By Royal Command (25 page)

As it turned out, James and Roan were not the only guests staying at the chalet. The Oberhausers made a little extra money looking after campers who stayed on their land. Helga had cooked a big pot of spicy goulash, with potatoes and fresh greens, and the pot was being swiftly emptied by the hungry guests around the dining table, who were mopping the juices up with thick chunks of bread.

James looked around the table. Roan was gabbling away and charming everyone. When she turned on the full power of her personality she was like a bright burning star and, like a moth to a flame, you couldn’t help but be attracted to her. Next to her sat a middle-aged Englishman called Mike Nicholson. He was an artist who was walking in the Alps, sketching the mountains and the flowers and plants that grew on them. James didn’t worry about him knowing anything as he had been travelling abroad since the springtime and seemed to have had little contact with anyone back home. He was a short, round fellow with a neat black beard and spectacles. At first James had thought he was a little dour and miserable, but he soon discovered that he had a wry sense of humour and was good company. The two other campers, Luca and Bernard, were enjoying a climbing holiday together before starting at the University of Geneva in the autumn. They were keen mountaineers and when James had told them that he had done a little climbing when he was younger, they had offered to take him out with them one day.

The room was full of laughter and warmth and good cheer. The food was plentiful, the beer was flowing and the conversation was jolly. James had a strong sense that he had fallen among friends.

Roan looked at him and smiled.

He felt at last that he should be able to relax, but he couldn’t. What if there were hidden dangers here and he just couldn’t see them?

What if he were blind?

Snow-blind.

26

The Stink of Death

‘I’m bored, darling, let’s go for a walk.’ Roan was sitting out on the veranda in a hanging chair, swinging herself backwards and forwards with one foot, while keeping the other curled up underneath her.

‘That suits me fine,’ said James. He couldn’t remember a time like this since starting at Eton. A time when there had been nothing to worry about. He couldn’t remember ever being so untroubled, but he could also never remember feeling so empty. They had been here for three weeks, but it felt like three years.

This afternoon the emptiness had seemed more complete than ever and he had drifted into a dark and gloomy mood. He had to admit that he, too, was bored. The difficulty, the fear and tension and exhilaration of getting here hadn’t prepared him for this easy life. He felt a sudden bitter pang of regret that flared up into anger. He directed the anger at Roan.

It was her fault.

She had brought him here.

No. Don’t think those thoughts, James. They won’t lead anywhere useful.

Face facts. It was all his own doing. He had chosen this path. As usual he had blundered into something without fully thinking through the consequences and now he was stuck here. In the meantime, going for a walk seemed as good an idea as any. Physical exercise had always been his way of shaking off the dark and inward-looking thoughts that attacked him when his defences were lowered.

He got up, stretched and stepped off the deck into the sunlight. The view across the valley was clear and all the sounds of the countryside travelled for miles on the still air.

Cowbells.

In the right mood he found them charming; in his present mood he found them irritating.

‘Come along, then, if you’re coming,’ he said to Roan who was still lounging lazily in the chair.

‘I was sort of hoping you’d talk me out of it,’ she said with a sly smile, ‘or suggest something more exciting to do.’

What else was there to do? Since arriving they had been busy, swimming in the Schwarzee Lake, or cycling along the valleys, getting to know all the little farms and villages. Twice they went to visit the ancient white-walled fortress in the centre of Kufstein, near the German border, where every day at twelve a great organ in one of its towers played a short concert as a memorial to those who had died in the Great War – the sound echoed for miles down the valleys. There always seemed to be something happening somewhere – a festival, or a wedding, or a party, with music and dancing. Sometimes James would help out around the farm chopping wood, or digging in the vegetable patches. The children had shown him how to milk a cow and he’d watched Helga making cheese in the dairy. Then of course there were the mountains. They had walked the lower slopes, they had ridden up in the cable-car and hiked across the peaks, admiring the spectacular views. A few times James had been climbing on the Wilder Kaiser with Hannes and the students while Roan went shopping or sketching with Mike Nicholson, who seemed to have taken quite a shine to her. But he was living in a bubble. When he had first met Roan she had accused him of not living in the real world. Well, this was surely more unreal than his life at Eton. He only had to look at the mountains and hear the cowbells to know that he wasn’t at home. It was as if he had stepped into another boy’s body. Now he had everything he had always dreamt of. He had safety, a family, a girl on his arm…

No matter how he looked at it, though, there was no getting round the fact that he was bored.

Had he really been fooled by the cosy dream of spending the rest of his life here with Hannes and his family? Perhaps working as a farm boy, or a guide, or even a ski instructor?

‘Come on, then,’ he said, shrugging off his gloominess. ‘I’ll race you to the gate.’

He set off at a sprint and a moment later heard Roan hurrying along behind him. She soon caught up and they ran side by side to the orchard gate. James vaulted over it with one spring, but Roan stuck her tongue out, opened the gate and simply walked through.

‘James Bond,’ she said. ‘You exhaust me. You’ve always got to be on the move, haven’t you?’

‘You’re just lazy, Roan.’

They followed the path down the mountain towards Kitzbühel.

‘So, where do you want to go, then?’ James asked, picking up a stick.

‘You know,’ said Roan, ‘we really don’t have to do this, if you’d rather do something else?’

‘We’re out now,’ said James. ‘It’ll be a few hours till supper. We might as well make the most of it.’

A cloud passed over the sun, plunging them suddenly into cool shade. Roan took James’s arm and squeezed it almost in fear.

‘I hate it when the sun goes in,’ she said. ‘It’s like someone’s died.’

‘Don’t be so silly,’ said James. ‘It’s just a cloud.’

Roan grew thoughtful. She stopped walking and let go of James’s arm.

‘Let’s go back,’ she said. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘You change your mind every five minutes,’ said James.

Roan looked down the valley. ‘I wish Dandy were here,’ she said after a while. ‘He always loved the mountains.’

James felt a stab of guilt. Roan never talked about Dandy. It was a subject they carefully avoided.

‘He always knew what to do,’ she went on. ‘He always made his mind up fast, and once he’d made it up, he stuck to his guns. Of course, he wasn’t always right. Sometimes his pig-headedness got him into trouble. But he’d know the right thing to do now.’

‘It’s not such a big deal,’ said James. ‘Whether or not we go for a walk. But standing here talking about it is even more boring than sitting doing nothing.’

‘They never gave him the last rites,’ said Roan.

‘What?’

‘When they killed him. They wouldn’t have had a priest. He died in sin.’

‘I expect God made up his mind about Dandy a long time ago,’ said James.

Roan gave James a fierce, angry look and he realised he had said the wrong thing. Roan’s smile had faded. Her dark eyes looked smoky and troubled.

‘Do you not care anything for him?’ she said.

‘It’s not like that,’ said James. ‘I don’t know what I think about him. He tried to kill me, remember?’

Roan was silent for a while, her chest rising and falling with her breathing. At last her smile returned, or something like a smile.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get moving.’

She stalked off, not bothering to look back and check whether James was following. He shook his head and then ran to catch up with her.

‘So, where are we going?’ he said.

‘Let’s walk to that little chapel above St Johan.’

‘That’s miles,’ said James.

‘Is it too far for your little legs?’ said Roan scornfully.

‘No,’ said James. ‘I was thinking of you.’

‘Well, don’t bother, James Bond, I can look after myself, thank you very much.’

So saying, she ran ahead of him with a laugh and he chased after her.

They joined the road out of Kitzbühel and crossed over the Kitzbühler Ache by a bridge on the edge of town. On the other side of the river there was a path leading round the lower slopes of the Kitzbühler Horn that was more pleasant than walking along the road. They walked briskly and purposefully. At first Roan seemed to have got all her old fire back, and she chatted away nineteen to the dozen, jumping from one subject to the next as quick as thought. She barely left any spaces for James to add anything of his own to the conversation and he got the impression that she was gabbling away so as to avoid any silences. The subjects she chose were of no importance. She talked about the flowers – Mike Nicholson had taught her many of the names. She talked about Mike, and did a funny impersonation of him. She talked about the cows, and about her shoes, about fashion, the clothes the local girls wore. She talked about her childhood in Ireland, about films she had enjoyed, about the music she liked to dance to, but slowly, as they walked on, her chatter slowed. She was running out of things to say.

By the time they finally spotted the chapel they had been walking for nearly two hours and it was another half an hour before they got there. By then Roan had fallen into an edgy silence. James wondered if she was still thinking about Dandy. He tried to talk to her and lift her mood, but she had become sullen and was chewing her ragged nails. Maybe she was just tired out by the long walk. Whatever was on her mind, though, she wasn’t telling.

The little chapel stood alone next to a small patch of woodland on the northern slopes of the Kitzbühler Horn. Like most other buildings it was wooden and had a steep sloping roof.

‘Race you to the door?’ said James, in a last effort to snap her out of her funk, but Roan stopped walking and put a hand on his arm. Then she kissed him.

‘What was that for?’ said James.

‘For nothing,’ said Roan. ‘For everything.’

‘Why do girls never make sense?’ said James.

‘We make perfect sense,’ said Roan. ‘It’s just that boys don’t always understand us.’

‘If you say so,’ said James.

Roan kissed him again and held him tightly in her arms. ‘James,’ she said quietly into his ear.

‘What?’

‘I know you helped me because you feel something for me.’

‘Yes.’

‘But did you also help me because maybe you believe a little bit of what I believe in?’

James didn’t know what to say, and hesitated too long before replying.

Roan sighed and walked briskly away towards the church. James ran after her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, when he caught up.

‘No,’ said Roan. ‘It’s me who should be sorry.’ And James saw that there were tears in her eyes.

‘Well, now we’re here what do we do?’ said James, trying to change the subject. ‘I must confess I’ve never been that interested in nosing around old churches.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Roan sadly. ‘Nothing matters any more.’

‘I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ said James, and a moment later two men came out of the church.

He knew instantly that something was wrong. These were not hikers, or sightseers, and they certainly weren’t here for a church service. They wore sunglasses, sombre dark suits and hats, and one was wrapped in a long black leather coat. They stood for a moment looking at James, then one of them nodded and they walked quickly over.

James looked questioningly at Roan, but she wouldn’t return his gaze. As they got nearer the man in the leather coat produced a Luger and pointed it at James’s belly. James was too stunned and shocked to think of running, and to fight would be pointless. Instead he felt a terrible heaviness and despair settle on him and he felt dreadfully tired.

The men took his arms and frog-marched him round to the back of the church where two matching black Mercedes-Benz limousines were hidden among the trees.

James was pushed into the back of one and the man in the leather coat settled beside him. Roan got into the second car with the other man.

There was a driver already sat behind the wheel with a passenger by his side. The passenger said something in Russian and the driver started the engine.

As they moved off James craned his head round to see if Roan’s car was following and the man in the leather coat slapped his face.

‘Face front,’ he said.

James was reminded of his drive to the safe house with Nevin, and the surprises that had been in store for him then. Well, it was happening all over again. He had no doubt that in a little while his world was going to shift on its axis again and he would have to deal with a whole new set of realities. One thing was for sure, though. Roan had betrayed him. She had lied to him and deliberately led him here to this trap and handed him over to…

Who exactly were these people?

As they trundled slowly and carefully down the steep mountain track to the proper road below the church the man in the coat drew curtains across the side windows. James could still see out of the front, but the scenery that had earlier seemed quaint and pretty now looked hateful to him. The few farmers they passed stared at the car with blank uninterested faces.

He hated them. He hated the whole rotten country.

The man in the leather coat lit a harsh Turkish cigarette. With the curtains drawn the smoke had nowhere to go and it filled the car with thick, choking fumes. James soon began to feel sick.

The man in the front passenger seat opened his window a crack and said something to the driver, who laughed. He then turned round and James got his second surprise of the day.

He recognised him.

The man’s bloated puffy eyes were unmistakable. James had last seen him at the Langton-Herrings’ house with Graf von Schlick.

But that didn’t make any sense at all. Von Schlick was Austrian, not Russian. Of course that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be a communist, but there was something going on here that James couldn’t fathom.

At least he was still alive. If they had wanted to kill him, James supposed that they would have done so by now.