Last Act (21 page)

“Herr Winkler sent me. And—” he paused. “Alix asked me.”

“Alix!” He turned furiously away and moved over to where his daughter was still talking to Stern.

“Oh, Michael.” Anne was appalled. “I'm so sorry …”

“No need to be. It's OK.”

“But you'll be in terrible trouble!”

“Nothing I can't handle. These are Alix's apartments, remember. And here she comes.”

“Time go to in to dinner, I think.” Alix had a wry smile for them both. “If you would let my father take you, Anne?” It was part plea, part request.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Moving reluctantly away to join the Prince, Anne was aware of a quick, intimate exchange between Alix and Michael.

“Young cub.” The Prince's angry eyes were still on Michael as he held out his arm to Anne. “If these weren't Alix's apartments …” He left an ominous silence, then shrugged and said a strange thing. “But after all, he does not exist. Shall we go, Miss Paget?”

To Anne's relief the conversation round the oval table was general, with the Princess keeping it skilfully clear of dangerous topics. She was sitting between the two journalists, and Anne was full of admiration at the way she kept them harmlessly in play. When Tom Jarrold asked her how she felt about women's lack of the vote in Lissenberg, she countered with a question about Watergate that kept him floundering for five minutes. When his English colleague, Bob Chapel, asked about the murders, she made big eyes at him, saying only, “We can hardly talk about that, Mr Chapel, with my poor cousin across the table.”

Unfortunately, James Frensham heard this, and leaned over to her. “Your poor cousin,” he said, “would be only too glad to talk about the murders. Or, rather, to hear someone talk about them. What is this conspiracy of silence anyway?” His voice was rising. “My father is dead. Murdered. And no one does anything.
No one says anything.”

“Not even the local paper.” Michael spoke up from what passed as the bottom of the oval table.

“And what do you mean by that?” The handsome face closed into a formidable frown.

“What I say. It takes a great many people to make a conspiracy. Of silence, or of anything else.”

“Time for us ladies to leave the gentlemen to their talk.” Alix put down her coffee cup and spoke into a little, uncomfortable hush. “Anne?”

“Yes.” Rising, Anne was aware of both the Prince and James Frensham trying to speak to her, but ignored them. “Alix,” she said as they left the room together, liveried servants bowing to right and left. “Would you think me intolerably rude if I asked to go home early?”

“I'd think you very sensible.” Alix laughed. “Between my father and my passionate suitor, I'm afraid you've had a hard time of it, but how else could I arrange the table?” She raised her voice as the other women followed them into her drawing room. “I am so sorry you don't feel well, Miss Paget but, of course, tomorrow's rehearsal must come first. Fritz!”

“Yes, Your Highness?” The man at the door moved forward and Anne saw, without pleasure, that he was the one who had taken Josef's place at the hostel desk the week before. Alix gave him her orders in rapid Liss, then turned back to her. “I've asked him to fetch Michael,” she said. “He'll see you home.”

“Thanks.” What had begun as an excuse had swiftly become the truth. The difficult dinner on top of a hard day's rehearsal had left her exhausted, and, with exhaustion, inevitably came the first twinge of pain.

“You
do
look tired, poor love.” Hilde Bernz joined her, all solicitude. “I hope Michael has at least been provided with a comfortable car for you.”

“Oh, I think so,” Anne said vaguely, and got a sharp, enquiring look.

“You didn't notice, coming?” asked Frau Bernz. “Michael must be more entertaining than I thought. Telling you about his time at Oxford, was he?” Her tone made it clear that she did not
believe he had ever been there. “Fascinating story, I have no doubt.” She turned as Michael reappeared. “What was your subject at college?”

“Philosophy.” He gave her his most charming smile. “And now, if you will excuse us, I must snatch away our Cinderella.” He opened a door masked by tapestry.

“But I haven't said goodbye to the Princess.”

“Can't help that. The men are just moving, and if there's one thing we can do without right now it's a stand-up row between our Rudolf and young Frensham about who takes you home. And those two journalists watching all agog and asking casual, clever questions on the side.” He took her fur coat from a servant, helped her into it, and gave her shoulders a quick, approving squeeze. “Sensible girl, aren't you, to see trouble coming and get the hell out. But—” His glance seemed to sum her up. “You're really tired?”

“A little. It wasn't exactly an easy evening. I feel bad about Alix.”

“She can cope. She's trained to it. And, mind you, it could be a little awkward for Frensham to make too much of a row in front of her.”

“I should say.” Anne laughed. “Extraordinary man. She'll never have him, will she, Michael?”

“It would be tidy,” he said, as they started down a long flight of stairs. “Dynastic, you know. If the opera's not a success, he looks like ending up pretty well owning Lissenberg.”

“Yes, but she'd never, surely? Besides, I don't quite understand. Michael, is she the heiress? It's the oddest thing, but nobody talks about that. And—what's Salic law? I thought it was something in Shakespeare.”

“Full marks.” Cheerfully. “It is. And clever Mr Jarrold's been given the wrong end of the stick by someone. We don't go much on answering impertinent questions here in Lissenberg, as he seems to be learning.”

“May I ask one?”

“It won't be impertinent.”

“What is the law of succession here, if it's not Salic?”

“Pretty modern, I'd say. And why not? Late eighteenth
century enlightenment, and all that. When the original Prince took over, his eldest son was already established as a rich plantation owner in the States. Then came twins. I don't know whether that had anything to do with it, or whether the Prince was just progressive, but he and his Diet drew up a constitution that said the succession should be always elective among the direct heirs of the dead Prince.”

“Goodness. Elected by whom?”

“Oh, the Diet, of course. The comic thing was, they forgot to say heirs male. The opposite of Salic law in fact.”

“So Alix could succeed?”

“No reason in the world why not. Here we are.” They had reached the bottom of the stairs and two footmen threw open double doors and ushered them out into a courtyard where one of the familiar green police cars stood waiting. “I thought we'd go back the other way,” he explained, helping her in. “Do you know your Kipling?”

“Yes, but I'm surprised you do.”

“It wasn't all philosophy at Oxford.” He slid under the steering wheel. “I'm really quite educated. Or—” he switched on the ignition—“Did you catch Frau Bernz's slight case of doubt? To add to your other problems.” His tone took her back to their conversation in the underground passage.

“I don't understand a thing about you,” she said almost angrily. “What in the world did the Prince mean by saying you don't exist?”

“He said that, did he?” Michael sounded amused. “How about coming up to the Wild Man with me and letting me prove I do?”

“Oh, Michael, I really am tired. I'm sorry…”

“So am I.” He swung the car off the main road on to the one that led to the opera complex. “When this opera's over you and I are going to go dancing together and keep it up all night.”

“Lovely.” But the pain was savage by now, and she knew it did not sound convincing.

“You certainly do think I'm up to the elbows in blood and thunder.” His tone was dry. “Pity. I'd hoped you might trust me a little.”

“Oh, Michael, I
want
to.” So many questions she wanted to ask, but he would only parry them as he had the one about the Prince. Anyway, he was now driving too fast for speech. When he pulled up at last with a scream of brakes outside the hostel, she put out a pleading hand to hold him for a moment, to try to say something.

He did not notice. “What's up?” He was looking away from her, to where someone was hurrying towards them down the hostel steps, a dark figure against the light from the open doors, revealing himself finally as Josef as he came round to Anne's side of the car.

He opened her door. “In, quick!” he said. “Run, child!”

Anne obediently lifted velvet skirts and ran up the steps to where the big hostel doors stood wide. Herr Winkler was waiting there, grim-faced, something under his arm. “Good.” He hardly moved to let her pass and she realised that he was covering the steps with some kind of gun. She watched anxiously as Michael and Josef raced up the steps together.

Once they were in, Winkler slammed the big doors behind them and turned at once to Michael. “No trouble?” he asked.

“None. What's going on?” Michael's quick glance took in the crowded foyer, where members of the chorus stood huddled in groups, whispering to each other.

“We've had a flood,” said Josef, and Anne saw that the bottoms of his trousers were soaking wet.

“A flood?” Michael looked from Josef to Winkler.

“I always said it was crazy.” Josef ran a hand through untidy white hair. “Moving the stream for the opera complex. I seem to have been right. Something gave, tonight. Just a little while ago. The stream broke through and flooded the lower tunnel.”

Michael and Anne exchanged one quick glance. “How deep was the tunnel flooded?” he asked.

“Totally. At the lowest point. Lucky you didn't come back that way.” The telephone rang and he crossed to the desk to answer it. “Ah—” He handed the receiver to Winkler. “They've found where the stream was blocked. They're clearing it now.”

“Good.” Winkler spoke briefly and put the receiver down, then picked it up as the bell rang again. “Winkler here.” And
then, “No, safe here, thank God. No, stay where you are. Tomorrow will be time enough.” He put the receiver down and looked at Michael. “That was Hans. Were you thinking of going up to the Wild Man?”

“Yes. But Anne was too tired.”

“Thank God. There's been a landslide across the road. Ten minutes ago. I think perhaps you had better spend the night here.”

“I propose to,” said Michael. “I take it we all will. There must be plenty to do in the opera house.”

“It's not the opera house,” said Winkler. “That's our one bit of luck. The water came through the rehearsal room, not the opera house itself. It's that little bit lower, of course. But let's go and see how bad it is.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Josef. “But first—” he turned to Anne—“bed for you, there's a good child. Tomorrow's another day.”

“She ought to have something,” said Michael. “Hot milk?”

“It's waiting in her room. Lisel is there seeing to things.”

“Oh, thank you, Josef.” Anne turned to him, tears in her eyes. “You think of everything.”

“Dear child, for you, who would not?” He bent down—why had she never realised how tall he was?—and kissed her, very gently, on the forehead. “Now, sleep well, and be ready to work in the morning. We'll have somewhere for a rehearsal if we work all night.”

“You'll be careful? You and Michael? You won't go exploring the tunnel before the water is out?”

“We have to check the locks,” he told her. “But yes, we'll be careful.”

“Michael!” She must explain, say something—tell him she could not help trusting him—before he went down to risk his life in that dark, flooded tunnel.

“Be good!” He turned, raised a mocking hand in salute, then followed Josef into his office, whence the stair led down to the tunnel. Choking back tears of frustration, Anne was suddenly aware of Gertrud at the back of the lobby watching her speculatively. With hostility? Why?

It was suddenly the last straw. With hasty goodnights all round, she fled for the safety of her room and the comfort of Lisel's friendly presence. All the time Michael's last, mocking words rang in her head: Be good. She had suspected him, shown that she suspected him, and he had done nothing to explain, to help her to understand; he had merely accused her of lack of trust. But how could she trust him?

“Lisel?”

”
Ja, mein Fräulein?
” The reply, in Lisel's Liss-accented German, was in itself a reminder of how useless it would be to ask her about Michael. Besides, more and more she was aware of a curious conspiracy, a kind of web of silence woven round him. “He does not exist,” the Prince had said. “Poison,” Carl had called him. “Where he is, there's trouble.” Who had said that? But tonight's threat had surely been against him. Or her? When Lisel said goodnight and left, she did not need to remind Anne to put up the chains on her doors.

Next morning the note on Anne's breakfast tray told her that rehearsal would start half an hour later than usual. “To give time for repairs in the theatre.” Nothing else. If anything more had happened, any new disaster, surely she would have been told?

She dressed quickly, resisting the temptation to telephone Josef, who must have enough on his hands as it was. Downstairs, the entire cast of
Regulus
seemed to be assembled in the foyer of the hostel, all talking at once and some of them reading copies of the
Lissenberger Zeitung.

“We made the paper at last.” Adolf Stern showed her his copy of the paper, with its huge black heading.

“Opera what?” she asked. “I don't read German script, bother it.”

“You could call it ‘jinxed', I suppose. Now they are talking about it at last, they've put a lot of things together and left the reader to draw his own conclusions. It makes a fairly melodramatic story,” he went on in his precise English. “Perhaps you are fortunate not to be able to read it. The world press is bound to pick it up. Exactly the kind of publicity we do not wish. By the
time the scandal press has finished with us, it will sound as if the audience were liable to be drowned.”