Return to Vienna Page 7

  “How come you’re invited?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be?”

  “Well, how did you know I was going? Or did Gretl tell you, and ask you to call for me on your way?” I was beginning to get muddled, trying to sort out the possibilities. “Was it her suggestion, I mean —or yours?”

  “Questions, nothing but questions! Does it matter? I’m here to take you, and you’re ready to go. So let’s get moving.”

  “But Steve . ..”

  He took my arm firmly and led me to the door. I felt too weak to argue anymore.

  Outside, the night air was cool. But in the car it was warm, and we seemed cozily cut off from the thronging life of the city. I had a foolish wish that we needn’t go to the Kolbingers’ at all, and that this drive with Steve could last all evening.

  At first he didn’t say much, concentrating on weaving through the dense traffic. Then, after we’d crossed over the Gurtel and were striking out toward Cobenzl, he relaxed a bit.

  “I’ll be driving you back, too, by the way. Let me know whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Steve,” I said, and left it at that.

  He began to ask me about my life in London. “I think I know Burton Square. I seem to remember a rather elegant facade of terraced houses with some nice iron railings at the front.”

  “Your memory is doing a glamorizing job. The whole district’s a bit down at heel these days, all peeling stucco and blistering paintwork. Rather sordid, really.”

  “Why didn’t you stay on at Exeter with your parents—at any rate for the time being?”

  I was glad to have something I could answer quite sincerely. “It just didn’t work out, somehow. They’re absolute darlings, of course, but they can’t seem to accept the fact that I’m grown-up now. And then, they were always talking about Max, or carefully not talking about him. You know what I mean.”

  “It sounds to me as if your poor parents couldn’t have done the right thing in your eyes, however hard they tried.”

  “That’s exactly it—they tried too hard. And I was wanting to put the past behind me, Steve. Not forget it, I don’t mean, but not be reminded of it at every turn, either. . . .”

  He cut across me with sudden ferocity. “So that’s why you came back to Vienna, I suppose!”

  I couldn’t leave it there. Silence would have meant guilt. I said defensively, “I’ve tried to explain to you. It’s difficult, I know.”

  “Yes, very difficult. Damn near impossible, I’d say.”

  “Steve!”

  “Pax!” He took one hand from the wheel and held it up, palm forward. “Don’t let’s start fighting again, Jessica. We’re going to a party, and it’s got to be fun and games from now on.”

  The Kolbingers’ home was all functional concrete, steel and glass; stark and square, not even touching its hat to Vienna’s favorite baroque. Yet it was itself already dated. I had never liked the place.

  Steve parked his Mercedes behind a string of other cars in the dead-straight tarmac drive, and we walked up to the house. There were lights on the paved terrace, and lots of talk and laughter.

  We were spotted right away, and Gretl came swooping toward us dramatically. She was dressed rather formally in a long gown of silver lame, glossy brown hair piled in a coil on the crown of her head. As she greeted me, her voice was more than usually guttural with emotion.

  “Jessica, liebling! How glad I am to see you again!” She took my hand and patted it affectionately. “My poor dear sweet! I want you to know how very courageous I think you are being.”

  “It’s nice to be back, Gretl.”

  She slid her arm companionably through mine and turned to Steve, giving him a somewhat amused smile. “I am happy you could come. It is Steve, nicht?”

  “That’s right—Steve.”

  “And do you not agree, Steve, that darling Jessica is being very brave?”

  He gave a tiny bow from the waist, which was directed at us both. “I have the highest opinion of her.”

  “I bet you have! But don’t try and monopolize her. You must let the other men have a chance.” Gretl laughed up at him dazzlingly, showing her perfect teeth. She was extremely attractive, and she knew all about that. “Also, Steve, it is only fair that you should give us other women a look-in, now that you have condescended to grace us with your presence.”

  He clicked his heels and bowed again, saying gravely: “It is an honor to be invited.”

  I felt annoyed with Steve for playing a flirting game with Gretl. For several tiresome seconds their eyes held, sparking with some inner amusement I did not share. In the end I said rather shortly and maybe a little rudely, “Let’s go inside and meet some of the others.”

  He waited, it seemed, for Gretl’s permission. Giving a tiny nod, she said, “Will you take Steve around for me, Jessica? You know everybody, so there is no need for introductions.”

  As Steve and I strolled away, I said crossly, “I thought you were supposed to have a low opinion of my friends.”

  “Well . . . ?”

  “You seemed to be very taken with Gretl.”

  There was no chance for Steve to answer that, even if he’d wanted. On all sides I was being greeted with squeals of delight, and most people even remembered to make a remark of sympathy about Max. Steve seemed to know a good many of the guests, but only slightly, and again I wondered how he came to be here this evening. I also wondered how I was going to be able to shake him off for a bit.

  It seemed quite a while before we squeezed through the crowd on the terrace and entered the house. The salon was a large square room furnished with a severe angularity. The total effect was about as modern and up-to-the-minute as Otto Kolbinger himself, who by now was rising fortyish.

  I spotted him at once, standing over by the bar nibbling a lump of cheese. He was a stout man, and growing bald, but he fought back with a pair of thick-framed glasses. On account of his important job in television, he was known as the Herr Direktor, which only half-pleased him, because it tended to spoil his trendy image.

  “Jessica!” he hailed me across the room. “Du lieber Gott! You are looking more ravishing than ever. Come over here.”

  I went, with Steve right behind me. Otto took me into a bear hug, kissing me boisterously on both cheeks. When he released me he glanced at Steve.

  “And this is . .. ?”

  “Steve Elliott. You may remember .. .”

  “Ach, so I do! He was Max’s invaluable assistant, I believe.”

  “As you say,” agreed Steve, his voice just a little on the dry side.

  Otto signaled the hired barman to come and attend to us. “You’ll have to excuse me for a tick. I see my latest dolly-girl find is in trouble. I’d better dash over and rescue the poor baby.”

  We watched him weaving across the width of the room to where a shrieking blond in a see-it-all top was fending off a clutch of men.

  Steve shrugged and turned to the bar, asking what I wanted to drink.

  It would have been nice to relax in Steve’s company, but I’d come here to mingle, and that was what I intended to do. I hung around for just a few moments sipping champagne. Then, with pointed vagueness, I muttered, “There’s somebody over there I want to ...”

  Firmly I walked away from him, thankful that he let me go. But as I floated from group to group, at first in the salon and afterward on the lantern-lit terrace, I was conscious of Steve’s eyes upon me.

  It was nearly half an hour later that Gretl came over and snatched me away from the bunch I was talking to.

  “There are some people I want you to meet. Come along.”

  Taking my hand, she led me right to the far end of the terrace, where a flight of shallow stone steps went down to the lawn. Half in shadow a man and a woman were sitting at a small garden table. The man got to his feet as we approached.

  There was none of Gretl’s usual bubbling gaiety as she introduced us, and I could tell that she regar
ded these two as important guests.

  “This is Herr and Frau Hellweg,” she said. “Leopold and Ilse. They so much wanted to meet you, Jessica, when they heard that you were here.”

  The names meant absolutely nothing to me. I smiled politely, saying I was happy to make their acquaintance.

  They seemed like a very suave couple, smooth and entirely self-possessed. He was tall and slimly elegant, with hair that was silvering at the temples—a man of perhaps forty-five or six. She was probably ten years younger. Tall and slim like her husband, Ilse Hellweg was a glittering example of the fascination of the really mature woman. Beside her I felt naive and colorless.

  It wasn’t simply a matter of clothes. My zingy yellow taffeta had come from an haute-couture shop in the Kartnerstrasse, costing Max a fortune. I knew it did things for me. But in her case it was she who did something for her dress, as she sat reclining gracefully on a garden seat.

  Leopold Hellweg bowed formally, took my hand, and put it to his lips. He murmured charmingly that it was an honor to meet me.

  At his wife’s invitation, I took a seat next to her. Gretl fluttered around us for a few uncertain moments, then begged to be excused to attend to her other guests.

  “You have nothing to drink, Frau Varley,” said Herr Hellweg. “Permit me to fetch you something.”

  “No, thank you, I’d rather not.”

  Ilse Hellweg’s voice was deep and musical. She said evenly: “Leopold and I knew your husband very well, my dear. I expect he mentioned us to you, nicht?”

  Leopold had sat down again and was studying me shrewdly across the table, while at my side his wife waited and watched.

  Leaping to conclusions, I felt certain that here was the contact I’d come to Vienna to make. It was all I could do not to hide my dismay, because from the first glance I had taken a strong dislike to both the Hellwegs.

  If only it could have been somebody I already knew and respected, good folk like Klara Hutyens and her husband, Bruno, for instance, then it might have helped me get a happier view of Max’s undercover work. But these Hellwegs had a diamond-hard look about them that made me think they’d be ruthless in pursuing whatever they wanted. And Max had worked with them—I was sure of it.

  Everything seemed suddenly to have gone very still. Here on the lawn we were at the outer fringe of the party, in the shadows, and the sound of talk and laughter drifted down from the terrace as if from far away.

  In a low voice Leopold Hellweg repeated his wife’s question. “Well, Frau Varley, did Max ever talk to you about us?”

  There was only one thing to do. If I’d been in Max’s confidence about those secret activities of his, I would certainly have heard of Leopold and Ilse Hellweg.

  “Of course,” I said softly. “Of course I knew about you.”

  I saw a swift exchange of glances before they each put on a friendly smile. As I looked quickly away, staring down at a withered leaf that had drifted onto the table, I was acutely aware of the tension between us—a tension partially eased, yet in some way actually redoubled.

  After a pause Leopold spoke in a voice that outwardly was sympathetic, “How very tragic that a fine man like Max should have lost his life to so little purpose! And just at a time when great things were expected of him. The accident could scarcely have happened at a worse moment.”

  “It was no accident,” I said impulsively, looking up.

  Again I saw the Hellwegs exchange glances, and this time they didn’t trouble to hide their surprise from me.

  Ilse said sharply, “Why do you say it was not an accident?”

  “Surely that’s quite obvious. Max was getting too dangerous to go on living, so they killed him.”

  “And who is this ‘they’ you speak of?” inquired Leopold.

  I felt utterly limp, and must have looked limp too - but it hardly mattered.

  I said steadily, “The Communists, of course.”

  “Ach, so!” Leopold’s eyes were staring deep into mine. “Perhaps they hoped to kill you, also?”

  “I imagine so. They nearly did.”

  I sensed Ilse’s attention swerve away from me to the terrace. Turning, I saw it was Steve. He came walking down the steps toward us, and it felt as if a cloud had passed over and the sun was shining again.

  “I’ve been wondering where you’d got to, Jessica.” There was a touch of reproof in his tone.

  Clearly he didn’t know the Hellwegs, nor they him. I introduced them because I had to. They gave small smiles to one another, smiles that were merely civilized tokens.

  Steve said cheerfully, “I’ve come to claim Jessica from you. They’re beginning to dance inside.”

  For the moment I couldn’t move, split down the middle with conflicting emotions. It seemed that Steve’s arrival on the scene was always to have this strange effect on me—pleasure so sharp that it was really delight, and anger with him for intruding on the job I’d come here to do.

  The anger had to take precedence. I said coldly, “But I’m talking to Herr and Frau Hellweg,

  Steve….”

  His casual cheerfulness was unruffled. “I’m sure they won’t mind if I kidnap you,” He glanced from one to the other of the Hellwegs. “It’s nothing special I’m breaking up, is it? I mean, not anything that can’t wait?”

  Hastily they insisted that our conversation was not of the slightest importance. They were merely, explained Leopold, offering me their condolences about Max.

  “You knew Max, then?”

  “A little,” said Leopold, and at the same moment Ilse put in, “We met once or twice.”

  “Funny that Max never mentioned you to me! But then, why should he have? We were really no more than business colleagues.” Steve took a firm grip on my elbow. “Come along, Jessica, I want to dance with you.”

  He led me up the steps and across the terrace toward the house. In the salon the record player was twisting out something slow with a throbbing beat to it. The lights were turned down, and several couples circled lazily.

  As Steve drew me into his arms, I burst out, “Why did you have to come barging in like that?”

  “But your friends assured me that I wasn’t breaking anything up.”

  “They were just being polite!”

  Steve lifted his eyebrows, doing a stagy act of looking surprised. “Now, that’s something I find very hard to credit! What was it you were so busy discussing, anyway?”

  “Oh, nothing “

  “But you’ve just accused me of barging in.”

  “Put it this way,” I said nastily. “What we were talking about was no business of yours.”

  Steve’s face darkened, and I knew that I’d hurt him. At once I longed to put things right between us, but I couldn’t. I dared not. Held close in his arms like this, I was in imminent danger of losing all sense of proportion, all sense of reason.

  My life was fast becoming a battle against Steve Elliott. Wondering desperately why I should feel this sudden intense attraction to him, a suspicion pricked me that it was maybe not so sudden after all.

  Quickly I thrust the disturbing thought away. But the stiffening of my body within his arms must have seemed to Steve like revulsion. Perhaps, in a way, it was a sort of revulsion—with myself.

  Chapter 8

  For the rest of the evening Steve stuck to me grimly. Once or twice I danced with other men, and each time Steve was there to claim me back again.

  He was sullen and disapproving as I tried to match the fun mood of those around us. There was a lot of noisy laughter, a lot of drinking, and every now and then a casually matched pair would go wandering off together. It was that sort of party. Come to think of it, at Gretl and Otto’s it was always that sort of party.

  It was still well before midnight when Steve announced flatly, “I’m taking you home now, Jessica. This is no place for you.”

  “But I’m not ready to leave just yet.” I’d seen nothing more of Leopold and Ilse Hellweg since I’d talked to them in the ga
rden. Now that I’d made this all-important contact, I had to follow it up. “I want to have another word with the Hellwegs before I go, Steve.”

  “They’ve already left,” he said promptly. “I spotted them nearly an hour ago, heading down the drive in a fantastic red Maserati.”

  I felt slightly faint. “They’ve left!”

  “Does it matter that much?”

  His gray eyes were narrowed as he watched me, and I tried to look indifferent. I told myself that maybe it wasn’t so terrible that the Hellwegs had quit. They must be every bit as interested in me as I was in them, and I didn’t really doubt that they’d be in touch again before long.

  “Well, come on,” said Steve. “Say your good-byes, and we’ll be off.”

  I made a last-ditch stand, resenting the way Steve was hustling me. “It’s early yet. . . .”

  His expression changed. He no longer looked completely sure of himself.

  “Jessica, please! Come with me now.”

  I knew suddenly that I wanted nothing more than to get away from the frantic gaiety of the party and be alone with Steve. I thought of clean cool air and soothing quiet, with only his voice. The picture was irresistible.

  “Give me five minutes, will you?”

  “Okay—five minutes.”

  Gretl, who had been sinking drinks like they were colored water, was pretty high by now. So was Otto. And so were most of the others. When I announced I was leaving, Gretl clutched at me tearfully, yelling that I mustn’t think of walking out on her so early. Then she seemed to forget I was there. We made our escape unnoticed.

  “Stoned!” said Steve in disgust. “Lovely people!”

  “It’s a party,” I said weakly. “You can’t blame them, once in a while.”

  He didn’t bother to answer.

  When we reached the main road, Steve turned right, away from Vienna and up toward the dark tree-swathed hills. I guessed he wanted to find a quiet spot where we could talk. The idea made me nervous, but I didn’t argue.

  Steve stopped on the Hohenstrasse, up by Cobenzl. He cut the engine and leaned back in his seat moodily. Vienna lay before us, glittering and quivering with a million lights. Away to the left was the wide, dark channel of the Danube. In the pale light of a crescent moon I could pick out the five spanning bridges, and I wondered which one had carried me to that secret rendezvous with Richard only a few hours ago.