by Renee Roszel
His lips parted in a crooked smile. “Nor could you, Kindchen.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, her hopes crashing to her feet. “So, you are refusing to help me?”
Slowly he moved his curly head from side to side. “No.” His look was intent, earnest. “I merely meant I do not require demands to help you. I am willing to publicly acknowledge our marriage if you think it will help rid you of your Jim Pollard.” His eyes narrowed in a sardonic half-smile. “You could say I owe you this much for what you did for me. . . on the train.”
Drew gasped, throwing him a grim look. “That doesn’t enter into this at all!”
He shrugged, looking into her angry eyes calmly. “It does to me. And because it does, you needed only ask.” Suddenly, Drew felt very weak, not having fully understood just how desperately she had wanted this until now. No matter the reason he gave for helping her, he was still willing to help. That was all-important. She must have grown very pale, for Rolf immediatelv moved forward, the sharp planes of his face once more molded into a deep frown as he slid a supportive arm about her waist.
“Damn! Is the memory so painful that you prefer unconsciousness to remembering?”
Guiding her to the couch he spoke, his voice taking on a decidedly serrated tone, “I’ll send for your things.”
She pulled weakly back, protesting with a start, “Now?”
Momentarily ignoring her outcry, he seated her on the cool leather and moved to the nearby phone. Lifting the squat, gray receiver, he paused and looked narrowly down at her. “Drew, it is now or never. Either we announce to the world that we are married tonight, or we keep it a secret until it is no longer fact. The conference officially begins this evening, at which time I will acknowledge my defection.” He continued, his voice stern, instructive, “Tonight my life will become an open book for the press. You can’t suddenly appear on the horizon as my wife tomorrow, or next week.”
He held the receiver poised over its cradle as if he would hang it up with one word from her. “Now, make up your mind. Do you want my help or not?”
With her hesitant, but positive response, Rolf tool quick charge, first calling the Gasthaus for her things and then coaxing her up the stairs, insisting that she soak in a hot tub until her luggage arrived.
That had been an hour ago, and now, she sat before the dressing table of the small, well-ordered guest bedroom. Her mind drifted back to what Rolf had said as they reached her bedroom door.
“Don’t worry, Kindchen. You have not run from the snapping fox into the jaws of the hungry lion. Even though we are man and wife, I’ll not take from you what you do not care to give.” He pursed his lips and lifted his shoulders almost wearily, handing her the room key before he went on, “But, then, I don’t believe I ever did.”
He turned quickly, and exited down the stairs, leaving Drew to herself. Now, she absently scanned her solemn reflection in the mirror. Unusually pale, her gray eyes seemed extraordinarily large within the ebony frame of lashes. Her hair, flowing softly to her shoulders, was a bright, coppery contrast to the milky pallor of her skin and the rich pearl-gray, cotton lace jabot blouse and long gray silk taffeta skirt.
Very tentatively she smoothed a coral lip color over her injured lip. Leaning forward, examining her glossy mouth closely, she felt a degree of relief to note that the puffiness and bruising around the cut was undetectable beneath the frosted, womanly camouflage.
With her earrings already in place, she lifted a matching strand of pearls to her throat to complete her toilette when a knock at the door startled her, causing the pearls to fall from her fingers. She was bending to retrieve them as Rolf entered.
Seeming to sense her difficulty, he moved to her side and took the pearls from her hand, and turning toward her back, he slipped them about her neck, his fingers softly grazing her throat before moving back beneath her hair. With the pearls in place, he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, and looked down at her reflection in the mirror. “Most of my guests have arrived. Are you ready to be introduced as my wife?”
She lifted her eyes to his image, momentarily overcome by his dark, lean good looks. He now wore the black cotton velvet dinner jacket which fit snugly, yet flawlessly across his wide shoulders. The stark-white shirt was buttoned, and the black tie in place. His hard, male potency seemed to reach out and ensnare her heart, causing it to hammer unmercifully against her rib cage.
Unable to bear the pain of seeing him there like that—so perfect, wanting him beyond all else, yet knowing he cared nothing for her, she lowered her eyes, noting instead the flush of color that suddenly darkened her cheeks.
His hands, lingering softly along her shoulders burned through the light fabric, marking her skin with the treacherous memory of his touch, leaving her strangely light-headed and dizzy with the disturbing contact.
Taking a deep revitalizing breath, she found her unsteady voice. “Yes, Rolf. I’m ready.”
As he took her arm, helping her to her feet, she queried, “Who am I meeting?” She wasn’t sure she cared to know the answer, and his response was little help.
“I’ll introduce you.”
Feeling the hesitancy in her step, Rolf whispered, his voice taking on an amused note as he led her through the door toward the stairs, “Don’t worry, love, in the East you played my mistress expertly.”
She shot him a quick, unsure glance and caught a flash of startlingly white teeth in his grin, followed by a reassuring wink. “I’m sure you will be a most—convincing wife.”
At the foot of the stairs, they rounded a corner to the living room. Drew stopped short, surprised to see three pairs of eyes staring in their direction in varying degrees of bewilderment.
A silver-haired man of average height, clad in formal black, stood beside a tiny, graying woman in a long tailored gown of black wool. These two, Drew surmised, were a married couple. But the other, the third person, was the one her eyes were immediately drawn to like a mouse in a room with a hungry cat. The eyes of the two came together with something akin to the clash of swords, and Drew was momentarily halted in her tracks by the sharpness of the contact.
Her blood ran cold with envy, for she recognized the signals which passed from this stranger to herself. . .the age-old instinctive reaction to a rival. Tall and strikingly attractive, this woman was obviously Rolf’s intended companion for the evening.
Drew’s heart sank as she stood across the room from this shimmering blond beauty, her long hair pulled back in a severe, but becoming French twist. The blue eyes were slanted slightly upward at the outer corners, and her nose was straight and well-formed. Red, full lips opened slightly as she blew out a stream of white cigarette smoke. But the lips did not smile.
Her voluptuous figure was shown to its utmost advantage as she stood before the fire almost glowing golden in the slim-cut, lame evening pajamas.
Drew gulped at the comparison everyone must be making between them—herself, pale, even gray, like a cloudy, winter day, cold and lifeless next to this sunny, glittering vision. And she wondered what Rolf’s thoughts were just then. Was he disappointed to be holding her arm instead of the other woman’s—the woman he had intended to spend the evening with, perhaps even the night.
She wet her lips nervously, casting a sidelong glance up at her husband. On the surface, at least, he seemed not at all affected by the fact that both his wife and his date were standing in the same room, staring suspiciously at each other.
With the beginnings of an introduction, getting no further than, “Drew, may I present—” Rolf was interrupted by a melodic chiming of the doorbell, announcing the arrival of another guest.
He nodded to Drew excusing himself and, releasing her arm, moved to the door.
For a fluttering instant, Drew rallied in the hope that this new guest might be the late arrival of the blond woman’s escort, even husband, but the man that did appear at the door was definitely not that, but a totally different and unexpected surprise.
“Father!”
Her astonished gasp grasped his attention, changing the puzzled expression on his rawboned face to a wide smile that split his long features. Altering the course of his lanky frame, he moved swiftly to his daughter’s side.
“Why, Drew. . .” He took her cold hand in both of his. “So it was you who left me that cryptic message to come to this address.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I should have known when I couldn’t find you in your room. What’s this all about?”
Before she could question her father about the unknown message, Rolf moved to her side and extended his hand. “Forgive me, Dr. McKenna, but I sent you that message.”
The older man’s reddish brows knit as he took Rolf’s outstretched hand. “Oh?” he queried. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” His smile was warm. “I am Rolf Erhardt.”
Drew could see the immediate electric flicker of excitement in her father’s dark-gray eyes, and he straightened noticeably, opening his lips in an awed whisper, “You? You’re Dr. Erhardt? But. . .that’s impossible. . . he’s. . .”
Rolf shook his head. “No. Not anymore, Doctor.” He lifted his eyes to include the others as he said, “Dr. McKenna, please meet my other guests.” Still in a state of confused shock, Drew’s father turned around to see the three others for the first time as Rolf continued, “This is Dr. Gieslbert Hartmut and his wife Kristel.”
They nodded, smiling as Rolf further explained, “As you know, Dr. Hartmut is our conference chairman, and director of nuclear sciences at the University of Munchen.”
“Ah, yes, Doctor. I have heard fine things about your Munich University.” Dr. McKenna returned their smiles as Dr. Hartmut acknowledged the compliment.
Then all eyes moved expectantly to the other guest. Drew sucked in a nervous breath as Rolf went on to introduce the golden woman before the fire. “And this is Ilka Markus, a research assistant to Dr. Hartmut.”
Drew sagged inwardly. His explanation was totally devoid of any reasonable explanation of why she might be here other than as Rolf’s guest. For, as a rule, the numerous research assistants were not included in these illustrious affairs.
Barely aware of what was going on around her, Drew took little notice as her father chatted momentarily with the lovely young lady. Only when Rolf slipped an arm about her waist did her attention move away from Ilka Markus’s placid face up to his.
“And now”—he paused, looking down at her, brown eyes holding gray; the quiet smile he bestowed on her could only have been described as husbandly—“may I present Drew McKenna. . . Erhardt, my wife.”
There was a clock ticking somewhere in the silence, callously unaware of the sacredness of this moment. . . of the words Rolf had spoken.
No one in the room moved for what seemed to Drew like a long time. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care if this moment never ended. Rolf was holding her near, his eyes were warm, deep and glowing with something she couldn’t quite read. Why, it almost seemed as though. . .
“Wife!”
Her father’s exclamation brought everyone instantly to action in a buzz of congratulations. Everyone except the glittering Ilka Markus who, Drew noted, stiffened and took a deep draw on her cigarette before tossing it, in what seemed to be excessive irritation, into the flames.
Dr. McKenna grasped his daughter’s shoulders, blocking her view of the other woman. “My Drew? Wife of Dr. Rolf Erhardt?”
An astonished, almost dream-come-true expression changed his features to an openness of boyish joy, shedding years from his face.
Unable to remain unaffected by her father’s uncharacteristic effervescence, she smiled bashfully, confirming his wide-eyed question with a quick, but enthusiastic nod.
He took her in a light embrace. “Why, my dear. But how? When?” Releasing her, not waiting for an answer, he turned to Rolf, declaring with a puzzled shake of his head, “Dr. Erhardt, I can’t express my. . . my feelings.” Taking Rolf’s hand between his, he began to pump it heartily in a substitute for vocal congratulations. Rolf smiled broadly, apparently pleased by Dr. McKenna’s reaction to the news.
Yet, watching her father’s animated face, it suddenly occurred to Drew that what they were doing was terribly unfair—not to have told him the truth about the marriage. She had not thought to lie about the arrangement. She had assumed that they would confide to him that their marriage was only temporary. But, then, if they did that, he would have to know everything—about Jim—and she desperately wanted to avoid telling him that! Also, what would the truth have done to her father’s state of mind, just before giving an important speech—knowing that his only daughter was temporarily living with one man as protection from another? No! It definitely would be better to leave it this way. At least her father could be genuinely contented while they were at the conference.
Out of the corner of her eye, Drew could see the three German guests converging on them. The elderly man spoke first; his smile was a bit sheepish. “Well, Dr. Erhardt. I must apologize to both you and Fräulein Markus.” He bowed slightly toward Drew. “And to you, Frau Erhardt. I am most embarrassed that I did not know of your marriage.” He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug as he continued, explaining to Drew, “You see, as your husband’s host, I took it upon myself to provide him with a companion for the evening.” Clearing his throat, he cocked his silvery head toward the other woman, who stood, looking thoughtful, a few feet away.
Ilka lifted her chin and opened her lips in a stunning smile. But Drew could detect no sincerity in the icy-blue eyes as they passed disdainfully over her before moving to Dr. Hartmut.
The soft voice was a pleasantly accented purr. “Do not apologize, Gieslbert.” She turned back, looking directly at Rolf. “I am gratified to be among the intimate few with advance knowledge of Rolf’s defection to the West.”
“Defection!” breathed Dr. McKenna. “Why, of course. I’m afraid with all this excitement about your marriage, I didn’t think—”
Before he could finish, Ilka single-mindedly went on. “I would be interested to know your plans, Rolf. Perhaps you will join Dr. Hartmut in his work at the university?” Her full lips curved in a knowing smile. “I would be most pleased to work under you.”
Drew balled her hands, the nails cutting into her palms at the other woman’s barely disguised invitation. Under him, indeed! She moved her eyes quickly up to Rolf’s face to judge his reaction. A slow grin spread leisurely across his lips as he contemplated the lovely German woman. He, too, had received her message.
Dr. Hartmut cut in, “Ah, yes, Dr. Erhardt. It would be my fondest hope—”
Rolf’s attention turned to the man speaking and he held up a halting hand, “Thank you, Doctor. Your offer is greatly appreciated. However, my field is research, not teaching—at least, for now.” He moved his eyes to Drew’s father before going on. “If it is permissible to Dr. McKenna, I would like to go to the United States, and perhaps find a position on his staff at Los Alamos.”
Dr. McKenna inhaled sharply. “Well!” He clapped his hands together. “I had no idea, Doctor. I am honored!” He shook his head, looking incredulous. “With all that has happened to me this evening, I must say, I am a most fortunate man.”
Dr. Hartmut said, “Well, of course this is understandable.” He shrugged, smiling the smile of a good loser.
Ilka’s smile, however, was not in the least that of a loser—more a sarcastic smirk as she nodded sagely. “Yes, I believe it is quite understandable—a marriage, a defection, and now the offer to work with the bride’s famous papa in America. A most interesting coincidence.” Raising a well-manicured brow toward Drew, she seemed to be saying that she was very well aware of just why Rolf was her husband, and she would not let a little thing like that stand in her way. It was a message so clear to Drew, that she wondered why no one else in the room appeared to have received it.
Dr. Hartmut took this opportunity to cough importantly into his hand and lo
oked down at his watch. Taking the cue, Rolf offered, “Yes, we should be on our way. It was not my intention to make us fashionably late, only to allow Dr. McKenna some advance notice of his daughter’s marriage.”
“And I truly thank you for that, Dr. Erhardt.” He squinted sideways down at Drew. “At least someone decided I had a right to know!” Drew winced slightly at his fatherly chastisement and answered him with an impish shrug as he went on, “Now, Dr. Erhardt, tell me how this all happened.”
Rolf smiled at his father-in-law, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “All will be clear soon, I promise you, Doctor. And please call me ‘Rolf.’”
“And I’m ‘Madder’ to my friends,” Dr. McKenna offered in return.
With Rolf’s quizzical turn, the doctor explained, running a hand through his shortly cropped head of graystreaked, carrot-colored hair, “It means ‘a moderate to strong red.’ But I’m afraid it’s getting more and more”—he paused for emphasis—“moderate as the years go by.” He finished with an embarrassed chuckle that infected the whole party as wraps were gathered, and they made for the door.
In a rare bubble of enthusiasm, Dr. McKenna offered his arm to Ilka Markus as they left the country house. They set off in Dr. Hartmut’s BMW for the Hotel Alois Lang in a relatively festive atmosphere; that is, all but Drew, who appeared happy enough to the others. But in reality she recalled little of the trip to the hotel, for her mind held only the memory of the meaningful smile Rolf had directed toward the golden German woman.
Chapter Nine
As would have been appropriate in any nightmare, the first person Drew saw upon entering the large, rustic dining hall was a glowering, sullen Jim Pollard, a very visible gauze patch taped on his forehead. Though he remained in the background, his eyes bore combatively through Drew during the gala dinner, leaving her with little appetite for the grandly prepared banquet.
“I think I see him,” Rolf whispered as they sat, very conspicuously, Drew thought, at the head table.
