Rendezvous With Danger

by Margaret Pemberton

  As I got ready for bed, I wondered idly just where Gunther lived. But I was too tired to dwell overlong on the subject. I climbed into bed, and snuggled down under the voluminous eiderdown. Perhaps it was as well Stephen was going to be late in the morning, was my last thought as I feel to sleep.

  Stephen Maitland was not only late the next morning, he didn’t arrive at all! Furiously angry at such behaviour I paced the wooden floor of my room. It was a beautiful day. The sun streamed through the open window and puffs of white cloud drifted enticingly across the blue sky, and here I was, stuck in the house, awaiting collection like a parcel. By lunchtime I ran out of patience. I renewed my lipstick, collected my bag and binoculars and made my way downstairs to the car. I sat behind the wheel indecisively. Should I? Shouldn’t I?

  It would only take five minutes and the curiosity would kill me if I didn’t. I retraced my route of the previous evening. I’m not sure if I had hoped to find Stephen’s car still there or not. As it was, the woods were empty. The ground was still soft and muddy from the storm of the previous night and I didn’t walk right up into the trees, but the place where Stephen’s car had been parked was now deserted. At least if he had still been marooned there, it would have explained his non-arrival. What other explanation could there be? It was foolish but I felt sure Stephen would not have let me down. More foolish still, I told myself, was the fact that I should let it bother me, even if he had. With growing irritation I went back to the village.

  It seemed a shame to waste such a glorious day pottering negatively backwards and forwards, but I couldn’t settle to making alternative plans. There was still no sign of his car in the street. Listlessly I went back to the house and sat on the bed, trying to minimize the crushing disappointment I felt as I smoked one cigarette after another.

  By late he surely couldn’t have meant this late. It was nearly one o’clock. Perhaps Gunther had mistaken the message. With a faint glimmer of hope I hurried downstairs to see Frau Schmidt, but her little living-room was empty. I would have to do something. I couldn’t spend the rest of the day waiting. I had been stood up and that was that. Better face the truth and stop dreaming. Picking up a newspaper that was lying on the table, I went across the road to the crowded coffee-shop and sat, half ashamed of myself, at a window-table giving a clear view of the street.

  Idly I flicked through the pages, turning to the society page as I sipped my hot coffee. The usual faces in the usual places stared back.

  The street outside was full of busy housewives, baskets over their arms, going to or coming from market. No white Sprite drew up outside Frau Schmidt’s and no dark head scanned the village street looking for me.

  Angrily I turned to the front page. Across it was splashed a lurid account of the assassination of Herr Heinrich Ahlers, one of Germany’s leading cabinet ministers. There were large photographs of the minister speaking at a public rally in Bonn. I couldn’t read the accompanying newsprint and all I knew about the minister was that he was a liberal, pro-British, and had been active in bringing to justice many Nazi war criminals. There was a photograph of his bloodstained body spreadeagled across the speaker’s platform. Lower down was a picture of his wife, taken at a recent reception. She was large and blonde and cheerful and I felt sorry for her. I pushed the cup of coffee away and spread the paper on the table.

  I was in the act of turning the page when I noticed the photograph of the car. Despite the foreign background of beach and sea, it looked vaguely familiar. It was familiar!

  It was the same car the thieves had crashed before taking mine. I stared at the number plate in horrified fascination, my mind refusing to take in the awful fact. But it was the same. I was sure it was the same. Frantically I tried to decipher the words below it but without success. I rose, taking the paper over to the elderly man serving behind the counter.

  ‘Excuse me. Do you speak English?’

  ‘A little, Fraulein,’ he said courteously, laying down the knife with which he was buttering slices of rye bread. I pointed to the newspaper article and then to the photograph of the car.

  ‘Could you tell me how this car is connected with Herr Ahlers’ death?’

  He shook his head, pursing his lips as he did so. ‘The assassins, they take.’

  ‘They what! But that’s impossible! It’s …’

  He shrugged his shoulders, wiping his hands on the large apron round his waist. ‘Is possible, Fraulein. The car belong to … a—’ He struggled to find the word. Then with a triumphant rush … ‘An official, not important, you understand. He did not report it missing till long after. The police, they have not found it, so it possible the killer took it. Who knows?’

  I knew. With sickening clarity I remembered their panic. The angry words that passed between them after they had crashed. The frantic looking-back along the road. Their desperate dash to my Morris. The men who had stolen my car had murdered Heinrich Ahlers.

  Slowly I went back to my seat and spread the paper once more on the table in front of me. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all.

  If the whole country was looking for them, how come the police hadn’t descended on me like vultures when Gunther had reported the crash and subsequent theft of my car? Mechanically I lifted the cup and took a sip of coffee. My car must have been abandoned locally. Perhaps it had been towed in, left in a restricted area, so that when Gunther reported the loss it was there. And, of course, until they went to the scene of the crash they wouldn’t realize the car was the one every police force in the country was looking for. I hadn’t thought to take its registration number, and I was pretty sure Gunther hadn’t either. That must be it, and the men I saw …

  I stared at the paper numbly. There were no pictures of the wanted men. Slowly it dawned on me that the police didn’t know who they were or what they looked like. But I did. And I knew where they were hiding, or at least where one of them was hiding. And so did Stephen.

  I closed my eyes, ridding my sight of the hideous picture of the dead man. Stephen had to be told. Now. Straightaway, and so had the police.

  Clutching the paper, I went out into the street and the bright sunlight.

  I was in the telephone kiosk before I realized that I didn’t have Stephen’s number. What was the guest-house called? I drummed my fingers on the directories but it was no use. I’d never noticed the name of it, and I didn’t know Christina’s surname. I scrabbled hastily through my bag for the card Gunther had given me bearing his telephone number, and dialled the number with shaking hands. It rang only once before he answered.

  ‘Gunther, thank goodness you’re in.’ Then, unnecessarily: ‘It’s Susan.’

  ‘Good morning, Susan. This is an unexpected pleasure. I thought you would be buried deep in the countryside with your fellow countryman by now.’

  ‘Gunther. The men who took my car were the men who killed Heinrich Ahlers.’

  ‘Were the men who did what? This line is bad, Susan. You will have to speak up a little.’

  I said as calmly as I could. ‘They killed Heinrich Ahlers. It’s in all the papers. He was assassinated in Bonn yesterday, and the car the police suspect the killers left the city in, is the one my car thieves crashed.’

  ‘Susan—,’ his voice was patient—‘the car may be the same model, but it isn’t possible that it’s the same car.’

  ‘But it is!’ I insisted, feeling hysteria rising within me. ‘The number plates are the same. I’m sure of it.’

  There was a slight pause at the other end of the phone, then I heard the rustle of newspaper. His voice, when he spoke again, was brusque. ‘Stay at Frau Schmidt’s. I’m going straight to the police. And, Susan, don’t worry. The men in question are probably in Austria by now, but at least you will be able to give a description of them. I’ll see you shortly.’

  ‘Gunther, just a minute! They’re not in Austria. At least one of them isn’t. There’s a lot more I haven’t told you yet. Yesterday evening, before I met you, I saw one of the me
n. In the village.’

  He drew in his breath audibly. ‘You must be imagining things,’ he said finally.

  ‘No, I’m not. It was him. I followed him.’

  Now it was his turn to raise his voice. ‘You did what?’ he said. ‘And didn’t even tell me! For God’s sake, Susan, why?’

  I didn’t attempt to answer that. I said, ‘He went to a large farmhouse about two miles from the village.’

  ‘Could you find it again?’

  ‘Oh yes, I already have.’

  ‘You’ve already what?’

  ‘Well, you see, last night when I followed the man with the moustache, I saw Stephen’s car nearby, and then I saw them talking, not very clearly because of the rain and it was getting dark, but I’m sure it was Stephen. He didn’t arrive here this morning and so I thought the car must still be bogged down, so I went back to have a look. This was before I read the papers of course. I can’t get in touch with Stephen to warn him because I can’t remember the name of the guest-house where he’s staying.’

  ‘Susan, one thing at a time. You say Maitland’s car was parked at this farmhouse last night?’

  ‘Not actually at the farmhouse, but in the woods near the track leading to it.’

  ‘And he was talking to this man?’

  ‘Yes.’ Then, as the expression in Gunther’s voice penetrated my numbed brain, I said: ‘But Stephen can’t possibly know what’s happened. It was just a coincidence.’

  ‘All the same, Susan, if he comes before I get there, say nothing to him. Just in case.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gunther. I must tell him as soon as possible for his own sake.’

  ‘I am not being ridiculous,’ Gunther said angrily. ‘Your Mr Maitland left a message for you last night saying he was going to Koblenz, remember? Now either you are mistaken or he is lying. And if he’s lying I’d like to know why. Another thing. He was practically driving with those two men, wasn’t he? You told me yourself he wasn’t very far behind them. Promise me you will say nothing to him until I’ve reported it all to the police.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ I said miserably. ‘ He won’t be coming now anyway.’

  ‘I know you think I am being overcautious, Susan. But if he is involved, and he realized how much you know … It just isn’t worth the risk. I don’t want any harm coming to you.’

  Neither did I. The phone went dead and I put it slowly back on its cradle and stepped out into the street.

  I didn’t want to think about it any more, least of all of Stephen and where he fitted in. I would listen to what Gunther had to say when he came, see the police to give a description of the two men, then pack my bags and go further south.

  Having come to this decision, I felt better and walked back to Frau Schmidt’s.

  Chapter Six

  I lay down on my bed, and incredible though it seems, actually slept, or rather dozed, for it could only have been half an hour or so before I was awakened by loud knocking. Hastily I jumped up and ran across to the window. The car parked at the roadside was Stephen’s.

  I hurried downstairs. One thing was certain: if he had come, even though several hours late, to take me to Wies, he was out of luck. I couldn’t leave the house till Gunther returned from the police station. Stephen stood in the open doorway, relaxed and smiling.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he said quite pleasantly and calmly.

  ‘Am I ready?’ I exclaimed unbelievingly, hardly able to believe my ears at his impertinence. ‘I’ve been ready since seven-thirty this morning. What happened?’

  ‘You got my message last night?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Then you’ll understand. I didn’t get back from Koblenz until three in the morning, and as I’m a growing boy and need my sleep …’

  ‘You mean you actually went to Koblenz last night?’

  Dark brows lifted in surprise. ‘ But of course,—that’s why I left a message. I knew I’d be late getting back and that I’d never make it over here by seven. I must have been mad to think I could anyway. Getting up early isn’t one of my virtues.’

  I stared at him, bewildered. ‘What time did you leave?’ I managed to ask.

  ‘What’s this—the inquisition?’ he asked good-humouredly. ‘I left immediately I dropped you off. Well, not quite immediately, but when I got back to Ohringen there was a message for me requiring my presence in Koblenz. By rights I should have stayed the night, but as I had a date this morning with a particularly beautiful young woman, I spared no expense in getting back as quickly as possible. Now, are you ready?’

  I simply couldn’t stop staring at him. ‘Did you drive there in that?’ I said at last, nodding in the direction of the car.

  ‘Yes. It may not be a Mercedes and what you’re used to of late, but it’s quite serviceable, and more than capable of making the journey to Koblenz and back in an evening. There’s no need to be nervous. It won’t suddenly die a death miles from anywhere, leaving us stranded.’ He took a step towards me. ‘What is it? Something bothering you? You don’t look well.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘Come on.’ He took my arm. ‘Let’s sit in the car. Clowning apart, Susan, I really am sorry about this morning. But it was unavoidable.’

  He opened the car door for me and I sat obediently in the passenger seat.

  ‘You don’t look at all well this morning,’ he repeated. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s just a headache.’

  ‘Have you taken anything for it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t that bad. I must talk to you, Stephen. Something …’

  ‘All in good time. First, I’m getting you something for that headache. You look like death.’

  ‘No, Stephen. Please! …’

  But he had already darted across the road into the chemist’s. I took a deep breath, trying to think and to think straight. Why on earth was Stephen so persistent in saying he had gone to Koblenz? If he had gone, he hadn’t left Niedernhall until well after eight o’clock.

  I reached for a cigarette but my handbag was still indoors. Without thinking I opened Stephen’s glove compartment to see if he had left his cigarettes there.

  The gun was loosely folded in a yellow duster, and visible. It looked brand new. I reached out and touched it lightly with my finger-tips. The cold metal was no figment of my imagination. This, at least, was real.

  I was aware of Stephen standing on the opposite side of the road, waiting to cross, and I shut the door on it hastily. Sick and trembling, I stared straight ahead as he opened his door and slipped in next to me. I didn’t want to look at him any more. All I wanted to do was go back into the house, shut the door, and try desperately to pretend none of this was happening.

  ‘Here, take these, they’ll make you feel better. Perhaps going out this afternoon isn’t such a good idea after all. Anyway you’ll need this afternoon to pack.’

  ‘Pack!’ I faced him in amazement.

  ‘Nothing elaborate. Just enough for two or three days. We can tour around, go where the fancy takes us.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really can’t.’

  ‘Nonsense, Susan. It will be great fun.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, Stephen, I mean it. I’m not coming.’

  I could see two or three cars approaching the village from the direction of Kunzelsau and felt a little better. Gunther wouldn’t be much longer and then I could pack my bags and go south, forget completely about Stephen’s existence …

  ‘Susan, I don’t want to make an issue of this, but I want you to come with me.’

  It wasn’t a request, it was a command.

  I forced myself to look straight at him. It was obviously useless to argue. ‘All right then,’ I agreed. ‘Why not?’

  Why not indeed? By the time he came for me I would be well on my way to the Alps.

  ‘That’s my girl. You won’t regret it, I promise you. I’ll be back for you about four-thirty. If I were you I’d lie down for a while. Those aspirins should st
art working soon.’

  There was a large red car in the distance, similar to Gunther’s heading towards the village …

  Stephen was saying, ‘Well, I’d better be moving. Four-thirty then.’

  Mechanically I smiled, went through the motions of saying goodbye to him and stood at the kerb until his car disappeared from view.

  The red car turned out to be a Volkswagen loaded with farming materials. I went back to my room and lay once more on the bed, trying to understand the events of the last twenty-four hours. It was stifling hot in the little room and my headache was growing worse.

  I supposed that, if their car hadn’t crashed, the men would have driven to the farm and hidden out there until the immediate hunt for them was eased. Perhaps Stephen’s absence this morning meant that he was removing them from the farm and from the vicinity altogether now that the car had been found. But why was he involved with the assassins of Herr Ahlers? Were his motives political? Financial? … And what was this about taking me away for a few days? Stephen knew I could give a description of the men. Was it a trap to get me out of the way, to silence me before I talked? It was possible. Anything was possible. I blinked the sudden tears from my eyes, got off the bed to search for a handkerchief.

  The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted me. I hurried down the wooden stairs, practically snatching the receiver off the hook, convinced it was Gunther. The barely discernible voice of a man said curtly, ‘Leave immediately.’ Then the line went dead.

  I stood rigid, the receiver against my ear, the tide of fear threatening to engulf me completely. Although the voice had been unrecognizable, it hadn’t held a German accent.

  With trembling hands I dialled Gunther’s number. There was no reply. He must still be with the police. I looked at my watch. It was an hour since I’d phoned him. He couldn’t be much longer, he just couldn’t!

  I went back to my room, my heart thumping. One thing I could be doing while I waited was to pack my things. I needed no nasty anonymous phone calls to encourage me to leave: the sooner I saw snow and the Alps, the better I’d be pleased. As for Stephen Maitland … Charlotte always said I had a lousy taste in men, and for once I agreed with her.