My left forefinger tapped out the time on the base of my wineglass as five minutes extended into ten, into twenty, my attention ping-ponging between the stairwell and Rios Vilar.
Finally, Eduard’s tall frame re-emerged. While he looked, if possible, even more exhausted, he moved with his usual grace through the small room, stopping briefly to speak with a waiter, but ignoring the Portuguese men at the other table.
‘Apologies, Angel. Unfortunately, that was unavoidable.’
He squeezed my shoulder as he slid past me, and then paused.
‘Problem?’ I couldn’t stop myself from asking, fingers tightening around the sgian dubh.
He hummed a non-response, his eyes still at my shoulder. The scar, as usual, was covered, but had Köhler asked him about it? Well, if so let him. Even if Graf ever saw it, the timeline was off; this scar couldn’t be confused with a wound taken in June.
‘Eduard? Is everything OK?’
He met my eyes and offered an apologetic smile.
‘Certainly.’
Despite sensing Rios Vilar’s attention, I took a small sip of wine and raised an eyebrow, willing him to fill the silence with an explanation.
His half-smile acknowledged my tactics and allowed me a small victory.
‘There was a risk that Herr Köhler wished to discuss with me.’
Another sip, this one larger. ‘And?’
A small shrug. ‘I do not think it is important – he did.’ He held up a hand to stop further questioning. ‘That is all I can tell you.’
All he could tell me, or all that he was willing to tell me with Rios Vilar and his men sitting a few feet away? He smiled, but the tension didn’t abate.
My hand brushed the hilt of the sgian dubh as glanced across the room, meeting the Portuguese man’s eyes. Between him, the grey-haired man, and the blasted soirée at Bendixen’s villa, it wasn’t likely to abate any time soon.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Three risks that I knew of, and that didn’t include the attempt on my life at the monastery; of the three, Köhler was the easiest one to mitigate. I could eliminate him. I could find out where he lived and make him disappear. However, while that would get rid of the man, it would shine a light on the problem. I had no choice but to watch the situation, and take action only when I was in direct danger.
My reflection didn’t reveal any hints of anxiety. The Balenciaga dress brought out the green of my eyes and was complimented by an emerald and diamond necklace won from Laura’s husband in a game of baccarat. I looked calm and confident. Ready.
I breathed in the night air. Roses and jasmine, undercut by the ozone that preceded a good storm. I closed the balcony’s French door and turned on the wireless in time to hear the BBC newsreader commenting on the combined initiative between the RAF and the USAF in bombing Hamburg.
It was a storm of a different sort, and while I couldn’t help but pity the people of Hamburg, I hoped that this show of force, this co-ordination with our allies, might bring about a quick end to this blasted war.
Maintaining a polite chatter on the drive to Bendixen’s villa, I kept my opinions to myself. Eduard downshifted the BMW and passed through a high wooden gate, nodding to the sentry who waved us through. There were two villas ensconced behind the barricade. The lights blazed in the first, but her twin shimmered from behind closed shutters.
‘Welcome to Villa Girasol,’ Eduard murmured.
‘Who lives in the other villa? I can’t imagine your safety-conscious friend happily living so close to someone else.’
‘Certainly not. He has tenancy over Villa Bem-me-Quer as well.’
One man, with two large villas. I’d bet the second villa was where he based his operations. He wouldn’t trust the leaks in an office any more than Matthew did. I would have to find an opportunity to investigate.
‘Stop looking so grim, Angel. It’s a party,’ he said, helping me from the car as the valet looked on. ‘At least try to pretend you don’t dislike our host.’
‘I don’t dislike Herr Bendixen. I’ve only met him once.’
He hummed a non-reply and led me through the grand foyer, past heavy chandeliers and oil paintings, into a ballroom lit by countless candles. Familiar and unfamiliar faces, flushed with too much drink, nodded to us. With the exception of the Spanish countess, who glared at me.
Standing beside Schüller, she was splendidly dressed. Her gown, the colour of a good burgundy, brought out faint red highlights in her dark hair. A filigreed torque encrusted with rubies, pearls and garnets clung to her slender throat, reminding me of a cuirass I’d seen in a museum.
‘Good evening, Countess. Herr Major,’ Eduard said, polite as ever.
‘Frau Verin, how lovely you look.’ Schüller bowed to kiss my hand.
Laura’s smile reminded me of a shark’s. ‘I was sorry to hear about Hamburg being bombed, Eduard. I do hope your wife’s family is safe.’
Wife? I’d never seen a ring on his finger; the only jewellery he wore was a Cartier wristwatch. Married. Christ almighty, did he have children as well? Clearly they were the they he’d asked Neumann about.
Why should I be upset? He wasn’t my lover, just a man that, as Solange Verin, I stepped out with. A convenience. A useful addition to my cover story, and someone to escort me into the right circles to perform my mission for Matthew. I shouldn’t be jealous. Wasn’t jealous. Was only curious. That was natural, wasn’t it?
His wife. What was she was like? Tall and blonde? Elegantly heartbroken that he was here? Did she know that he stepped out with other women? Maintained a dalliance while he was stationed abroad? Not only with me; that dalliance had gone a damn sight further with Laura.
What did
