The Rendezvous (19 page)

‘I'm protecting Bob,' he said. ‘What she does is her business – I wash my hands of that side of it. But he's not going to be hurt to please you. Stay out of it, Vera, do you understand? Stay out of this from now on, or I'll walk right out on you. I mean it!'

She pulled her arm away from him. ‘I'm not going to be threatened by you,' she said. ‘I'm going home. You can go and talk to them on your own. And go to hell, while you're at it. And if it is her that you're protecting – God help you, Joe, if I find out!'

He let her go, and then went to find himself a drink; he didn't show his feelings; he polished his glasses which was a mannerism he couldn't stop, but by the time he came up to the Bradfords he was in control of himself inside as well as out. He was glad Vera had gone home. It was the luck of God that she was obsessed with Amstat's sexual relations with a woman she hated; she was too busy beating Terese with that stick to think about the real issue. He was sure he had frightened her off the scent that he was following. There would be a row when he got back; tears and reproaches and the same, stale accusation of guilty involvement with his best friend's wife. And it was not true and never had been true. What he felt about her now, knowing she was cheating Bob, had nothing to do with personal jealousy. He was disappointed in her, and he was angry too, but it was on Bob's behalf. He wondered whether she had found her sexual freedom through the medium of adultery and lies. He had no wish to know any more.

He had established one point that night, which was important, and started on another. Amstat would be in New York for the next few weeks, and that kept him nailed, except for Chicago, while he waited for news from Buenos Aires. He could fix Chicago when he got home, just to keep a watch there.

‘Hello, Terese – how are you, Bob?'

‘We're fine,' Bob Bradford said. ‘You've got a drink, Joe? I'm fresh out, and so are you, sweetheart. I don't know why they pay a waiter, he's never around when you want him. I'll go and bring back something.'

‘No, darling,' Terese cut in. ‘Don't go, I don't want any more.'

‘I do,' he said. ‘Just one for the road, while we talk to Joe.'

Kaplan offered her a cigarette. ‘You don't have to avoid me,' he said. ‘I only give advice, I don't expect it to be taken.'

‘You're angry with me, aren't you?' She fumbled, looking for a lighter. After a moment he took his out and lit her cigarette.

‘Not angry. I told you, Terese, it was up to you what to do.'

‘Well, as it happened, Joe, it wasn't up to me.' She looked at him for the first time, and there was something in the eyes that he had never seen before. Pleading, and guilt, and something else too, which was difficult to describe. ‘It was up to Robert. I did what you told me; I asked him to take me away. I begged him. But he said no; he had to stay here and help Ruth milk out some more money from the Bradford trust.'

‘I'm sorry,' Joe said, and he meant it. ‘I take it all back. You still feel the same way about the guy?'

Now he could name the difference in her. Reserve; the child-like trust in her relationship to him as patient, doctor and friend, no longer existed. She had shut him out.

‘I managed it alone,' she said. ‘I kept away and talked some sense into myself. It never came to anything after all. So you don't have to be angry with me for that either, Joe.'

‘No,' he said. ‘I'm glad, Terese. I have a feeling Mr. Amstat wouldn't have been worth it in the end. Here's Bob – I guess we change the subject?' He smiled at her, and it was a friendly, relaxed smile; he had an impassive face, which had showed nothing to Karl Amstat. It showed nothing to Terese either to disclose that he didn't believe a word she had said.

Amstat was working when the doorbell rang. He had had dinner alone in a quiet restaurant downtown, and gone home. He looked at his watch; it was eleven-thirty. He wasn't expecting anyone; he was not a man who encouraged the casual caller. But it might be Terese.

‘Mr. Karl Amstat?'

It was a middle-aged man standing outside; he was dressed very soberly in a dark blue suit, and button-down-collar shirt, he carried a short-brimmed hat with a blue band. Amstat had never seen him before.

‘Yes,' he said curtly. ‘Who are you? What do you want; it's very late.'

‘My name is Smith, and a friend of yours asked me to drop by and see you. A Mr. Brückner. Can I come in?'

Amstat held the door open and let him pass through. Brückner had been his German contact in New York; he had managed the introduction to the architectural firm when Amstat first arrived. He had provided money and paid certain expenses for him until he was established. Then he had simply dropped out of Amstat's life.

‘Sit down,' he said, and the man laid his hat on a chair and settled himself on the sofa. He sat forward in a very unrelaxed position and he spoke with a vulgar West Side twang. He was a second-generation German who ran a successful manufacturing business; he had been a Bundt member as a young man and then been drafted into the American Army where he had served in the Far East. He had been very happy to help his fellow Germans after the war, and though he wasn't rich, he contributed regularly to the funds for supporting them. He had never had to deal with anyone so high ranking as a Gestapo Standartenführer before, and it made him uncomfortable. He felt he ought to be standing up.

‘Would you like a drink, Mr. Smith.'

‘Er, no thank you. All right if I smoke?'

‘By all means. Help yourself from the box there. Now, why have you come here, Mr. Smith? It's nearly six years since. I heard from our friend Mr. Brückner. Has something gone wrong?'

‘No,' Mr. Smith said. He decided to speak German. ‘Please understand, Herr Amstat, I am only carrying Herr Brückner's message.'

‘Then deliver it,' Amstat said. This was an underling, a lower middle-class little man, unsure of himself before an officer.

‘If there's nothing wrong, why are you here? Why do you come and disturb me at nearly twelve o'clock at night!'

‘I apologise,' the man said. ‘I apologise profoundly; but I acted on instructions. Herr Brückner wanted me to see you and to do it as inconspicuously as possible.' The effort was too much for him and he stood up. The move irritated Amstat; he had fallen into the old arrogant S.S. attitude so quickly that he was shocked at himself. He vented his self-disgust on the embarrassed sheep in front of him.

‘For God's sake, man, sit down and stop behaving as if you were on a charge. We're both civilians. And speak English.'

‘Brückner's worried,' Smith said. He began to talk quickly, and he became an American again. ‘He's sick, that's why he called me up and said I should come over. He's not happy about what you're doing, Mr. Amstat, he's not happy at all. We keep an eye on our people, just to make sure they're not in trouble; it's all part of the service. And it's not a bad service, I guess you'll allow that?'

‘It's saved my life,' Amstat said. ‘I suppose that gives you and Brückner the right to spy on me for the rest of it. Go on.'

‘It's your association with this Mrs. Bradford,' Smith took out a handkerchief and wiped his face and neck.

‘She's a Frenchwoman and we have information to suggest she was in prison at some time in the war. Brückner thinks this could be dangerous to you.'

‘That's very thoughtful of him,' Amstat said. ‘Anything else?'

‘Look, Mr. Amstat, if this woman was in prison, or mixed up in anything, she's not the sort of person you should go around with. She just might pick something up. It draws attention to you, going around with a foreigner. I guess you mix in pretty stuffy circles, all very high class and society page, but Brückner thinks this is going too far. The last thing in the world you ought to do is draw attention to yourself!'

Mr. Smith paused; he had begun to gain confidence while he went on telling this steely bastard what the score was; he had a moment of rebellion against his own sense of inferiority. He might be ex-Gestapo and high ranking and belong to the snob class in the old country, but the emphasis was on the ex. Former, used to be.

He was on the run and he owed people like him, Smith, or Schmidt, as his father still called himself, and Brückner and German Americans all over the country, everything he had at that moment. He needn't be scared by him; it should be the other way round.

‘Mrs. Bradford was not in prison in the war,' Amstat said. ‘She was born in France, that's all. There is no danger to me in our association, as you call it. There is no possible connection with the past. We met in New York for the first time. She's one of a wide circle of my friends.'

‘It's not just you,' Smith said. ‘If anything came out about you, you could endanger others; you could bring trouble on people like Brückner and me and all of us who've helped you. You're not the only man we have to look out for – there are others. We have to think of them!'

Amstat hesitated; this last point was true and he knew it. There
were
others; murderers, like himself, men like Freischer who had stubbed his cigar out on the breasts of the woman he loved. The marks were still there, very faint and white now, but still visible. Killers who had never pulled the trigger, but drawn up the plans, discussed it round the conference table, and checked the figures at the end of the month.

‘You helped me,' he said. ‘Thank you, Mr. Smith. You and Brückner and the rest. Now I prefer to stand on my own. You needn't watch out for me any more. I'll never come to you for help again, no matter what. Now get out of here.'

‘Okay.' Smith got up, reached for his hat and put it on. ‘But I should watch it; the Kikes are tricky people. They don't give up easy; we've lost quite a few in the last few years.'

‘So I've heard: it's very sad. But they won't catch up with me. Close the door quietly, please; you mustn't forget to be inconspicuous.'

Smith turned with his hand on the latch; he wore a ring with his initials on the middle finger.

‘You won't give her up? That's final?'

‘I told you.' Amstat made a move forward; he hadn't realised how close he was to taking the man by the collar and throwing him into the passage. ‘Get out!'

‘Okay,' Smith said again. ‘Okay. From now on, you're on your own.' He went out and shut the door; at the very last moment he decided not to slam it, as he would have liked. It wasn't possible, of course; he knew they couldn't carry out that threat and leave someone like Brunnerman to be picked up. The Kikes had a nasty habit of asking questions before they killed their victims. In Smith's eyes they really were victims, honest-to-God Germans who were being victimised for carrying out orders. All this bleating about gas chambers and concentration camps, as if they hadn't done the world a service, getting rid of them. America could do with a few million less. He took the subway home and wondered what the hell Brückner would say when he told him. Ungrateful son of a bitch; he'd have been in some ditch with a dozen bullets in him, years ago, if it hadn't been for the blood-tie policy of the old Bundt members who stepped right in to help when the war ended. Money, time, trouble, an efficient spy system to combat the Kikes; and all the thanks he got was to be kicked out of the apartment. They would keep a watch on Amstat, whether he liked it or not.

‘Darling,' Terese said, ‘why is it always so wonderful?'

‘I don't know,' he said. ‘Is it so wonderful for you? Always?'

‘Every time,' she kissed him. ‘Sometimes I think to myself, today will be different. Our moods won't match – we'll have a quarrel, or Karl will be getting tired of me. And it's never true. I love you more and more, do you know that?'

‘You have a great capacity for love.' He said it seriously. ‘You're a very female creature, my darling. Very brave and very deep. The best kind there is. I wish to God I could marry you. This isn't enough for me, just having you in an afternoon, stealing a few hours together. I want you with me all the time.'

‘This can't happen,' she said. ‘You mustn't start saying this. I can't leave Robert.'

He reached up and pulled her down. ‘You'll leave him one day,' he said. ‘Because I'll make you. You're not the kind to lie for long. He's lost you to me already.'

‘I won't hurt him,' she said. ‘It's the only thing I can hold on to, not hurting him.'

‘Very kind,' he said, and kissed her. ‘I like you to be kind, Terese, I like you to be soft and tender-hearted. Open your mouth to me. Now, my love, now.'

At the end, when she was dressing, he said to her, ‘I have to go to Chicago again next week – can you come down with me?'

‘I'll try,' she said. ‘I'll think of something. But it's so difficult.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘That's why you'll have to divorce him in the end. And don't say you won't again, or I won't let you go home at all tonight.'

‘It wouldn't be too hard to make me stay.' Terese came over to him. ‘Do you really love me, Karl? Do you love me in the same way as I love you – not just for making love, but really? For myself?'

‘Really,' he said. ‘For yourself. You're the only woman I should ever want to marry. I don't want you as a mistress, Terese, I want a wife. I'll take you out somewhere tomorrow. We'll meet in the afternoon and drive out.'

‘We could go back to that pretty village, Chappagua, and walk around for a while. Do you remember when we went there, and I said I'd go to Chicago with you? It was the first time you kissed me.'

‘I remember,' he said. ‘We'll go there tomorrow. Darling – people know about us. Julia told me, everyone knows through Vera Kaplan. We must have been seen dozens of times.'

‘I told Joe Kaplan I was in love with you,' she said, ‘before anything happened between us. He told me to go away, that's why we were going to Portugal. Only Robert couldn't leave at that time. Do you know, if he had, we wouldn't be together now?'