do with Elsa’s lecture of the day before.
Physical training this morning involved our usual merry little five kilometre jog, followed by twenty minutes of sprints and press-ups. Todd only finally called a halt when one of the most unfit actually threw up. I think he’d been waiting for that as some kind of signal.
“If that’s what makes him let up on us, remind me to puke after about ten minutes tomorrow morning,” Jan said wearily as we hauled ourselves, groaning, up the staircase and headed for the showers. It might just have been the floor creaking as we traipsed along the corridors to our dormitory, but I wouldn’t have sworn to it.
A few minutes later I was standing under water as hot as I could bear it. As I let the stinging spray pummel the back of my neck I recalled my brief phone conversation with Sean the night before. He’d asked if I was getting on OK, coping with the regime. I was beginning to think that even my cautious yes might have been over optimistic.
I’d hesitated over ringing him so soon, as though I didn’t have enough to say to justify the call. His tone when he picked up seemed a little distant, and I’m not just talking about him being half a continent away.
I greeted him coolly and realised I could hear the same restraint in my own voice.
Still, when I’d filled him in on Gilby’s reaction to Elsa’s report on the Heidi Krauss kidnap, he’d seemed interested enough in that.
“I’ll get Madeleine onto it straight away,” he’d said. “I should have something for you the next time you call.”
“I didn’t know if it was relevant, but the way they clammed up, you never know.” I’d shrugged, feeling oddly pleased.
“No,” he’d said, “if there’s anything you think I should know, then call me. I need to talk to you regularly, Charlie. I need to know you’re OK, that nothing’s happened to you.”
My heart jumped, then I remembered Kirk. Of course, Sean was just protecting his interests. Keeping his conscience clear. “No problem,” I’d said, casual. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening, then?”
“Charlie, are you OK in there?” Elsa’s voice, just outside the shower curtain, made me jump back into the present with a start.
“Erm, yeah, fine,” I said, hastily rinsing shampoo out of my hair. “You head on down for breakfast. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I almost reached for the towel that I’d hung over the rail above me, just in case she pulled the curtain aside, but it wasn’t modesty that drove me.
I’d been very careful so far to make sure that I dressed away from the view of the other women, keeping my neck and upper body covered. I knew that if I didn’t do so, I would have to answer awkward questions about the number of scars I possessed, and their origin.
But how did I begin to explain about the one that curved a full five inches round the side of my neck from a point below my right ear to my Adam’s apple? How did I drop it lightly into the conversation that I’d got it fighting for my life against a madman who’d already committed murder and who’d been more than willing to do so again?
I’d thought of lying, telling people it was from an operation of some sort, but the line of it was too ragged for that to be believable. And then they start to wonder what you’re really trying to hide.
On the other side of the curtain I heard Elsa move away and close the bathroom door behind her. I sagged back against the tiles in relief, and wondered on the chances of getting through the entire two weeks at Einsbaden without having to explain what had happened to me.
I could only hope so.
***
When I arrived in the dining hall less than ten minutes later, I was alarmed to find the place almost empty.
“Where is everyone, Ronnie?” I asked one of the cooks who was expertly flipping fried eggs on the hot plate.
He grinned and jerked his head towards the front of the house. When I crossed to the window I saw a group of students and instructors clustered round a car that was just being unloaded from a transporter.
Our first class after breakfast was down as vehicle security, then we were into the driving. I checked my watch, but according to that I still had half an hour to go. Dammit. Another of their switched timetables.
I almost ran through the hallway, out through the front door and down the steps onto the gravel. I jogged across and nudged my way between the press of bodies.
When I got through I found they were just standing around like a group of eighteen-year olds when the oldest buys his first second-hand Vauxhall Nova SR. Nobody was doing anything interesting to the car. It was the car itself they were looking at.
I didn’t recognise the shape, but if it’s got more than two wheels any other details tend to pass me by anyway. Even your most amazing supercar can be out-dragged and outmanoeuvred by your most average superbike, at a fraction of the cost. I know where I’d rather spend my money.
I had to admit that this one had a certain brutish charm about it. The car was big and squat, in a metallic shade that looked expensive enough to qualify as platinum, rather than silver. Not wanting to show my ignorance, I craned my neck until I could see the badging on the rear end.
“But it’s a Nissan,” I said, and my voice must have well given away how nonplussed I was by this fact. I’d been expecting something a lot more exotic. Maserati at the very least.
“Do you know nothing, girl?” demanded Declan, who was nearest. The reverential tone in his voice was slightly scary. “This is a Skyline GT-R R34 V-SPEC.”
It was little more than an unlikely collection of letters and numbers to me. I shrugged. “What’s so special about it?”
A couple of the others sniggered. Declan rolled his eyes. “Two-point-six litres, twin turbos, computer- controlled four-wheel drive,” he listed, speaking slowly. He saw I wasn’t cottoning on and broke off, shaking his head. “Your man’s a lucky bastard, I’ll say that.”
“Whose is it?” I asked.
“Oh this is the Major’s new toy. Apparently he’s just had the engine tuned to over five hundred horsepower. The acceleration on this thing will be feckin’ stunning.”
I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic. My elderly quarter-litre Suzuki produced sixty-two brake horse. Multiply that up to two-point-six litres, and it came to the equivalent of a smidgen over six hundred. It wouldn’t work out like that in real life, of course, but the theoretical superiority made me feel better.
“You’re really not impressed at all, are you?” Romundstad commented with a smile. I recalled him mentioning that he’d done some ice rallying in Norway. “I’d have thought you’d be into all things mechanical, Charlie.”
I nodded my head across the gravel to where the black motorbike I’d seen the day before was parked at a rakish angle. “That,” I said, “is what impresses me. A Honda CBR900RR FireBlade. A hundred and thirty horsepower from less than one litre, bog standard. A hundred and eighty miles an hour top end. Something that takes real balls to ride to the limit.” I waved an arm to the Nissan. “Not something that has a computer doing it all for you.”
“Thank you for your comments, Miss Fox,” said the Major’s acidic voice from behind me. My heart sank. He weakened enough to allow sarcasm to creep in. “I’m sure we’re all utterly fascinated to hear your opinion.”
I turned to find Gilby approaching. And there was I thinking you couldn’t sneak up on anyone over gravel. He was eyeing me with all the favour of something he’d just scraped off his shoe. Behind him, Blakemore was glowering.
Gilby stalked past us and dealt with the transporter driver in rapid-fire German, signing paperwork and taking hold of a set of keys.
“Right, people,” he said then, his voice businesslike. “I would suggest you get yourselves fuelled up because in precisely twenty-three minutes you’ll need to be out here again and Mr Figgis will be taking you over vehicle security checks before we get you into the cars.”
We drifted away from the Nissan. Gilby climbed into it and slammed the door. Even I had to admit that the engine note had that throaty growl when he turned the ignition key.
Despite the four-wheel-drive system Declan had mentioned, as he set off the Major managed to kick up a shit-load of stones halfway across drive. Hmm, temper temper.
