Angel rising, p.13
Angel Rising, page 13
part #6 of Anna Fehrbach Series
‘It is that.’ Jerry Smitten stood behind her, and now, very cautiously, he put his arms round her waist to bring her back against him. ‘The owner is away.’
Anna took off her straw hat and leaned her head against his shoulder. He had been growing on her over the past week, and not only because he had shaved off his moustache, although that had enhanced his good looks, and somehow also his virility. He was going to be very definitely an outlet for her frustrations. She was starting to suffer from impatience in her old age, she supposed; it was really absurd to hope for a reply to her ad in a week. But she had only put it in for a week, and today was the last day.
And in any event, she was supposed to have an affair with this character. ‘Why is he selling?’ she asked.
‘His wife doesn’t like heights.’
‘Did he know this before or after he built the villa?’
‘It was meant to be a surprise present for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Twenty-five years. Say, how old are you, anyway? Or is that a question I shouldn’t ask?’
‘It is a question you shouldn’t ask. However, as it appears to be relevant to the conversation, twenty-five years is a lifetime to me. Actually, I’m going to be twenty-six next month.’
‘Wow!’
‘I’m not sure how to take that.’
‘You don’t look a day over eighteen.’
‘You say the sweetest things. Did you seriously think I was eighteen?’
‘Well, heck, no. I mean, not after reading that CV, and then talking with you.’
‘If I were eighteen, that would mean an average of three deaths a year from the day I was born. But you know, it still works out at better than two a year, from the day I was born.’
‘You can joke about it?’
Anna freed herself and walked back into the huge lounge, kicking off her sandals as she did so. There were scatter rugs, but the mosaic floor was cool on her bare feet. ‘If I couldn’t joke about it, Jerry, I would have gone mad years ago. But I really am pleased at your observation.’
He had followed her. ‘Which one?’
‘About my age. One of the men who taught me everything I know once said to me that up to the age of twenty-five a woman should endeavour to look older than she actually is; after the age of twenty-five she should endeavour to look younger.’
‘Profound. This was a Limey, right?’
‘He was a colonel in the SD. Have you ever heard of them?’
‘Some. Very hush-hush. Himmler’s personal hit squad. Say . . . holy shit!’
Anna had opened a door at the far side of the lounge. ‘This the master-bedroom?’
‘No, this is for guests. The master is down that corridor. But you mean you worked for the SD?’
Anna went down the short hallway. ‘You mean they didn’t mention that in my CV?’
‘It just said you worked in German Intelligence as a double agent for the Brits.’
‘I suppose they didn’t want to upset you. I was a senior officer in the SD, Himmler’s PA’ She opened the door. ‘Now, this is what I call a bed.’
‘It’s outsize king-size. Never been used.’
‘Let’s try it.’ She tossed her hat on to a chair and threw herself on the bed, on her back, and bounced, her skirt flying; she was wearing her sundress ‘Good springs. One should never wear knickers in bed.’ She raised her hips and slipped the flimsy silk down her thighs. She had never worn these before the past couple of weeks – in Europe she had always used cami-knickers – and had been introduced to them by the women who fitted her out in Norfolk. Now, in the Brazilian warmth, they were her only underwear.
The knickers reached her ankles, and she kicked them off. Jerry was staring at her.
‘Do you always have that on?’
She unbuckled the belt and laid the little holster on the floor beside the bed. ‘Required by our joint bosses.’
‘I thought you had a gun in that shoulder bag.’
‘I do. But they seem to think I need overprotection. Don’t tell me you’re not in the mood? Or are you having second thoughts about sharing your all with a mass murderess?’
He licked his lips. ‘It’s just that you’re . . . well, kind of sudden.’
‘I have always regarded that as an asset.’ She released the belt for her dress, rose to her knees, lifted it over her shoulders, and threw it after the knickers, then fluffed out her hair. ‘This is all there is.’
He sat on the bed beside her. ‘You are just beautiful.’
She studied him, then rested her hand on his cheek. ‘You really don’t want to make the mistake of falling in love with me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, my profession is killing people. I am not ever going to be a success at nursing the baby and washing your underwear. And I can’t cook. Even if I could make a go of that, there are too many people out there who are determined that I should not.’
‘You’re saying that you are living on borrowed time.’
‘That is exactly what I’m saying.’
‘And you can say it so calmly?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve lived with that realization for eight years. Now, we’re supposed to be lovers. Are we going to have sex, or have I entirely put you off?’
‘You could never put me off, Anna.’
‘Well, then . . .’ She lay back, her head on the pillows.
He stood up, took off his jacket,
‘My God,’ Anna remarked. ‘What is that?’
He removed the shoulder holster. ‘A Colt forty-five. It will blow a man apart at a hundred yards, bring him down at a far greater range than that.’
‘It must weigh a ton. I’m surprised you don’t walk with a list.’
‘It’s to protect you.’
‘I feel utterly reassured. Now come to bed.’
He laid down the holster and undressed. He certainly had a fine physique, but he had definitely lost his ardour.
‘You’d better let me do some work on him,’ she suggested.
‘Just let me touch you.’
‘Be my guest.’
He kissed her on the lips, very gently, then moved his head to kiss her throat, before tracing the gold chain down to the crucifix between her breasts. ‘The CV didn’t say you were a Roman Catholic, either.’
‘It was a long time ago. But I like to be reminded. It keeps me human. I’ll take it off, if you prefer.’
‘Why? It’s beautiful. Especially where it’s situated right now.’
‘It depends on how you like sex. If you want me on top, it could bang into your teeth.’
‘Would you do that? Get on top, I mean.’
She wondered just how much of a sexual background he actually had. ‘I will do anything you would like me to.’
‘Holy cow! Where have you been all of my life?’
‘Killing people,’ she reminded him, wickedly.
‘Oh. Yes.’ He lowered his eyes to continue studying her; she thought he might be trying to commit her to memory. ‘This is quite a birthmark. May I touch it?’
‘Of course. But it is not a birthmark. It is a bullet wound.’
His finger had already stroked across the blue stain on her lower right ribs. Now his head jerked upwards. ‘A what?’
‘It is difficult to survive eight years in my profession without coming an occasional cropper. Have you never been hit?’
‘No. But there? I mean—’
‘It could have been fatal? As it was, it cost me three broken ribs and three months in hospital. And a husband.’
‘I didn’t know you were married.’
‘I was, once.’
‘And you mean he got shot too?’
‘No, worse luck. He just didn’t like the idea of me being shot.’
‘And that was a reason for a break-up? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘It was the circumstances that upset him. Look, he’s ancient history.’
‘Oh. Right. I’m sorry. There’s so much about you . . . does it hurt?’
‘It happened seven years ago. Now we’ve talked enough about me.’ She reached down to hold him. ‘You’re the one who needs help.’
Incident in Brazil
‘You know,’ Anna remarked, as they drove back to the beach, ‘I might just come back one day and buy that house.’
Jerry turned his head. ‘We’re talking half-a-million dollars.’
‘Sounds reasonable.’
He concentrated on the road. ‘You get paid that much for what you do?’
‘Unfortunately, no. But it does have spin-offs.’
‘I’m not with you.’
‘I’ll explain when I get around to buying it.’
He pulled into the forecourt of the Metropole. ‘What now?’
‘For me, lunch and then a siesta.’
‘Oh! Ah . . . dinner?’
‘That sounds nice. Call me. Not before six.’
‘Six.’
She got out, blew him a kiss, and entered the cool air conditioning of the hotel lobby, collected her key from reception. As always after good sex, she felt delightfully relaxed. And it had been her first for over a month! It had begun slowly; Jerry had obviously been terrified of her – a situation she was quite used to in her partners, except for those who knew her very well, and that count was now down to one – and something of an innocent, but once he had realized that she would indeed do anything he wished he had become most enthusiastic, even if his desires had been limited by, she reckoned, a rather inhibited background.
Equally, however, as always after sex, good or bad, she was in a hurry to have a shower and a douche. She went to the lifts, stepped in, and took off her hat. She pressed her floor number, and the doors were just closing when they were parted again by a man, who joined her and allowed them to close behind him.
She had to assume that he was a tourist as he wore an open-necked and very floral shirt, a white fedora, two-tone brown shoes, and from his complexion was definitely not Brazilian. She put him down as in his early forties, and running to stomach. But she smiled at him politely. ‘Mine is the seventh floor.’ Her hand hovered over the panel. ‘Which is yours?’
‘I am content with your choice, Countess,’ he said in German.
Anna’s hand dropped from the panel to her shoulder bag, instinctively releasing the catch.
‘You were expecting me?’ the man asked, anxiously.
‘I was expecting someone,’ Anna acknowledged. ‘Do I know you?’
‘We have never met. But I have seen you, in Berlin.’
‘Then I must have seen you.’
‘But I am not so memorable, eh?’
You said it, not me, Anna reflected. ‘You must forgive me, Herr—?’
‘Schuler. Hans Schuler.’ He held out his hand, and Anna released the bag to take it, watching his left hand as she did so. But the shake was legitimate. ‘We could not believe our fortune, when we saw your advertisement in the newspaper.’
‘We?’
‘Well, one tends to stick with one’s old associates, doesn’t one? But to have someone of your distinction joining us . . . we thought you were dead.’
‘It seemed a good way to be, at least in Europe.’
‘And your real name is Anna Fehrbach, is it not?’
‘Tell me how you knew that?’
‘One of us is, was, an officer in the SD.’
‘Tell me his name.’
‘Gunther Gutemann.’
‘Good God!’
‘You know him? He said you did.’
‘Yes,’ Anna said, ‘I knew him.’ How very well had she known him! They had met in 1941, when he had been assigned to return her to the SS training camp for a refresher course after her escape from Russia. Then he had just been an appendage, but four years later, by which time she had become a senior officer in the SD and Himmler’s personal assistant, she had selected him as her bodyguard for her ill-fated tour of the fighting fronts as ‘Minister of Morale’.
Much to his delight, the intimacy engendered by that tour had led them to bed, but his ardour had cooled considerably after that famous incident in Warsaw. Up till then, he had known of her capabilities only by repute, but that night he had seen her in action for the first time, as she had gunned down six of the Russians who were part of the squad engaged in kidnapping Katherine under the impression it was her.
That exploit had not saved Katherine. Poor, poor Katherine! But Goebbels had seized the opportunity to publicise her exploit to the world. While Gutemann, standing beside her with a gun in his hand, had been so paralysed with awe as she had delivered six bullets each with deadly accuracy that he had not fired a shot . . . rather like Joe Andrews in Scotland, she thought.
After that episode, and their subsequent return to Berlin, they had drifted apart, and he had not been around when she had made her escape from the city. So equally, she had supposed him dead in the ruins, or a Russian prisoner.
‘He is most eager to see you again,’ Schuler said.
The lift stopped on the seventh floor and Anna stepped out. ‘But he would not come himself.’
Schuler followed her. ‘There are . . . reasons.’
‘I see.’ Anna unlocked the door of her room, waited for him to enter, then closed it again. ‘So when do we meet?’
‘I am to take you to him.’
‘To Major Gutemann?’
‘And others.’
‘Who are?’
‘You will probably know them when you see them.’
‘I see. When is this meeting to take place?’
‘You are invited to lunch, Countess.’
However eager she was to carry things forward, she had to remind them of her erstwhile seniority and her on-going arrogance. And she had no intention of entering the lion’s den without a back-up. ‘Then I must decline.’
‘But Countess . . .’
‘I have had a busy morning, and it is now my intention to have a bath and a quiet lunch, and then a siesta. But I am prepared to meet your associates for dinner, if that is convenient.’
‘Dinner.’ He looked quite crestfallen.
‘It is only a few hours away. Is it that urgent?’
‘Ah . . . I will have to find out.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Do that and telephone me here.’
‘Yes.’ He continued to regard her, uncertainly, so that she had to wonder if he was considering attempting to force her to accompany him. She hoped not. For all her reservations she had no desire to lose contact with her target by laying out their messenger boy.
He clicked his heels. ‘I will telephone you this afternoon.’
‘Not before four.’
He opened his mouth, and she smiled at him. ‘I shall be asleep, until then.’ She opened the door, and after another hesitation, he clicked his heels again and left.
*
‘Katherine?’ Laurent peered at the young woman, not at all sure that he wanted to see her again. She had proved a most interesting but also alarming companion in bed, entirely lacking Anna’s silky sensuality; Katherine had been hungrily demanding, more concerned, he felt, with satisfying her own needs than in anything he might want or do. He put that down to her years in a gulag, where she had clearly been raped time and again, and at least as often by women as by men.
But she had also conveyed a sense of uneasiness. If the very idea of Anna made him uneasy, it was because of a knowledge of who she was, and of what she was capable. But Anna had never been fanatical about anything. Ever since he had first met her he had been struck by her clear-headed single-mindedness. She always knew what she intended to achieve, and she always went straight for it. The only sideways glances she ever permitted herself were in order to protect her flanks, as it were. This girl’s fanaticism was perhaps even more frightening, certainly when combined with her violently passionate nature. And by telling her how she could find her sister, who she would soon discover had been a traitor to her beloved Reich, he had supposed that he could eliminate them both, at least from his life. Now . . . ‘Did you not find Anna?’
‘No, I did not.’ Katherine sat before his desk, uninvited.
‘Did you go to the man Bartley?’
‘He agreed that he had arrested her and taken her to England, but that she had escaped from his custody and disappeared.’
Laurent stroked his chin. ‘That is what he said?’
‘Isn’t it true?’
He supposed it could be. In which case the bastard had got what he deserved: he had considered Anna to be his mistress. But if she was no longer controlled by the British, but was roaming the world . . ., looking for vengeance? ‘I suppose it must be, if he said so.’
‘So I went to see the woman Hoskin.’
‘And?’ Almost he held his breath.
‘She told me nothing but a pack of lies. I did not like her.’
‘What lies?’
‘She said that Anna had been working for the Allies throughout the War, that she had been a traitor to the Reich.’ Those sinister eyes shrouded him. ‘She said you knew this.’
Again it was time for another very quick decision. But quick decisions were not really his forte. He needed to temporise while he thought about it. ‘I only knew Anna as an agent for Herr Himmler. You say you saw Bartley. Surely he would have known if she was a double agent.’
‘As I said, he told me she was wanted for war crimes.’
‘In which case she would hardly have been working for him. That woman was stringing you along.’
‘That’s what I thought. She made me so angry!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Oh . . .’ Katherine made a vague gesture with her hands. ‘I left her. I had to get away.’
‘And so you came back here. So what are you planning to do now?’
‘I have no more money.’
‘I thought you were quite well off?’
‘My income has ceased.’
So the Russians had written her off. Than was actually a relief; if they were no longer interested in her, they would no longer be interested in him. ‘That is a shame.’
