Little Grey Mice (34 page)

‘We'll go soon,' he decided.

So he didn't want to make love to her here. Elke believed she was relieved but still wasn't sure. ‘If you say so,' she agreed at once. Then frowned, abruptly. ‘But how? How do we get back into the town?'

Reimann smiled his crooked-tooth smile at her, glancing at his watch. ‘I promised the taxi driver a ten-mark bonus if he came back for us at three.'

Elke smiled back admiringly, thinking how completely capable he was in everything. ‘How did you know you'd want to leave by three?'

‘I did,' he said, decisive again.

‘Afraid you might be bored by then!'

He came forward, to kiss her again, and said: ‘I was never afraid of that. And don't seek compliments!'

‘I like compliments.'

‘You're very beautiful.'

‘And you're very handsome.'

Just
like a bad film, thought Reimann. He stood, pulling on his shirt, with seeming disregard – but in fact with careful intent – unzipping his fly to tuck it into his jeans, hinting an already accepted intimacy between them. He kissed her again when he held both her hands to bring her up from the blanket, refolding it into the backpack. They walked slowly, hand in hand, back to the top of the hill and then easily made the descent. They only had to wait ten minutes for the taxi to return.

They hardly talked on the river ferry but sat close together, thigh against thigh. In the car going to Kaufmannstrasse Reimann said: ‘We're hardly dressed to go out again, for dinner, are we?' He'd determined on the picnic for the clothes they would necessarily have to wear to create precisely such a situation, so they could remain in her apartment that night once they'd returned to it.

‘I'm not hungry,' said Elke, surprised at her own obviousness.

‘I'm not, either.'

‘We can simply stay in then?'

She was actually dictating the pace, Reimann realized, amused at her effort. ‘I'd like that.'

Poppi scurried and yapped around them as soon as they entered the apartment, and Elke said: ‘I should take him out,' the irritation clear in her voice.

He's not going to be an interference for much longer, thought Reimann. He said: ‘Why don't I do it, while you settle in?'

‘There's no need to go far,' she said.

‘I won't.'

Alone in the apartment Elke considered changing but decided against it, after the remark in the car. She remembered Ursula's photographs and put them in the dressing-table drawer as she had done before, although more fully concealed beneath the underclothes. She didn't speak aloud this time, just thought. Not ashamed. Not hiding her away. Simply a question of things being put in the correct order. Tell him first: explain. Then show him the photographs. That was the way: the correct order.

Reimann hauled the dog along at the end of its leash on the street outside, standing impatiently when it tugged to a stop, to relieve itself. ‘I've got a surprise for you soon,' Reimann talked down to it, kind-voiced. ‘A big surprise.' The dog pawed up against his leg, scratching for attention. Reimann ignored it, hauling it back towards the apartment. He decided it would have to be quite ordinary, basic missionary position stuff, that night with Elke. He didn't want to offend or frighten her. There had to be a gradual introduction into other more adventurous things. He'd make her like it, all of it. She was going to have to become extremely dependent on sex.

‘I've broken out some ice, in case you wanted whisky,' said Elke, when he got back to the flat. They stood in the living-room, staring at each other.

‘I don't think so,' he said.

‘No,' she accepted.

‘Can I get anything for you?' It was important he treat the flat as if he had every right from the beginning.

‘No,' she said.

‘I'm not going home,' he announced.

‘All right.'

‘Do you want me to?' She had to come close to asking.

‘You know I don't.'

Reimann led her to the bedroom and when he kissed her, by the bed, felt the tremble moving through her. He left the light off, sure she would want the darkness tonight, undressing her by feel and quickly, not trying for any erotic slowness. He undressed quickly himself, but once in bed beside her he changed the pace, aware how much she needed to be soothed into soft acceptance.

As Elke was aware. She lay stiff, rigid, and couldn't stop herself doing it, legs tight together, arms glued to her sides. Do something! she mentally screamed at herself. Move! Respond! Go towards him! Do something! She
was
dry: so very dry. It was going to hurt.

Reimann was patient, coaxing. For a long time he did nothing but kiss her, moving his lips to her face and her hair and her lips before going to her neck and her shoulders. There was a shudder and the smallest of whimpers when he gently trapped her nipple, with his lips at first, until it swelled large enough to bite, still gently, with his teeth. He held it in his teeth then, bringing his tongue back and forth and back and forth, hearing a louder mewing from above and feeling her stiffness seep away.

So good! Oh dear God, so good! She felt as if her skin was burning with pain, every nerve stinging and hot. Why didn't he bite harder! She wanted him to hurt her more. His hand was there! She could feel his finger, hard yet gentle and not trying to go in. Moving slowly, deliciously, wonderfully outside on the bud –
her
bud – but better, so much better, than when she did it herself. Different. Harder, please harder. Just a little. That's right. Like that. Perfect.

She was soft, pliable now. Reimann was sure he could do anything with her – to her – but again decided not to, not tonight. She had her hand at his head, forcing him against her breast, and her legs were splayed in invitation. He didn't take it, not yet. He taunted her, taking his finger from her clitoris to her dimple and back again, up and down, up and down until she snatched at his hand with hers, holding it between her legs where she wanted it.

Wet. She was soaking wet, flooding. So it wouldn't hurt. Couldn't hurt. She wished he'd hurry. Should she hold him? Did he want her to do that? Expect it? She had her hand on his, still holding him between her legs: he could show her whatever he wanted. Do nothing: let him guide, in everything. That's what she wanted, him always
to guide
her: tell her what to do. Elke heard herself moan, a low, near-animal sound, and didn't care, all control practically gone.

When he mounted her it was almost too late. They slid together beautifully, no pain, no hurt. She knew every moment of every thrust, erupting up to meet him, never wanting the sensation to end, never wanting him to pull away, trying to contract herself to hold him in, trapped forever. Marvellous – incredibly – he didn't attempt to withdraw but kept moving, not letting her fade. She came again, lifted beyond herself: beyond her body and the bedroom and where she was. Beyond everything.

Much later, after Reimann had caressed her and played with her and finally coaxed her down, exhausted, Elke said: ‘I have never been so happy: so complete and so happy, never in my entire life!'

She hadn't been a bad fuck at all, judged Reimann: with training she could become reasonably good.

Jutta, who knew about the meeting, drove several times past the Rochusplatz apartment: once, in between, she actually stopped to eat by herself in a cafe she chose for no other reason than that it was brightly lighted and stood on the road along which she was so continuously driving and from the cars parked outside appeared popular. The veal tasted like cardboard.

She made her last check on Reimann's apartment at midnight. To get home she went intentionally along the Kaufmannstrasse, picking out the Mercedes long before she reached the parking bay.

So it had happened: was probably happening, right now. A job, she told herself. Otto was doing a job. It meant nothing. So why was she doing this, ignoring every instruction she'd received in Moscow?

‘It's got to be a salary increase,' Sorokin decided, looking down at the print-out the Soviet computer experts had extracted from Elke's bank account.

‘There's no doubt,' Turev agreed. ‘The deposit is on the same day and the sorting code is identical, from the West German Treasury'.'

‘Four hundred and fifty Deutschmarks is a substantial increase,' said Sorokin, reflectively.

‘For what?' Turev asked. ‘Why has Elke Meyer been given such a salary increase?'

Chapter Twenty-Four

Reimann had woken during the night and considered waking Elke, too – (
women like being awakened after the first time and taken again quickly: makes it seem less of a one-night stand.
The lecturer had been a woman) – but hadn't because there were so many other ways to convince Elke this wasn't going to be a passing affair. He came to the second time initially without any indication of having done so, eyes closed, still breathing deeply, listening and sensing, sure even before he opened his eyes that it was morning. He guessed it was still early from the paleness of the light filtering through the curtains. Elke had moved, while they slept: she lay on her stomach, one leg sprawled across his, so that his thigh was tight into her crotch. It was wet. Her hair was tangled and there were several tiny globules of mascara on her eyelashes: her skin was slightly translucent, so that he could see the faint blueness of a vein near her forehead. Now that it was morning it was important he did nothing to disturb her. She had to wake up herself, momentarily unsuspecting, to find him in her bed: then remember, at once, holding his hand between her legs and crying out and pulling him into her. And know she had to face him in the coldness of day.

Reimann looked away, around the bedroom, curious what personal secrets he'd find when he looked. Evidence of the child? It was interesting there was nothing immediately obvious. Perhaps something connected with the father? He doubted that, in the circumstances of her being abandoned. Too much – far too much – to hope there'd be anything remotely official from the Chancellery, but there might be something – photographs of a government social occasion, for instance, which could include Günther Werle or a minister – that could have its use. He'd have soon to manipulate an opportunity to be here by himself. But other, more pressing things first. He was confident by now that he was actually correct in anticipating how she'd react, but today he couldn't guess, not at all. It was going to be a revealing test.

Elke made a sound beside him, a tiny groan, and Reimann closed his eyes, feigning sleep. She began to move languorously, her leg remaining across him, still slumbering. At once there was a tenseness at the sensation of a presence – his presence – beside her. He sensed the slight lifting of her head from the pillow as she looked at him, and then another urgent movement. She would have turned her head away: be lying so he couldn't see her face, her own eyes wide open though, trying to work out a morning-after manner. Gently, almost imperceptibly when it began, she eased her splayed leg off him.

Be natural, Elke told herself. Don't behave as if she were embarrassed or ashamed to find him there: last night had been the most wonderful thing that had happened to her. But wasn't there a danger, in doing that? If she were too casual he might think she took men into her bed all the time, that she was easy. Somewhere in between then. Not embarrassed, but not dismissive either. There was nothing wrong – she wouldn't be showing any naivety or weakness – in letting him know how special it had been for her. She hoped it had been special for him. She thought it had but she wasn't completely sure. He could have been pretending. He was considerate enough to do that: pretend it had been good if he was really disappointed.

Almost the moment for the charade to commence, assessed Reimann: the shift of someone coming through to consciousness, the hesitation of surprise, the whispered recognition. He felt her try to edge further away from him to part their nakedness. He turned towards her, defeating the effort, with apparent, sleeping instinct putting his arm over her shoulder to stage his own supposed startled awareness of where he was and who was with him. Wait a moment: one, two three … ‘Hello.'

‘Hello.' Her head was still away from him, her voice muffled.

‘You all right?'

‘Yes.' Actually she felt slightly sore. Not a positive discomfort, a reminder of what had happened. A delightful reminder.

Reimann moulded his body into hers, cupping her breast fully in his hand. ‘No regrets?'

‘No.'

‘Sure?'

‘Why should there be?'

‘I'm glad there aren't.' He could have written the words for her.

The fear of disappointing him was still with her. ‘What about you?' she made herself ask.

Reimann kissed where her neck went into shoulder and said: ‘It was fantastic. And I liked waking up next to you.'

Elke had liked it, too. After that momentary shock, the lingering uncertainty of failing him, there'd been the good feeling: she felt satisfied, complete. It was even better, now that he was holding her as he was. And now he'd said he wasn't disappointed. There was so much to think about, to take in and believe, but she didn't want to think about anything: just stay here, having him hold her. It was
so
good. His fingers began to move against her nipple, which was even better, and she shifted, to make it easier for him.

‘Turn over,' he said. Today's experiment had to be after making love to her: a matter of timing.

‘All right.' She almost shut her eyes, as she turned, but realized how foolish that would be.

Straight, like last night? He supposed so. The mascara globules were still on her eyelashes. ‘You're beautiful,' he said.

His probing finger was where she wanted it to be. A little bolder than before she moved her hand, to hold him: it thrilled her. ‘Is that all right?'