Madman! Criminal madman!
Sharp twigs were jabbing at my face, catching my clothes. I was trembling violently. Beside me, half beneath me, Willi lay unmoving, and I wondered anxiously if he’d been hurt. Then he stirred and painfully struggled to his feet.
I held onto his arm, clinging to him, hoping to reassure him. Was it still possible, after such an unnerving experience, that I could persuade him to come to the chalet with me? He soon gave me my answer. His fingers gripped my wrist and he forced my hands away. He was gentle, but I could feel in him the determined strength of a man. I clutched him once more, despairingly, and again he removed my hands. I heard him fumbling around in the darkness for his bundle of brushwood, heard him hoisting it onto his back. And then he walked away from me without another glance.
In those moments of despair I felt there was no longer any kind of communication between myself and Willi. He had locked himself away from me now, through fear, and it would be a long, hard task to win back his confidence.
“Gail, what
have
you done to yourself?”
I had hoped to enter the Schloss unobserved, to slip up to my room and wash and change. I was still in a state of shock, my legs trembling, my whole body shaking, and I needed a chance to pull myself together before I met anyone. But as I entered the hall Sigrid emerged from the lift in her wheelchair. The pewter lantern shone down on me, and I couldn’t pretend that nothing was wrong.
I made a feeble attempt to smile. I’ve just had an argument with a car,” I said lightly. “I suppose the driver didn’t see me and I had to jump in the ditch.”
“Dear me. It didn’t touch you, I hope? Your cheek is scratched.”
“That’s nothing, I fell on some twigs.” I kept silent about Willi. It might be difficult to explain what I was doing with him at the roadside without relating the whole story, and I had a feeling that Sigrid wouldn’t approve. Besides, it was vital for me to see Willi again before I said anything to anyone else, in order to establish the identity of that other man, to discover
his
role in my father’s death.
Sigrid spun her wheelchair to the doors of the salon.
“Come and have a glass of cognac, my dear, you look as if you need it. And then I suggest a long soak in a nice hot bath. Would you like Ursula to bring dinner to your room this evening?”
“No, please don’t trouble, Frau Kreuder. I’ll be all right.”
In the salon I sat before the fire and stared at the darting tongues of flame. I saw again those headlights sweeping towards us, perilously near, turning the surrounding dusk into solid darkness. I heard again the car’s engine and the rush of tyres, only inches from where Willi and I had fallen.
Sigrid brought me cognac, glinting amber in a crystal goblet. The first sip was like fire, then I felt my trembling begin to ease.
“Did you see the car?” she asked me. “Could you identify it?”
I shook my head. “It was travelling too fast. Everything happened too quickly.”
“Yes, of course. But it’s shocking that anyone could be so careless. Was the driver intoxicated, do you think?”
“Very likely, I imagine.”
“He ought to be prosecuted, if only he could be traced. How exactly did it happen?”
I gave her a carefully edited version, and she exclaimed, “Thank heaven there was a gap in the wall. Otherwise ... it just doesn’t bear thinking about.”
The hot bath helped a lot. When I came downstairs again I felt much calmer. I had done my best to conceal the scratch on my face with make-up, but it still showed through in a sharp red line.
Anton and Raimund were both there already, and Sigrid had told them about my mishap. They both looked at me with concern.
“What were you doing on that stretch of road?” Anton asked.
“Just walking.”
He seemed surprised. Disapproving, I thought.
“Were you alone? If you had a witness, there might possibly be a chance of tracing the car.”
“There was no witness,” I said steadily.
He gave me an odd look, as if he didn’t believe me and was wondering why I’d lied. But Raimund merely laughed.
“That’ll teach you to wander around on your own after dark, Gail.”
Sigrid frowned reprovingly. “You shouldn’t make a joke of it, Raimund. But he’s right, Gail, you really must take more care in future. It
is
unwise to walk on the roads after dark.”
“It was hardly after dark, just twilight,” I protested, resenting their implication that I myself had been partly to blame.
In the salon after dinner Karl came in bearing a white telephone with its cord in a neat coil. Herr Schiller was on the line, he announced. Would Frau Kreuder take the call in here? She nodded, and he plugged in for her.
Sigrid spoke in English, which she normally did when I was around. A frown appeared on her brow as she listened, and I watched her fingers pinching up a crease in the folds of her purple silk gown.
“But I told you ... no, I am quite sure. Please do as I ask, Ernst.” Her gaze flickered towards Anton, met his, and fell quickly away. ‘Thank you, yes, we are all well. Poor Gail has had rather a shock this evening ... a drunken driver. She might easily have been killed.” Sigrid answered his question about where it happened, assuring him that I was unharmed. “No, Ernst, we haven’t informed the police. There would be no point, would there, when we can give them no information? Yes, I will tell her.
Wiedersehen.
Oh, just one moment ... I think Anton wants to speak to you.”
In fact Anton wanted to speak to Helga. And when she came on the line he spoke in German. Half listening to him, Sigrid told me that Ernst had said if I happened to remember anything about the incident, to let him know at once and he would take the matter up.
“It’s kind of him to offer,” I said, “but I’m sure I won’t, because I just didn’t see any more than I’ve already told you.”
Raimund, I noticed, was listening to what his half-brother was saying on the phone with an expression of growing astonishment. This was explained when Anton replaced the receiver.
“I was asking Helga if she’d like to come to Geneva tomorrow, Gail. It would be nice if we could make up a foursome. Raimund and I have to go there on business, and ...”
“I thought you said it would be a waste of time,” Raimund cut in. “So what’s happened to make you change your mind?”
Anton didn’t mask his impatience. “What I actually said was that
you
wouldn’t have the time. That was when I expected I’d still be in America and everything would be on your shoulders. But now that I’m back and things at the silk mill are reasonably straight, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go to Geneva.”
“But I’ve got a date in the evening,” Raimund objected.
“Then cancel it. This is business.”
Perhaps to forestall a disagreement between her son and stepson, Sigrid intervened by explaining to me that there was to be a fashion show in Geneva next day.
“Lafay’s, one of our top couture houses, is exhibiting a summer collection,” she said, “and they will be making a feature of Kreuder silks. If it wasn’t that air travel upsets me, I would have very much liked to go myself.”
“I
see.” I glanced at Anton. “I hope you’re not thinking of this trip purely on my account?”
“Not at all, but I thought you’d be interested. I know Helga will enjoy it, and she’s agreed to come. What do you say?”
I hesitated, thinking of Willi. If I went with them to Geneva tomorrow, I’d not be able to see him until the following day. But I could hardly refuse this invitation without appearing churlish.
“I’d love to come,” I said.
Anton nodded. “Good, then it’s settled. We’ll make an early start.”
“And I advise you, Gail,” added Sigrid, “to go to bed early. You still look pale. I’ll give you one of my sleeping pills—they’re very mild—and it will help you to get a good night’s rest.”
But it didn’t help. In fact I lay awake far into the night. And when I finally dropped off, my sleep was disturbed by images of blazing lights and a rush of sound, so real, so vivid, that once I suddenly sat up in bed, shocked into wakefulness.
By morning, I felt so drained that a trip to Geneva seemed the very last thing I wanted to do.
* * * *
It was a crisp, bright morning. Beyond the balustrade the lake was ruffled by a skittish breeze, the water stained pale apricot by the early sun. I had come out of doors to breathe the fresh air and try to shake off the lassitude of a restless night.
By my watch there was still over half an hour to go before Anton and Raimund would be calling back for me. According to Ursula, they had departed for the silk mill first thing. It was typical of Anton, I thought, not to permit the wasting of a precious working minute. I was only surprised that he’d decided both he and his brother could afford to take most of a day off for this fashion show.
The gardener’s truck was parked in its usual place, and it made me think again of Willi. If I used my car I would just have time to go up to the chalet to see if by chance he was there. It seemed worth a try. As I backed the Fiat out of the garage I knew that Josef was watching me, leaning on the handle of his besom broom. I refused to acknowledge him, not daring to trust my temper.
The drive up the rutted track took scarcely three minutes. As I stepped out of the car by the chalet I was disappointingly aware, with that curious instinct I seemed to have acquired where Willi was concerned, that he wasn’t here. All the same, I went inside and glanced around. The usual tidiness greeted me, yet I sensed that things were not precisely as they should be. Then I remembered the carvings, the boat and the three figures, which Willi had dropped when his father had come storming in. Where were they now?
My eyes scanned the room. I went to the corner cupboard and opened it. Willi’s other carvings were still there on the shelf, but not the ones I was searching for. Nor were they in any of the other cupboards. So Willi must have returned, last night or earlier on this morning, and removed them. Why? Why?
From fear of his father, perhaps? Or fear of the man who was symbolised by that third crudely carved figure? Three people ... Benedict Sherbrooke, Valencienne Kreuder—and who else?
The minutes were slipping by, and I had to leave. Outside I hesitated, aware of a movement among the fir trees behind the chalet. Peering into the gloom, I saw Willi’s cat staring back at me, its eyes a sullen, sulphurous yellow. I advanced towards it, calling encouragingly and holding out my hand. But it retreated, body arched, lips stretched in a snarl as it spat hatred. This time there was no coaxing it into friendship.
Was Willi there too, hidden somewhere among the pines, watching me? I shouted his name, over and over again—pointless, of course, to a boy unable to hear. There was no response, and only a breathing stillness in the wood after the little cat— with a sudden bound—had vanished rustling into a patch of last year’s dead bracken.
I had no more time to spare. I returned to the Fiat and bumped down the track as fast as I dared. I was crossing the main highway when I saw Anton’s blue Mercedes approaching the turning. He followed on my tail as I drove through the gates of the Schloss and continued on into the courtyard. The moment I was out of my car he came striding over to me, a dark frown on his face.
“We have to leave in five minutes, Gail. You were supposed to be ready and waiting.”
“Well, I
am
ready.”
He didn’t like being put in the wrong. “All the same, you’ve cut it rather fine. Where have you been?”
“If you must know,” I said coolly, “I just stopped by the chalet to see if by chance Willi was there.”
“And was he?”
“No.”
Anton’s frown deepened and his lips went taut. “You seem to be obsessed with the boy. But you’re not doing him a kindness, you know, by trying to befriend him. He’ll only miss you when you’re gone.”
When you’re gone.
Those words again, they sounded so chilling. Once more I felt a pang of dismay at the thought of leaving Switzerland. Who, except Willi, would miss me when I went away? Would Anton? Or would he be thankful to see the back of me? Since that episode on the mountain there had been a wariness between us, and I sensed that he found my presence here an embarrassment to him. Was that the reason, I wondered guiltily, why I felt so anxious to build a relationship with Willi, because I knew in my heart that nobody else would really care whether I stayed or whether I left?
In a mood of defiance, I said, “I feel that Willi
needs
a friend, even if I am only here for a short while longer.”
Anton sighed impatiently. “I believe that within his limitations Willi is contented. He’s well cared for by his aunt and uncle.”
“And his father?”
The smoke-grey eyes were steady as they met mine. “If I found out that Josef was ill-treating Willi in any way, he wouldn’t keep his job. I’m sure he knows that.” He glanced around as another car drove up. “Good, here’s Raimund. We’ll get moving right away.” Almost as an afterthought, he added in a gentler voice, “How are you feeling this morning, Gail? Still shaken up?”
“I feel a lot better than I did.”
He studied my face. That scratch is scarcely visible now. The day out should do you good.”
* * * *
We flew first class to Geneva, and I was given a conducted tour of the city. Raimund was as cheerful as a schoolboy let out on a surprise half-holiday, and even Helga managed a thin smile at me from time to time. Anton seemed abstracted, though, as if he had something worrying him.
We lunched, magnificently, at one of the lakeside restaurants. Reflections of sunlight on water danced across the ceiling, and somewhere in a distant room a pianist played waltzes by Lehar and Strauss.
And then by taxi to the House of Lafay.
The mirrored salon, all powder-puffy Pompadour with decorated woodwork and crystal chandeliers, dainty little gilt chairs and bowls of hothouse roses, was already crowded to overflowing.
We were greeted by the elderly Madame Lafay herself, looking superbly elegant, unperturbed by the panics and battles of temperament that I guessed were raging behind the scenes. I felt the vibrant impact of her personality as she sized me up in one swift glance, my British nationality, my off-the-peg outfit of pleated cream skirt and black velvet blazer, my total lack of importance to her.