My mouth went dry. I tried to fashion a plausible excuse, but came up blank.
His voice lowered. ‘Do you know why I left the car in front of your house? Do you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I thought they were after me. I did not know if they’d cut a line to the brakes. If I would not be able to stop and would continue down the hill and into the Atlantic.’
Cold sweat prickled my skin. I hadn’t considered that his car might have been sabotaged – hadn’t thought of any risks. I just knew I had to follow Allen-Smythe.
‘Did you even think of that?’
‘Eduard . . .’
‘Of course not. You do not think before you act. You simply assume everything will be fine. But that has not always been the case, has it?’
I had no idea he’d read me so well.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘So you hot-wired my possibly sabotaged car and drove to São Jorge for the fun of it?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Stop lying!’
He took one step towards me. Swivelled, and drove his fist into the wall. I stared at him. This quiet man, this gentle man, was incandescent. At me. And didn’t care who heard it.
‘Please keep your voice down.’ I glanced meaningfully at the door.
Furious, he stormed to the door and locked it, but when he spoke, his voice was again low and measured.
‘I am a fool. I should know no one is who they say in this damned city.’ He looked to the ceiling and took a deep breath before staring into my eyes. ‘You were there to meet Harrington, and I would like to know why.’
It felt stupid to do so, but I still asked who he was referring to. His look was answer enough.
‘I know you were there,’ he grated. ‘What I want to know is why you were meeting him.’
‘Eduard, I swear, I wasn’t meeting anyone. Not your Harrington, not Salazar, not anyone.’
He stared at me for a few moments. Then leant forward, one arm on either side of my bound ribs, his face a breath from mine.
‘Then why did he scream “Lisbet” as you fell?’
Chapter Thirty-two
Matthew’s carelessness had all but confirmed that I was an English spy. How could I rationalise the irrational? Especially when Eduard was fully justified in feeling betrayed.
He waited for my answer, but all I could think of saying was: ‘Why on earth would he do that?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know.’
Keep as close to the truth as you can . . .
‘Fine. You’ve accused me of acting on impulse, and you’re right. I was walking up from the beach, and stopped for a cup of coffee. I saw one man leave with another man’s briefcase.’ I shrugged. ‘I called out, telling him of his error, and when he didn’t respond, I went after him.’
‘You knew something wasn’t right, and yet you followed.’
‘Ah. Yes. Sounds rather silly, doesn’t it?’
‘Without wondering who he was meeting or whether he’d be armed. Who he was working for or where he was going. How insane are you?’
‘Insane enough to be certified. Clearly.’ Which of course would be better than jailed or dead. ‘Why were you there?’
‘I finished a meeting, saw my car – my car – screaming by, and you expect me to do nothing?’
‘Oh hell.’
His eyes narrowed at my curse, but otherwise he ignored it.
‘I commandeered a car and followed.’
‘Christ,’ I muttered.
Had I been so intent on tailing Allen-Smythe that I’d missed Eduard tailing me? Who else could have been tailing me?
‘Then I see you pushed and Harrington shooting over your head. He hit one man. The other shot at me, and ran off.’ He rubbed his face, grey from exhaustion. At least some of the anger had dissipated. ‘I do not understand, Solange, why an English diplomat was standing over you, protecting you.’
‘Nor do I,’ I said, thinking quickly. ‘Unless he thought I was someone else?’
Eduard frowned. ‘So you don’t know him?’
Evasion was easier than outright lies. ‘Why would I?’
‘I hoped you would tell me.’
‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know.’
I tried to keep my eyes steady as they met his. Warring emotions played across his face: the anger that hadn’t fully subsided; exhaustion that could only partially be blamed on his work; and a desperate desire to believe me.
My eyes began to burn with tears. I tried to wipe them away, but couldn’t raise my arm high enough. It was bad enough having to cry, but weeping in front of Eduard was mortifying. I tried to muster the shreds of my bravado.
‘But while I’m delighted that you care enough to yell at me, can it please wait? I’m not feeling very well at the moment.’
The words were barely out of my mouth when my stomach revolted. I lunged for the bowl on the bedside table. Felt Eduard’s hand steady my back as I vomited.
‘Oh God, how humiliating.’ I fumbled for a glass of water.
‘The painkillers,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes they have that effect.’
His weight sagged against the bed and his linen handkerchief brushed against my cheeks. For whatever reason, he was allowing me to get away with my story.
He’s a good man, Lt Neumann had said. Honourable.
But he was a German officer. Tasked with rooting out enemy spies. Like me.
The painkillers were making me sleepy as well as maudlin. I closed my eyes to escape his censure, hoping I would survive the hospital, and the repercussions of the last few days.
*
The man sitting beside my bed was slightly shorter than Eduard and swarthy. Avian black eyes watched me and, given the certainty that Eduard was having my room watched, I was grateful for my godfather’s Mediterranean disguise.
‘You gave us quite a scare, old girl,’ he said.
‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘And you shouldn’t have been at the castle.’
‘What
