Return to Vienna (11 page)

I hedged. “Perhaps it is not quite as dangerous as we imagine.”

“It surprises me that you should underestimate these people!” Leopold rose to his feet and stood over me. “Remember what they did to your husband! They will stop at nothing. Nothing!”

I looked up at him, having no idea what to say, and hoping that he would provide an answer himself. He did—a totally unexpected answer.

“My wife and I think you had better come and Stay with us for the time being.”

“Stay with you? I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand.”

He waved a hand vaguely. “We have a house in the Vienna Woods in the direction of Pressbaum. It is very quiet, and you will be safe with us.”

“But . . . but I can’t come, Herr Hellweg. It’s just not possible.”

His eyes were sharp again, pricking at me. “Why is it not possible?”

“Well ...” I had to search around for a plausible reason. “People will wonder where I’ve got to. I mean, lots of my friends know I am in Vienna, and if I just disappear . . .”

“But you need not disappear. We are isolated, it is true, but we are not uncivilized. We have the telephone. You will be able to speak with whomever you please.”

He was talking good sense. If I were genuinely in any sort of danger—and there seemed little doubt that I was—I’d surely be safer in a private residence outside Vienna than I would be wandering alone around the city. And of course this offered a chance in a million to dig myself in with the Hellwegs and expedite the whole wretched business. As long as I occasionally made myself “contactable” for Richard to give me further instructions, the outlook could hardly be bettered.

And yet I wasn’t happy. I felt strongly averse to the idea of staying at the Hellwegs’ home. I didn’t like either the man or his wife.

I sensed that Leopold Hellweg was growing suspicious of my silence. I had to say something quickly, something positive and enthusiastic.

“It’s really awfully kind of you. When do you suggest I come?”

He spread his hands. “But now, naturally “

“You mean tonight?”

“Jawohl!
Go up and pack your things. I will wait for you here.”

“But. . . The hotel—what do I tell them?”

“You tell them nothing—it is none of their business as long as you pay your bill.”

Tonight! Steve was coming in the morning, but I supposed I could leave a note for him. And the Hut-yens’ dinner party tomorrow evening? I’d have to ring Klara and beg off, but I knew she wouldn’t really mind. Still I hesitated.

“I hardly like to impose on you, Herr Hellweg.”

“You will not be imposing. It is a pleasure.” He smiled. “And anyway, I am here already to fetch you. It is the simplest thing that you should come.”

“Well, thank you. . . . Thank you very much. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He came to the door of the lounge and held it open for me, and I felt his eyes watching as I went over to the desk. I told the porter that owing to something unexpected cropping up I was leaving immediately, and asked to have my bill made out. He scratched his head, bewildered by such a request after midnight. It turned out that it would not be possible, unless he were to wake the manager, who did indeed sleep on the premises. . . .

I agreed that such an inconsiderate step wasn’t necessary. Instead I gave the porter two one-hundred-schilling notes, plenty to cover the amount of my bill, and said I would call in sometime for the refund. He was obviously fascinated by the various possibilities of the situation. I asked him for writing paper and an envelope and scribbled a note to Steve, to be handed over when he called in the morning. Then I hurried up to my room, taking the stairs rather than the ancient lift.

About a quarter of an hour later I left the Mahlerhof. The porter carried out my luggage and received a tip from Herr Hellweg that made him touch his forehead.

The car we got into was the same as thousands of others to be seen in the streets of Vienna—a German Ford, I think. I remembered how Steve had spoken of the Hellwegs’ car as a “fantastic red Maserati,” and wondered what had happened to that. But I didn’t inquire, not wanting to admit to Leopold that I’d discussed him and his wife with Steve. As we slipped quietly through the sleeping city, the very streetlights seemed dimmer, and the occasional pedestrian had a furtive, hurrying air.

Earlier, up in the hills with Steve, there had been a sort of magic in the night, in spite of all the tension and those bitter words between us. But now the magic had gone, though the stars were still there, and the thin crescent moon.

Leopold said, “I telephoned Ilse while you were packing. She was most glad to hear that you had agreed to stay with us.”

I made a vague sound to indicate that I was grateful. There was no doubt about it, this man intimidated me. And so did his wife.

From the passenger seat I couldn’t see into the rear-view mirror. I was anxious to know if Richard’s man was on our tail. It would have been reassuring, somehow. Once, pretending to shift my position, I managed to turn enough to glance back. Some way off I thought I saw the lights of a car rounding the bend we had taken a moment before, but there were still a few other cars about, and it might have been anyone. I could only hope.

Soon we had left the last outskirts of the city behind us, and our speed mounted on the motorway that curved away into the darkness ahead. Leopold was making an effort to be pleasant, I realized that. He was solicitous for my comfort and assured me that I would be able to go straight to bed as soon as we reached the house.

“It is very late. I expect you are tired.”

“I am, rather,” I admitted. “It’s been a long day.”

“And what have you been up to?”

I was startled by his question, and showed it by my hesitation. He added apologetically, “I just meant, did you go shopping, or sightseeing?”

“Oh, I see! A little of both, actually.”

“You ladies!” He gave a gentle chuckle. “You can never resist buying new clothes.”

I considered the role I was playing, and said regretfully, “Window shopping, really. I can’t afford all those lovely things in the smart shops anymore.”

There was a tiny pause, filled, it seemed to me, with significance. Then he said almost under his breath, “A sad state of affairs which will soon be remedied.”

Was it a question, or not?

The note of the engine was deep, the song of a car let off the city leash. The speedometer needle surged up toward the hundred-and-thirty-kilometer mark.

I came awake gently to the unhurried sounds of the countryside. It wasn’t exactly quiet, for the birds were making lots of noise.

My bedroom was large and handsomely furnished. The early sun, muted down to a glow by the yellow damask curtains, found every corner and filled the room with a golden promise. The atmosphere was right for contentment, yet the uneasiness I’d felt the night before came back, growing keener with each passing minute.

When I’d arrived with Leopold Hellweg, his wife had been waiting up for us. I couldn’t fault Ilse’s behavior, though her welcome was hardly warm. I declined her offer of coffee or a drink, and she had brought me straight up to this room.

I’d been so tired last night that I’d not even bothered to unpack my things. I got out of bed and rummaged in a suitcase for my robe. Then I went to draw back the curtains. I had to shield my eyes against the bright sunlight for a moment before I could look out at the view. The window opened onto a stone-balustraded balcony, and I stepped outside.

The air was brisk, but the sun was warming it quickly. Beyond a steeply terraced garden stretched the woods, flaming with autumn color, the night’s dew steaming in a lazily hovering mist. It was the nearest thing to a fairyland that I had ever seen.

I was on the second floor. Below me was a wide paved area set with marble urns holding scarlet geraniums, and delicate wrought-iron tables and chairs all painted a sparkling white. Leopold Hellweg sat at one of the tables, reading a newspaper. He was wearing an elegant silk dressing gown patterned in subdued blues and greens. He looked a lean and fit man for his years, rather handsome in an austere way the graying hair at his temples giving him that extra touch of distinction.

He must have heard me, for he glanced up and smiled.
“Guten Morgen,
Frau Varley,” he said, rising to his feet. “I trust you slept well?”

“Thank you—very well.”

“That is good! I will send the girl up with your breakfast, if you wish it.”

“Thank you,” I said again.

“And you must come down whenever it pleases you. We ask you to feel perfectly free while you are staying with us.”

He disappeared into the house. Scarcely five minutes later there was a light tap on the door, and a maid brought in a tray with fruit juice, little rolls and sweet butter, and
Kaffee mit Milch.

I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, since there was absolutely no hurry. Later, as I got dressed, I began to consider how Richard would get in touch with me. I felt sure that he must know I was here, but in view of the secrecy involved, there were problems ahead. If necessary, I decided, I’d have to take a trip into Vienna, which would give him a chance to have me picked up by taxi as before.

By ten o’clock I felt it was time to show my face downstairs. I knew I had to tread a careful line. Outwardly, I would show gratitude to the Hellwegs for their kindness in sheltering me like this. But not far below the surface, and clearly visible, there must be the tacit acceptance that I was really here for quite a different reason. Protection by all means—while we built up sufficient trust to lay our cards on the table.

I must be alert to match every advance the Hellwegs made. But I had to avoid going too fast for them. If they were going to arrange contacts with anticomrmmist groups on the other side of the Iron Curtain, then they’d want to be very positive about me first.

The house was quiet, carpeted, luxurious. A ten-foot-wide staircase with carved balustrades on either side led down to a big square hall paneled throughout in polished pine. A huge enameled stove, eight feet high and decorated with hunting scenes, stood in one corner.

A voice from behind made me swing around. “And how do you like our Tyrolean hall?” asked Leopold.

“Is that what it is? Such a lovely warm color. I was wondering about the style.”

He laughed. “We have all styles at the Villa Imwald. I think the architect must have been practicing, trying out a little of everything.”

“It’s very beautiful, to judge from what I’ve seen.”

“You are most kind!” He laughed again. “But perhaps the old place does have a quaint charm of its own. Permit me to show you the rest of the villa.”

He took me around the ground-floor rooms, and I saw at once that however much of an architectural jumble the house might be, there was no stinting on comfort. It had two small sitting rooms as well as the large formal drawing room; a library lined with white shelves and leather-bound books; an extravaganza of a dining room in full-blown rococo style; a billiards room, which didn’t interest me. We strolled through a domed conservatory full of exotic hothouse plants and out to a second terrace that overlooked a large swimming pool.

Ilse Hellweg was just emerging from another door, wearing a short red-toweling beach wrap.

“Guten Tag,
Frau Varley . . . Jessica. So Leopold is showing you around?”

“Yes, I’ve been admiring it enormously. And what a glorious position you have, overlooking the woods like this.”

She nodded carelessly.
“Ja,
that is so. Do you care for swimming?”

“I do, but I’m afraid I’m a bit of a coward. I like to swim only when it’s really warm.”

“The pool is heated.” Her tone suggested that
of course
the pool was heated. That nothing associated with her would be less than super quality.

I smiled. “Then I’d like to try it sometime, if I may.”

“Why not now?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t pack a swimsuit.”

“I have plenty. Leopold, tell Maria to fetch some for Jessica.”

When her husband had gone into the house, Ilse remarked: “Max was a very good swimmer,
nicht?”

That was like a blow on the chin, not intended as such, but painful just the same. On several occasions I’d suggested to Max that we might spend a fine Sunday at the
Gansehaufel
lido, swimming and idling in the sun. But somehow it had never fit in with his other plans. It was only during our holiday, in those final two weeks of his life, that I discovered that Max swam like a dolphin. By the clear sparkling lakes of the Salzkammergut we at last got around to having those lovely lazy days I had dreamed of, and in Max’s expert hands I found an exciting new confidence in the water.

But apparently Ilse Hellweg had known all along that my husband was a fine swimmer.

“I ... I expect he sometimes swam here?” I said, trying hard to sound no more than pleasantly interested.

“But naturally.” Ilse rippled out a light laugh. “He used to come often.”

Leopold appeared again and dropped a pile of three or four swimsuits on a table. “Take your pick from these, Frau Varley.”

“Thank you.” I sorted out a turquoise-and-white-striped one and held it up against me. “I think this should do nicely.”

Ilse nodded indifferently. “Go up and change now.”

I ran upstairs to my room, and in a few minutes was down again, carrying a bath towel. Ilse and Leopold were where I’d left them, talking. Seeing me, Ilse slipped off her wrap to reveal a slinky black wet-look swimsuit. The cleavage was daring, but beyond that it had the sort of simplicity that costs money. She didn’t just look good in it, she looked devastating. For the second time she was putting me in the shade. Beside her I felt gauche.

And this, presumably, was the way she’d looked when Max had come here to swim.

Leopold had fetched himself a drink, and was settling in a chair beside the pool. I said, “Aren’t you coming in too, Herr Hellweg?”

“No, my dear, I never swim. Ilse must find herself a friend if she wishes not to swim alone.” He smiled swiftly. “Today, she has you.”