He shook his head in mock reproach. ‘You may well ask. There was only one small thing wrong with the hare-brained plan you concocted on realizing Gunther was following you. And that was your note.’
‘I don’t understand. I told you where I was going, didn’t I?’
‘Oh, you did that all right,’ he agreed affably. ‘ But you wrote the name of the wrong hotel on the note.’
‘I did not!’ I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. ‘I wrote, Stephen Maitland, Hotel Furstenhaus.’
‘The Furstenhaus,’ said Stephen patiently, ‘is the hotel Gunther booked you into, hoping to lead me there. The Alte Post is the hotel I’m staying at.’
I could only stare at him, appalled.
‘The manager of the Furstenhaus accepted the note when Mrs Bosemann said it was from Miss Susan Carter. After all, he still had you booked down to arrive.’
‘Oh Stephen,’ I said, mortified, ‘how could I have been so dim.’
‘I’ve no idea, darling. But as I love you I’ll overlook it this time. Just don’t make a habit of it.’
And he kissed me, long and hard, driving away every vestige of nightmare. After a little while I said, ‘What did you do when I didn’t return?’
‘That,’ he said emphatically, ‘I prefer to forget. We owe a lot to the indefatigable Mrs Bosemann. The manager’s reluctant acceptance of your note had caused her some apprehension and she went back there at seven to see you and check that things had worked out between us both. The manager finally explained that he had no Mr Maitland in his hotel, and that, as yet, Fraulein Carter hadn’t arrived herself. She demanded the note back and Mr Bosemann mentioned that you had said the hotel just across the road. Well, the Furstenhaus is quite a way from where you handed over the note, so they retraced their steps. At the third try they asked for me at the Alte Post. The officer and three of his men were with me then, and the receptionist put it on one side, not wanting to bother me!’
‘I don’t believe it!’
He laughed. ‘Half the police force in the country had been looking for you all the afternoon, and interrogating me. I think they thought I was a professional hoaxer wasting police time. They didn’t believe a word I told them about Cliburn or that your life was in danger. Isn’t that right, Officer?’
The officer laughed. ‘We did begin a search, Mr Maitland.’
‘Maybe. But it wasn’t until the receptionist absentmindedly said a note had been handed in for me and they read it that I was finally believed. Though once they knew it was for real, they certainly moved. I insisted on coming with them and they didn’t waste time arguing. Within seconds we were on the road to Neuschwanstein with orders out to every policeman in the district to follow.’
‘And Mrs Bosemann?’
Stephen clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Good Lord, I’d forgotten all about her. She’ll be wondering what on earth is going on.’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘ She’ll have Mr Bosemann to comfort her, and we’ll make it up to her when we get back.’
‘And to each other,’ said Stephen, and kissed me again.
Minutes later the car swept into the open clearing beside the lake. It was alive with the shadowy figures of policemen and the dark shapes of their cars and of an ambulance. Strong beams of light scanned the forest and there came the sound of many feet beating a way through the bushes and low-hanging branches, searching. I turned my head away quickly.
‘All right, my love?’ Stephen asked tenderly.
‘Yes. All I need is a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.’
‘That’s my girl.’
With my head cradled on his shoulder I closed my eyes, and long before we reached Oberammergau I was fast asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
I hardly remember going to bed that night. The strain of the past twenty-four hours had well and truly caught up with me and I allowed myself to be escorted meekly into the hotel and to my room. I was vaguely aware of the activity around me, of the doctor coming and giving me a sedative, and of the many policemen who seemed to fill the hotel’s tiny foyer. And I remember Stephen’s kiss before he went off with the doctor to have his arm attended to. Then I clambered slowly into bed, sliding down between the clean, crisp sheets, asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
I woke to a soft knocking on my door and the sound of the birds singing in the beech tree outside my room. For a few minutes I was filled with a nameless dread, then a great wave of relief swept over me as memory returned. The sun was shining gloriously outside and Stephen had said he loved me. The knock came again, louder this time.
‘Come in,’ I called, pushing myself up against the pillows.
Stephen stepped into the room, a tray with coffee and croissants precariously balanced in one hand.
‘This is your very own room service. No one else gets breakfast in bed at twelve o’clock on a Saturday morning.’
‘Twelve!’ I stared at him unbelievingly.
‘Twelve,’ he repeated blandly. ‘And there’s half the German C.I.D. waiting to speak to you downstairs. And a roomful of reporters and photographers and …’
‘You’re joking,’ I said horrified, and now wide awake.
‘About the police, no. The reporters and photographers, yes. But give them another couple of hours and they’ll be here.’
‘Then I most decidedly won’t be,’ I said, eating a roll hungrily. ‘Stephen, I’m absolutely starving. I haven’t had a proper meal since … well, it’s so long ago I can’t bear to think of it. I can’t survive on a couple of rolls.’
‘These are just to give you enough strength to get dressed and come downstairs. Your lunch is on the table. You were offered a meal last night before you went to bed, but I doubt if you could have stayed awake long enough to have eaten it. Feel better now?’
‘Lots. And you? Is your arm okay?’
‘Yes, I wasn’t being the brave hero when I said it was only grazed. Though it did bleed rather spectacularly, didn’t it? Anyway, you hurry up and come downstairs. Our friend from last night is panting to question you.’
‘I’ve got quite a few questions to ask myself.’
Stephen sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘They found him just before daylight, Susan.’
I put down my cup of coffee slowly.
‘His real name was Carl Mugler. His father was Heinrich Mugler, the Nazi war criminal.’
‘Oh,’ I said, in a flat voice.
Stephen took the cup and held my hand in his.
‘After the war, Mugler and his wife and son escaped to Brazil. The wife died soon afterwards, but Heinrich Mugler lived very prosperously, changing his identity and background completely. Carl was sent to an expensive English school and there was nothing to connect them with the past. Until the late nineteen sixties, that is. Herr Ahlers had worked unceasingly to bring to justice the criminals of the war. He himself was a Jew. For thirty years they had no more information of Heinrich Mugler than that he was missing, presumed dead. Until Georg Kern was arrested in Uraguay. And what Kern said led Ahlers to believe that Mugler was still alive. The hunt intensified and Heinrich Mugler was caught and sentenced for his war crimes two years ago.’
‘I remember it. He was at Auschwitz.’
‘Yes. Well, his son wanted revenge. He hired Ellis and Levos to do the killing while he stayed down here under an assumed name. Even if his cover had been blown he would have had witnesses to prove he was nowhere near Bonn when Ahlers was shot. He very nearly got away with it too. Ellis and Levos left the city in the stolen car, which wasn’t reported missing until hours after they had gone. And at the moment in time when they crashed, the police had no lead on them whatsoever. Gunther would have paid them at the farmhouse and then the three of them would have split and they might never have been caught. As it is, Ellis was arrested in London a couple of hours ago and it’s only a matter of time before they bring in Levos.’
‘I think he was mad,’ I said, staring at the sunlit branches of t
he beech tree. ‘To behave like he did …’
‘Susan.’ Stephen tilted my chin so that I was looking straight at him. ‘It’s no use brooding about it. It happened, and now it’s over. And another thing I want to say …’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’
Later, when he had gone downstairs and I had washed and dressed, I knew he was right. Already, the events of the last forty-eight hours were dimming. I felt on top of the world and more than capable of answering any questions the police might ask. As it happened, they didn’t ask many. Stephen had spent all the morning with them and all they wanted from me was confirmation.
The inspector’s formal departure was spoiled somewhat by Mrs Bosemann rushing up the pathway, arms outstretched.
‘Honey, are you okay?’
The policemen hurriedly stepped out of her way as she split their ranks, rushing straight through them towards the veranda.
‘We’ve been so worried, honey.’ She clasped me to her bosom. ‘Is everything okay now? My, you don’t look a bit well. What you need is a good square meal.’
‘I’ve just had one,’ I protested, laughing. ‘And yes, Mrs Bosemann, everything’s okay now.’
‘Well, thank heavens. What a time we’ve had! First we handed your note over like you asked and the young man was most reluctant to take it. Hamilton and I couldn’t understand it. I wasn’t at all easy in my mind, not at all. I said to Hamilton, “There’s something wrong.” Didn’t I, honey?’
Mr Bosemann stood beaming behind his excited wife, nodding assent.
‘So we went back there to see you, to make sure everything was all right, and when the man said you weren’t even booked in there yet and he had no one by the name of Maitland, well! Honey, we didn’t know what to do. I demanded the note back of course, and then Hamilton remembered that you had said the hotel just across the road. We searched and searched, but there wasn’t another hotel by that name so we just went into them all, asking for Mr Maitland, and when we did find it, the receptionist said she would see Mr Maitland got the message but that he couldn’t be disturbed at the moment. Well, that didn’t please me, I can tell you. Hamilton and I decided to wait in the garden. We ordered a couple of drinks, and sat at the table over there, beneath the trees and then … what a commotion! Policemen everywhere, rushing off as though there was a fire, and no one able to tell us what was happening! Honey, I can’t begin to describe the night we’ve spent. I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’
I gently disentangled myself. ‘There’s nothing to worry about now. You haven’t met Stephen properly, have you? Mrs Bosemann … Stephen Maitland. Stephen … Mrs Bosemann.’
She pumped his hand up and down vigorously. ‘Honey, I sure am glad to see you. Now, perhaps someone would tell me what all the excitement’s been about!’
We sat at one of the tables beneath the cool shade of the beech trees and as briefly as possible Stephen told our story, and how much we owed her.
‘If you hadn’t gone back to check that Susan’s message had been delivered, and then, when you found it hadn’t and that I wasn’t even at the hotel, hadn’t persisted in finding me, Susan wouldn’t be here now. Nor would I.’
For once Mrs Bosemann was speechless. Her jaw had dropped lower and lower and her eyes had grown rounder and rounder as Stephen had been talking, and now all she could say was: ‘Well, I never. Who on earth would have thought … well, I never.’
‘At any rate,’ said Mr Bosemann, leaning back in his chair and puffing contentedly at a large cigar, ‘at any rate it was nothing serious. Now, if you two people had really quarrelled that would have been something to get upset about!’
I kicked off my sandals and sat down on the grassy hillside. It was two days later and all the official statements had been taken. Stephen and I were free to leave Oberammergau whenever we liked. The hotel had given us a packed lunch and two bottles of the local wine and we had spent the morning driving leisurely past Lake Constance towards the French border. Just beyond Villingen we had pulled off the road and climbed up through thick, pine trees warm and spicy in the sun, to the grassy uplands where we sat eating our picnic and enjoying the view.
Far below us a river meandered gracefully between the gently sloping hills and the only sound was that of the birds singing and the occasional hum of a bee. We sat in companionable silence while we ate, and then Stephen said quietly, ‘ That’s the Neckar.’
I sat up. ‘ Honestly? I’d no idea it flowed so far west.’
‘Goose,’ he said, ruffling my hair. ‘This is where it starts. It springs up somewhere between here and Freudenstat.’
‘And flows through Niedernhall …’ I stared down at its sunlit surface. ‘This is how it all started. Sitting in the sunshine, eating a picnic, watching the river flowing far below.’
‘But then,’ said Stephen, ‘you were by yourself. Now you have me to take care of you. And, oh, my darling, I promise you I shall take the greatest possible care of you.’
I knew he meant it.
Copyright
First published in 1974 by Macdonald and Jane’s
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Rendezvous With Danger Page 17
