‘I saw her a few days ago. She did not appear to be suffering from any attack, thwarted or otherwise.’
‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to shoot me, but if they are, then I’d really like my gun and knife back. If there’s a chance . . . Well . . . I want to be able to defend myself.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You may have them back on three conditions.’
‘Which are?’
‘One – you tell me how you got hold of them.’
I played lightly with the truth. ‘The gun? I acquired it in France.’ I remembered Scar and Pig-eyes, the two Gestapo agents I’d killed at Franc Laronde’s house. ‘To protect myself.’
‘A PPK isn’t something easily acquired.’
‘For a price, anything can be bought.’
He frowned, clearly wondering what price I’d had to pay.
‘I’m not like Laura,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t barter my body for anything.’
‘I know.’ He cleared his throat and continued. ‘And the knife?’
‘A gift.’ I stared back, refusing to be ashamed. ‘From a friend who’s now dead.’
‘A German gun, popular with the Gestapo, and a Celtic blade.’
‘The Scots were in France before the war, Eduard. Keep the gun if you must, but I’d like the knife back.’
He didn’t look happy. ‘Was he your husband?’
‘Who?’
‘The man who gave you the knife. The one who’s dead?’
‘What? No. My husband died in the early days of the war, the Scot somewhat later.’
‘He was your lover?’
There was a French letter in his car; he hadn’t been a monk since his wife died, but he wouldn’t apply the same latitude to me. Nevertheless, I wanted there to be truth – as much as I could afford – between us. At least about this.
‘Briefly,’ I admitted. ‘And the only one other than my husband, before you ask.’
For whatever reason, it was important he know that.
‘Was he involved with the Resistance?’
‘Alex?’ I laughed, sadly. ‘No. Not at all. Just a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Before he had a chance to draw any parallels, I added: ‘Your second condition?’
‘That you allow your curiosity to go unsated. This is Lisbon, it is not safe to be too curious. You will not follow anyone. You will not get yourself in any other mischief.’
I nodded, finding it easier to lie to him non-verbally.
‘Your third condition?’
He looked like he wanted to ask something else, but instead threw the challenge out.
‘That you prove to me you can use them. You’re a danger to yourself without them, but if someone is out to kill you, I’d rather you be ready for them.’ He picked up my handbag. ‘Get in the car.’
It looked like Eduard Graf had made up his mind.
At least for now.
*
Eduard was serious about the shooting lessons. We drove out towards the sparsely populated area near the Boca do Inferno. He pulled a satchel from the boot of his car, ignoring the telltale clink of wine bottles.
‘If you’re going to seduce me, Eduard, that’s fine. But with all the painkillers I’m taking, I don’t think you need more than one bottle.’
He gave me a flat look. Stalked to a fallen log and lined up three empty bottles.
‘Damn,’ I muttered, giving the cast on my left arm a dark look.
He paced back about twenty yards and checked the pistol. With a complete lack of concern, he raised it, squeezed the trigger, and the rightmost bottle shattered. It was a good shot and he should have been smug, but his face was blank as he handed me the gun. Adjusted my posture, damn him, and had me fire off a shot.
I would have loved to show off, to prove that I could do it, if not as well as he could, then certainly not far off. Instead, the pain in my ribs set off my balance, and with only one hand on the pistol, I missed.
He stood behind me, his warm body supporting me, closed his hand over mine and took aim. Dizziness that had little to do with the painkillers had me sway on my feet. Eduard tightened his hold and the report of the gun echoed over the waves as another bottle shattered.
We stood at the makeshift range, Eduard patiently correcting me, until no bottles were left and the nearest tree was filled with lead. My right arm shook from the exertion, and my left arm itched. Special Operations’ instructors were good, but Eduard Graf was better. Even exhausted, I was now hitting the knots in trees.
‘The sun is going down,’ I murmured, not wanting to admit I was too exhausted to continue.
‘One more time.’
Eduard refilled the clip and moved behind me to correct my stance. I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes, rubbed my forehead with my sweating arm and took aim. Missed spectacularly as Eduard’s lips lingered at the nape of my neck.
‘Stop distracting me.’
I lined up another shot, my concentration challenged by his proximity. His chuckle shot a spark down my spine and I closed my eyes.
‘I’m distracting you?’
He straightened my right arm as it wavered. Then drew the back of his hand down the sensitive underside before wrapping his hand around mine again and squeezing the trigger twice, hitting the knot both times.
‘You’re cheating, Eduard.’
His hand dropped to my hip and, despite the risk of another rejection, I leant my head back against his chest.
‘Do not stop,’ he murmured.
I wasn’t sure if he meant my shooting or my advances. I straightened and emptied the clip into the tree, the cartridges catching the fading light as they fell in elegant arcs away from the pistol. Squeezed the trigger until the mechanism clicked on an empty chamber. Tossed the gun a few feet away, and turned in his arms.
He was waiting – pulling me closer. I ignored the pain in my ribs as I pressed against him.
‘Goddamn you, Eduard Graf. If you reject me now, I’ll shoot you. I swear I will.’
‘The clip is empty.’
‘I don’t care.’
My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his
