The kitchen door stood ajar. They glided through it. Stange sat at the table with his back to them. His head
rested on his folded arms. He was fast asleep. Two enormous, battered suitcases were stashed either side of him. Anna had never seen them before, she wondered what they contained. But then everything else was drowned in the knowledge that if she kept her head and moved fast, she could get out.
She slipped through the kitchen door and was heading for the path to the front gate when Gerhard tugged her sleeve. “Not that way,” he cautioned her quietly. “No use going to the port, that’s the first place they’ll look.”
She gazed at him in confusion. “Where, then?”
“Come with me.”
He led her around to the back of the house. All the while it had steadily been growing lighter. When Gerhard halted at the top of the steps and pointed, at first her brain did not register what she saw as anything other than an illusion, a product of the drugged sleep from which she had woken. But the longer she stared, the more convinced she became that this was no mere dream.
A small yacht, one of those flotilla cruisers built for amateurs, had anchored opposite the house on the other side of the cove, beneath the church. Holiday makers who—God bless them!—had chosen this of all bays in which to rest up for the night …
The sight dazzled her. She swayed a little, then held on to Gerhard for support. Less than a quarter of a mile separated her from freedom and safety.
All she had to do was reach the yacht.
How? Did she have enough strength to swim? Gerhard was a strong swimmer, he could help her.
“You must hurry,” Gerhard murmured.
He was right. The sun had risen halfway above the
horizon. With every second that passed she stood to lose her chance, either her guards would awake, or the yacht would put to sea.
“Let’s go,” she said, taking his hand.
“No.”
She wheeled around, stunned.
“What?”
“I’m not coming.”
“But—”
“Listen, Anna.” He took both her hands and held them fast. “There’s nowhere left for me to run, now. They’ve caught Iannis, I’m sure of it.”
“No!”
“I try to speak to him whenever he phones, but somebody cuts us off. Poor kid … anyway, I’m done for. After this, HVA will always find me.”
She continued to stare into his eyes, knowing in her heart if not yet in her brain that this was the first moment of disengagement. The first moment of a life without Gerhard.
“I’ll stay here, cover your escape,” he said.
“I won’t leave you!”
“Yes. You will. You
must!”
“No!”
“Anna … get back to England as fast as you can, tell them everything. Tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t return the file. Barzel has it now.” He released her hands and stepped back, a smile creasing his haggard face. “Go.” His voice cracked. “I won’t …
ever …
forget you.”
Her gaze fell. “David. He’s …”
“Don’t despair. Barzel was in a rage when he said that. He doesn’t know anything, not really.”
“Gerhard …”
He held a finger to his lips. “No more words.
Go!”
She stared at him for a moment longer, grief-stricken,
impotent. He had used her, betrayed her … but somehow, deep down, he was still Gerhard. Her Gerhard.
“Go,” he repeated.
Instead she drew him to her and kissed him full on the lips, knowing it would be the last time. Her mind blanked out. “I—”
“Yes,” he interrupted quietly. “For me the same.”
Gently he held her away from him. She clutched both hands to her face in a vain attempt to stanch the tears, and ran down the path, through the garden. Once past the gate she followed the track until it petered out in the sand, and flopped down by the edge of the sea, sobbing out her anguish to the unresponsive morning.
She knew the one thing she must not do was think, especially about David or Gerhard. She had to reach the yacht. Nothing else mattered. After that there would be time to remember, and to grieve.
Somehow, she never afterward knew how, she managed to stagger to her feet. David perhaps dead, Gerhard above her, mere yards away,
no, don’t think.
A stretch of tranquil water, clad in
diamanté
by the early sunshine, still separated her from refuge. She could not detect any sign of life aboard the boat opposite. So near yet so far, surely she hadn’t come this close only to be defeated?
She might swim. But she felt so weak. What if her strength deserted her halfway across? She would cry out, and no one would hear. The thought of drowning when on the very brink of salvation was too awful to contemplate. David, who loved the sea, Gerhard such a strong swimmer,
no, don’t think.
If she shouted from the beach, without attempting to swim, perhaps the owners of the yacht would come to
her rescue? No, long before then her cries would have roused Barzel and Stange.
She wanted to sob. The sight of that small, rather grubby, indescribably beautiful boat lying at anchor almost within hands’ reach was too much to be borne.
“Er … excuse me. Hello?”
Anna raised her head and looked around. No one was visible. Yet surely she hadn’t imagined that voice—male, educated,
English!
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Over here … behind the rocks.”
She swung around, jerking her head in all directions. At first she could see nothing, but then she noticed a tousled head and a pair of red, blistered shoulders emerging above some boulders to her right. “Ah …” said the head. “This is a bit embarrassing actually. I’m off that boat over there, see, and I thought I’d go for a skinny dip….”
“You’re
English!”
“Yes. Tony Roberts. I’m a doctor, actually. You look upset.”
“Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh my God, help me!
Help me!”
“What’s the trouble? I mean, I heard you coming so I …”
Anna stood up and stumbled toward Dr. Roberts as if to the savior of her soul. The head eyed her apprehensively. “Sorry,” it muttered. “You don’t have a towel or something—”
“Oh God, just shut up, please shut up. I’m desperate. My name’s Anna Lescombe, I’m being held a prisoner by the East Germans, they’re going to kill me, I know they will, they’ve killed my husband, you have to help me. Take me on your boat. Please!”
The Englishman came out from behind his rock, no
longer embarrassed. His eyes, now not quite so friendly, viewed her with professional detachment. Anna realized he was quite young and a little unsure of himself. “You’re ill,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”
Anna grasped his arms. “I’ll tell you everything,
everything!
Only please, please just call your friends on the yacht and take me away from here, get me to Corfu, to the British consul.”
“All right, all right.” His face had grown pink to match his shoulders. “Now calm down, do. Where have you just come from?”
“Up there.” She pointed. “They’re still asleep, but they’ll wake up soon and then they’ll come for me.” Part of her acknowledged that he must think her mad, perhaps she was mad, but she must make him see, make him believe her enough to take her away from Gerhard,
no, don’t think.
“Okay. Okay, now, try to relax.” He disengaged himself and put two fingers to his lips. A long, loud whistle echoed out over the water. “Pete,” he shouted. “Show a leg!”
“Not so
loud!
They’ll hear you!”
“Got to get things moving somehow. Ah, good … Pete’s an early riser, like me.” He waved a hand, beckoning to someone aboard the yacht. Anna heard an engine cough into life. She swiveled around to look up at the house, then gazed across the cove. The boat was moving, but slowly, so slowly! “Hurry up,” she breathed. “Hurry up, for God’s sake …”
Footsteps on the path. Barzel’s voice, “Anna! Where are you?”
She froze. Terror held her immobile.
Why hadn’t Gerhard stopped Barzel? Was he dead!
She forced herself to act, racing behind the boulder that until a minute
ago had concealed Tony Roberts. “Help me!” she cried. “Don’t let them take me!”
The yacht was about halfway across the strait. “What’s up, Tone?” she heard a woman’s voice shout.
“Got a bit of a problem. Gloria, chuck me a towel, for Christ’s sake.”
Anna peered around the rock to see something that for a moment she literally did not believe. She
refused
to believe it. Gerhard had come down to the beach, with Barzel a step behind him.
Something crunched against stones as the yacht went aground. Anna turned her head. A bikini-clad blonde girl was standing up to her knees in water, towel at the ready; two other people, one man, one woman, were on deck, assessing the situation.
Anna watched what happened next as if through a haze. It was happening, yes, but it could not be. Some things were so impossible that the mind automatically rejected them. Gerhard advanced toward Roberts, hand outstretched.
“Morning,” he said. “Gerhard Kleist. I’m so glad you were able to come to our patient’s rescue.” He glanced back. “This is Dr. Barzel, of the Endemann Clinic in Hamburg. The other gentleman—” he pointed at Stange, now rapidly descending the steps to join the party on the beach—“is a psychiatric nurse on Dr. Barzel’s staff.”
“Did you say
Dr.
Barzel?”
“Yes. I’m a doctor also.” He laughed. Anna, hearing the high-strung sound, lifted her head. Something was wrong…. “Sorry I don’t have my cards with me,” Gerhard continued. “I’m a consultant psychologist. You are …?”
“Doctor Tony Roberts.”
Gerhard’s eyebrows rose. “A professional colleague! We don’t expect to have such treats in our hideaway.”
“We’re all from the London Hospital, actually.”
“Whitechapel?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must know Rayner Acheson, your head of clinical psychology.”
“I’ve never met him. I know
of
him, of course.”
Anna could not believe her ears. A medical convention had got under way. “Don’t listen to them,” she blurted from behind her rock. “They’re not doctors, they’re spies!”
Barzel coughed and turned away, evidently to conceal a smile. Gerhard’s face, however, remained serious. “Perhaps if your friends would like to come down from the boat we could discuss this more sensibly on dry land. I make a point of never concealing anything from my patients; there’s been too much hole-and-corner psychology. Rayner did a paper on that very topic last year, funnily enough.” He raised his voice. “Anna, come here, please. I want you to be a part of this. Don’t be shy. You’ve nothing to be afraid of.”
He had betrayed her. Again. The odd thing was that she felt nothing at all. This went beyond any possibility of emotional reaction. This was death.
“Dr. Kleist …” Roberts’ voice had taken on a hard edge but Anna had done with hope. “Can we be clear about one thing, please, is this lady free to come and go as she wants?”
“Most certainly.” Gerhard cleared his throat. “Has she suggested otherwise?”
“Somewhat forcefully.”
“Well, we can deal with that straightaway. It’s a splendid boat you have there. If you feel you wouldn’t
be inconvenienced, I can’t think of anything more therapeutic than for you to take Mrs. Lescombe on a tour of the island.”
Anna caught sight of Barzel and Stange staring at Gerhard. The four young sailors eyed each other uncertainly. Anna realized that the two HVA agents shared their ignorance. Gerhard had been given a script. But he was departing from it.
He hadn’t betrayed her after all.
“You wouldn’t have any objections?” Roberts’ voice had lost some of its former harshness.
“None,” Gerhard said firmly.
In the ensuing silence Anna said, “I’d like to come. Thank you.”
“Tone …”
It was clear that the blonde in the bikini and Dr. Roberts made up a pair. She was looking at him bleakly, as though she suspected his sexual motives.
“Hold on, Gloria. Dr. Kleist, would you mind giving us a quick rundown on what exactly is wrong with Mrs…. Lescombe?”
“Lescombe, yes. Not in the slightest. She’s a successful barrister, married to a senior civil servant. She’s been undergoing therapy with me, on and off, for several years. Recently she suffered a series of blackouts, culminating in a serious fugue, personality dissociation and resultant acute depression, necessitating rest and absence of excitement. I invited her to stay with me here, with her husband’s permission. He’ll be joining us at the weekend, incidentally.”
“Mrs. Lescombe said her husband had been … said she’d been widowed.”
“Certainly not. A delusion.”
Roberts turned to Anna. “Mrs. Lescombe, do you
suffer from delusions? How much of what Dr. Kleist has just said do you agree with?”
She couldn’t think how to answer. Some of it was true, yes, but … she scrutinized Gerhard, trying to fathom his mind.
What did he really want her to do?
“Most of it’s right,” a voice said. Only seconds later did she realize that it must have been hers.
As Roberts turned back to Gerhard the smile on his face became friendly, less formal. “And Dr. Barzel—what role does he play in all this?”
“He is a professional colleague of many years’ standing, who some months ago arranged to spend his summer vacation at my villa. By a fortunate coincidence he happens to be the world’s foremost expert on fugue states. The circumstances are from our point of view ideal, as you can appreciate.” Gerhard spread his hands. “None of which need impede a day’s cruising in your company, should you be kind enough to agree.” He laughed nervously, with an oblique glance at Barzel. “I might even be tempted to come with you.”
He had them, they were his. For the first time Anna noticed the second girl, a brunette in a black one-piece bathing costume that looked as if it had been sprayed from a can onto her hourglass figure. She was staring at Gerhard with a star-struck kind of gaze that Anna recognized. She had contended with it in restaurants across London, in theater foyers, opera boxes, concert halls, while walking, while talking, in the act of raising a glass to her lips. Certain kinds of women always adored Gerhard Kleist, particularly the kind that saw how he could wrap them around his little finger, and wanted it.