Trouble in the alps, p.8
Trouble in the Alps, page 8
If he had some evil plot in mind, could they even do anything to stop it? Was it sensible to try and fight him? The other women did not know that Maurizio was part of a criminal organisation with dark secrets. He might not be averse to violence.
What if the women actually did discover something? Would it put them in danger? But she had agreed to join ETAM and could hardly dissuade the others without a good reason. Disclosing Vincenzo’s criminal past was not an option so what could she even say to make them stand down?
Raoul looked up at her. “You mustn’t be too worried for my sake, Atalanta.” Her name sounded so familiar coming from his lips and yet she was so aware that he didn’t really know who she was; that there was nothing left of what they had built.
He forced a smile. “I can see you are a loyal person who will fight for what she believes is right, but you owe me nothing. Not anymore. I can’t remember you and I might never recover.”
“I want to—”
He rose to his feet with lightning speed. “I don’t want pity. Don’t you understand? I can’t bear you feeling sorry for me. For the man I have become.”
“You are no different from how you always were. I never loved you for your fame and fortune, or for the danger you courted. I loved you for you. And you are still here.”
Raoul stared at her. “You say you love me?”
Atalanta nodded. “I do. I knew it for certain when I thought you had died.”
He held her gaze. “Did I ever … say I love you, too?”
Atalanta held her breath as she looked into his deep brown eyes. She ached to put her hand against his cheek and tell him “Yes you did, you loved me, and you love me still.” She wanted him to kiss her and let her believe for a few moments that all was well with the world.
But she could not lie to him. She could not betray him in such a monstrous way.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse and she had to clear her throat before she was able to continue. “No, you never said you were in love with me. On the contrary, you gave me all the reasons why you could not fall in love with me. And why I should not fall in love with you either.”
She fought against the burn behind her eyes. She would not cry now. She would not make him think she was trying to force something with sentimentality.
“But it didn’t work. I could not stop growing closer to you.”
Raoul nodded slowly. “I see.” His smile was wistful. “I can’t remember my reasons for not wanting to fall in love with you. I don’t know if they were any good or if they even matter now. But I do know one thing. I am lucky that you care for me. I know you do because you told me the truth. You could have lied to me. You could have said that I did say I was in love with you. That I … kissed you and…”
Atalanta stared into his eyes. For her the attraction was still there, but if he didn’t even remember her, how could she hope for the connection to stay alive?
She heard a sound in the corridor as if someone was coming and stepped back from him. “I had better go downstairs and have a last cup of tea before bed. Choose a book to read that will help me to fall asleep easily. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight.” She walked to the door quickly, not allowing herself to look back and be tempted to run up to him to give him a hug. She had to keep her distance and let him work through this in his own way. In his own time.
She had to trust that if their connection was indeed still there, they would find a way back to each other.
Atalanta stood in the reading room feeling lost. Her head was so full of emotions after the exchange with Raoul that she could not think straight. Previously, their relationship had felt complicated because he was a man who didn’t want to develop bonds with anyone. He wanted to be independent, and he lived for his sport, for the danger he courted every time he got into his race car. She had often felt like she took second place in his life, or perhaps even third or fourth. He did make time for her, but it was always limited. He wasn’t ready to commit, to open up to her and share his innermost feelings.
Now he was more vulnerable than ever. She had even read his diary. She had seen his frustration at his fate and the uncertainties he faced over the future. It put her closer to him than she had ever been. But he had been forced to do this by circumstances. It wasn’t a choice. And she should not abuse the situation to coerce anything from him. She should allow him … to become his old self again? A man she could care for from a distance, never getting to the heart of him.
She felt so helpless to do anything for him, and at the same time she was the one with all the power in their relationship now because she remembered everything, and he didn’t even know her name.
She could tell him anything she wanted. She could pretend that there had been something going on between them. It was true that there had been attraction and friendship and the awareness that it could become more if they let it, but there had been so many other things in the mix too: his fear of commitment, his belief that she should have more experience of falling in love without tying herself immediately to the first man who came her way.
And then there were her own doubts about their compatibility and whether Raoul would ever love her the way she wanted to be loved. She had known so little love in her life, so little true connection. She had few memories of her mother, and with her father the bond had been strained by his irresponsible decisions and his need for her to grow up faster than she would have liked. Her grandfather was gone too.
Grandfather… What would he have thought of her situation? Caught up with dangerous people who were engaged in criminal activities while trying to rescue the man she cared for from their clutches… Would he shake his head, thinking she had more sense than this? Sense to see that she could not save him, no matter how she tried?
But Raoul was not able to drive now. He was losing his importance to them as cover for their criminal plans. And if it was true that Maurizio wanted to take his place, wouldn’t it be an ideal solution?
If Raoul got out alive.
She didn’t want to think about the possibility that the skiing accident had been staged to injure him. That would mean that they had accepted the risk he would be killed. Perhaps they were looking to murder him still? Was Raoul in danger as long as he was here with them?
Atalanta forced her gaze away from the floorboards to the bookcases all around her. She wanted to select a few titles to take up to her room to read. She could use the distraction. There was no point in speculating about Raoul’s accident or the position he was in. She could not remove him from here, at least not at this very moment, and she had to hope she could find out more about Maurizio and his plans for Raoul with the help of the impromptu detectives. She could not really see Theresa uncovering incriminating evidence about someone but Eva had seemed enthusiastic to dig in, and Margot…
Atalanta turned to the nearest bookcase and began to try to figure out how the books were organised. By category or theme and then by author, it seemed. She looked for the section of romance novels and once she had found it, it was easy enough to see Margot’s titles. Her name came early in the alphabet and there were a lot of them. Atalanta’s gaze browsed the titles. A Greek Adventure. Holiday in Havana. Danger among the Tombs.
Was that one set in Egypt? She pulled it out of the row and studied the cover. It looked like pyramids. She felt a genuine excitement to read it and opened the cover to leaf to the first chapter. Her eye fell on the dedication.
To my sister Johanna who made all of this possible for me.
Her sister was the one travelling and sharing all the details with her. Perhaps it had started as a way to let Margot live some experiences vicariously because she could not travel herself. But with the books becoming successful it had actually provided her with a very nice career and a loyal readership.
Atalanta sat down in one of the leather chairs by the fireplace and began to read. Soon she was caught up in the life of the hapless heroine who was living with a stern aunt and uncle and having no excitement in her life until a bad investment by the uncle put him in debt and he offered her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. Atalanta felt this part of the story was a tad improbable, but it did bring the heroine together with the hero, a dashing adventurer out to explore Egyptian tombs and find the treasures of the pharaoh. Once they were on the trip to Egypt, dangers abounded: a scorpion in their cabin, mysterious men lurking about and watching them, and luggage mysteriously disappearing.
Atalanta lost all track of time as she kept turning the pages, eager to find out how the heroine would get through all of this and whether she would secure the respect and even the affection of the man who had married her for personal gain.
“Excuse me, signorina…”
Atalanta looked up with a jerk to see the bartender Franco standing at the door. “Are you aware of the time?” he asked.
Atalanta shook her head and at the same time glanced at her watch. It was past midnight.
“This room is never locked,” Franco said in an apologetic tone, “but the manager does appreciate guests retiring to their rooms for the night and not wandering the hotel.”
Atalanta agreed that this made total sense and at the same time she wondered if there was a reason why they wanted everyone safely tucked away in their beds at night. She rose but kept hold of the book. “I was so engrossed in this story that I didn’t notice the time.”
Franco came closer and looked at the book. “Ah, a Margot Bergreiter title. They are very popular with our female guests.” He held her gaze a moment. “I would have thought you a little too sensible for this kind of story.”
Atalanta felt taken aback. “Why would you think so?”
He shrugged. “You look like a serious young lady. You travel a lot yourself. Why would you need to read about adventures you can have for yourself?”
He waited a moment before adding, “Or is it that you never meet attractive men?”
Atalanta held the book tighter. The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes didn’t seem entirely appropriate for a member of staff. “Whether I ever meet one is entirely my business.”
Franco smiled. “Of course. I did not mean to pry. It just seems like you are so serious and … life is meant to be enjoyed.”
“I assure you I know very well how to enjoy life.”
“By reading books about it?” Franco stepped closer. His dark eyes sparkled. “Is it not better to see the stars for yourself? To hold the glass of wine and toast with someone the beauty of the night?”
“It is a whole lot better if done with the right person.”
His smile deepened. “Why don’t you tell me something about this book? Where it takes place, why the hero is such an attractive man to females. Is it because of money? Success? Looks?”
“Money and success matter but little,” Atalanta said. “It is the nature of a man that counts. Whether he is truly a gentleman.” She wanted to test Franco to see how he would respond to her answers. Was he simply going through a repertoire of stock remarks meant to dazzle the female guests? Or could he actually make interesting conversation? How much of it was innocent and how much intentional?
“A gentleman…?” Franco walked over to the bookcase and pulled out a title. He opened it and read to her, “As she looked out of the window, onto the moonlit lawn, she saw him riding past on a beast of a horse, dark and tall and hard to control. But his strong hands held the reins confidently and his exultant expression betrayed how much he enjoyed this. She had never seen such freedom, such lack of concern for what others might think. This was his terrain, this was his time. He was the knight of the night.” He looked up at her. “Is that the kind of gentleman you dream of? A world away from the stuffy types you meet at your aunt’s soirees?”
Atalanta wanted to laugh but suppressed the urge. She tried to look stern as she replied, “That is but a book. Real life is very different.”
Franco closed the book and put it back on the shelf. “I suppose so. But one can dream. There is no censure on hopes and dreams. At least, not last time I looked.” He stood staring at the ground a moment.
She asked, “What does a bartender dream of?”
He winced as she named his profession. It was unfeeling, but she wanted to see how he would respond to it. Whether he was really flirting with her or whether she was just not used to reading men right.
“I haven’t always been a bartender. I was born on a manor such as Margot Bergreiter describes. Only, in her books the houses are full of silverware and crystal chandeliers and beautiful paintings by old masters. In our house the silverware had partly been sold to pay off Father’s debts. The ballroom hadn’t been used in ages and the piano was seriously out of tune. We all had to do our best to keep up the pretence of having money, but it was just that. A pretence. And with me not even being the eldest son…”
He turned his back on her and paced the room slowly.
“I don’t know what is worse: being the eldest son and inheriting the large house that is in decay and having to worry for all of your life whether you can afford its upkeep or whether you will have to sell more land or forests from the estate just to keep your head above water; or being the second son like me and not even having a place there, being expected to marry well or go into the army to make a career, or become a clergyman to have a steady living.” He shuddered a moment. “I didn’t like any of those options much. From a young age I wanted to get away and travel, to see the world. So one day I packed my bags and kissed my mother goodbye, and I haven’t looked back since. I have been everywhere. I’ve worked at a French chateau, I’ve been a fisherman on the Aegean Isles. I was even in North Africa briefly. I guess I am almost like a Bergreiter hero – well-travelled, just not rich.” He looked up at her. “Does that matter?”
“Money always matters,” Atalanta replied. “If you have a lot of it then you must be careful because anyone with whom you associate may be after your money and not care for you at all. If you have almost nothing then you must spend your days struggling to get some and then worrying about how to keep it. There is always in some form or other an element of money at play.” She thought back on the murder cases she had solved. Gooseflesh formed on her arms and she sucked in a sharp breath.
“You speak as if you have experience of it,” Franco said slowly. “Does your money attract the wrong kind of men?”
Atalanta smiled softly. “What is the wrong kind of men? It depends on what one is looking for, doesn’t it?”
Franco tilted his head. “Do you not want to marry?”
“Why would I? It would only tie me down. I would have to dance to my husband’s tune. I am an independent woman now and I intend to stay that way.”
“I see.” His eyes sparkled again. “But there is nothing against having a little adventure on the side?”
Atalanta stepped back towards the door with her book in hand. “It is time for me to retire. I wish you goodnight.”
Franco wanted to say something more, it seemed, but she turned her back on him and left the room. Her heart was hammering. She found his advances most peculiar. Did Maurizio know that his bartender was trying to woo the guests?
In her turmoil she took a wrong turn and realised she wasn’t going in the direction of her room. She stopped to look about her. This was another corridor. It would probably lead to a staircase she could take to get to the floor on which her room was located. She continued down the corridor but stopped when she heard something ahead of her – a door opening softly. She didn’t know why but she quickly stepped behind a large potted palm to avoid being seen. She did not want to be questioned as to why she was wandering the halls at this time of night.
Through the leaves she could see a female figure stepping from a room. The woman closed the door and looked about her in a furtive manner. The low light from one of the electric lamps along the wall shone on her excited expression. Eva Reuter. Why was she leaving her bedroom at this hour? Or was that not her room at all?
What if she came this way and spotted Atalanta?
Sweat formed in her palms, but luckily Eva turned away from her, walking quickly but on tiptoe as if to keep very quiet. Atalanta waited until she was out of sight and then quietly made her way down the corridor to the door of the room from which Eva had come.
She hesitated. Was this a good idea? Then she put her hand on the door handle and pressed down. The door opened with a soft click. She pushed it open a fraction and peeked inside. It was too dark to see anything. Did she dare turn on the light to see what kind of room it was?
No, it was too risky. But she did push the door open wider so the light from the corridor could get in. By the outline of the furniture – a writing desk and chairs, a large cupboard with doors and a key in the lock – she determined that it was some kind of office. Did Maurizio work here? Had Eva been inside to find out more about the story that Maurizio wanted Raoul’s place on the team? If Eva had been rifling through paperwork then she was willing to take chances to unearth information. Because she was curious? Or was there more to Eva than met the eye?
Atalanta closed the door again and decided to go back the way she had come. She didn’t want to run into Eva and have to explain why she was up and about. She would not feel comfortable until she had reached her own room and locked herself inside. And even then…
What was going on at Hotel Alpenrot?
Chapter Eight
In the bright light of day, her worries seemed farfetched and exaggerated. Franco had only been teasing her about her taste in literature. He had not meant to make her uncomfortable or drive her to flee. She had overreacted. And Eva had perhaps just entered that room to look for something she needed. A stamp on a letter home? If she had indeed been sleuthing, she would probably share her findings with the other women soon enough. Atalanta could not imagine someone as direct as Eva being reticent about her discoveries. Perhaps she had already told Theresa something? The two of them had been whispering together right before they started ice skating on the frozen lake at the back of the hotel.
