. . .’ ‘Yes, my dear, you have stumbled on the essential clue. Now I am forced to silence you before you can tell the police.’
A dialogue like that was the last thing I wanted. So I said meekly, ‘I’m still curious, Leif. What is John after this time?’
‘It is a reasonable question,’ Leif conceded. ‘You must realize, however, that the information is classified.’
‘Don’t tell me Mr Smythe has gone into espionage. He used to specialize in art.’
‘Oh, yes, that is his expertize. But it is a state secret, all the same.’
‘Give me a hint.’
‘I would be violating my oath as a police officer if I did that.’
I could see his dilemma. I don’t mean to disparage my ancestral homeland when I say there wasn’t much in the entire country that was worth stealing. John didn’t fool around with minor treasures, he went for the big stuff, the Mona Lisas and Koh-i-noors. Leif didn’t even know enough about the Swedish collections to invent a believable lie; he must be aware that I knew more than he did.
I couldn’t resist. I owed him for insulting my intelligence with his inept fabrications and his macho lovemaking.
‘Oh,’ I cried, as if enlightenment had suddenly dawned on me. ‘You don’t mean . . . It isn’t . . .’
Leif waited hopefully for me to finish. I just sat there, wide-eyed and fascinated.
Finally he said between his teeth, ‘Don’t speak the word aloud. There are enemies everywhere.’
‘Naturally. But how is he going to do it?’
‘If we knew for certain, we would not be so concerned.’
‘I wish I could help you.’
‘You can help me by dropping the subject,’ Leif said sincerely.
‘But I’m intrigued. I can’t believe even John would try . . . What a scandal it would cause!’
‘Oh, yes.’ Leif was sweating. I decided to let him off the hook, not because I didn’t enjoy watching him sweat, but because it was getting late. John might come or he might not; if he came, I wanted to be there in good time.
‘Well, I hope you can tell me about it once the case is solved,’ I said, untangling myself from Leif and rising to my feet. ‘I’d better be getting back to the hotel now.’
‘Must you?’ But he rose with alacrity, and offered me another stiff elbow.
As we walked along the flower-lined path, Leif said, ‘I did not answer your questions.’
‘I noticed that.’
We left the park and stood on the corner waiting for the lights to change. Leif put his hand over mine. ‘You are not a criminal. But I think you know more of this John Smythe than you have told me. Are you not aware that one of his confederates has followed us this evening?’
‘You’re imagining things. Unless it was one of your men – ’
‘He was no police officer. I saw him at the restaurant and also at the park – short, very fat man, with large whiskers, wearing a straw hat.’
The light changed. Leif towed me across the street.
I had kept an eye out for followers, but I was looking for brown beards, not bushy whiskers, and for a familiar profile, however garbed. The man Leif had seen might have been John. I discounted the description; anyone under six and a half feet tall might seem short to Leif, and false whiskers and fat tummies are easily procurable.
‘Why didn’t you apprehend the miscreant?’ I inquired.
‘How could I prove what I suspected? It is not a crime to be in the same places we are in.’ He added, ‘You do not seem alarmed. Do you know who it is that follows you?’
‘You’re the only one I know who is following me.’
‘Vicky, I beg you to tell me the truth,’ Leif said earnestly. ‘I only wish to protect you. Oh, I know the power a man like Smythe has over young and inexperienced females. You think he is romantic,
Nobody, not even my father, who thinks I am still six years old, has ever pictured me as a fragile blossom. The image had a certain eccentric charm. It was also hysterically funny, the crowning masterpiece of all the antiquated cliches with which Leif had favoured me that evening. My efforts to suppress a shriek of laughter resulted in convulsive muscular spasms and a series of gurgling noises.
Leif looked at me in alarm. ‘Do not break down until we reach your room. You will tell me all. It will relieve you.’
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I reeled across the lobby and leaned on the desk, my face hidden in my hands and my shoulders heaving.
‘She is not well,’ Leif explained to the mystified concierge. ‘Pay no attention. I will escort her to her room.’
‘No, you won’t.’ I recovered in time to grab the key, which the concierge was offering to Leif. ‘I’m fine, I’m perfectly all right. Goodnight, Leif. Thanks for a very entertaining evening.’
‘But – ’ Leif began.
‘No buts. I appreciate your efforts to protect me from myself . . .’ The image of the flower on the trash heap flashed onto my mental screen. The flower was a petunia – a wilted purple petunia. I covered my mouth with my hand and ran for the elevator.
By the time I reached my room my amusement had faded. Leif couldn’t be that dumb. Nobody could be that dumb. Who the devil was he anyway, and what did he want? He didn’t fit into the scenario I had constructed earlier. The fat man who had been following us was another extraneous character. He might be a figment of Leif’s imagination, designed to frighten me into confidentiality. If so, he was a singularly unconvincing invention; I’d have expected Leif to come up with something far more sinister. Please, God, I prayed silently – make John keep that appointment. Once I got my hands on that sneaky devil, I’d hold on to him until he came clean.
He was late. It was almost one a.m. before I heard the signal. I picked up one of the table lamps and held it poised as I opened the door.
John slid into the room and closed the door. Except for red hair and a heavy tan, he had made no attempt to disguise himself.
‘Aunt Ingeborg, I presume,’ I said.
‘Damn.’ John kept a wary eye on the lamp. ‘So you’ve spoken with Gustaf. I hoped you hadn’t.’
‘Why? Wasn’t getting me and Gustaf together the point of this whole exercise?’
‘Would you mind putting that lamp down?’
‘I’d like to put it down on your head. Sit – over there, where I can keep an eye on you. And then talk. I want to know everything.’
He didn’t sit down. He kept shifting his weight, like a fighter who expects attack from several directions at once.
‘I’ve only one thing to say, Vicky. I’ll say it as succinctly as possible, and then I’m off. Go back to Munich. Catch the first plane tomorrow.’
He was reaching for the doorknob when I brought the lamp down on his arm. Out of consideration for the hotel and my depleted traveller’s cheques I didn’t hit as hard as I wanted to, but it was hard enough to make John pull his hand away. I got my back against the door.
‘Talk,’ I said. ‘You went to a lot of trouble to set this up. However, your confederate in the States isn’t very up-to-date. Aunt Ingeborg died eight months ago.’
A shadow of vexation crossed John’s face. It was replaced by a much livelier expression. ‘Vicky, this is no time to discuss my organizational problems. Matters have gone awry – decidedly awry. The deal is off. Cancelled, kaput, finis, finito. Is that precise enough for you?’
‘You’re scared stiff,’ I said. ‘My God, you have your nerve, you bastard. Dragging me into a situation that terrifies you out of your wits, like a damned sitting duck – ’
‘Christ Almighty, do you think I’d have brought you here if I had known what was going to happen?’ We were yelling at each other, our faces only inches apart; his cheeks and forehead shone with a thin film of perspiration. ‘I didn’t realize
