Traitors' Gate (23 page)

She had now come so perilously near the truth that he could only look innocent, shrug and say, ‘If you think that, I’ll agree to any precautions that you like to suggest against my meeting people.’

After a moment’s thought, she said, ‘I’ll have to make you my prisoner. We will collect your things from the Vadászkürt and you must come to my house. My servants are fully trustworthy as far as not letting on to Ribb is concerned; and they will see to it that you don’t go out at any time that I am otherwise occupied.’

He laughed then. ‘What an amazing situation. There can never have been another like it. Think of it as a headline—“From patriotic motives famous beauty keeps her lover prisoner.” But, joking apart, I surrender willingly. Bless you, my sweet, for giving us this chance to recapture past joys.’

Sabine gave herself a little shake, then laughed back at him. ‘After all the good resolutions I made this morning I must be crazy to do this. But the moment I set eyes on you last night I felt certain something of the kind was bound to happen.’

Laying his hand gently on hers he murmured, ‘It won’t be my fault if you regret it.’ And at the time he meant what he said; although at the same moment he was thinking that, in spite of her servants, short of her locking him up in a cellar he would have lost his cunning if he could not find some way of leaving her house undetected in the early hours of the morning.

Now that their long battle of wits was over and a decision had been taken, they made no further reference to the subject, to the war, to Ribbentrop or to anything which had a bearing on the strangeness of their situation. Like two knights
of the same companionship who have thrown off their armour after having had to joust against one another, they suddenly became completely relaxed, free of all strain and able to talk and laugh together without further thought of the hidden implications of what they might be saying.

The waiter had already cleared away but they sat on there in the now almost deserted garden through the long sunny afternoon. She told him of her life in Italy and later of when she was married to the Baron, and he told her of some of the intriguing jobs he had done for Sir Pellinore before the war. But again and again they came back to their own affaire with the words ‘Do you remember …’ Later they ordered Café Viennoise, which was served iced in tall glasses with thick cream, straws and long thin spoons. By the time they got up to go their minds were as well attuned as if they had never parted, and as they strolled slowly across to the car park they were holding hands.

It was nearly six o’clock when she dropped him near the Vadászkürt, as they had already agreed that it would be better that she should not be seen picking him up from it with his luggage. She had no fear now that he might run out on her and disappear underground, and he had no intention of doing so; because now that she had consented to his staying on in Budapest he felt confident that he could complete his business without the risk he would have had to run had he let her down.

After asking at the desk for his bill, he went upstairs to his room and put through a telephone call. He knew that the Committee would already have met at Count Szegényház’s house, but as the meeting had been called for half-past-five he thought it unlikely that they would have yet reached their final decision, and in that he proved correct. Count Lászlo, to whom he spoke, could only tell him that the proceedings had opened well. He then explained to the Count in guarded language that he had become involved with the Baroness and was no longer a free agent. He added that he would be staying at her house for the night, but hoped to get away some time during it and, if he could, would come to Lászlo’s house; then he arranged that should he fail to do so the Count would call at Sabine’s the following morning at nine o’clock, and insist on seeing him on a private matter.

Having insured in this way that he would get the vital information, even if Sabine did lock him up for the night, he quickly
packed his things, paid his bill and took a carriage to her house.

He found her small ‘palace’ to be similarly constructed to the Zapolya’s much larger one. There was a lodge for the gatekeeper at one side of a big semi-circular arch, and beyond the arch a square courtyard. Along its sides were garages, stables, laundry, brew-house, etc., with accommodation for the servants above them. At its far end a glass-roofed vestibule led to the main hall which was evidently also used as a sitting-room; for, although August was not yet out, wood fires were burning in big fireplaces on either side of it, and in front of both of these were a settee, easy chairs and occasional tables. In the centre of the hall a broad shallow staircase led up to a balustraded gallery at either end of which were suits of Turkish armour, then corridors leading to the first floor rooms and to narrower staircases running up to a second storey. The rooms were all low for their size; so the vaulted ceiling of the double-tier hall was not too high for comfort, and the upper surfaces of its cream stone walls being broken up with tapestries of the chase prevented it from being cold in appearance.

After Gregory had waited there for a few minutes Sabine came down the staircase. She had changed out of her day things into a house-coat of crimson velvet. The colour threw up both her pale magnolia skin and the dark beauty of her eyes and hair. As she came smiling towards him, he caught his breath; for, seen against this background, she might well have been a princess who had stepped straight out of a Ruritanian romance.

He told her so, and she raised a well-arched eyebrow.

‘Thanks for the charming thought; but perhaps it’s as well that I’m not. No doubt they looked lovely enough, but they had nothing under their clothes but solid pink ice cream. I imagine you would be quite peeved if I sent you back to England with no more exciting memory of me than a half-dead rose thrust into your hand at parting.’

‘I certainly should,’ he laughed, and took a quick step towards her. But she put up her hand with a swift glance of warning. A butler had just come through a side door carrying a bottle in an ice bucket and a tray with glasses. Opening the wine, he poured it and brought two glasses over to them. As Sabine took hers, she said:

‘I thought you would prefer champagne to a cocktail.’

Raising his glass he replied, ‘Any time, anywhere; but never more so than here with you.’

Sitting down they began to discuss how they should spend the evening. In gay Budapest, both in peace and war, it was not unusual for couples to dine at one place then put in an hour or two at each of three or four others afterwards, and there were several of their old haunts that they would have liked to revisit; but Gregory knew that he had now burnt his boats and, without any mention being made of the matter, it was common ground that from after dinner onwards they could provide better entertainment for one another than any night-club had to offer; so their choice had to be restricted to one place in which to dine.

Eventually they decided on the Arizona, which was strictly speaking a night-club; but its floor-shows were the most original in Budapest, and a first performance was given for people who dined there, so the choice would enable them to kill two birds with one stone.

When they had finished their wine Sabine said, ‘I’d better show you your room, so that you can bathe and change. I’ve had my bath already so if half an hour is enough for you I’ll be down again by then.’

At the head of the staircase she turned left along the gallery, threw open a door at the far end of the corridor, and said, ‘This is my room. Do you like it?’

Gregory followed her inside. The room was spacious but low ceilinged, furnished in excellent taste, and there hung about it the subtle perfume which, even had Sabine not been there, conjured up the image of a lovely and fastidious woman. At its far end there was a wide semi-circular window and, walking over to it, she drew aside two of the curtains. Dark had fallen but it was still light enough to see the graceful Swing Bridge two hundred feet below them, the Danube and beyond it the spires of Pest merging into the coming night.

For a full moment they stood side by side in silence. Suddenly her hand clutched his and she turned towards him. Next moment she was in his arms. His mouth came down on her eagerly parted lips in a long rich kiss. They broke it only to gasp for breath then their mouths locked again in another. Her arms tightened round his neck and he could feel her small breasts crushed against his chest. The muscles of her body grew rigid and she began to quiver as though shaken by a fit of
ague. Throwing back her head she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper:

‘Darling! Oh, darling; I want you so badly. I can hardly wait.’

Although they were alone his voice too came in a whisper, as he strained her to him and replied, ‘Wait! My sweet; why should we wait?’

‘No!’ With sudden resolution she jerked her arms from across his shoulders, put her hands against them and forced him away. ‘No! Not yet! It would spoil things for us … later.’

Reluctantly he released her and muttered, ‘I suppose you’re right. But with you in my arms time has no meaning any more.’

‘It hasn’t for me either. But we’ve all night before us, and the moon will not be up for two hours yet. I want you first to love me in the moonlight, just as you did on our first night together. Do you remember?’

‘God alive! As though I could ever forget!’ He grasped her arm and gave her a slight shake. ‘You had better show me my room now, though; otherwise you won’t get your wish.’

Drawing a quick breath, she murmured, ‘You’re right. I ought never to have brought you in here. Your room is immediately above this. Come; I’ll show you.’

Out in the corridor she pulled aside a velvet curtain that masked a narrow flight of stairs, and led him up them to the room above. Still speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, she said, ‘Half-an-hour. No longer.’ Then, blowing him a kiss, she turned away, and ran down the stairs.

His heart still pounding heavily, Gregory looked about him. It was a double guest room and his bags had already been unpacked. To the right an open door showed a bathroom dimly lit; at the far end of the room there was a deep bay window similar to that in Sabine’s. Walking over, he pulled aside a curtain, opened a section of the window and peered out.

Immediately below him was a balcony on to which Sabine’s room opened. Below that, on the courtyard level, projected a wide terrace, and from it a steep retaining wall sloped down to a street on a lower level. That, he decided, was the way he must go when he left the house in the early hours of the morning. It would be much simpler than fumbling his way downstairs in the dark and making his way out by the vestibule. The drops to Sabine’s balcony and from there to the
terrace looked quite easy; and by then she should be sunk in the deep dreamless sleep that follows satisfied passion, so there would be little chance of her hearing him outside her window.

He was much relieved at finding his way clear to paying a call round about dawn on Count Lászlo. That would ensure them an uninterrupted private talk; whereas, had he had to rely on the sheet anchor he had thrown out of the Count’s coming to Sabine’s, it was possible that she might have smelt a rat and refused to allow them to remain alone together.

Now, thrusting from his mind all thoughts but those of joyous anticipation in the evening that lay before him, he went into the bathroom. Finding that a bath had already been run and scented for him, he sniffed appreciatively, pulled off his clothes and got into it. After a quick shave he dressed in his evening things and was back down in the hall just under the half-hour that Sabine had stipulated.

She joined him a few minutes later, now dressed in a light bodice and long full skirt of yellow silk brocade, and with diamond pendants sparkling below her ears. He helped her on with her sable coat, then they went out to the car.

The Arizona lay across the river in Pest, but it took them only ten minutes to get there. Having parked the car in a side-street nearby, they walked the last hundred yards through the still, warm night to the entrance of the Club, while Gregory recalled to Sabine the last time they had been there. The place had then been owned by a huge fat woman possessed of a most ingenious imagination and a passion for dressing up. She always appeared at least once in her own cabarets, and on that occasion the high spot of the performance had been a tableau inspired by ancient Rome. Her mountainous body draped in a toga, and a laurel wreath perched on her sparse hair, she had lain upon a couch depicting one of the more decadent Caesars, while a giant negro held a feather fan above her head, and a bevy of her beautiful young girls posed nearly nude around her, offering fruit, wine, a peacock pie and other delights.

As Sabine assured him that this jolly old trollop was still the proprietress of the Arizona, they entered the Club, then separated while Sabine went into the cloakroom to leave her furs. Gregory had come hatless and coatless; so he had nothing
to leave, but he took the opportunity to pay a visit to the ‘gents’.

Just inside the door, he found himself looking straight into the vulture-like face of Captain Cochefert. The Vichy security man recognised him at once, and exclaimed with a toothy smile:

‘Why,
Monsieur le Commandant
!’ Then his voice sank to a lower note and he added, ‘I have brought a guest here this evening whom I am sure you will know.’

At that moment the door of one of the cabinets opened, and out minced a plumpish man with hair cut
en brosse
, a heavy jowl and a thin sharp nose. In utter consternation Gregory found himself staring at his most deadly enemy—the chief of the Foreign Department of the Gestapo,
Herr Gruppenführer
Grauber.

Grauber was in his middle forties. His pasty complexion and a quite noticeable paunch gave the impression that physically he was not formidable, but they were deceptive; his broad shoulders gave him the strength of a bull, his long arms the grip of an orangoutang and, in spite of the smallness of his feet, he could move with the swiftness of a cat. Usually, however, for strong arm measures he relied on a member of his harem—a selection of blond young S.S. men as brutal and perverted as himself—one or more of whom generally travelled with him.