Angel in Red_The thrilling sequel to Angel From Hell

by Christopher Nicole

  Then she found herself facing Groener. ‘Did I invite you?’ she asked. ‘I don’t remember doing so.’

  ‘I do not require an invitation. I am on duty.’

  ‘I do not think a Christmas party is a suitable place for a policeman to be on duty.’

  ‘But my dear Countess, you are a policewoman. Are you not also on duty?’

  Anna glared at him, but the room was starting to fill with senior embassy staff members and their wives; it was time to form the reception line. Anna had not supposed she should be involved in this, but Schulenburg insisted. ‘This is your party, Countess. You organized it.’

  So she found herself number five, next to Greta Meissenbach, who produced a monumental sniff.

  The Americans arrived first, and came slowly down the line. Anna was not very interested in them, until one man, who was not accompanied by a wife, bent over her glove. ‘I have waited a long time for this privilege, Countess.’

  Anna stared at him. He was tall, quite handsome in a somewhat cynical manner, and very well dressed, but she could not remember having seen him before. ‘Have we met, sir?’ she asked.

  He was still holding her hand. ‘Sadly, no. But I saw you at the Cheltenham race meeting, two years ago.’ He smiled. ‘Your name, as I recall, was the Honourable Mrs Ballantine Bordman.’

  Anna felt vaguely sick. ‘Are you sure you are not mistaken, Mr . . .?’ His name had been announced, but she had not been listening.

  ‘Andrews, Countess. Joseph Andrews. And I do assure you that no man could possibly mistake your face once he has seen you.’

  Anna withdrew her hand. ‘I look forward to having a talk with you, Mr Andrews. Later on.’

  ‘I am looking forward to that, too.’

  He went on to join the other guests, and Anna let her breath go in a vast sigh. She supposed something like this had always been bound to happen. But what repercussions might there be? If he had known about Anna Bordman, he would know that she was a German spy. That would only matter here in Moscow if he felt obliged to pass the information on to a local contact. But why should he do that? As far as she knew there was no great love lost between Russia and the United States at this moment.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the Russians, and a few minutes later she was gazing at Ewfim Chalyapov, who was in turn gazing at her.

  ‘Countess von Widerstand.’ His voice was quiet, his German faultless. ‘They told me the most beautiful woman in Europe was working at the German Embassy, and I did not believe them.’

  ‘Because you possess sufficient beautiful women of your own, Herr Chalyapov?’

  He looked into her eyes. Perhaps, she thought, he does not like women who can riposte. But then he squeezed her fingers. ‘No man could ever possess a beauty to equal yours, Countess. Will I see you later?’

  ‘I shall be circulating, Herr Chalyapov.’

  ‘And I shall be waiting, Countess.’

  He moved off. Once again she was breathless. But it had seemed almost too easy.

  The English guests were arriving. She glanced along the line before they reached her, and this time felt quite paralysed.

  *

  ‘Commander John Sprague, Countess,’ the Commander explained. ‘And this is an associate who has just arrived in Moscow, Mr Clive Bartley. I know he was not invited, but the Ambassador seems to feel he is acceptable.’

  ‘Of course.’ Anna kept her voice at its normal pitch with some effort. She could hardly believe this was happening, and her usual quickness of thought and decision had for the moment deserted her. ‘Welcome to Moscow, Mr Bartley.’

  ‘I had intended to visit the city some time ago,’ Clive said. ‘But I was delayed. Now I feel it was almost worthwhile.’

  Sprague had moved on. Clive opened his mouth again, and she said softly, ‘Wait.’

  He followed Sprague into the throng. There were still more guests to be greeted and it was fifteen minutes before the reception line broke up and she was able to move away. She took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and went into the crowd of people, having to stop and chat with most of them, while she took her bearings, acutely aware that Groener was watching her. Chalyapov was standing, as she remembered from the previous occasion she had seen him, against the far wall, smoking, as usual surrounded by several people. They were talking animatedly, and he appeared to be listening, but like Groener he was watching the room and she knew he was looking for her. Their eyes met, and he gave a little inclination of his head. She responded and began to move towards him only to find herself joined by both Clive and Andrews, who seemed to know each other.

  ‘Small world, Countess,’ Andrews remarked.

  ‘And growing smaller by the moment, Mr Andrews,’ she agreed. ‘Do I gather you are acquainted with this gentleman?’

  ‘You could say we’re in the same line of business,’ Andrews acknowledged. ‘But of course you and Mr Bartley know each other.’

  Anna raised her eyebrows.

  ‘There, you see, Clive old boy, she’s forgotten you.’

  ‘We met in Berlin in 1938,’ Clive said. ‘When I was there with your husband. He is still your husband, is he not?’

  ‘Perhaps, just about,’ Anna said. ‘I know he sued for divorce, after I left England. But as that was only seven months ago, I do not know if the matter has been concluded as yet.’

  ‘Bit tiresome if nobody troubles to inform you,’ Andrews suggested.

  Anna shrugged. ‘It is of no matter. In Germany, and here in Russia, I have reverted to my maiden name, the Countess von Widerstand.’

  ‘But surely, even in Germany, you cannot marry again until your divorce is finalized?’

  ‘I have not considered the matter, Mr Andrews, as at this moment I have no desire to marry again.’

  ‘Point taken. Did you ever get close to catching the Countess, Clive?’

  ‘That is a state secret. And definitely not cocktail party conversation,’ Clive said with a smile. ‘Countess, I hate to be gauche, but I am not used to this cold weather. Would I be arrested if I went looking for a bathroom?’

  Anna smiled back. ‘Very probably. We could not have an English Secret Service agent wandering about the corridors of the German Embassy, now could we? If you will excuse us, Mr Andrews, I will just indicate to Mr Bartley where he should go, and find him an escort. Mr Bartley?’

  Clive followed her to one of the exit doors. ‘God, it’s been too long. When?’

  ‘I will walk in Gorky Park tomorrow at eleven.’

  ‘It’s twenty below.’

  ‘I’m sure you can borrow a fur coat. We meet by accident. Ah, Gustav . . .’ She summoned a footman. ‘This gentleman needs to use the bathroom. Will you accompany him please? And bring him back to the ballroom.’

  Gustav gave a brief bow.

  ‘You have been very kind,’ Clive said. ‘I would hope to see you again, Countess.’

  ‘I’m sure you shall, Mr Bartley.’

  *

  Anna waited for a few seconds before re-entering the ballroom. She was not used to having her emotions in such a jangled state, at least when she had not recently engaged in any extreme action. She had almost given up hope of seeing him again. Apart from the emotional loss she had been growing increasingly anxious about the way she had apparently been dropped by MI6. But he was here, and she would see him tomorrow, even if in the middle of a snowstorm. What might happen after that she was prepared to leave up to him. She had no doubt that he wanted to get together with her as much as she wanted to get together with him. Love? Or lust? Or just a desperate need to know that somewhere in the world there was someone who actually cared about her? That was her need, certainly; the problem was she did not know if it was his.

  But meanwhile, back to work. She arranged her features and entered the room, paused, looked around her, and had a sudden spasm of sheer panic. Chalyapov was nowhere to be seen. If he had made one of his sudden departures, she was in deep trouble: there was no saying when sh
e could arrange for them to meet again.

  Then she saw him. He had moved to the far side of the room and had his back to her. She hurried towards him, smiling at people and resisting as politely as possible their desire to have her stop and talk with them. Groener was in turn moving towards her, but she neatly side-stepped him. ‘Herr Chalyapov.’

  He turned, frowned, and then raised his eyebrows; as always, he had a cigarette in his fingers.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you were being looked after.’

  Now his face relaxed. ‘And I thought you had forgotten all about me, Countess. When I saw you leave the room with that fellow . . . He was with the English party, was he not?’

  ‘I think so. Believe it or not, he wished to relieve himself.’ She chose her words with care: according to Heydrich, this man wanted earthy women. ‘And I could not merely direct him. He is an enemy of the Reich.’

  ‘So did you accompany him, and hold his . . . hand?’

  ‘I handed him over to one of our people. You have not told me whether you are enjoying yourself.’

  ‘Frankly, no – up to this moment. Do you think things will change for the better?’

  ‘I would like to think so, Herr Chalyapov. It is my business to see that our guests have all they require.’

  He put the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply. ‘What I require may not be acceptable to you.’

  Anna lowered her eyes. ‘Tell me, and I will do my best to find it for you.’

  ‘Your company, Countess. Shall we say supper?’

  ‘Tonight, sir?’

  ‘Why not? You have surely done everything that you possibly can to ensure the success of the party. Now you must enjoy yourself.’

  ‘But not here?’

  ‘A man and a woman can only truly appreciate each other’s company when they are tête à tête.’

  ‘I take your point. But you will have to be patient. I cannot possibly leave the party until it is over.’

  He smiled and stubbed out his cigarette on an adjacent ashtray. ‘But you will be leaving with me. I do assure you that no one will attempt to stop us.’

  Anna hesitated briefly. But she had already deduced that he was not a man to take no for an answer, without at the same time taking offence, and she was under orders. If a crisis with either Schulenburg or Meissenbach would therefore happen sooner rather than later, it would just have to happen.

  ‘It is snowing outside,’ he said. ‘You will need a coat and heavier shoes.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes.’ She hurried from the room, praying that she would not encounter Clive. She ran upstairs to her apartment where Birgit and Marlene were playing chess.

  ‘Oh, Countess!’ Marlene cried. ‘Is it going well?’

  ‘I think so.’ Anna took her mink and matching hat from the wardrobe, slung the coat over her arm and tucked the hat under it, added a silk scarf, and smiled at them, ‘Don’t wait up.’

  *

  As the party was still bubbling, few people actually observed Chalyapov and Anna leave the ballroom for the lobby. Clive was back in the room, and endeavoured to catch her eye, but she merely smiled at him and went on. Chalyapov helped her into her coat, watched while she wrapped her scarf round her neck, adjusted her hat in the mirror and then stooped to slide her feet into the boots she kept in the porter’s office. The two guards on duty pretended not to notice them. She slipped her dainty shoes into the mink pockets.

  ‘Is the rest of you as elegant as your clothes, Countess?’

  ‘Perhaps one day you may be able to form a judgement on that.’

  ‘In Russia,’ he said, ‘we learn to live for today.’

  Anna was still digesting this as they approached the waiting limousine. She slipped on the icy ground as she reached the car and would have fallen had Chalyapov not grabbed her round the waist with one hand, opened the door with the other, and then placed the same hand on her buttocks to thrust her in. She gave a little shriek as she landed on her knees, half on the seat. The door slammed and the car moved away, but Chalyapov’s hand remained grasping her bottom to push her up on to the seat, still on her knees. While she gasped for breath, face pressed into the back cushions, he slid his hand under the coat and the gown to feel her calves. ‘You are frozen,’ he said solicitously.

  ‘All over,’ she panted.

  This was a mistake, as he now turned her round, released the belt of the coat, opened it and was inside her décolletage before she could do anything to stop him. Although he was not at that moment smoking, she was enveloped in an aroma of stale tobacco. As she had never smoked herself, she found this extremely off-putting.

  His hands were also cold, but not as cold as her frozen nipples. ‘You are enchanting,’ he murmured, and kissed her, not brutally, but with extreme passion.

  She pushed him away, drawing great breaths. She could see his frown even in the darkness. ‘You do not like me,’ he protested.

  ‘Of course I like you, Herr Chalyapov. But you must give me time to breathe.’ And to understand what is going to happen to me. But whatever it was, it had to be accepted, endured, and if possible enjoyed. Certainly it was an experience outside anything she had previously known. Quite apart from never having had sex in the back of a car before, she had never been quite so manhandled. Again, there was no brutality in what he did, but his hands seemed to be everywhere at the same time, moving with irresistible purpose. He did not bother to remove her coat, but had her long skirt up to her thighs in a moment. She was wearing nothing under her gown, and she got a brief glimpse of the driver adjusting his rear-view mirror before Chalyapov had released his pants, and had her sitting astride him, surging to and fro while he nuzzled her breasts, fondled her buttocks, and kissed her mouth.

  It was all rather quick. As she felt him spend, she kissed him and removed herself.

  ‘The moment I saw you,’ he said, ‘I knew I must have you.’

  ‘And you do everything immediately,’ she suggested.

  ‘If I can. Now, we shall go to my home, and make love all night.’

  Oh Lord, she thought. It was only eight o’clock. ‘You said something about supper.’

  ‘Oh, there will be food. But I would rather make love.’

  ‘I will be better after I have eaten.’

  ‘You could not be better. But I want you naked. Do you know what I am going to do to you?’

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. ‘You will have to tell me.’

  ‘I wish to lick you, from head to toe.’

  *

  It was three in the morning before Anna got home. The embassy was in darkness, save for the lobby, where two different night guards were on duty.

  ‘Countess?’ They peered at her. She knew she must look a sight. Chalyapov had released her hair and had proceeded to play with it, leaving it a tangled mess. She had no make-up left, her cheeks were still flushed, and although her mink hid the ruination of her dress, they could have no doubt that she had spent a thoroughly tousling evening.

  She smiled at them and went up to her apartment. The debris of the party had already been cleared away, and she encountered no one. She had taken off her boots in the lobby and entered the suite on tiptoe, so as not to disturb the girls, and locked her bedroom door. Then she threw her clothes on the floor and stood beneath the hot shower for several minutes. This was necessary because she had again become very chilled on the drive home, but it was also important if she was ever going to feel clean again. As he had soon resumed smoking, her hair stank of it.

  The disturbing fact was that she had enjoyed most of what had been done to her. When Chalyapov had said he wanted to lick her all over, he had meant it. He had revealed a remarkable knowledge of the female anatomy, and of its requirements, and had brought her to orgasm with his tongue, before resuming what she might consider normal sex. She supposed he must have entered her about six times, and in between had never stopped playing with her. And he wanted to see her again, and again and again. As she must want
to see him. But if indeed he liked to maintain a mistress for a year, she supposed this might be considered some sort of punishment for her sins.

  And in the meantime, crisis. On several fronts.

  *

  She could only take each one as it came. The girls were in a state of high excitement, which increased as they sorted out her discarded clothing and examined the torn dress. ‘Burn that,’ Anna told them. ‘And I shall need a dressmaker. Have you anything to report?’

  ‘Oh, Countess . . .’ They both started speaking together. Apparently Meissenbach had visited the suite when the party ended, looking for her, and they had felt obliged to tell him that she had gone out. ‘He seemed awfully put out,’ Marlene said.

  ‘He is always put out about something or other,’ Anna remarked. She breakfasted, dressed and went down to her office. The Embassy was just waking up, and those people she passed on the stairs or in the corridors gave her nervous smiles. She sat at her desk, took out a sheet of her personal notepaper, and wrote two words: Contact! Wow! As she addressed and sealed the envelope, marking it Private and Confidential, she wondered if Heydrich had any sense of humour.

  She took the envelope along to the Gestapo offices, received another anxious smile from the woman secretary at the outer desk, and entered Groener’s office after a brief knock.

  ‘Countess? I am told you left the Embassy without permission or notifying anyone last night, and that you did not return until three o’clock this morning. I wish an explanation.’

  ‘I left the Embassy on official business for the Reich,’ Anna said coldly. ‘Business which, as you are aware, is known only to the SD. I have a message here for General Heydrich which I wish to go off in today’s pouch.’ She laid the envelope on his desk.

  He gazed at it. ‘I do not think I can permit this.’

  ‘Herr Groener, I am giving you an order as an officer in the SD. If you wish to disobey that order, I will have to report the matter to General Heydrich.’

  ‘I intend to report the matter to the Ambassador,’ Groener snapped.