By this time we were on the second floor outside the open door of my room. As the five of us jostled in an undignified manner on the landing I saw a bunch of keys in the manager’s hand and realized with horror he intended locking the door of my room once I’d gone in.
Too many unbelievable things had happened in the past few days and I was beyond the point of wondering why the staff should be acting in such a preposterous manner. Nothing seemed too bizarre. But one thing I was sure of: I was not going to be locked in a hotel bedroom by the manager and his entourage.
I stopped protesting and smiled sweetly. Four astonished faces smiled nervously back. I accepted the drink with thanks, apologized for any inconvenience, and sat passively on the bed. When it seemed apparent that my brainstorm had passed, the two maids were dismissed. Again I smiled, apologized. The manager made understanding noises and he and the receptionist finally made to leave. I went with them to the door, and as the manager attempted to close it, restrained him gently, wiping my forehead and indicating that I would like it open for the air. He eyed me doubtfully. Feeling as if my face would split with the effort, I smiled yet again. With a shrug of the shoulders he assented, and I went back and sat on the bed, sipping the drink as if I hadn’t a care in the world, until the two men were out of hearing.
As soon as the last of their footsteps had died away, I leaped up, grabbed my coat, stuffed the few things I had unpacked back into my overnight bag, and peered out of the window. There was no light to be seen now and no welcoming car lights that would have heralded Gunther.
I listened intently for any sounds from the direction of the reception desk but all was quiet. It appeared that Stephen Maitland was, as yet, still outside. But for how long?
He couldn’t have walked all the way from Nordlingen: he must have driven to the bottom of the hill and parked his car away from the roadside so that it wouldn’t be seen by anyone passing up and down the road.
I remembered the occasion at the farm when he had left the keys in the car. Would he have been so careless again? It was worth taking a risk. I couldn’t stay where I was like a rabbit in a trap. Any action was better than none. If I took his car I could meet Gunther and Stephen Maitland would be stranded.
I stepped out on to the landing. There was no one about and the only sounds were muffled ones from the ground floor. That I wouldn’t be able to walk unmolested out of the hotel via the reception desk seemed obvious. So I tiptoed in the opposite direction to the main staircase, following the corridor as it turned left. Two or three doors led off it and at the far end a blank wall rose uncompromisingly. I tried two of the doors on the left hand side, but both were bedrooms with no other means of exit. The third led into a small store-room, and, in the far corner, nearly obliterated by workmen’s tools and ladders, was a glass door opening on to a narrow back staircase.
I clambered over the cardboard boxes and packages and hurried down the staircase as fast as I dared, past the first and the ground floor until I was in the basement. In the moonlight that shone weakly through a window on the far side, I could see bags of cement and tins of paint, and, next to the window, a door. Grasping the knob in both hands, and hoping that security at the hotel left a lot to be desired, I turned and pushed.
Within four minutes of leaving my bedroom I was outside on the open hillside.
The evening breeze blew refreshingly on my face. I slipped my arms into my coat sleeves, shut the door quietly behind me and took a firm hold of my overnight bag. The hill on which I was standing swept round in a wide arc, shelving away steeply beneath my feet. The path was only a few feet wide, and I picked my way carefully over the litter and débris that lay on it. Keeping well in, I edged stealthily towards the corner of the building.
I pressed myself back against the wall as I reached it, listening intently for the sound of other footsteps in the darkness, but the only sound was the rustling of the wind as it blew through the apple trees and the long grass.
Heart thumping, I peered round the corner. The narrow path continued down the eastern side of the hotel, blocked only by several shiny dustbins. None of the windows that opened out on to it was lit. Walking softly I skirted the bins and approached the front of the hotel. Here, light from the windows streamed out over the forecourt and the road leading up to it, illuminating the surrounding countryside in pale light for thirty or forty yards.
I hugged the wall, straining my eyes as I peered in the direction the torch had been heading. Nothing moved now. It was completely still.
From inside the hotel came the distant hum of voices, then, as I waited in an agony of indecision, a bedroom light was switched on and stayed on. It appeared that Mr Maitland had booked in.
It was only a matter of minutes across the forecourt to the road, but it was bathed in light and anyone looking out of the hotel windows would be able to see. The safest way would be to stay in the darkness. I didn’t relish the idea of clambering down into the black void that surrounded me, but the alternative was too risky. If Stephen Maitland saw me leave, he would be able to catch up with me in minutes.
I stepped off the path and on to the open hillside, plunging steeply downhill. It was dark and the ground was rough. I stumbled and slipped, clutching desperately at stray bushes, the night pressing in on me like a physical force. My foot caught in the twisted roots of a tree and I fell forward with a cry, arms outstretched, clasping the pitted bark. I leaned heavily against it, gasping, rubbing my ankle and listening for the sound of Gunther’s returning Mercedes, but all I heard was my own laboured breathing.
The road, now in complete darkness, was a little way to my right and I slithered painfully over to it, sliding amid a flurry of loose stones down the shallow bank and on to the firm gravel.
It was becoming increasingly colder and I hugged my coat round me, running … Imaginary shapes and shadows rose up around me, my ankle was hurting, my whole being craved for the sound of Gunther’s car. The road dipped suddenly and I slowed down, looking apprehensively towards the hotel. All the lights on the ground floor were still on, only the bedroom light had disappeared.
The moon sailed from behind a bank of cloud and, silhouetted in its silver light, was the dark figure of a man, running and leaping down the hillside behind me.
With a sob I whirled round, running harder than ever, frantically searching for his parked car. The road curved once more, levelling and widening into the straight stretch that led into Nordlingen.
I paused, panting and straining my eyes into the blackness. Blindly I headed off the road to the right, half fainting with fatigue and shock, slipping and sliding over the damp grass. Perhaps he would go straight past me, following the road. Perhaps here, in the dark, I would be safe. Heedlessly I scrambled further into the undergrowth, then, in front of me rose the welcoming outline of the Sprite.
I had been right. If only I was right also about the keys! Please, please let me be right about the keys, I prayed, as half hysterically I grasped the door handle and turned, nearly falling into the driver’s seat. By the time I’d felt the keys in the ignition and turned them, I was sobbing uncontrollably.
The car lurched and swayed over the uneven ground back to the road; as it rocked down the bank of earth I could see the running figure of Stephen Maitland now not more than fifty yards away. I swung the car hard left, pressed my foot down as far as it would go and sent the car bucketing over the ruts and down the wrong side of the road towards Nordlingen and Gunther.
The car felt strange beneath my hands and by the time I’d swerved back to the right side of the road and got it under control all signs of the hotel and the car’s rightful owner were far behind me. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and settled down to a steady sixty to sixty-five, keeping a sharp look-out for any oncoming headlights.
The moon hung like an orb in the still sky above me, splashing the fields and occasional cottages with pale golden light as I speeded past them towards the distant outline of the town. Gradually pinpricks of light ap
peared and then there was the faint glow of street lights. Within minutes I was inside the city walls but still no sign of Gunther. Puzzled, I drove through the cobbled streets to the main thoroughfare where he had left his car. The street was deserted, the car gone.
I halted, staring at the vacant place, a new fear slowly creeping over me. The German police had not succeeded in arresting Stephen. Had he been lying in wait for Gunther’s return? Had he come to the hotel after seeing Gunther? The gnawing fear became a certainty. I closed my eyes. If Stephen Maitland had been able to force Gunther to tell him my whereabouts, what chance did I have? And where was Gunther now?
Hardly aware of what I was doing I fumbled with the gears and reversed back up the street, taking the left hand turn towards the garage. As I motored down the quiet lane that led to it, it was as if I had been plucked from the sane world of the Twentieth Century and transported back in time to the murderous world of the Middle Ages. Faint strains of music came from the old coaching inn as I turned the corner, and in front of me lights still burned in the garage.
I parked the car and ran across the forecourt to the small office, knocking loudly on the door. It was opened by Gottfried, still covered in oil and grease. He stared at me indifferently.
‘Is my car ready, please?’
His expression didn’t alter. I tried again. ‘My car, is it ready?’
He nodded, wiping his hands on a filthy handkerchief and led the way into the workshop where my Morris stood, bonnet down, ready for the road.
‘Could I have my bill, please?’
From the top pocket of his overalls he silently produced a grubby piece of paper. I paid him, my hands trembling as I counted out the notes.
‘Has Herr Cliburn been here tonight?’
He looked blankly at me.
‘Herr Cliburn, the man who was with me.’
A faint glimmer of understanding crossed his face, then he shook his head negatively, and began to count the money I had given him. Despairingly I collected my car, parking it a few yards beyond the Sprite.
Gottfried disappeared into the warmth of his office and so, unseen by anyone, I left the Sprite parked at the roadside and, safely installed in my own little Morris, motored off without a backward glance.
It would take Stephen Maitland quite some time to reach Nordlingen without transport, and even longer for him to find his car. By the time he did I would be many, many miles away.
The very familiarity of my own car made me feel safer and I sped purposefully through the deserted streets, past the city gates and on to the main road in the direction of Augsburg.
Chapter Nine
I drove steadily for an hour, and then it started to rain heavily. Before very long the road was awash with water, the car spraying waves of mud in its wake as I forged on.
I peered through the blurred and streaming glass. It was nearly ten-thirty, and I was beginning to feel the effects of the last twenty-four hours. My original idea of driving through the night to Austria was fading rapidly. I kept on for another half hour, the rain falling hollowly on to the roof of the car, the only other sound the continuous rhythmic swish of the wipers as they flicked back and forth. Anti-climax was setting in and I was cold and very, very tired.
I drove through the rain-lashed streets of Augsburg as the city bells tolled eleven, pulling up outside a small hotel. Wearily I trudged into the brightly-lit entrance hall. The receptionist was pleasant, spoke good English and was able to accommodate me for bed and breakfast without any difficulty. I went back to the car, parked it in the hotel’s private car park, well away from sight of anyone passing on the road, picked up my overnight bag and followed the receptionist up several flights of stairs to my room.
I must have looked as weary as I felt for she said sympathetically, ‘Have you travelled far?’
I was about to say ‘no’ when I remembered the late hour and nodded. She smiled. ‘ It is very tiring driving all day, no?’
I agreed wholeheartedly as we began to climb another flight of stairs.
‘Your destination, is it Austria?’
I was about to reply non-committally, then said instead: ‘I’m going to Switzerland.’
If he traced me as far as here, though without psychic powers I didn’t see how it was possible, then the determinedly chatty receptionist could put him on the wrong trail. She opened the door of my room.
‘You are very lucky; it is very beautiful there. Beautiful and peaceful.’
I smiled wryly, and after she had wished me good night, I shut the door, locking it securely. Then I began to get ready for bed.
The face that looked back at me from the dressing-table mirror as I removed my make-up was pale and drawn. I put the top back on the jar of cream slowly, studying my reflection. How many days had it been since I had set off carefree and happy for my picnic? Two, three? It seemed another lifetime.
I turned to the bed, noticing for the first time the telephone on the bedside table. I stared at it for a long time, then dialled the number of the hotel at Nordlingen.
‘Herr Cliburn, bitte.’
Full of foreboding I waited, each second seeming like an hour. That he wouldn’t be there to answer I was certain. All I was ringing for was confirmation of the fact. A disembodied voice said something in German then, miraculously, Gunther’s voice, harsh and clipped.
For a few seconds I sat foolishly, unable to speak for the constriction in my throat, overwhelmed by relief.
‘Gunther! You’re all right. You’re safe. Oh, I’m so thankful.’
Tears splashed down my cheeks. I think it was not till then that I admitted to myself how frightened for him I’d been.
‘Susan! Thank God you’re safe. Where on earth are you?’
‘Augsburg.’
‘Augsburg!’ he shouted. ‘Would you mind explaining to me what you are doing there and why you left the hotel in such an extraordinary manner?’
‘But I had to. Stephen Maitland came to the hotel. I asked the manager to call the police but he behaved in a most peculiar manner.’
‘According to the manager it was you who behaved in a peculiar manner. There’s been no sign of Maitland here tonight.’
‘But I saw him.’
Gunther took a deep breath and said patiently, ‘And after you saw him?’
‘Well, you weren’t back and the staff weren’t helpful, so I left by the back staircase. Gunther, he followed me down that hillside. If it wasn’t for the fact that his car was parked at the bottom of the hill and I took it …’
‘You took his car?’
‘I had to. Then I drove to Nordlingen expecting to meet you on the way. When I didn’t, and saw that your car was gone I thought …’ I faltered. ‘I thought he’d waylaid you.’
‘Him! Waylay me!’ Gunther’s voice was scornful.
‘Well, what else was I to think? I collected my car from the garage, left his in the street, and drove here.’
‘I see,’ said Gunther slowly, and I sensed him coming to a decision. ‘And where, exactly, is here?’
I looked at the headed notepaper beside the telephone.
‘The Hotel St Wolfgang.’
‘Susan, listen to me carefully. On no account, I repeat on no account are you to leave there until I’ve seen you. Understand?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘No buts. You stay at the hotel till I come. I’ll be there before you have breakfast.’
‘Yes, Gunther, but …’
‘You … stay … there!’ he shouted down the phone.
‘Yes,’ I said meekly. ‘And, Gunther, I’m so glad, so very glad you’re all right.’
His voice softened. ‘The agonies I have suffered since I found you gone are indescribable, Susan. I don’t want to spend another three hours like the last three ever again. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yes. Good night, Gunther.’
‘Good night, Liebling.’
Gently I put down the phone and climbed into bed, stil
l hardly able to believe he was safe. I turned off the bedside light, snuggling further down under the blankets. It appeared that Stephen Maitland had never entered the hotel, so that while I had been clambering in the darkness down the hillside, he must have been very near to me. I shivered, the hideous feeling of being hunted still all too real. How had he known where we were? My tired brain struggled to think clearly, then gave up the effort, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.
The bars of sunlight spilling through the shuttered windows woke me early. For a few minutes I lay, cocooned in the luxurious comfort of the soft bed, gazing around the strange room.
Nordlingen? Augsburg? Slowly my befuddled brain began to function and the events of the previous evening flooded back with painful clarity. I groaned and rolled over, burying my head in the pillows. Today I would free myself for good from Stephen Maitland’s pursuit. I felt better as I remembered Gunther’s promise to be here by breakfast time and groped at the side of my bed for my watch. It was only six o’clock, but all vestiges of sleep had vanished.
I padded over to the shutters, flinging them wide, letting the early morning sunlight fill the room. White clouds hung wispily above, and the air felt fresh and sweet after the previous night’s rain. I washed and dressed slowly, enjoying to the full the feeling of safety and security the little-known hotel gave me. There wasn’t the remotest possibility of Stephen Maitland, or anyone else, following me here. For once I could relax and stop looking behind me.
I rang for room service, asked for morning coffee and lay back on the bed, propped up comfortably against the many pillows. Then, listening to the early morning street sounds and the pleasant singing of the birds that drifted through the open window, I lit a cigarette, watching the blue smoke spiral to the ceiling, wondering which road south to take when I left after breakfast and whether the purpose of Herr Cliburn’s visit was to ask if he could accompany me.
Rendezvous With Danger Page 8
