The Holcroft Covenant (33 page)

“Well make Zurich work,” he said. “You can stop running soon. We can all stop.”

She looked at him pensively. Then she moved over on the seat next to him and put her hand through his arm and held it. She laid her head on his shoulder, her long blond hair falling over his jacket.

“I called for you and you came to me,” she said in her odd, floating voice. “We nearly died this afternoon. A man gave his life for us.”

“He was a professional,” replied Noel. “Our lives may have been incidental to him. He was after information, after a man he thought could give it to him.”

“I know that. I’ve seen such men before, such professionals. But at the last, he was decent; many aren’t.
They sacrifice others too easily in the name of professionalism.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not trained; you would have done as he told you. You could have been used for bait, to draw fire. It would have been easier for him to let you take the bullets, and then me. I wasn’t important to him. In the confusion he might have saved his own life and gotten his man. But he saved us.”

“Where shall we go in Paris?”

“Not Paris,” said Helden. “Argenteuil. There’s a small hotel on the river. It’s lovely.”

Noel raised his left hand from the wheel and let it fall on the hair that cascaded down his jacket. “You’re lovely,” he said.

“I’m frightened. The fear has to go away.”

“Argenteuil?” he mused. “A small hotel in Argenteuil. You seem to know a lot of places for someone who’s been in France for only a few months.”

“You have to know where they don’t ask questions. You’re taught quickly; you learn quickly. Take the Billancourt exit. Please hurry.”

Their room overlooked the Seine, with a small balcony beyond the glass doors directly above the river. They stood for a few minutes in the night air, his arm around her, both of them looking down at the dark waters. Neither spoke; comfort was in their touch.

There was a knock on the door. Helden tensed; he smiled and reassured her.

“Relax. While you were washing up I ordered a bottle of brandy.”

She returned his smile and breathed again. “You should really let me do that. Your French is quite impossible.”

“I can say ‘Remy Martin,’ ” he said, releasing her. “Where I went to school it was the first thing we learned.” He went inside toward the door.

Holcroft took the tray from the waiter and stood for a moment watching Helden. She had closed the doors to the balcony and was staring out the windows at the night sky. She was a private woman, a lonely woman, and she was reaching out to him. He understood that.

He wished he understood other things. She was beautiful; it was the simple truth, and needed no elaboration. Nor could she be unaware of that beauty. She was highly intelligent, again an attribute so obvious no further comment was necessary. And beyond that intelligence she was familiar with the ways of her shadow world. She was street-smart in a larger sense, in an international sense; she moved swiftly, decisively. There had to have been dozens of times when she used sex to get an advantage, but he suspected it was used in cold calculation: Buyer beware, there is nothing but a body for you to take; my thoughts are mine; you’ll share none of them.

She turned from the glass doors; her eyes were soft, her expression warm and yet still distant, still observing. “You look like an impatient maître d’ waiting to escort me to my table.”

“Right this way, mademoiselle,” said Noel, carrying the tray to the small bureau across the room and placing it on top. “Would the lady care for a table by the water?” He moved a small chaise in front of the glass doors and faced her, smiling and bowing. “If the lady would care to be seated, brandy will be served, and the fireworks will begin. The torchbearers on the boats await only your presence.”

“But where will you sit, my attractive
garçon?
”

“At your feet, lady.” He leaned over and kissed her, holding her shoulders, wondering if she would withdraw or push him away.

Whatever he expected, he was not prepared for what happened. Her lips were soft and moist, parted as if swollen, moving against his, inviting him into her mouth. She reached up with both her hands and cupped his face, her fingers gently caressing his cheeks, his eyelids, his temples. Still her lips kept moving, revolving in desperate circles, pulling him into her. They stood together. He could feel her breasts pressed against his shirt, her legs against his, pushing into him, matching strength for strength, arousing him.

Then a strange thing happened. She began to tremble; her fingers crept around his neck and dug into his flesh, holding him fiercely, as if she were afraid he might move away. He could hear the sobs that came from her throat, feel the convulsions that gripped her. He moved
his hands to her waist and gently pulled his face from hers, forcing her to look at him.

She was crying. She stared at him for a moment; pain was in her eyes, a hurt so deep Noel felt he was an intruder watching a private agony.

“What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Make the fear go away,” she whispered plaintively. She reached for the buttons on her blouse and undid them, exposing the swell of her breasts. “I can’t be alone. Please, make it go
away.
”

He pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest, her hair beneath his face soft and lovely, as she was soft and lovely.

“You’re not alone, Helden. Neither am I.”

They were naked beneath the covers, his arm around her, her head on his chest. With his free hand, he kept lifting the strands of her long blond hair, letting them fall to cover her face.

“I can’t see when you do that,” she said, laughing.

“You look like a sheep dog.”

“Are you my shepherd?”

“I have a staff.”

“That’s dreadful. You have a dirty mouth.” She reached up with her index finger and tapped his lips. He caught her finger between his teeth and growled. “You can’t frighten me,” she whispered, raising her face above his, depressing his tongue playfully. “You’re a cowardly lion. You make noises, but you won’t bite.”

He took her hand. “Cowardly lion?
The Wizard of Oz?
”

“Of course,” she answered. “I loved
The Wizard of Oz
. I saw it dozens of times in Rio. It’s where I began to learn English. I wanted so to be called Dorothy. I even named my little dog Toto.”

“It’s hard to think of you as a little girl.”

“I was, you know. I didn’t spring full flower.…” She stopped and laughed. She had raised herself above him; her breasts were in front of his face. His hand instinctively reached for the left nipple. She moaned and covered his hand, holding it where it was as she lowered herself back down on his chest. “Anyway, I
was
a little girl. There were times when I was very happy.”

“When?”

“When I was alone. I always had a room to myself; mother made sure of that. It was always in the back of the house or the apartment; or, if we were in a hotel, it was separate, away from my brother and sister. Mother said I was the youngest and should not be disturbed by the hours they kept.”

“I imagine that could get pretty lonely.…”

“Oh,
no!
Because I was
never
alone. My friends were in my mind, and they would sit in chairs and on my bed and we’d talk. We would talk for hours, telling each other our secrets.”

“What about school? Didn’t you have flesh-and-blood friends?”

Helden was silent for a moment. “A few, not many. As I look back, I can’t blame them. We were all children. We did as our parents told us to do. Those of us who had a parent left.”

“What did the parents tell them?”

“That I was a Von Tiebolt. The little girl with the silly first name. My mother was … well, my mother. I think they thought my stigma was contagious.”

She may have been branded with a stigma, thought Noel, but her mother was not the cause of it. Maurice Graff’s O
DESSA
had more important things on its mind. Millions upon millions siphoned off their beloved Reich to be used by traitors such as Von Tiebolt for a massive apology.

“Things got better when you grew up, didn’t they?”

“Better? Certainly. You adjust, you mature, you understand attitudes you didn’t as a child.”

“More friends?”

“Closer ones, perhaps, not necessarily more. I was a poor mixer. I was used to being by myself; I understood why I was not included at parties and dinners. At least, not in the so-called respectable households. The years curtailed my mother’s social activities, shall we say, but not her business interests. She was a shark; we were avoided by our own kind. And of course the Germans were never really accepted by the rest of Rio, not during those years.”

“Why not? The war was over.”

“But not the embarrassments. The Germans were a
constant source of embarrassment then. Illegal monies, war criminals, Israeli hunters … it went on for years.”

“You’re such a beautiful woman, it’s difficult to think of you … let’s say, isolated.”

Helden raised herself and looked at him. She smiled, and with her right hand pushed her hair back, holding it at the base of her neck. “I was very stern-looking, my darling. Hair straight, wrapped in a bun, large glasses and dresses always a size too large. You wouldn’t have looked at me twice.… Don’t you believe me?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“What then?”

“You just called me ‘my darling.’ ”

She held his eyes. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? It seemed quite natural. Do you mind?”

He reached for her, his answer his touch.

She sat back on the chaise, her slip serving as a negligee; she sipped the brandy. Noel was on the floor beside her, leaning against the small couch, his shorts and open shirt taking the place of a bathrobe. They held hands and watched the lights of the boats shimmering on the water.

He turned his head and looked at her. “Feeling better?”

“Much better, my darling. You’re a very gentle man. I haven’t known many in my life.”

“Spare me.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that. For your information, I’m known among Herr Oberst’s ranks as
Fräulein Eiszapfen.
”

“What’s that?”

“ ‘Icicle.’ ‘Mademoiselle Icicle.’ At work, they’re convinced I’m a lesbian.”

“Send them to me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I’ll tell them you’re a faggot in drag who uses whips and bicycle chains. They’ll run at the sight of you.”

“That’s very sweet.” She kissed him. “You’re warm and gentle and you laugh easily. I’m terribly fond of you, Noel Holcroft, and I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll say good-bye and I’ll think of you.”

Noel reached up and held the hand that still touched
his face; he was suddenly alarmed. “We just said hello. Why good-bye?”

“You have things to do. I have things to do.”

“We both have Zurich.”

“
You
have Zurich. I have my life in Paris.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“You don’t know that, my darling. You don’t know anything about me. Where I live, how I live.”

“I know about a little girl who had a room to herself and saw
The Wizard of Oz
dozens of times.”

“Think kindly of her. She will of you. Always.”

Holcroft took her hand from his face. “What the hell are you trying to say? Thanks for a lovely evening, now good-bye?”

“No, my darling. Not like that. Not now.”

“Then what
are
you saying?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m just thinking out loud.… We have days, weeks, if you wish them.”

“I wish them.”

“But promise me you’ll never try to find where I live, never try to reach me. I’ll find you.”

“You’re married!”

Helden laughed. “No.”

“Then, living with someone.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think.”

Noel watched her closely. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Say that you’ll promise.”

“Let me understand you. Outside of where you work, there’s no place I can reach you. I can’t know where you live, or how to get in touch with you?”

“I’ll leave a number of a friend. In an emergency she’ll reach me.”

“I thought I was a friend.”

“You are. But in a different way. Please, don’t be angry. It’s for your own protection.”

Holcroft remembered three nights ago. In the midst of her own anxieties, Helden had been worried about him, worried that he had been sent by the wrong people. “You said in the car that Zurich was the solution to so much. Is it the answer for you? Could Zurich change the way you live?”

She hesitated. “It’s possible. There’s so much to do.…”

“And so little time,” completed Holcroft. He touched her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “But before the money’s released, there’s the bank in Geneva and specific conditions that have to be met.”

“I understand. You’ve explained them, and I’m sure Johann knows about them.”

“I’m not so sure. He’s laid himself open to a lot of speculation that could knock him out of the box.”

“Knock him where?”

“Disqualify him. Frighten the men in Geneva; make them close the vaults. We’ll get to him in a minute. I want to talk about Beaumont. I think I know what he is, but I need your help to confirm it.”

“How can I help?”

“When Beaumont was in Rio, did he have any connection with Maurice Graff?”

“I have no idea.”

“Can we find out? Are there people in Rio who would know?”

“Not that I know.”

“God damn it, we’ve got to learn. Learn everything we can about him.”

Helden frowned. “That will be difficult.”

“Why?”

“Three years ago, when Gretchen said she was going to marry Beaumont, I was shocked; I told you that. I was working at the time for a small research firm off Leicester Square—you know, one of those dreadful places that you send five pounds to and they get you all the information you want on a subject. Or a person. They’re superficial, but they do know how to use sources.” Helden paused.

“You checked on Beaumont?” asked Noel.

“I tried to. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I tried. I went back to his university records, got all the available information about his naval career. Everything was filled with approvals and recommendations, awards and advancements. Why, I can’t tell you—except that there seemed to me to be an inconsistency. I went farther back to find out what I could about his family in Scotland.”