Rendezvous With Danger (15 page)

At the thought of the airport I froze, my heart in my mouth. To get to Munich they would travel this road. With growing apprehension I tried to remember how far behind them I had been in leaving the farm. Fifteen minutes, twenty? Surely at the speed at which I was travelling I would have passed them by now, and if I had, then they would recognize the car …

The road ahead was clear, but through the mirror I could see fresh headlights in the distance and I licked my lips nervously, trying to recall the cars I had passed. Surely if Harvey or Ivan had been at the wheel I would have noticed them? Once again I drove down the narrow, cobbled streets of Nordlingen, past the spot where my Morris had broken down and where, minutes after, Stephen had stood, scanning the crowded street for a glimpse of me. At the thought of Stephen, the tears fell heedlessly down my face. Please God, I prayed. Please let me reach him first. Please let it be all right. Please … oh please!

The timbered houses tailed off into fields and vineyards, and the inky blackness of open countryside pressed in on either side of me as I hurtled towards Augsburg, oblivious of everything but the need to reach Stephen.

A hurried glance behind me showed a clear road, and for the first time since I had left the farm, my hands relaxed their grip on the wheel.

I was nearly in Augsburg now. My luck was holding. Once Augsburg was behind me I had nothing to fear from Ivan and Harvey. If they had taken the same road from Niedernhall, then they would turn off it here. Ahead was only Stephen. He was only hours away. Soon my nightmare would be over.

My fear had left me now. My intention not to waste a moment in reaching Oberammergau—and Stephen—was calming me. Somewhere, in the dark night behind me, was Gunther. I needed all my wits to escape him. To succumb to the nervous panic that had threatened to overwhelm me earlier would be fatal.

I opened the window slightly, letting some fresh air into the car, trying to think what Gunther's next move would be. His first action after I had left the farm would have been to get hold of a car. To do that, he would have had to ring for a taxi to take him to the village. That could have delayed him anything from fifteen minutes to forty minutes. Then he would have to hire a car … With luck I had an hour's start. Without luck … I bit my lip. Without luck there would have been another car at the farm. Yet in that case wouldn't he have caught me up by now?

A new, more terrifying thought struck me. Had it all been a little too easy? Was he still using me? Using me to lead him to Stephen? Beads of perspiration broke out on my fore-head. I would have to be very careful when I reached Oberammergau. I would have to make it impossible for anyone to follow me to the Alte Post. I slowed down. If I motored into Oberammergau and started knocking up the hotel, I would be pretty conspicuous. If he was behind me …

I glanced into the driving mirror, torn by indecision, and a few miles later, where the dark fringe of a wood ran down to the road, I drove the car beneath the trees, bucketing over the rough ground. Tensely I waited in the cold and the dark. Finally I huddled in a corner and fell into a fitful sleep.

Four hours later, stiff and shivering, I drove the car back on to the road, my mouth sour and dry. I became aware of the dark shape of rising ground, of the hills that shelved down to the roadside growing steeper, the tops of the trees, silhouetted in the moonlit sky, growing denser and higher. There was the first subtle lightening of the darkness. In the east the stars had disappeared and the sky was paling to grey. As I watched, the grey became gold and the first fingers of the rising sun appeared beyond the mountains.

Immediately before me the hills remained as an impenetrable black mass across the skyline, but beyond them, bathed in the pale, ghostly light of early morning, were the jagged peaks of the Alps. Like an insurmountable barrier dividing Germany from Austria, they rose, hardening and sharpening as the light grew. Snow glistened on the summits, running like alabaster down the fissures and crevices, and then the countryside around me softened, the darkness turning green as the light increased.

The sun rose and the sky turned a pale, steely blue. On either side of me were soft, undulating grasslands dotted with groups of conifers and small squat bushes. A wooden chalet lay half submerged between one fold of gently rising ground and another, and wild grass grew high at the edge of the road. A soft mist hung over the valley, promising a day of heat and sun.

With growing elation I turned left on the secondary road to Fussen, the ground thick with dew-wet leaves, as I sped through the trees, taking a short cut to Oberammergau. The road dipped and turned, winding beneath giant cliffs to the still sleeping village.

I motored slowly down the main street, searching the hotels and guest-houses for the sign of the Alte Post. The early morning sun shone brightly on the white walls making my tired eyes sting and smart. My head was beginning to throb and I longed for the luxury of clean sheets and a soft bed.

The hotels with their trim wooden fences and scarlet shutters stared back at me, the Gantner, the St. Rochus, the Regentblau. Then, squarely at the end of the street, half hidden by two enormous elm trees, hung the ornate sign of the Alte Post.

Painted saints and angels flanked the door, soaring in an extravaganza of colour around the windows with their troughs of thickly massed flowers, spiralling to the eaves, culiminating in a gorgeous riot of cherubim and seraphim. Weak with relief and anticipation, I parked the car and stepped out into the heady mountain air. The little gate swung open with a protesting creak and in the garden birds were singing shrill and sharp. Apprehensively I rang the bell and waited beneath the gently rustling leaves and the protective wings of the painted saints for admittance.

A few minutes later heavy bolts slid back and the door was opened by a stout, redcheeked woman wearing traditional dress.

I licked my lips nervously. ‘
Guten Morgen.
Have you a Herr Maitland staying here, please?'

She shrugged. ‘ Perhaps, Fraulein,'

‘Would you check for me, please?'

With a gesture of impatience she turned and I followed her into the sparsely furnished entrance hall. Feverishly I waited while she moved early-morning tea trays from the centre of the reception desk, and then, oh so slowly heaved the guest-book on to the cleared space.

I twisted my head round, trying to see if Stephen's name was on the nearly full page, while she slowly ran her thumb down the list of names.

I said, ‘His name is Maitland. Stephen Maitland. He's English.'

‘Aaah,' she exclaimed. ‘Herr Maitland, room nine.'

Weakly I leaned against the solid oak of the reception desk.

‘Could I see him please?' I managed to ask.

She looked at the clock, shaking her head doubtfully.

‘It's very important, very …'

‘At breakfast, Fraulein.'

‘I'm Frau Maitland,' I lied desperately. ‘I must see him. It's urgent.'

She hesitated, drumming her fingers on the polished wood, then with a slight shrug, picked up the phone. It rang for a few minutes, then Stephen's voice, thick with sleep, answered.

‘Good morning, Herr Maitland. Frau Maitland is at reception.'

I couldn't hear his reply. The housekeeper, if that was who she was, replaced the receiver, then settled herself comfortably behind the desk, intent on watching the ensuing reunion with interest. She wasn't disappointed.

Within minutes there came the sound of hurrying footsteps and Stephen burst through the swing doors. I stood stock still, my heart beating painfully against my chest, quite unable to speak. Then I was rushing across the room.

I don't know what I expected his reaction to be. Astonishment, bewilderment, relief. What I didn't expect was for him to hold me away at arms' length and to ask coolly, ‘And what are you doing here?'

It was too much. The floor shelved up and I sank to meet it giddily.

When I came to, I was sitting in the only armchair the entrance hall boasted, propped up by Stephen's arm, while the housekeeper stood, face anxious, holding a drink out for me. I accepted it, trying to collect my scattered wits. The housekeeper withdrew to a discreet distance and Stephen removed his arm, asking once more, ‘ Why are you here?'

‘I'm here,' I said, with as much dignity as the situation allowed, ‘because Gunther Cliburn is going to kill you.'

He said simply, ‘ Is he indeed, and what is that to you?'

‘What is that to me?' I echoed. ‘Sweet heaven, I drive like a maniac all the way down here to warn you, instead of doing what anyone in their right minds would do, and drive to the nearest Channel port and home, and all you can do is ask me why I‘ve bothered.'

Stephen sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, his whole attitude one of cool indifference.

‘Before I believe anything you say, I think I'm owed an explanation.'

I said, ‘ I can explain to you, Stephen, but it will take time, and Gunther must be searching the hotels already.'

‘Then it might be a good idea to move the car.'

‘Oh goodness, I'd forgotten all about it.' The familiar stirrings of panic rose within me.

‘Go up to my room,' he said. ‘I'll garage the car and then we'll have our talk. I warn you. Your explanation had better be good. I'm still seven hundred pounds' worth of car missing.'

I handed him the keys and he strode out on to the veranda, his face an impenetrable mask. Obediently I staggered off in search of room nine. It was on the ground floor at the back of the hotel. It was small, containing only a single bed and chest of drawers. The walls were stark white and over the head of the bed hung an ornate crucifix. French windows opened on to the stretch of green beyond and I walked over to them, opening them and standing on the dew-wet grass. I didn't turn when the door behind me opened and then closed quietly.

He came to stand a foot or two away from me before he spoke. ‘Why did you do it?' he asked then. I turned and walked back into the room.

‘You mean at Nordlingen?'

He nodded.

‘I thought you were going to kill me.'

He drew in his breath and said with barely controlled anger, ‘You'll have to think of something better than
that!
'

‘It's the
truth
,' I shouted back, my control snapping like an over-taut thread. ‘For goodness sake, listen to me, will you?'

We glared at each other, then he said, ‘ Okay, I'm listening.'

I stared at the floor and said, ‘It was all your fault. You lied to me. That first evening after we had visited the church in the woods, I went out for a walk. I recognized Harvey Ellis leaving the wine bar in Niedernhall. I was so sure it was the same man who had stolen my car that I followed him. He went to the farm and, when I got there, I saw your car parked in the woods
and
I saw you talking to him.

‘When I met Gunther later, he said you had left a message for me, that you would be late in the morning because you had gone to Koblenz. I didn't think too much of it then because I was sure you would explain everything to me when you saw me. But the next day I read in the papers about Herr Ahlers being shot in Bonn and saw the photograph of the car and realized that the two men who had crashed it and taken mine were the killers.'

I twisted my signet ring round and round my little finger. ‘There were no descriptions of the wanted men in the paper. I knew, then, that the shot in the woods had not been an accident. Someone knew I had seen the men and that I could identify them. My first thought was to ring you but I didn't have your number and I didn't know the name of the guest-house, but I did have Gunther's telephone number.

‘So I rang him. It was he who first made me suspicious of you. He pointed out that you had been travelling behind the car the men had crashed and when I told him that I'd seen you talking to one of them at the farmhouse when you had said you were in Koblenz, well … it did seem odd but I was still sure you would be able to explain everything when I saw you. Really I did. But when you came you held to your story about Koblenz, and later, when you went to the chemist for me … I found the gun in your glove compartment.'

Stephen swore under his breath.

‘I … thought Gunther was right,' I went on. ‘After all a pistol isn't standard holiday equipment, is it? When I got back to Frau Schmidt's there was an anonymous telephone call for me, telling me to leave Niedernhall immediately. I couldn't recognize the voice but he did speak English, so I put two and two together …'

I sat down on the edge of the bed, still not raising my eyes to his face.

‘Before I left I went for a coffee and a sandwich. I saw Christina across the street and waved to her to join me. She told me you were leaving Ohringen and gave me the name of the hotel you'd booked in at at Oberammergau. Her father had dropped her off so that she could do some shopping and return my scarf which I had left at their guesthouse.' I paused, struggling to steady my voice. ‘ I told her to keep it. That's why … that's why she was killed. She was wearing it and they … they thought it was me.'

Stephen swore under his breath.

‘I was terrified. I knew whoever had done it would soon realize their mistake, and the only person I could think of who had seen me wearing the scarf was you. I drove straight out of the village and phoned Gunther. He came to meet me and he said … he said you and the two men who had taken my car had all been arrested. All I wanted to do was to drive out of that village and never see it again. I told Gunther I was going to Austria and he said he would travel with me as far as Augsburg.

‘You see, they didn't know where you were and they thought by using me as bait they would get you as well. When we reached Nordlingen my car broke down. Gunther took it to be repaired and it was then that I saw you. You passed me in the street and I saw you park behind Gunther's Mercedes and get out of the car.'