the treatment. I had subjected them to, they had stood up to it rather well, but the white leather was stained green with the grass and leaves, and the heels were caked with dry mud.

  ‘I will, but I hope you’re not contemplating another day like today. If you are, I’ll stay at home.’

  ‘Relax. Tomorrow will be a leisurely day sightseeing. No car thieves, no trigger-happy marksmen.’

  I laughed. ‘You’ve talked me into it. What time are we setting off?’

  ‘I’ll pick you up between seven and seven-thirty. It’s quite a way.’

  ‘You realize that is the crack of dawn for me when I’m on holiday?’

  ‘You won’t have to stay out late tonight then, will you?’

  ‘That,’ I said, ‘is my affair.’

  ‘Till tomorrow then.’ He drew up outside Frau Schmidt’s whitewashed cottage. ‘And be a good girl. Keep out of trouble.’

  Lightheartedly I watched as he turned round, scattering hens and pigeons to the right and left, then with a wave raced down the narrow street. I stood in the doorway until he had disappeared over the bridge, then in a much happier frame of mind, went indoors.

  Frau Schmidt was waiting for me, her face anxious. ‘The Polizei, have you go?’

  I gave her ample figure a hug. ‘Everything is all right. My car is back. Look.’ I pointed through the tiny window to my Morris.

  She spread out her hands. ‘Vat ’appened? Vat is wrong?’

  Slowly I repeated. ‘My car, my automobile, was stolen, taken, gone. Now it is back.’

  ‘No Polizei?’

  ‘No Polizei, Frau Schmidt. Everything is fine. In fact, things couldn’t be better.’

  She laughed then, still not understanding. ‘ Gut, gut,’ she said.

  I went upstairs for a badly needed wash and change of clothes.

  The late afternoon sun streamed through the open window on to the polished wood floor, the bare white walls reflecting the light. I closed the shutters, then slowly and wearily took off my clothes, laying them neatly on the bed. By the time I had washed all over in cold water from the ewer and rubbed myself dry with the rough towel, I felt completely revived. I wondered if Gunther Cliburn would simply tell me the details regarding my car’s return, or if he would also be taking me out, and if so, where.

  After some hesitation I chose a navy dress that flared gently from the hips, twisted my hair into a chignon and sprayed perfume on my wrists and throat. A glance at my watch showed that it was still only six o’clock.

  Throwing a jacket round my shoulders I went downstairs for a chat with Frau Schmidt, but as there was no sign of her I strolled out into the back yard to see if she was feeding the rabbits. It was deserted save for the furry inmates in their cages. Bending down, I stroked a twitching nose, trying hard not to think of its eventual fate in Frau Schmidt’s cooking pot, then walked back through the house and out into the street.

  In the short time it had taken me to dress, the sun had disappeared behind heavy clouds, and the breeze too, had died down. There was the breathless, oppressive feeling which presages a storm.

  I left the main street and wandered aimlessly through the unpaved alleyways, thinking about Stephen and our day out tomorrow. There weren’t many people about. They were either having tea, or had no wish to risk a drenching when the storm broke. I pulled my jacket closer round my shoulders, looking at the threatening sky. I quickened my pace and began to make my way back. Five minutes later I stood hopelessly lost amongst the hotch-potch of barns and cottages.

  I gazed despairingly up the narrow passageway I found myself in, but there was nothing to indicate the whereabouts of the main street. I looked back the way I had come, but it was no use. I had lost all sense of direction. There was nothing but the backs of the small cottages.

  Picking my way carefully over the hay and débris strewn on the ground, I continued to the intersection at the top. This alleyway looked as unpromising as the previous one and I increased my pace. Despite the approaching storm there was still some daylight, but it would not last long, and I shuddered at the thought of wandering for hours in the maze of tortuous streets.

  I approached the next corner briskly and, turning it, breathed a sigh of relief.

  The street was cobbled and had a narrow pavement, and crossing it at the far end I could see a small section of concrete indicating the main street. As I drew nearer, I recognized the door of a wine bar; a few seconds later, the door opened and a thick-set figure, vaguely familiar, hurried out, a bottle tucked securely under one arm. I shooed a few too friendly hens out of the way and then stopped short.

  That was one of the men who had stolen my car! The clothes were different, but there was no doubt about that moustache. I broke into a run after him, but by the time I had reached the main street he was nowhere to be seen. There were only a couple of women, their shawls clutched tightly beneath their chins.

  I took a deep breath and as I ran along the street I hastily scanned each side of the street, but there was not a sign of him. I ran past Frau Schmidt’s and towards the bridge, but it was a waste of time. The bird had flown. Weakly I leaned against the ivy-covered stone of the village walls, my heart thumping painfully.

  For the first time I became aware that the storm had broken at last and rain was falling fast. In another few minutes I would be soaked. I pulled myself upright and began to trudge back to my lodgings. As I did so I heard a car start up some distance away. It slowed down as it turned into the street, then speeded past me for the watch-tower. There was no mistaking the man at the wheel.

  I watched helplessly as the distance between us increased, then the car slowed down at an obstruction in the road. I ran towards my parked Morris and a few minutes after he disappeared over the bridge, I followed.

  It was pure impulse. If I’d had time to think I don’t suppose I would have acted so hastily, but I couldn’t help feeling that, if ever anyone was owed an explanation, I was.

  Burning with righteous indignation, I swept out of the village, foot pressed hard down on the accelerator. There was no other traffic about and I had no difficulty following him, although he was some way ahead.

  About two miles outside the village he turned right on to a little used country lane, then, after a mile or so, turned left, disappearing from view.

  When I drew up some minutes later I could see nothing more than a roughly beaten track leading off the lane into the woods, but the heavy indentations of tyre marks in the churned earth showed where he had been.

  I wasn’t so keen on following him that I was going to risk embedding the car in what would, very shortly, be a sea of mud. The rough track ran across open country for fifty yards or so, then disappeared as the ground rose steeply into woodland, appearing again beyond the thick belt of trees, leading finally to a large, stone-built farmhouse standing in windswept isolation on the hillside. As I looked, the car I had been following crawled from the pines and continued on its way to the house. It seemed I had hunted my quarry to earth.

  I felt pleased with myself. Perhaps the police already knew his identity and where he lived. Perhaps there was a rational explanation for his behaviour. No doubt Gunther would tell me when I saw him. But if they didn’t know who he was and where he lived, I’d be only too happy to pass on the information.

  I was about to reverse when the glint of something metallic in the woods caught my eye. The heavy clouds
had darkened the evening prematurely and it was difficult to tell, but I was pretty certain it was a car parked under cover of the trees. A courting couple probably, and yet … I left the car and set off on foot up the muddy track. After a few yards I left it, heading diagonally in a short cut across the fields.

  It wasn’t exactly a pleasant country ramble. The incline was steeper than it had looked and the rain was heavy, but when I entered the dimness of the woods and saw clearly what it was parked there, I judged my journey had been worthwhile.

  The car was Stephen’s.

  Chapter Five

  I stared at it in perplexity. Almost absentmindedly I tried the car door. To my surprise it opened. Even more surprising, his keys were in the ignition. I stared round at the dripping trees but there was no sign of Stephen. Mystified, I sat in the driver’s seat and waited. In a deluge like this he surely wouldn’t be long, but the minutes ticked by and he didn’t appear.

  I rummaged in the glove compartment, gratefully finding a packet of cigarettes and eyed the water-logged ground apprehensively. If Stephen didn’t hurry the car would be bogged down until the ground dried out. I glanced at my watch. Seven-thirty and I had to meet Gunther at eight.

  Shivering, I stubbed out the cigarette and lit another. There was a distant rumble of thunder and the rain was falling more heavily. I slipped the packet of cigarettes back into the glove compartment and reluctantly opened the door. If I stayed much longer I was going to find myself marooned. My feet sank in the soft earth, mud oozing squealchily into my shoes. I floundered to the edge of the woods on the slightly firmer ground and paused to look back.

  Further up the hill, in front of the farmhouse, were the blurred figures of two men. The rain dripped uncomfortably down my neck and I hurried over the slippery grass towards my car. Once in it, I eased off my sodden jacket and took my binoculars out of my bag. I wound the window down and, wiping raindrops from my eyes, focused intently. The figures were a long way off and the rain made it almost impossible to be sure, but one looked very much like Stephen and the other was the man I had been following, one of the men who had taken my car.

  The rain drummed rhythmically down on the roof, running in tiny rivulets and eddies down the windows and over the bonnet. It was a terrible night. Not fit for a dog to be out in. Yet out there in that hostile countryside, not very far away from me, was Stephen Maitland. Whatever his reasons for being there, surely now that the storm had broken with such vengeance, he would soon head back for the safety of the tarmacked road? Unless it was his intention to shelter in the farmhouse.

  I sat and watched for a movement in the dwindling light, but in vain. There was no sound of a car engine being started up in the woods. No headlights. Only the incessant lashing of the rain.

  I would gain nothing by sitting at the roadside all night, that much was obvious. Besides, I had a date. Stephen Maitland and his nocturnal wanderings could wait until tomorrow. If he wanted to catch pneumonia it was his affair. Subdued and puzzled, I drove slowly back to Niedernhall, peering with difficulty through the streaming windscreen.

  Gunther was already parked outside Frau Schmidt’s when I arrived. I pulled up in front of him and then, as he opened his door for me. I picked up my jacket and made a quick dash through the rain from one car to the other, sinking gratefully into the upholstered seat. Warm air blew welcomingly round my frozen legs. It was no wonder the thieves had dumped my draughty old Morris so speedily.

  ‘I was beginning to think you had drowned somewhere,’ he said, taking my jacket. Then, disbelieving, as he felt it: ‘Where have you been, Susan? Swimming?’

  ‘Walking.’

  ‘My God! In this?’ He waved a hand descriptively at the filthy night outside the oasis of warmth and comfort. ‘The English are the strangest race. You will need something to warm you. A brandy perhaps?’

  ‘A brandy would be lovely,’ I said, teeth chattering.

  ‘Good. I’m glad to see you are not teetotal. I had an uncle who said all English women were teetotal and that they loved only cats. Your walking about in the middle of a thunderstorm would have surprised him not in the slightest.’ Then, more to himself: ‘I think perhaps with the brandy, a meal. Yes, definitely a meal.’

  The large car slid over the bridge and into the night. He turned, seeming suddenly larger and more forceful in the intimacy of the darkened car.

  ‘I am sorry I could not be there to hand your car back to you, Susan.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’m very grateful to you for all the trouble you have gone to as it is. Where did they find it?’

  ‘As to that, I am not quite sure.’ He shrugged. ‘Somewhere in the vicinity. The other car, too, was stolen. Though its owner was not so lucky. Obviously the men wanted to go somewhere in a hurry and took what was available.’

  He changed gear smoothly and the needle on the speedometer swung beyond seventy.

  ‘You have been lucky, I think. You will hear no more about the matter.’

  ‘What? No statement, no forms to fill in?’

  ‘To spoil your holiday? But certainly not.’

  ‘Did they catch the thieves with the car?’

  ‘Heavens, Susan, it is we who are supposed to be a thorough race. Your car is back, you have no more problems. Let us enjoy ourselves. No doubt your gentlemen friends will reap their reward.’

  I hesitated, tempted to tell Gunther that I had seen and followed one of my gentlemen friends not ten minutes ago, but I would have to mention Stephen’s presence, and I didn’t want to spend the evening speculating about him with Gunther.

  The thunder and lightning were in the far distance and the rain only a light drizzle when we finally drew up before a large hotel. I was painfully aware of my muddy shoes and rain-spattered stockings, but Gunther appeared not to care. With his hand lightly under my arm he led me inside.

  A corner table and a bottle of wine appeared in quick succession. As I enjoyed the smoked salmon and then the beautifully cooked lamb that followed, coated in an exquisite sauce, all thoughts of Stephen faded into the background. I had nothing more important to think about than whether to choose the asparagus in butter or the broccoli. It was Gunther who broke this carefree idyll. Spearing a forkful of the tiny button mushrooms, he said, ‘I nearly forgot, Susan. I have a message for you.’

  I looked up, surprised.

  ‘Frau Schmidt informs me that Mr Maitland called, saying he will be a little late in the morning.’

  I coloured slightly. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently he has gone to Koblenz tonight. It is a long drive and he doesn’t expect to be back until the early hours of the morning.’

  ‘I see,’ I said slowly, not seeing at all. ‘Gunther—’

  ‘Why,’ Gunther continued, pouring out more wine, ‘a late night should entail him being late in the morning, I do not know. Perhaps—’ he smiled—‘perhaps he is not used to them.’

  I smiled back over my glass, deciding that my loyalty lay with Stephen. It may have been the wine, but I felt more resentful at his behaviour than bewildered. Koblenz indeed! I didn’t like being lied to, and I was sure that any delay in the morning would be due to the fact that Mr Maitland’s car was irretrievably bogged down in a field just outside Niedernhall.

  Gunther dismissed the subject of Stephen and concentrated on boosting my ego. After the meal there was dancing on the tiny dance-floor adjoining the dining-room. Three or four other couples moved slowly round us, lulled by the wine and music into contented silence, or talking in soft undertones.’

  ‘It’s a great pity, Susan,’ Gunther said, his lips brushing the hair above my ear, ‘ that you are leaving so soon.’

  ‘I have another week yet.’ I tried to keep out of my voice any inference as to what could happen in a week. I didn’t want to give Gunther encouragement. He was doing very well without any. The small band played a few more bars.

  ‘That is good.’ His hand increased its pressure on mine. Silently we revolved round the dimly-l
it floor once more, then returned to our table and more drinks.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night, Susan.’

  Uncomfortably I said, ‘ I’m sorry, I’m afraid I …’

  He waved my protestations aside. ‘ Your Mr Maitland? Surely he is not going to command your company all day long? I will come for you at seven. I think you will be back by then. Would you like another drink?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘A coffee?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  I leaned back in my chair, enjoying the feeling of well-being induced by the alcohol and good food. The coffee, when it came, was delicious. Hot and strong and served with fresh cream. Everything had been perfect.

  As I put my drained cup down, I said, ‘It was a beautiful meal, Gunther. Thank you.’

  ‘The pleasure was mine. Would you like to dance again? They’re playing your tune.’

  I had the grace to blush as he led me, hand held firmly in his, on to the dance-floor to the soft strains of ‘Sweet and Lovely’.

  We stayed another hour before we left. The air outside was clear and fresh after the storm, and the moon rode high and bright in the sky above us as we drove back in silence to Niedernhall.

  The village was in complete darkness as the big car eased its way through the winding streets, drawing to a halt outside Frau Schmidt’s. He slipped his arm along the back of the seat behind me and pulled me to him. His mouth was harder than I had expected and more demanding. It was no polite goodnight kiss. I tried to think of something to say but couldn’t find the words. I pushed him away, fumbling unnecessarily with my Handbag. The tension in the car was electric, and then he gave a light laugh and opened the car door.

  ‘Good night, Cinderella. Perhaps tomorrow will be even more enjoyable.’

  I smiled. ‘Good night, Gunther, and thank you again for a lovely evening.’

  He remained in the car as I let myself into the darkened house and climbed the steeply polished stairs. Then I heard the car turn round in the narrow street and roar off over the bridge.