where she let Ilse take the lead. Ilse had the feeling that the woman's
arm was but a fraction of an inch behind her own, ready to seize her if
necessary. The long.
hall opened into a large gallery, which in turn gave onto two more
beyond, each great room joined by means of a wide arch. Ilse gasped.
As far as she could see, the walls were lined with paintings. She knew
a little about art, but the works she saw in the first room required no
training to appreciate. The strokes of the great masters speak to a
part of the psyche deeper than thought, and these were no reproductions.
Each canvas glowed with immanent passion; Ilse's eyes danced from
painting to painting in wonder.
'My God,' she murmured. 'Where are we?'
Linah caught hold of Ilse's arm and tugged her along like an awestruck
child. Even the marble floors bore their share of the treasure.
Classical sculptures, some over twelve feet high, rose like marble
ghosts from pedestals in the center of each room. Ilse noticed that no
work in any of the rooms seemed modern. Nothing had the asymmetrical
distortions of Picasso, the geometric puzzles of Mondrian, or the
radically commonplace ugliness of the 'sculpture' so common in Berlin
office parks. Everything was soft, romantic, inwardpulling.
Had she not been so stunned, she might have noticed that all the oh .
ets d'art-pgyptian and Greek sculpture, paintings from Holland, Belgium,
and France-had come from countries plundered behind the merciless boot
of the Wehrmacht during the 'thirties and 'forties. But she didn't
notice. She simply stared until the dazzling exhibition ended and she
found herself in the dark, wood-paneled billiards room where Pieter
Smuts and the young Englishman had finished their second game.
'Well, take your bloody winnings!' Lord Gren, snapped.
'Don't mind if I do,' Smuts retorted, grinning. He pocketed the crisp
fifty-pound note that the Englishman handed over as casually as a
wrinkled fiver.
'Herr Smuts?' Ilse said. 'Herr Horn wishes you to join him.'
The Afrikaner's smile faded as he hurried into the hallway.
'Up for a game, Friiulein?' the Englishman asked, tilting his cue
toward Ilse.
'It's Frau,' Ilse corrected coldly. 'And I'd prefer to return to my
room.'
As Linah turned to lead her out, Ilse got the impression that the'Bantu
woman approved of her decision not to remain. But as she followed the
housekeeper out, she felt a light touch on her arm.
'Why not stay a moment?' whispered the Englishman. 'It might do
wonders for your husband's health.'
Ilse froze. Without even thinking, she told Linah that she'd changed
her mind. She would play one game before she retired.
The tall Bantu eyed the Englishman warily through the door. 'I watch
for Madam in the hall,' she said. 'You come soon.'
'Soon,' Ilse promised, closing the door.
'What do you know about my husband?' she asked pointedly.
'Not so fast, Fraulein.' The Englishman racked the balls for another
game. 'Why don't you try being friendly? Since we're the only two
civilized people in this godforsaken place.'
'What do you mean?'
'What do you think I mean? Couldn't ygu tell at dinner?
They're mad as hatters, both of them! I'm almost mad myself from
listening to them. I'm also the only chance you have of getting
yourself and your husband out of here alive.
Break.'
Ilse took a cue from the wall, walked to the table and opened the game
by sinking the one and the five. She didn't know what to make of the
arrogant Englishman. She suspected this was a trick to extract
information from her, yet a voice deep inside her said to try to use
this man-to try anything that might help her escape.
'How did you come to be here?' she asked. 'I assume you weren't
kidnapped, like me?'
The Englishman chuckled. 'Not exactly.. But I wouldn't be averse to
leaving, I can tell you that. For some years now Herr Horn and I have
been involved in a very profitable business arrangement. Until recently
it's been mostly from a distance. Alfred knew my grandfather-William
Stanton, Lord Granville-before the war. I'm afraid my character runs a
bit differently than my grandfather's, though. My primary interest is
making money. Along with certain other distractions.'
'Her-r Horn is not interested in money?'
'Not for its own sake, no. He's very political. Fancies himself a
bloody Messiah, if you want to know. He and my grandfather did
something big in England during the war, though neither of them ever
told me what. Alfred has some kind of political agenda that dictates
every move he makes.
All very hush-hush. And very silly, if you ask me.'
'Does he ask you?'
The Englishman tried an extravagant bank shot and muffed it.
'No,' he said, 'he doesn't.'
'Lord Granville,' Ilse mused. 'Is that a real title?'
'Yes, actually. I really am a lord. My name is Robert Stanton, Lord
Granville. Call me Robert, if you like.'
'What about the other man?'
'The Afrikaner? Smuts? He's a commoner. A real bastard.'
Stanton chuckled. 'A real common bastard, that's him. He's Horn's
chief of security. I don't like him, but I stay clear of him, you know?
He'd like to cut my throat some dark night.'
'Why doesn't he?'
'Alfred protects me. Or he has up till now, at any rate.
But my protector's patience wears thin Ilse pocketed the three, nine and
fifteen before missing the seven in the side pocket.
'Very nice, Frdulein.' Stanton eyed Ilse's hips. 'Yes, I'm getting the
feeling that dear Alfred's use for me is rapidly coming to an end. And
I don't fancy waiting for the axe to fall.'
'Exactly what business are you and Herr Horn mT' Stanton sank the twelve
with a crack. 'Import-export.'
'IX what?'
