going round the castle.’
‘Alors! Not see the castle! Then why …’
I laughed. ‘It’s a long story, too long to tell. Thank you, all the
same.’
She pouted prettily. ‘Roland will die of love, if you do not.’
Roland blushed furiously while the others laughed.
‘That is true.’ Pierre put an arm around his friend in mock
comfort. ‘For Roland’s sake, you must join us at the castle.’
Roland pushed him away good-humouredly. ‘Take no notice,
they are children …’
He looked all of sixteen. ‘ My name is Roland Dupré, and I have
to suffer these … these—imbéciles.’
The others shrieked with laughter.
‘Your name, mademoiselle?’
‘Susan. Susan Carter.’
‘You will join us?’
I shook my head amid loud protestations.
‘I am meeting somebody—at least I hope to. In any case I shall not be staying.’
‘But if he is not there, you will have to wait until the coaches return,’ said Annabelle.
I shook my head once more.
‘We will make you change your mind. Look! We are almost there.’
Roland pointed through the window. Ahead of us the road widened, curving its way out of the trees into a large clearing that was used as a car park. The woods enclosed three sides, but to the north lay a glistening, shimmering sheet of water.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Annabelle. ‘Magnifique!’
The deep, aquamarine lake lay resplendently girdled by the pine-covered hills that swept down to its banks, the soaring mountains casting brilliant reflections on to the still, shining surface. I caught my breath. Annabelle was right. It was magnificent.
The coach we had been following had already drawn to a halt and passengers were climbing out, standing in little groups, admiring the view. As our coach pulled round, I could see the one behind emerge from the woods. I found I was holding my breath and my hands, gripping my shoulder-bag, were clammy. This was it. This was the end. All I had to do was stay put.
Annabelle’s hand rested lightly on my shoulder. ‘Come …’
‘No, really, Annabelle.’
She stared down at me for a moment, then shrugged. ‘If that is what you wish …’
I wished I could explain. Seeing that I meant it and wasn’t going to join them, they all waved goodbye and noisily stepped into the bright sunshine. As the other passengers collected their bags and cameras and filed down the coach steps I remained in my seat, watching.
The remaining two coaches swept round in a large arc, halting at the far side of the clearing. I waited expectantly. There was nothing. No cars behind them. No men in uniform. Nothing. Only the sun beating down on to the dusty ground, and the glittering, silent surface of the lake beyond. I felt sick, my stomach contracting painfully, my throat tightening till I could hardly swallow.
‘Please, God. Please!’
Gunther stepped out of the last coach. Like a cornered animal I watched mesmerized as he strolled behind the other tourists, as his eyes lifted slowly towards me, smiling with cold triumph as I huddled, terrified, in the corner of the deserted coach.
It was no use. It had never been any use. One glance at him, arrogant and self-assured, had been enough to convince me of that. I began to gather things together. The pamphlets, my shoulder-bag, the sweets that Annabelle had given me. As I did so, I saw the driver of Gunther’s coach leap down from his seat, and ignoring the throng of passengers grouped round the coach’s open doorway, make straight for Gunther.
I stiffened, watching with bated breath as the driver planted himself firmly in front of Gunther. I could see the expression on Gunther’s face change from one of displeasure to one of annoyance and then anger. He stepped to one side but the driver grabbed his arm, shouting loudly for his ticket. Within minutes, the two of them were surrounded by interested tourists and all that was visible were the driver’s waving arms.
I didn’t wait to see the outcome. Tugging open the door of the coach I raced across the car park in the direction the other passengers had taken. If I could catch up with Annabelle and her friends they would help me. By the time I had explained to anyone else, Gunther would be free of the irate driver and it would be too late.
I plunged into the trees and up the narrow path that led towards the castle. As I rounded the first bend I recognized the other occupants of the coach strolling along unconcernedly some yards ahead. I pushed my way through them, running as fast as I could over the loose gravel. The track widened, and beneath the trees was a small chalet where souvenirs and postcards, sweets and candyfloss were sold.
Frantically I scanned the interior, but of Annabelle and her friends there was no sign. I looked around me, feeling my self-control slipping away. I hadn’t passed them and they weren’t in the shop and ahead of me, on the road leading to Neuschwanstein, were only a party of scouts and an elderly couple.
A few yards away was a queue of horse-drawn landaus, waiting to take tourists who felt that the steep climb to the castle was too much for them. As I watched, the sour-faced woman, who had sat across the aisle from me in the coach, drove off in the first one. The rest of the coach party, in twos and threes, reached the carriages and began climbing inside. No one it seemed was going on foot. Breathlessly I ran across, shouting at the first driver.
‘Have some teenagers just hired a carriage?’
He flicked the reins and the horse began to move obediently forwards. I grabbed hold of the harness.
‘Please. It’s very important! Three boys and a girl. Have they just hired a carriage to the castle?’
Irritatedly he pulled up.
‘The carriage only holds four people, Fraulein, and it is full. Now, if you will excuse me …’
‘I don’t want to hire it. I just want to know if you have seen three boys and a girl and if they took a landau up to the castle. Please, it’s very urgent. Have you seen them?’
He frowned, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Perhaps. Many people use the carriages. It is a long walk, especially in the sun.’
‘But in these last five minutes!’ I cried desperately.
He stared at me, his eyes blank. My heart was hammering painfully in my chest, and each approaching footstep was stretching my over-taut nerves to breaking point. I gripped the reins tightly. ‘The carriage before yours. Were there young people in it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nein. An English lady, by herself.’ This time his voice was sympathetic and the indifference in his eyes turned to consternation as I swayed slightly, held up only by my grip on the reins.
I said shakily, ‘Before her. In the carriage before her?’
He shook his head again. ‘Nein, Fraulein, the couple who hired it had young children with them, babies. Perhaps if you go yourself to the castle you will find your friends there.’ He glanced behind him. ‘You will have to wait though. These carriages are all taken, but the ones that have already gone will soon be back.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘ You will find them—they cannot be far away.’
With renewed horror I saw that the now full carriages were trotting past, and the last two drivers were flicking their reins and beginning to follow them. Another few seconds and I would be stranded and alone. I fought a rising tide of hysteria.
‘Please, you must take me with you. Please. It’s a matter of life and death!’
‘The carriage is full, Fraulein.’ He was losing patience now and so were his customers. They glared at me, muttering angrily as I tried for the last time. ‘The police,’ I said frantically. ‘The police know all about it. They are on their way here. Please, you must take me with you!’
‘The carriage is full. It is against the law.’ Roughly he tugged the reins from my grasp. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’
Helplessly I stepped back on to the grass verge as the horse brushed past me. The three women a
nd one gentleman, who were the occupants of the carriage, stared down at me curiously, then the man leaned towards me.
‘Hippies?’ he asked, gesturing to his hair as if it was long.
‘Yes, oh yes!’
The woman sitting next to him clicked her tongue reprovingly and pulled at his arm.
‘Did they go up to the castle?’ I cried.
The carriage was moving away rapidly and I was having to run to keep up with them. He nodded his head vigorously before turning to face his angry wife.
I turned too. I could hear the sound of running footsteps coming from the direction of the car park, approaching the bend in the road. Once Gunther rounded it, the only people between us would be the small group of women choosing postcards outside the chalet. The last landau clattered past, carrying only three people. I ran after it, calling the driver to stop. He eyed me doubtfully as I thrust a handful of notes into his hand.
‘I must … go to the castle. Please. It’s very important …’
He nodded, shoving the notes deep into his pocket before I changed my mind or came to my senses. Gasping for breath I clambered into the carriage, squeezing in beside a large German lady with a pork-pie hat on her head. As I did so I saw the indistinct figure of Gunther between the trees, running towards the bend.
I showered my remaining money to the floor, and amidst the exclamations of alarm and disapproval from the other passengers, dropped on my hands and knees, grovelling between their feet for the scattered coins, struggling to keep my head and body out of sight.
For several minutes I stayed there, bent double, the annoyed women moving their feet out of my way, knocking me with their cumbersome bags. I had to stay out of sight. Out of sight until I had found Annabelle and her friends, or until I could phone Stephen and find out what had happened and what had gone wrong. Dear God, what could have gone wrong? My message had been clear enough. Unless … I tried to shut the thought from my mind. Unless Gunther had known all along where Stephen was and had silenced him before following me. I shook my head. It wasn’t possible, he wouldn’t have had the time. From the moment I had seen him outside the newsagent’s he had been following me. There had been no opportunity for him to cross the road to the Alte Post. And yet … And yet … What if Gunther hadn’t been by himself? What if Stephen had been murdered while I sat on the coach so foolishly confident. A sob broke from me, and the woman next to me shook my shoulder, and asked if she could help me.
I turned my head slightly. The carriage had rounded the next bend of the steepening path. Cautiously I sat back on the seat. The road behind was clear, the chalet out of sight. On either side the dark green trees of the forest pressed in, the only sound that of the horses as they climbed steadily upwards, crushing the thick carpeting of pine needles beneath their hooves.
‘Sind Sie krank?’ the woman asked.
I shook my head.
Not looking too convinced, she rammed her hat even more firmly on her head and settled her bag on her knees. She looked so indomitable, so indefatigable, that for a moment I was tempted to seek her help. But how, in the few words of German I knew, could I explain to her? How could I say, ‘Please help me. A fellow countryman of yours is following me and is going to kill me.’ And even presuming I could, and she believed me, what could she do?
The two women opposite eyed me warily. Like their companion they were heavily built and sensibly dressed. Both of them were wearing light-weight gaberdines and leather brogues, and on their heads was the same straw-coloured bowler hat with a little feather stuck into the hatband.
I looked away from them, concentrating instead on the winding road below, willing it to stay clear. They had every reason to be disapproving. No doubt they had been spectators to my confrontation with the first driver, and flinging myself to the carriage floor must have confirmed their suspicions that I was best left alone.
Carriages began passing us on their way down to the chalet and fresh customers. I gazed upwards towards the white, limestoned walls of Neuschwanstein, willing the horse to move faster, to hurry towards the last bend and the open gateway of the castle. To the right, the ground fell away in a steep drop to the gorge below. Between the trees I caught a glimpse of the chalet and saw the first of the returning landaus pick up their fares. The fair-haired figure even now beginning his ascent could only be Gunther.
Chapter Sixteen
The next instant, we had rounded the bend and were facing the pinnacles, turrets and battlements of Neuschwanstein. The epitome of every fairy-tale castle I had ever seen, it rose white and shining, glorious against the backdrop of blue lake and snow-capped mountains. The crag of rock on which it was built thrust it high above the surrounding forest, the sea of pine trees merging gradually into the soft green of the plain around Fussen. It was like being on top of the world. Two turrets flanked the gateway building and beneath the gabled entrance hung the Bavarian coat of arms. Through the round arched portal I could see steps leading to an upper courtyard and more towers with narrow, arcaded windows, and slender spires soaring skywards.
A bridge led from the road to the cobbled castle precincts and the driver drew his horse to a halt on reaching it. My three fellow passengers were already fumbling for cameras and getting their guide-books at the ready, but before the horse had turned round on the start of his return journey, I was running over the bridge, through the darkened arch, and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard beyond.
It was thronged with people. Tourists of every shape and size jostled together, forming themselves into groups of thirty or forty around tired-looking guides. Among the babble of voices I could distinguish Italian and French, but there was no sign of Annabelle and her friends and it was fast becoming obvious that, even if they were here, I stood little chance of finding them. I tried to push my way through the mass of camera-slung bodies towards one of the guides. There would be a phone somewhere. I had to find it before Gunther arrived at the bridge. Then I would hide. But the tourists weren’t giving way so easily. They stood firm, deliberately preventing me from getting to the front.
A woman shouted at me angrily as I frantically tried to edge round her. Her husband, too, turned.
‘I’m not trying to push in.’ I tried desperately to make myself clear. ‘ I just want to know where there is a phone, a Telefon.’
He shook his head. ‘ Hier ist kein Telefon.’
‘But there must be! Please let me through so that I can ask the guide.’
‘Nein, hier ist kein Telefon.’ They were adamant, turning their backs on me, trapping me so that I could move neither forward nor back. I didn’t see Gunther enter the courtyard, all I could see were the heads and shoulders of those surrounding me, but I knew when he had. The familiar icy terror I had felt so often in the last twenty-four hours flooded through me and my hands and face were damp with sweat. The mass of people gave me no feeling of safety, rather the reverse. He would be able to kill me and lose himself among them with no difficulty at all. In fact, if he could ease himself into the crowd I was now in, he could stab me and I wouldn’t even fall to the ground! I pressed my hand to my mouth stifling the screams rising within me.
Then we were moving. The crowd began to follow the uniformed guide and I shrank as small as possible, keeping in the centre, hidden, I hoped, by the surrounding bodies. Cold and sick, I shuffled along with them, past the splashing of a fountain and up the steps to the upper courtyard, expecting every moment to feel Gunther’s hands upon me.
We drew to a halt again while the guide, first in German, then French, and finally English, informed us that the Palast to the right of us contained the Singers’ Hall and two octagonal corner turrets. He enlarged upon the beauty of the frescoes that decorated the inner walls, and pointed out the copper-chased figure of a lion surmounting the gable. The crowd craned their necks and flicked to the appropriate pages in their brochures. I bent my knees, sliding as low as I could, my head bent to the yellow sandstoned ground.
‘And there you se
e the Knights’ House.’ The heads around me turned in unison to the right. ‘ This is a two-storied building containing the passages connecting the Square Tower and the Palast with the Knights’ House proper rising a storey higher. The intended rich architectural ornamentation was not carried out on account of the early death of the King.’ The couple in front murmured sympathetically.
‘The German Romanesque style is not only applied to the groined cross-vaults, the framework of the windows and portals, the richly sculptured ornamental work of the passages, but also to the King’s rooms, which are divided into two parts by columns and arches. These partitioned rooms …’ On and on he went, while those around me listened attentively, referring to their guide-books and easing their weight from one foot to the other. Then, after exhausting his detailed description of the exterior of the Knights’ House, the guide led the way into the communicating building that connected it with the Square Tower.
I hurried after him, edging as close as I could to the couple in front, not daring to look round in case my eyes should meet Gunther’s. Then we were herded up a narrow winding staircase and there was no hope of remaining hidden. If Gunther was on the periphery of the crowd he could not help but see me as I climbed after the others, cruelly exposed in my bright green dress.
I steeled myself to look down, towards the door we had just entered, but there were only suntanned holiday-makers patiently waiting to mount the stairs and endure more of the regimented sight-seeing. I licked my lips nervously. If Gunther was outside or in another part of the castle entirely, there was still a faint chance.
We clustered into a beautiful room with a vaulted ceiling, and a chandelier of gilded brass. The guide paused beneath it, informing us that it contained no less than forty-eight candles I took his word for it, and tried once more to ease my way to the front. With their attention riveted to the ceiling I managed to squeeze past the couple who had remained so obstinately in front of me, and with many whispered apologies push my way to the edge of the crowd and the guide. I moved towards him as he finished describing the chandelier in French. Seeing my intention he frowned, motioning me to remain where I was as he turned to what he described as the Swan corner.
Rendezvous With Danger Page 14
