‘I’ll come with you. I can get a coffee while you’re phoning.’
Hand in hand we walked down the corridor and into the hall. The manageress smiled, pleased with our reconciliation. I left Stephen to explain things to her and went in search of the dining-room. It was eight o’clock now and all six tables were taken. I paused, trying to estimate if anyone was about to leave, but the chattering couples and families showed no sign of moving. A waiter approached anxiously, and asked if I could wait a half hour or so.
‘Nein,’ I replied. ‘I only want a coffee, nothing else. Please don’t bother.’
Through the picture windows I had a clear view of the street. There was no sign of Gunther Cliburn. Across the narrow road was a village shop selling souvenirs, sweets and newspapers. I hesitated and then went back to the reception desk.
Stephen seemed to be doing quite well. The manageress was following his conversation with open-mouthed amazement. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was nearly over. Ahead of us were some hours of police questioning, but it was nearly over, and I was safe and Stephen was safe.
Across the street I could see the headlines of the papers and recognized the name of Herr Ahlers. I gazed searchingly up and down but there were only tourists and villagers. Opening my bag I took out the marks I needed for the paper, then ran quickly down the short path to the gate, and sprinted across the street.
It was a beautiful day. In front of me, rising sheer above the whitewashed walls of chalets and hotels, was a precipitous wall of rock. A giant crag jutted menacingly above the village, its silver-grey face devoid of the grass and trees that clothed the lower slopes. I shivered, averting my eyes to the lush meadows, thick with summer flowers of white and yellow, and to the flamboyant religious frescoes that decorated the walls of the houses lining the street.
The doorway of the little shop was jammed with camera-slung tourists. I squeezed round a generously-built American woman in red gingham and took a newspaper from the rack. The only photographs on the front page were of Herr Ahlers and his widow and family. With difficulty I managed to open the centre page and had a glimpse of the car before the press of people jostling me forced me to close it.
‘Sorry, honey, was that your foot?’ It was the American woman.
‘It’s all right,’ I assured her, trying to reach the counter.
‘Why, Hamilton. Just you come here a minute. The young lady here is English! You are English, honey, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘I knew it. I just knew it! Why, we’ve just this minute left England. What a lovely country that is! Hamilton and I just fell in love with it, didn’t we, honey? We spent two whole days in Edinburgh and two in Stratford-upon-Avon where your great poet was born, and three days in London looking at all the sights. Do you come from London, Miss …’
‘Carter. Susan Carter.’ I said, trying to catch the eye of the young boy behind the counter.
‘Well, we surely are pleased to meet you, Miss Carter. I’m Myrtle Bosemann and this is my husband, Hamilton.’
An equally large American with a beaming smile and a flowered shirt shook my hand enthusiastically.
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Carter. My wife and I have just been looking at your lovely country and it sure was a mighty wrench to leave it. Though I must say this here little place is pretty fine. Kinda like a kiddies toy-town.’
My money for the paper was finally taken from my outstretched hand, but by this time I was wedged firmly between Mrs Bosemann’s ample bosom and her husband, who seemed genuinely pleased to see me and loath to let me go.
‘Have you been here long, Miss Carter?’
I shook my head. ‘I arrived this morning.’
‘Is that so? Well now, Mrs Bosemann and I would just love to show you around, wouldn’t we, honey?’
Mrs Bosemann nodded vigorously.
‘We saw the darndest place yesterday, built by mad King Ludwig of Bavaria. That place really takes some beating. We’d think it an honour to take you round there this morning. The tours set off from the square in fifteen minutes from now. Look, you can see the coaches from here.’ He pointed down the street. ‘ I know Mrs Bosemann would just love to see it again. When you get there you can hire little horse-drawn traps and drive right up the mountain to the castle and …’
‘Oh, you’d just love it, honey,’ interrupted Mrs Bosemann. ‘This King Ludwig was just mesmerized by Wagner, so much so that he imagined himself to be the knight of the swan in Wagner’s opera. Isn’t that the wildest thing? He even had armour made for himself, and this castle, Neuschwanstein, was built by him as a theatrical setting for his delusions.’
‘Myrtle reads all the tourist guides,’ her husband said proudly.
‘I’ve got what they call a photographic memory, honey. Do you know, the King thought the castle was the castle of the Holy Grail and …’
‘Thank you very much,’ I managed at last. ‘It really is most kind of you, but I’m afraid I can’t. I must go now.’ I edged away. ‘I do hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’
‘Aw, honey, I was so looking forward to it.’ Mrs Bosemann’s face fell. ‘Hamilton and I just love company and I’m sure you would have enjoyed it.’
I squeezed her hand. ‘It was lovely of you to ask me, really it was, but I’m with someone you see, and …’
‘That’s all right, honey. I understand. But mind you see that crazy castle. It’s only about thirty miles away and, like Hamilton said, it really is the darndest place.’
‘I will, and thank you for the thought.’
I turned away quickly, touched by their unaffected kindness.
Tucking the paper securely under my arm, I emerged into dappled sunlight and began to walk the few yards down the street to the point opposite the Alte Post. The sun seemed palpably hotter with every passing minute and I hoped that the police questioning which lay before us would not last too long. A wasp zoomed uncomfortably near my ear and I turned my head sharply. It was then that I saw the fair-haired figure step back hurriedly into a doorway.
Suddenly I was ice-cold, caught once more in the familiar grasp of barely controlled panic. The blood pounded in my ears as I gazed unseeingly into the nearest shop-window. Slowly I raised my eyes and looked back once more along the street.
A crowd of teenagers, barefoot and wearing pale blue jeans and strings of hippy beads, sauntered noisily past me, followed by a stern-faced woman with two solemn children in tow. I hesitated, then, instead of crossing the street to the hotel, I strolled on, stopping now and then to gaze into shop-windows, furtively trying to see if any of the blond heads bobbing backwards and forwards in the village street belonged to Gunther. There was no sign of him. I paused, my heart hammering slightly less painfully.
I was jumping at shadows. My nerves were so over-wrought that I was imagining things. Breathing easier, I wiped the perspiration from my forehead and smiled shakily at my reflection.
There was a full-length mirror running on the left-hand side of the window, which made the shop, packed with lavishly-embroidered blouses and velvet waistcoats, seem twice as large. It also reflected very clearly the people in the street behind me. As I looked past my own reflection I saw Gunther step cautiously out of his doorway, then, seeing I had come to a halt, draw back quickly.
‘Oh God, no!’ I clenched my nails into my palms so tightly that I drew blood. My head was spinning.
Gunther was waiting for me to lead him to Stephen. He would make no attempt on my life until I’d done that. I licked my lips nervously. He must have raced to the Furstenhaus Hotel in an effort to catch me up before I could see Stephen and we could inform the police. What must he have thought when he reached it to find neither of us there? That Stephen hadn’t swallowed the bait and was staying in a different hotel from the one he had been led to believe I was at? That I was now doing the rounds and searching for him? That as yet I still hadn’t found him and still hadn’t seen the police?
I stood in an agony of ind
ecision. Should I dash back to the Alte Post and hope that the police would arrive before Gunther acted. That he would act, and act immediately, I didn’t doubt. After all, he had nothing to lose.
A family with four children stepped out of the hotel. The parents seated themselves at one of the wrought-iron tables in the hotel’s garden while the children played noisily, chasing each other round the chestnut trees, laughing and screaming excitedly.
I couldn’t take the risk of leading Gunther inside the Alte Post among defenceless people. Or among the not so defenceless come to that. The thought of Stephen’s borrowed gun set a fresh ripple of fear down my spine: the risks were too great. Stephen must be warned. He had to be able to tell the police, so that they could arrest Gunther without danger to anyone else. But how?
Like the United States cavalry riding to the rescue, I saw Mrs Bosemann bearing her royal way down the narrow pavement, beaming expansively at everybody she passed, delighted with Bavaria, delighted with Mr Bosemann, delighted with life in general. Like a ship in full sail she swept down on me.
‘Susan Carter! Are you going to buy one of those blouses? They really are the nicest things. Hamilton, don’t you think one of those blouses would suit Susan fine?’
‘Sure it would, honey. Why, you’d look pretty as a picture in one of those and a fancy waistcoat to match.’
I stepped into the doorway, out of sight of watching eyes, fumbling in my bag for pen and paper, my mind made up. Mrs Bosemann had said the coaches left for Neusch-wanstein at ten-fifteen. That’s where I would lead Gunther.
‘Could you do me a favour, Mrs Bosemann? Could you take this message to Stephen Maitland in the hotel opposite?’
‘Why sure, honey. But what’s the matter? Don’t you feel well?’
‘I’m all right, it’s just that …’ I gazed into her puzzled blue eyes. ‘It’s just that …’
‘Is Mr Maitland the friend you were telling us about?’
I nodded. The blue eyes cleared. ‘I understand, honey. You young people have had a quarrel.’
I nodded again.
‘Well now, if we can help in any way we’ll be glad to. I know what it’s like when you fall out and then regret it. Pride can be a very painful thing. Why I remember not talking to Hamilton for a whole week when we were courting. Isn’t that right, honey?’
Mr Bosemann nodded. ‘ You just give us your billet doux and we’ll pop across the road with it. No bother at all, Miss Carter. And if you and Mr Maitland would like to accompany us this afternoon …’
‘Hamilton!’ Mrs Bosemann exclaimed, prodding him vigorously. ‘If they’ve just quarrelled, they’ll want to make things up, and they won’t want us around for that.’
Mr Bosemann grinned sheepishly. ‘I guess that’s so. Just the same, I reckon it would be a good idea to give Miss Carter the name of our hotel. Don’t you think so, Myrtle?’
‘I most certainly do. There now. Have you finished your note?’
She slipped it into her handbag. ‘Don’t you worry another minute. Hamilton and I are going straight over there. And you give us a ring and let us know how things are. Here’s the name and number of our hotel. We’re here till Friday. And don’t you worry.
Everything’s going to be all right.’
Wishing I could be as sure of that as she was, I stepped out of the shadowed doorway and began to walk briskly down the street, away from the hotel. I didn’t bother to scan the windows in order to catch a glimpse of Gunther. I knew he was behind me. Miraculously my fear had left me. I felt quite calm. Even buoyant. Mrs Bosemann had saved the day. In my hurried note I had written:
Gunther is following me. Am making for Neuschwanstein on a guided tour. He won’t harm me till I’ve led him to you. If you ring the police they should be able to pick him up when the tour buses reach the castle. Lovingly, Susan.
This time it was I who was setting the trap and Gunther who was walking into it. If Neuschwanstein was thirty miles away, as Mrs Bosemann had said, then it would take a good thirty minutes, perhaps longer, depending on the state of the roads, for the coaches to reach the castle. When they did so, Gunther would step straight into the arms of the law.
The street broadened into a cobbled square, spoiled by the giant super de luxe coaches waiting to take tourists to the twin castles of Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau. They were more than half full already. The drivers were standing beside giant blackboards advertising their destinations, loudly extolling in French, German and English the delights in store for those who took the trip.
I smiled grimly to myself, imagining Gunther’s perplexity when he saw me mount the nearest coach. This would have him well and truly foxed. The driver took my money and gave me my ticket without pausing for breath as he harangued the tourists passing by to ‘ join me in a tour of the fairytale castles of King Ludwig of Bavaria.’
At the rear of the coach were a group of barefoot teenagers who had passed me earlier. I edged in front of them into a corner seat, settling myself comfortably with the pamphlets I had received with my ticket. That Gunther was also safely esconced in another coach I didn’t doubt. Whether he was also reading his pamphlets was another matter.
Chapter Fifteen
I kept my head bent, to all outward appearances intent on the booklets on my knees. The Bosemanns would have handed my note to Stephen and by this time he would have telephoned the police. I glanced surreptitiously across the square in the direction of the Alte Post, but there was no sign of Stephen, and none of Myrtle and Hamilton Bosemann. I felt a flicker of unease, wondering for the first time if what I was doing was sensible. Yet what alternative had I had? To have led Gunther Cliburn into the hotel without giving Stephen any warning would have been madness. This way was surely safer and easier, and yet …
I bit my lip. Gunther was no fool. Wouldn’t he think it odd, this trip I was making to Neuschwanstein? Why should I be looking for Stephen there? I pressed my arms across my stomach, trying to suppress the growing anxiety I felt. After all, I tried to convince myself, whether he thought it odd or not didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he follow me. I was quite safe. It wouldn’t even be necessary for me to leave the coach. When we arrived, the police would be there and that would be that. I wondered if Stephen, too, would be there, and hoped with passionate intensity that he would.
The coach driver shouted his wares once more, then jumped aboard the coach.
To the left of us, an engine throbbed into life and a coach eased past. Our driver pushed open the window in the roof above his head, and began to follow. There were still three more coaches to the right of us. The desire to crane my head round, searching for Gunther was nearly too much. With difficulty I kept my eyes lowered, leafing unseeingly through the pamphlets. He would be on one of them. He wouldn’t let me get away from him again.
Gathering speed, the coaches slipped out of Oberammergau and headed towards the mountains. I leaned back, relaxing slightly, soothed by the rhythmic sway of the coach as it left the village and sped down the country road. Behind me, the teenagers chattered gaily in French, undisturbed by the disapproving glances given them by the properly dressed German tourists across the aisle.
At either side the road was bounded by green meadows and flowers. Behind them rose the hills, dotted with copses of fir and spruce, with an occasional cluster of lowlying chalets surrounding an onion-domed church. Then the trees, slope after slope of them, their rich greenery like a dark shadow encircling the base of the mountains. The silver-grey cliffs and precipices pierced the blue sky, the sun shining brilliantly on the snow-capped peaks and the snow-filled fissures and ravines. It was breathtaking, and despite the circumstances, I felt my heart leap with pleasure as we drew nearer, climbing gradually higher. The trees grew thicker, pressing in on either side, and the heady smell of the pines permeated the coach as we wound our way through the woods. In the distance I caught a glimpse of a turret and a slender spire and a flash of blue water, then they were gone and there was o
nly the leafy dimness of the trees and the narrow road deep in pine needles. Shafts of sunlight pierced the branches, glistening on the ferns and bracken, catching the shimmering tip of a bird’s wing as it darted in and out of the shade. Everything had a lustre, was peaceful, calm.
No discreet cars had overtaken us as I had expected, though the road was so narrow that it would have been difficult for anything to pass. The realization brought relief. The sight of police cars or anything remotely similar would put Gunther on his guard. They would stay behind the coaches until we arrived. The German police weren’t scatterbrained even if I was. Nothing could go wrong. Not this time. Stephen wouldn’t let it.
‘Voudriez-vous en?’ I turned with a start. One of the French girls held out a bag of
sweets.
I smiled. ‘Merci.’
‘You are English?’
I nodded. She laughed delightedly. ‘Bon. We were having a little
bet. My friends, they thought you were Américaine, but I said you
were Anglaise.’
They hung over the back of the seat, laughing and chattering
noisily.
‘You were all alone, so …’ She shrugged, flicking her hair back
over her shoulder. ‘If you wish, come with us.’
The others nodded in agreement. I shook my head.
‘There is no need to be shy!’ she exclaimed, the shiny lips parted
in a wide smile. ‘This is Michel.’
A blond-haired boy with a beard gave a mock bow.
‘And Pierre.’
‘Enchanté, m’selle.’
‘And Roland and Catherine.’
They shook my hand enthusiastically.
‘We are quite safe, très respectable!’ She looked down her nose,
giving a very good impression of the woman sitting across the aisle.
‘Je suis Annabelle.’
‘Well, thank you very much, Annabelle, but I don’t think I’ll be
Rendezvous With Danger Page 13
