After the Fine Weather (15 page)

“Do you think we could get the car up a path into the forest and let them pass?”

“Not a chance. They’d spot our tracks.”

“They’ll catch us on the next uphill.”

“Like hell they will,” said Evelyn.

He stamped on the brake pedal. The car skidded violently, fortunately to the left, rammed the bank, and came to a standstill on the short stretch of level road. They had rounded the curve and were, for a moment, out of sight of the pursuit.

Evelyn was out before the car had stopped. He ran to the roadside and started hurling logs which were stacked there back down the road.

As the other car came round the corner, he heaved up a large billet, and tossed it, like a caber. Helmut was a better driver than Evelyn, and that was his undoing. For he managed to brake without skidding, but his car was still on the steep, ice-crusted slope. Evelyn picked up a smaller log, and threw it. It bounced off the bonnet, and starred the windscreen. Even before it landed, the car was sliding backward, its wheels locked, its speed increasing. Steering and brakes were both equally valueless. It was on a toboggan run.

Fascinated, Laura watched its backward progress. Helmut had released the brakes, which was the correct technique, but as the wheels stopped sliding and started to revolve, so the speed increased.

Halfway down there was a turn in the road. Laura had just time to think, If he can negotiate that he’ll run safely back to the bottom again.

But he was going much too fast. The rear nearside wheel of the car hit and uprooted one of the kilometre stones. Then it tried to climb the bank, crabwise, rolled onto its side, wheels spinning, completed the roll, and went down the steep bank beyond in a succession of heart-stopping crunches.

“You’d better stay right here,” said Evelyn.

Laura, who had her eyes tight shut, nodded. Evelyn was away for about ten minutes. When he came back he found her sitting on the log pile.

“Are they both dead?”

“Yes,” said Evelyn. “Quite dead.”

“I don’t care about Dorf. I’m sorry about Helmut.”

“We’ve got better things to do than being sorry. First there’s all this wood to pick up. Try to put it back exactly as it was stacked.”

“Why?”

“It may have escaped your attention,” said Evelyn, who seemed to be in an evil temper, “that we have just written off the ruler’s right-hand man, and the right-hand man’s number one boy. And we’re not out of the jurisdiction yet. If you want to be charged with a double murder, I don’t.”

They replaced the logs carefully, shovelled some snow down on top of them, and stamped out the more obvious marks in the road.

“Now,” said Evelyn. “I wonder if we can arrange something that looks as if it might have been natural.”

After some thought he selected an overhanging boulder, jutting from the bank. Using the jack handle and a stick, they loosened it and let it roll down into the road.

“Won’t that mean the next car’ll do the same thing?” said Laura.

“I don’t think so,” said Evelyn. “It was only because Helmut was so bloody clever that he managed to stop at all. Any ordinary driver will run straight into it. Now get in. We’ve got quite a way to go.”

The next kilometre stone said “Oberdrauburg – 8.”

“What are we going to do when we get to Oberdrauburg?”

“We aren’t going there. Daren’t risk it. They’ll almost certainly have telephoned ahead. We’ll park the car this side of the town and walk round it. It’ll be a bit farther, but much safer. Have a look at the map while I drive.”

“It looks,” said Laura, trying to steady the map, “as if there’s a turning-off to the right. It goes through a place called Flaschberg. Then back to the main road the other side of Oberdrauburg. If you wouldn’t drive quite so fast I might – yes – that’s it. Stop! Stop! Here’s where we turn off.”

“No need to shout,” said Evelyn.

They went down a track between steep earth banks, crossed the bed of a river, and bumped through the long village street of Flaschberg, without attracting more than the wide-eyed stares of children. From there the track climbed back to a junction with the main road.

The gradient at this point was the steepest they had hit. The old car grumbled and shook in its lowest gear. Evelyn alternated encouragement and abuse as if it had been a tired horse. At the top of the climb they stopped.

“Loosen the girths and give her a breather,” said Evelyn. He got out and patted the bonnet. Laura climbed out and stood beside him. Her legs were trembling.

Ahead of them the road curled down, hugging the contours of the hill, to a point where the onion-shaped church spire of Kötschach showed above the trees. Beyond that the road rose again, even more steeply, then started to twist and turn in a series of breathtaking hairpin bends as it climbed to the skyline.

“Is that Italy?”

“The frontier runs along the top of that ridge. You can see the roof of the frontier control post. It’s got a flagstaff on it. That’s the Plöcken Pass.”

“How far?”

“Six or seven miles as the crow flies. If we were a pair of crows we could be in Italy in about half an hour. An inspiring thought.”

“What do we do now?”

“We park the car, and walk, keeping off the road as much as we can. We’re making for Mauthen. You can’t see it from here, it’s under the bulge of the hill. That’s where we pick up Rudi.”

“Where are we going to leave the car?”

“You ask such a lot of questions,” said Evelyn. “How the devil should I know where I’m going to leave the car? I’ve never been here before in my life. You’ve got the map.”

“There is a tiny place marked halfway down the hill. It’s called Lass.”

“Fine. We’ll try that.”

Lass was bigger than it looked on the map: a main street, a church, further houses up the hill behind it, and a gasthaus.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” said Evelyn. He drove the car into the forecourt of the gasthaus and parked it. “Remember, we’re botanists. We’re parking our car here while we continue our searches for a particularly rare species of edelweiss.”

“In this snow?”

“Certainly. Edelweiss grows only in the snow.”

The landlord, a youngish, freckle-faced man, served them with coffee. He was quite agreeable to the car’s being left in his courtyard. When he heard that they planned to walk, he looked serious, and said something in German too rapid for Laura to follow.

“What’s he getting so worried about?”

“The Plöcken has a bad reputation. It’s an old smuggler’s route. A lot of bad characters around, according to our host. He wanted to know if I was armed.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that I had no armour but my own impregnable virtue. It’s not true, actually. I’ve got a gun. I sincerely hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a very bad shot. The last time I fired it, I hit myself in the foot. Hurry up and finish your coffee. We ought to get moving. Now, where’s our landlord got to?”

They stood in the dark hall, which smelled of pinewood and caraway seeds.

There was a faint murmur of conversation from the farther end. Evelyn tiptoed to the door marked “Kuche”, turned the handle gently, and opened it. Then he closed it, equally gently, and came back.

“I think we’ll get out of here. I’ll leave some money. I should think five schillings would be enough for a couple of coffees, wouldn’t you?”

“What’s up?”

“There’s no reason why our landlord shouldn’t be telephoning the gendarmerie at Mauthen,” said Evelyn, as they set off down the road. “He might be applying for a new dog licence. I think, though, that the sooner we get off the highway the better. And I think we’ll give Mauthen a miss too. Rudi’s farm is said to be west of the frontier road, and about five kilometres up it. We should be all right if the snow isn’t too deep.”

“What happens if it is too deep?”

“You have a remarkable flair for asking unanswerable questions,” said Evelyn. “Presumably we shall sink into it, and stay there in a state of suspended animation until next spring. When the snow melts, they will find us clasped in each other’s arms.”

“I can hardly wait.”

It was all right when they were on the move. It was only when they were standing still that she felt shivery.

It took them half an hour to slither down to the little crossroad. (It was, had she known it, the continuation of the same road on which, nearly forty twisting miles to the west, and two days earlier, Joe had abandoned his car.) It was deep in snow. No wheels had passed along it since the last fall.

Ahead of them rose the twin peaks of the Mauthner Alpe and the Mooskofel.

“Do you mean to say,” said Laura, “that we’ve got to climb that?”

“Certainly not. We’re going to make our way up one of the side valleys. We want to strike the frontier road just before it starts to hairpin.”

It may not have been real climbing, but it was the hardest work Laura had ever set herself to. The gradient was killing; and since the steepest ridges were the ones with the least snow on them, it was these that Evelyn selected. He stopped from time to time to consult a compass which he had strapped to his wrists, but these were the only halts.

First they worked their way up an endless, whalebacked ridge. From the end of this they scrambled, diagonally, across and up, onto a second ridge, flatter than the first and crowned with a fringe of stunted pine trees.

For some minutes past, Evelyn had been looking anxiously over his shoulder. Now he stopped to listen. The blood was pounding so hard in Laura’s head that she could hear nothing. Abruptly he seized her, dragged her down into a hollow between the roots of the pine trees, and fell on top of her.

“What is it?”

“Keep still.”

A shadow crossed the snow. She saw it and heard it at the same moment: a helicopter, flying not more than a hundred feet up.

“Did they see us?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Thank God for the trees. If we’d been in the open, they couldn’t have missed us. We’ve got to hurry.”

“I can’t go any faster. Really, Evelyn, I can’t.”

“We’ve got to get under cover before that flying mousetrap gets back. It’s all downhill now.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Come on.”

He had her by the hand, and, incredibly, they were running; running, jumping, and sliding. They were in a sunken track with high stone walls. At the end was a gate. On the gate a young man with apple-red cheeks and light, almost white, crew-cut hair stared at them in astonishment. Evelyn said something, in the gruff, Tyrolese argot, and a slow smile spread across the boy’s face. He opened the gate for them. Laura staggered through. Her knees felt as if they were coming unscrewed at the hinges.

They crossed the stone-flagged court and knocked at the door. A woman opened it. Evelyn did some more talking, and they went in. The ground floor of the house seemed to be one big kitchen, dark but blessedly warm. She found herself sitting on a wooden settle by the fire.

The conversation went on. First the woman, then Evelyn, then the woman again. The skin on either side of her forehead felt as if it had been drawn too tight, her mouth was dry, and there were areas of her body which did not belong to her.

Evelyn came across.

“Rudi’s out,” he said. “He’ll be back in about an hour. His wife wants to know if we’d like something to eat.”

“If I try to eat anything I shall be sick.”

Evelyn looked at her and said, “What you want is bed. Three or four hours’ sleep.”

“I’d rather sleep than eat.”

Evelyn spoke again to the lady, who nodded sympathetically and beckoned to Laura to follow her.

They climbed a steep, ladderlike staircase and emerged in an attic, clean and white and light. The bed was a boxlike affair under the window.

Laura took off her windbreaker and skiing trousers, climbed onto the bed, and pulled the blankets over her. In a little while she began to feel warmer.

Although she lay there for four hours, unconscious of time, she never really slept. A quarter of her mind was awake. Her body was climbing hills, which got steeper and steeper. Always ahead was a skyline. It was illuminated along the edge, in a curious way, as if, beyond it but out of sight, bright lights were blazing. On her side there were gullies, deep in shadow, leading to the crest. It seemed important to choose the right one. If she chose the right one, it would lead her to the top, to the lights, and to freedom. If she chose the wrong one, something unpleasant was going to happen. As she cowered in the snow, a shadow wheeled over her and something touched her.

She cried out, and sat up. Evelyn was standing beside the bed.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Rudi’s back. We ought to start thinking about the next lap. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” said Laura. “I’ve sweated pints.”

She still felt weak, but her head was much clearer.

“Do you think you could eat? You ought to have something, if you can. Soup and bread. Or a glass of wine.”

This made Laura laugh.

“What’s up?” said Evelyn suspiciously.

“It’s you,” said Laura. “First you drag me up a mountainside, like the monstrous bully you are. Then you sit on the end of my bed, like an old family doctor, prescribing chicken broth and a glass of red wine.”

“I’m a man of many parts.”

“You’ll be feeling my pulse next.”

Evelyn went to the door, said something to the lady of the house, and came back.

“A late luncheon – or, in the alternative, an early supper will be up in five minutes,” he said. “There’s plenty of time. You can’t leave before dusk. And that’s not until about seven o’clock at this altitude.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“As far as the frontier.”

“Then what?”

“Then I shall go back and hold your brother’s hand.”

Laura propped herself up on one arm and said, “Do you enjoy your job, Evelyn?”

“Not very much.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“It’s that or starve.”

“Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” said Evelyn. “Intelligence work is the only job I’m trained for. It was my father’s fault. He was crazy about languages. You know how fathers work out their own ambitions through their sons. Train them from birth to swim the Channel or play cricket for England. Well, my old man was determined that I should be the linguist of the century. We started with German, of course, because it was the twenties, and everyone had their eyes on the next war already. I was brought up in Germany. Went to a German school, and did sums in pfennigs and marks, and learnt how Blücher had won the battle of Waterloo. But that wasn’t enough for my father. We spent our holidays in France and Spain, and we had a Spanish cook. Then, when I was about ten, and spoke German and French and Spanish like anything, he got a bee in his bonnet about Russia. So we added a Russian gardener to the ménage.”

“It sounds fun.”

“It was damned hard work. How would you like doing German all day, Russian in the evenings, and French and Spanish in the holidays?”

“I’d rather do it than Latin and hockey. What happened then?”

“What happened next was the war. No ordinary soldiering for me. Not on your life. Special service. In the course of six years I think I was in every damned silly outfit in the army. I didn’t volunteer for them. I was drafted. I was dropped out of airplanes, landed from submarines, went for long, circular tours in the desert, was smuggled across frontiers. There was even a project, I remember, of lowering me from a helicopter.”

‘That sounds like fun, too.”

Evelyn said, quite seriously, “You’re quite wrong. It might have been fun to start with. But the novelty wore off. I got to loathe every moment of it. I was never very brave, and any courage I started with had evaporated long before the war was over.”

“Courage can’t evaporate.”