AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She’s lovely,” Margot said firmly. “She was always charming, and now she’s positively beautiful. He’s a very lucky man, and I’m sure he knows it.”
“Yes,” Winifred agreed. Now she could not stop the tears running down her face. “I hate to let her go, but we have to keep her safe.”
Without thinking, Margot put her arms around Winifred’s shoulders and held her tightly for several moments. When Winifred finally walked away, her back was straight, her head high. She was ready to face her family again.
CHAPTER
8
Elena was restless all night after having found Aiden and spent the evening dining near him and his friends, as if they were total strangers. She had imagined it before, of course: how it would be, how they would address each other, and how each of them wou
ld feel. First, she had loved him, then she had believed he was a traitor, and loved and hated him at the same time. Then Peter Howard had told her he was loyal all the time!
Now it all fell into place. She should have trusted her instinct and known there was an explanation. He had not betrayed her; he had followed a higher loyalty. At what cost to himself? She might never know. But now that she had found him, it was different. A few moments alone and he could have healed so much of the wound she had merely covered over. No wonder she could not forget him! In her heart she must always have known. It was her turn to be loyal, even to save him.
She lay in this narrow, hard bed in the strange apartment in Trieste, staring up at the patterns on the ceiling made by the streetlights. The shutters were open, since closed they made the room completely airless, and she could hear the noise anyway: people’s footsteps, now and then a car’s engine, someone calling out “good night” in Italian or German or Serbian.
So many nights she had lain in his arms. How was it even imaginable that he wouldn’t recognize her, however much she had changed? Her hair had been light brown; her mother had called it “honey-colored,” which sounded so much more attractive. The heavy wave was natural. In May, in Berlin, when she was running away, she had cut it much shorter, level with her jaw, and dyed it pale blond. That was only months ago, although it seemed in another life. Half grown out, it had looked such a mess. She had it colored again, that luminous Scandinavian blond tone, and Margot had laughed at her. Elena had to admit she actually liked it. It made her look very different. She had kept it like that as a promise to herself that she was different, braver, a player and not just a watcher.
Elena was dressing more fashionably, too. She had disguised herself, when she needed to, not by melting into the background but by standing out against it. Bold and different. Strikingly dressed, so people remembered her clothes rather than her face. She had not admitted it until now, but this pleased her. The new self was who she wanted to be. It felt natural, true, as she imagined herself to be.
There was no time to waste. This was urgent. Time to dream later. Peter Howard had told her only as much as she needed to know. She could not find Aiden’s handler, Max Klausner, and she had to warn Aiden and convince him to leave.
* * *
—
She got up fairly early, and, as she had done in the few days since she had come to Trieste, dressed, and went out for breakfast. The street was cool, and busy already. There was a café around the corner where she could buy newspapers in English, Italian, or German. She could not read the Serbian, so she left them. The German newspapers were best. They were actually from Vienna and gave a little bit of the news she most needed, specifically stories of unrest and criticism of Chancellor Dollfuss. It seemed whatever the poor man did, people were displeased. He was too autocratic, changed his mind too often; there was too much he was still learning and too much he didn’t know. He was certainly heavy-handed—but then, so was Hitler in Germany, and there was nothing but praise for him. And Mussolini in Italy? Pompous, ridiculous man. Apparently, he had been a pretty good journalist before he became Il Duce. What had happened to him? Power was like that: enough of it and it strips you of the inhibitions that keep you outwardly sane. But inwardly? Judgment is affected and eventually you become dangerous and absurd.
She enjoyed her freshly baked rolls and two cups of coffee, then read the political articles in the Viennese newspaper and made her plans for the day. These included one last look around at the restaurants where Max had served. Then, if she did not find anyone who had seen him this week, she would go to where Gabrielle had said they would be this evening, a public place with delightful music. Gabrielle had mentioned it with an invitation to join them. Elena felt it was brash to accept, and in a way rather pathetic, but that was immaterial now. She must speak to Aiden alone and warn him, however it appeared to others.
She found no trace of Max this morning, either. She came as close as she dared to questioning openly without attracting too much attention, then gave it up and went back to her apartment. She hated making a fool of herself and appearing desperate, but defensive feelings were self-indulgent now. In fact, when she thought about it, they were just a pathetic vanity.
How should she dress? Conspicuously, of course! If there were questions, the answers would be of no use. The blonde in the scarlet silk dress, what was her face like? No idea. Would you know if her eyes are brown or blue? No.
How was she going to approach Aiden? He was bound to be with other people. Gabrielle, at least, and from the way she had spoken, others as well. It didn’t matter if she embarrassed them or what they thought of her, except that they must not know she was MI6, or whatever they thought the British Secret Service was called. She must look casual, harmless, even socially inept, or desperately lonely. No, that was galling. She shivered at that thought. It was the ultimate humiliation. She should have a life, a purpose that would make her seem more like everyone else. It was not hard to create.
Might one of them be the person who had killed Max Klausner? They might be shallow, trivial, or even absurd on the outside, but underneath, desperately serious. It was literally a matter of life and death. And not only for them, but perhaps for many others. She had seen that in Berlin. One minute she had been on the street, the next in a Gestapo prison. She had been rescued, but others had not. To hell with embarrassment!
She put on the scarlet dress and surveyed herself in the abbreviated mirror in her bathroom. The space was too small to get a full impression, but maybe that was just as well. Her appearance was eye-catching, but not necessarily the way she wanted to look. Or more honestly, the way she dared to look. She would be noticed, that was certain. She had gained weight in one or two places she had not realized. She had been a bit boyish at sixteen; there was nothing boyish about her now! Margot would be amused.
She put her cape around her shoulders and felt a good deal less conspicuous, then went downstairs to the street. She was tall enough to be elegant in fairly low heels, which was just as well, in case she needed to walk any distance. Or even to run.
She found a taxi in the first main street she came to and asked the driver to take her to the address Gabrielle had given her. The journey was not long enough to sort out her thoughts. It seemed like they had barely navigated the busy street when the driver pulled in at the curb and told her she was there. She paid and thanked him, then stepped out, forcing herself to walk inside casually, as if she had done it a dozen times before.
“Have you a reservation, signora? Or perhaps there is someone expecting you?” the man at the desk inquired. He was charmingly polite, but there was a steel in him that said he did not allow unaccompanied young women into the establishment. She knew exactly what he was asking and what he suspected might be her true business here.
She smiled with all the confidence she could fake. “Madame Fournier invited me to join her. I’m sure she will say so, if you ask her.” She wished she were as sure as she sounded.
“Of course, signora.” He inclined his head. “Madame Fournier is over there,” he indicated, with the slightest turn of his head.
Elena followed the line of his glance and saw Gabrielle immediately. She was unmissable. She was not quite Elena’s height, but one did not compare Gabrielle with anybody else. She was elegant, slender, yet also voluptuous. Her dark hair was coiled at the back of her head, sleek and shining. She wore a gown of gold lamé that caught the light and would have exposed even the slightest flaw, had there been any. One looked at nobody else.
Elena took a deep breath and let the cape slide off her shoulders and trail from one hand. Then she walked over toward Gabrielle as if she did this every day…and had all the time in the world. She heard, rather than saw, a slight movement, the scraping of chair legs, as people turned to watch her. She took no notice.
Several people were staring, but the only one she cared about was Aiden. She noticed the light on his hair as he turned, and then the look on his face, almost instantly masked. She stopped in front of Gabrielle. “You were kind enough to invite me,” Elena said calmly, although she felt as if her whole body was shaking with the beating of her heart. “So, I accepted. It looks as if everybody who matters in Trieste is here.” She did no more than glance at the nearby tables and the two couples nearest to them, whom she recognized from the previous night.
Aiden covered his surprise immediately. “I’m sorry, signorina, at first I did not recognize you.”
