by Renee Roszel
She interrupted, shaking her head, confused, “I—I don’t understand. Before I left he told me they would not hurt him, even if they discovered his desire to escape. He admitted only that he would be watched more closely!” She lifted bright, cold eyes to his face. “Surely, General, you exaggerate the danger!”
The ruddy-faced man lifted a halting hand; his smile was sad. “Mrs. Erhardt, your husband is a gallant man, not wanting to worry you. I, however, can’t afford to be so charitable with your feelings.”
Drew’s heart began to hammer painfully against her ribs as she remembered the floral wreaths that she had seen along the Berlin Wall—the escape attempt failures!
Failures! The blood froze in her veins.
Vividly looming into her mind’s eyes came the vision of armed watchtowers, the mined death-strips, vicious guard dogs. . .and Rolf, meeting these deadly obstacles.
She inhaled sharply, unable to speak. Somehow the danger of his position had not really penetrated until this moment, and she was truly afraid for him.
Her face must have spoken volumes, for General Standish hurried on, a worried frown deepening on his forehead, “Please, Mrs. Erhardt, don’t jump to desperate conclusions.” He stood up from behind the barrier of his desk and moved around it to face her directly. “I can’t of course go into security details with you. But I will say that we have very talented operatives in the East. And since Dr. Erhardt is a well-trusted man, we may be able to utilize that trust to gain his eventual release.”
Before he went on, he reached out and patted her shoulder tentatively. “I promise you, we are very good at what we do.”
Drew realized that she had been holding her breath, and she exhaled heavily. “I—I should have realized—should have seen! But I was too concerned with my own problems. . . .” She shook her head in dismay, unable to finish.
He moved both hands to her shoulders. “Mrs. Erhardt—Drew—I’m afraid, like a doctor, I feel that you must know the worst that could happen.” His face brightened slightly in his effort to cheer her. “When in reality the chances are—are good that we will be successful in getting your husband out unharmed.”
She nodded dumbly, not knowing if he was being truthful, or just kind. “Thank you.” She stood. “You will let me know. . .as soon as. . .anything happens?” There was little hope in her voice.
“Of course.” He pursed his lips. “But don’t expect news very soon.”
Releasing her shoulders he sat back, leaning against his solid desk. “These things take time to prepare. Meanwhile, you understand, your marriage must remain a State Department secret.”
Drew nodded in understanding.
A belated thought struck him and he lifted a finger of reminder. “Though I’m sure you told your father. That would be the obvious exception.” His expression was sympathetic.
“No-no.” She averted her gaze, staring blankly out of the large arched window of his office. Her vision had turned inward, a dark, brooding face filling her brain. “I decided not to say anything to anyone until. . . Rolf. . .is safe.”
That had been the first—the only—time she’d used his given name since the morning on the train when he’d made love to her, and she felt her face grow warm with the haunting memory of his touch.
“Well, naturally that is your decision.” He took her arm, leading her toward the door as he continued, “Now try not to worry too much. We will treat this situation with the utmost care.”
She repeated her thanks and smiled tiredly, leaving his office with some difficulty, for their conversation had made her limbs as weak as her hope of ever seeing Rolf Erhardt again. . . .
LOOKING back now she felt a stab of guilt for never relating the truth of the “bargain”, and allowing everyone to go on believing that she and Rolf had married for love. But she knew it would have benefited no one to reveal the truth. After all, the United States government cared only about the fact of the marriage, not the circumstances of it.
As to telling her father! She certainly never planned to let him know anything about her intimate relationship with Rolf! No. Drew had made the decision before she even turned over the marriage certificate, that once she was informed of his safe release, she would initiate proceedings for an uncontested divorce through Stale Department channels, ending the brief marriage quickly and quietly.
That had been then, a month—an age—ago. But what of now? Today was April 17th and the Oberammergau Fusion Conference would officially begin at the formal dinner that evening. She recalled that Rolf had told her that, had he been able to leave the East on his own, he would have defected at this conference. This conference! Allowing her mind to wander, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if they had met here—under totally different circumstances. She sighed heavily, saddened by her helplessness. She had no way of knowing if Rolf were alive or dead. Up to this point, she had heard nothing from the State Department about him.
A prickly sensation between her shoulder blades made her reach up to rub the back of her neck. She grimaced at the odd, tense feeling of expectancy that had come over her. And a peculiar racing of her heart was accompanied suddenly by a queer dryness in her throat. She gulped. Why it was almost as though—
“Good afternoon, Frau Erhardt.” The voice, deep and slightly accented, was spoken barely above a whisper, but the feather-soft words boomed through her brain like a clap of thunder over a parched desert. Her gaze shot upward to see her husband, his gold-flecked eyes, serious, questioning, as he moved to face her.
“Rolf!” His name slipped from the depths of her throat in an awed murmur of disbelief. He was here! After all the doubt, all the secrecy and worry. He was free, and he was here. He looked remarkably handsome, even more so than she remembered, though there was a slight gauntness in his angular features, and a tinge of shadow staining the skin below his deepset eyes.
He was an incredible sight standing there looking down at her. His dark-brown leather flight jacket, and muted gold crew-neck sweater fit snugly across generous shoulders, and the soft brown whipcord slacks hugged his muscular hips, accenting the strength and suppleness of his long legs.
Seating himself, he asked rhetorically, “May I join you?”
Her heart skipped a beat with his nearness. During the past month, that week in East Germany, her marriage, and Rolf’s powerful lovemaking had become unreal, dreamlike in her mind. Yet seeing this magnetic man again, hearing the so familiar accent of his baritone voice, brought it all back to her in a rush of luxurious sensations.
She found her shaky voice. “Y-yes, of course, Rolf.” His features softened into a smile at the mention of his name. Clearing her throat nervously, she hurried on, “I wasn’t told you were out.”
His deep umber eyes settled on her wide gray ones. “I know. I asked John not to tell you.”
Her brows knit in confusion. “Why?”
Lacing long fingers together under his chin, he answered, “Because I knew you would be here, and I wanted to tell you myself.”
She felt an embarrassed warmth flush her cheeks and her lips worked silently for a moment before she admitted, “I’m glad you’re safe. I—I was very worried.”
“Were you, Kindchen?” He paused, waiting, his eyes softly inquiring.
Inhaling slowly, Drew lifted her chin, unsure of how to continue. When she did speak again, it was not an answer, but a sidestepping question. “How. . .long have you been. . . free?”
He lifted broad shoulders and let them drop tiredly. “Nearly twenty-four hours.”
She scanned the rugged lines of his face, wanting to touch them, smooth them, and somehow comfort him. But she knew she had no right. “Was the escape difficult?”
Rolf’s face darkened into a craggy frown and he shook his tousled head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t ask me that, Drew.” Running a hand through his hair, he concluded, “I’m free, and it’s over. That is all that matters.”
His words held a tone of finality and she knew he woul
d never talk about what he had gone through to gain his freedom. Whether his reasons were personal, or for the sake of security, she did not know, but she realized that it would do no good to press him further on the subject. Still she had to ask, “But are you safe here? Will they try to take you back?”
With a weary smile, he shook his head. “My security, though invisible, is absolute. I am completely safe, but I thank you for your concern.”
She looked down at her hands, flattened atop the table so that their trembling would not betray her nervousness.
He was first to break the silence. It was an unhurried question. “Drew?” Their eyes met. “You are still Mrs. Erhardt?”
She tensed even more, her heart fluttering in an haphazard rhythm. Very uneasy now, she moved her eyes from his, taking a tremulous sip of her white wine to ease her throat before answering, “I—I couldn’t get a divorce until I knew you were safe.”
His nod was thoughtful. “I see.” There was a pause. “I want to thank you for what you did for me.”
She was surprised by the intensity of his voice and moved her gaze back to his face. Some private emotion glistened in his eyes, one that she couldn’t quite define, and her throat closed with an overwhelming tenderness for this man, her husband.
She couldn’t utter the words that crowded her brain. . .not here, not in public. Though she knew she must tell him what she felt. But it was so important, so very important to find the right time, the right place to reveal to him that she didn’t want to divorce him. Rather, if he would have her, she was willing to remain Mrs. Rolf Erhardt for the rest of her days. For like a blinding flash of lightning coming after the crack of thunder—reversed, out of sync with the natural order of things—she suddenly knew that she was helplessly, hopelessly in love with the man she had married, not so long ago, under extreme protest!
Yes, seeing him like of this, being with him again—Drew had to admit it to herself: She was in love with Rolf Erhardt! She should have seen it coming, should have known before it hit her between the eyes. But, she had misread her feelings, believing that they were merely concern for the safety of another human being. But, no. Being with him now was more than just relief in the knowledge that he was safe. It was an overwhelming sensation of returning home after a long absence, a comfortable, joyous return to cherished ties—and the ties were real, strong now, bound tightly through the month-long separation when her mind had drifted back to memories of their time together, of his gentle concern for her when they were alone. Even his lovemaking had been as much her own desire as his. She had lost every shred of bitterness and mistrust long ago for the blackmail marriage. Rolf was her husband, the man she loved, and that fact was all that was important now. No matter how it began, she did not want to see it end.
She ached to tell him all this, to thank him for the awakening he had inspired, a dawning within herself to understand and value her own femininity. But how could she find the courage to tell him of her love, and thank him for teaching her the joy of being a complete woman?
The warm strength of his hand settled over hers as he quietly spoke, breaking into her thoughts, “Now that our bargain is met, perhaps we can begin again.”
Drew’s heart stopped in anticipation. Was it possible that he, too, loved her? And was he about to tell her so?
She became almost giddy with girlish excitement. Of course he loved her too—he had to! That must be why he had come here himself—to tell her!
His face was unreadable as he began, “Now that I have no further hold on you, and there is no more need for us to be married. . .I hope that you can forget the unpleasant things that happened between us in the East, and that we can go on now as friends.”
Her breath caught sharply in her throat and something akin to pain filled her breast.
Unpleasant things!
His face blurred and she pulled her shining eyes away, staring instead at the well-manicured fingers that held her hand.
He was speaking. “As you know, I hope to work with your father. And since we will probably be working closely with each other, I think that that would be best.”
The warmth of his hand mutated from a secure haven for her smaller one, to a fiery, imprisoning kiln, and her breathing was suddenly labored. He was telling her the way it was with him, what he felt. . .and what he felt was definitely not love! Closing her eyes, she pulled her hand from his.
Friend! The ordinary word seemed so sterile, so wrong when it was used to connect her with Rolf Erhardt. He wanted her to be his friend, in a platonic, chaste, day-to-day working relationship. She couldn’t bear the thought, knowing that other women would take her place in his arms while she was expected to be nothing more than a cheerful co-worker! He would be so near, and yet, so very far away.
Steeling herself, she looked up into his solemn face, her voice barely audible, “Friends, Doctor?”
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “Have I said something wrong? Perhaps I used the word incorrectly.”
She shook her head, lowering sooty lashes over tear-filled eyes. “No.” A hard, heavy knot had formed in her stomach. “Your English is impeccable. I am sure you meant exactly what you said.”
Gathering all of her self-determination, and clearing the tightness from her throat, she spoke, her words sounding surprisingly calm. “If you work with my father I will do my best to be. . .an effective coworker.”
She moved her eyes, lackluster and leaden, reluctantly back to his face. Her mind cried in anguish at what was happening. She was telling her love good-bye, and it was what he wanted.
Pride would never allow her to let him know how this hurt, how she didn’t want to say good-bye, how this was killing her soul. Though she had once thought their forced marriage was unthinkable, this separation, this rending between them was far and away the more terrible. For now she knew the man. And since their marriage, he had catapulted her into a wonderful new awareness, where once, just once in her life, she had been his woman, his lover, and had known the tempestuous erotic storm of his passions. That she could never forget, didn’t want to forget.
Her husky whisper quivered with emotion, “No, Doctor, do not ask me to be your friend.” The statement lay there flat and dead between them.
A shadow enveloped Rolf’s eyes as a light was extinguished somewhere in their depths, and Drew could detect no emotion in that vast darkness.
After a moment of tense silence, Rolf slowly pushed himself up from the small table, his voice taking on a crisp edge. “That is it, then.” His fingers curled around the edge of the chair back at his side, the knuckles whitening as he continued, “As I promised in the beginning, I will leave the divorcement to you.”
Drew gulped convulsively, her gaze fastened on the crushing anger in his fingers. He had obviously not expected her to reject his proposal of friendship. . . . But why anger? Was it pride? Had she pricked his male ego? She was amazed to discover that she had the ability to affect him, to hurt him. . . even in so small a way as this. But it gave her no satisfaction. Quickly she moved her eyes to his face as he continued, “I am staying at the chalet at Dorfstrasse 48.” His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “I was going to ask you to come by for a. . . friendly. . .drink before the dinner tonight.”
She flinched at the coolness that now marked his manner as he spoke, “But I believe I know what your answer would be. So I will not burden you with the necessity to decline.”
He looked down at her, his stance aloof yet noble as he pulled several deutsche marks from a leather-lined pocket and placed them on the table, “Instead, allow me to get your wine.”
Drew started to protest, but halted, realizing he was gone. Two broad strides had taken him through the door and out of hearing.
She heaved a long, ragged sigh. The picturesque little weinstube had become drab and lifeless, and Drew felt drained, completely empty.
“That is it, then. . .I will leave the divorcement to you.”
Recalling his words, she stared vacant
ly at her nearly empty wineglass, feeling numb. “That is it, then.” She breathed to herself, closing her eyes and feeling very foolish.
What had she expected from him? Flowery speeches of undying love? Hysterical laughter welled up inside her. But all that survived to reach the surface was a slight, melancholy upturning of the corners of her mouth.
No, not love. . .never love! Rolf Erhardt had made his wishes perfectly clear. Now that he was free, he wanted no more from her than he had wanted from any of his past conquests! She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, slipping a long silky strand behind one ear, very much wanting to bury her face in her hands and cry. But she couldn’t give in to her feeling of loss. She wouldn’t add to her humiliation by being reduced to tears in a public place by an arrogant, willful man!
She exhaled heavily. Why, oh, why did Rolf Erhardt have to be so typically male? Would she never realize that they were all—every last one of them—self-centered opportunists! Clutching the delicate goblet in trembling fingers, she lifted it to her lips to finish her wine and go, to get away to be alone with her shattered hopes. As she swallowed the last, somehow bitter dregs of her wine her eyes grew wide over the glass’s rim, and she froze. There before her was a face she had not expected to see—or wanted to see—ever again!
Approaching coolly, tall, blond and cocky as ever, a wide grin splitting his good-looking face, strolled her ex-husband, Jim Pollard! He was a bit shorter and stockier than Rolf, and very much lighter in complexion with the type of skin that pinkened and burned in the sun. He sported a green plaid sports coat and green slacks, the off-white dress shirt lay open at his wide neck. He wore his most charming smile, deeply dimpled, a feature, Drew remembered, that had always pleased him.
“Hi, sugar!” The offhand intimacy of the tone was gratingly familiar.
She lowered her empty glass to the table as he took a seat in the same chair that Rolf had recently vacated.
“Drinking alone?” He cocked his white-blond head. “Thought you always told me that was a bad sign.”
She balled her hands in her lap and looked up into his green eyes, ignoring his remark. “I didn’t know you were going to be here, Jim.” Her voice was quietly controlled.
