She was not in his power the way she had once been, Wolff realized. The walls you build to protect you also close you in. Could he afford to defy her? If there had been a clear and immediate danger, yes. But all he had was a vague nervousness, an intuitive inclination to keep his head down. And Sonja might be crazy enough to betray him if she really got angry.
He was obliged to choose the lesser danger.
He got up from the bed, found a paper and a pen and sat down to write a note to Elene.
Chapter 17.
The message came the day after Elene's father left for Jerusalem. A small boy came to the door with an envelope. Elene tipped him and read the letter. It was short. 'My dear Elene let us meet at the Oasis Restaurant at eight o'clock next Thursday. I eagerly look forward to it. Fondly, Alex Wolff.' Unlike his speech, his writing had a stiffness which seemed German-but perhaps it was her imagination. Thursday that was the day after tomorrow. She did not know whether to be elated or scared. Her first thought was to telephone Vandam; then she hesitated.
She had become intensely curious about Vandam She knew so little about him. What did he do when he was not catching spies? Did he listen to music, collect stamps, shoot duck? Was he interested in poetry or architecture or antique rugs? What was his home like? With whom did he live? What color were his pajamas?
She wanted to patch up their quarrel, and she wanted to a' where he lived. She had an excuse to contact him now, but instead of telephoning she would go to his home.
She decided to change her dress, then she decided to take a bath first then she decided to wash her hair as well. Sitting in the bath she thought about which dress to wear. She recalled the occasions she had seen Vandam, and tried to remember which clothes she had worn. He had never seen the pale pink one with puffed shoulders and buttons all down the front: that was very pretty.
She put on a little perfume, then the silk underwear Johnnie had given her, which always made her feel so feminine. Her short hair was dry already, and she sat in front of the mirror to comb it. The dark, fine locks gleamed after washing. I look ravishing, she thought, and she smiled at herself seductively. She left the apartment, taking Wolff's note with her. Vandam would be interested to see his handwriting. He was interested in every little detail where Wolff was concerned, perhaps because they had never met face to face, except in the dark or at a distance. The handwriting was very neat, easily legible, almost like an artist's lettering: Vandam would draw some conclusion from that.
She headed for Garden City. It was seven o'clock, and Vandam worked until late, so she had time to spare. The sun was still strong, and she enjoyed the heat on her arms and legs as she walked. A bunch of soldiers whistled at her, and in her sunny mood she smiled at them, so they followed her for a few blocks before they got diverted into a bar.
She felt gay and reckless. What a good idea it was to go to his house-so much better than sitting alone at home. She had been alone too much. For her men, she had existed only when they had time to visit her; and she had made their attitudes her own, so that when they were not there she felt she had nothing to do, no role to play, no one to be. Now she had broken with all that. By doing this, by going to see him uninvited, she felt she was being herself instead of a person in someone else's dream. It made her almost giddy.
She found the house easily. It was a small French-colonial villa, all pillars and high windows, its white stone reflecting the evening sun with painful brilliance. She walked up the short drive, rang the bell and waited in the shadow of the portico.
An elderly, bald Egyptian came to the door. 'Good evening, Madam,' he said, speaking like an English butler.
Elene said: 'I'd like to see Major Vandam My name is Elene Fontana.'
The major has not yet returned home, Madam.' The servant hesitated.
'Perhaps I could wait,' Elene said.
'Of course, Madam.' He stepped aside to admit her.
She crossed the threshold. She looked around with nervous eagerness. She was in a cool tiled hall with a high ceiling. Before she could take it all in the servant said: 'This way, Madam.' He led her into a drawing room. 'My name is Gaafar. Please call me if there is anything you require.'
'Thank you, Gaafar.'
The servant went out. Elene was thrilled to be in Vandam's house and left alone to look around. The drawing room had a large marble fireplace and a lot of very English furniture: somehow she thought he had not furnished it himself. Every~ thing was clean and tidy and not very lived-in. What did this say about his character? Perhaps nothing.
The door opened and a young boy walked in. He was very good-looking, with curly brown hair and smooth, preadolescent skin. He seemed about ten years old. He looked vaguely familiar.
He said: 'Hello, I'm Billy Vandam'
Elene stared at him in horror. A son-Vandam had a son; She knew now why he seemed familiar: he resembled his father. Why had it never occurred to her that Vandam might be married? A man like that--charming, kind, handsome, clever-was unlikely to have reached his late thirties without getting hooked. What a fool she had been to think that she might have been the first to desire him! She felt so stupid that she blushed.
She shook Billy's hand. 'How do you do,' she said. 'I'm Elene Fontana.'
'We never know what time Dad's coming home,' Billy said. 'I hope you won't have to wait too long.'
She had not yet recovered her composure. 'Don't worry, I don't mind, it doesn't matter a bit ... 19 'Would you like a drink, or anything?'
He was very polite, like his father, with a formality that was somehow disarming. Elene said: 'No, thank you.'
'Well, I've got to have my supper. Sorry to leave you alone.'
'No, no ... to
'If you need anything, just call Gaafar.'
