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He hesitated.
“Wouldn’t Peter Howard have someone in Vienna? How would they know more here, in Trieste?” She stopped abruptly. One answer at least was obvious. The main conspirators had to be here. This part of Italy had been Austrian for centuries. It had Italian nationality, but one had but to glance at the great buildings to know that they were not the same in character as those of other Italian cities. It was hard to describe but easy to see, a different kind of beauty that was northern, not of the Mediterranean. It made sense now. No wonder it was important.
“When will it happen,” she prompted him. “How soon?”
“Much too soon,” he replied. “Maybe in four or five weeks.”
A knot tightened inside her. “That soon—really? What is the information you must get back to London?”
Again, he hesitated.
Was she asking too many questions? Should she pretend it did not matter? But it was said now; she could not take it back. Why was she being so cautious, as if she did not trust him? “What can we do about it?” she asked. “What will it help if we know?”
He reached his hand across the table and touched hers. “You’re learning, aren’t you?” he said wryly. “Perhaps I’d better tell you, just in case I don’t get out.”
“Aiden! Don’t say that.”
He smiled with what seemed real pleasure. It brought back memories she would rather not have seen again.
“It’s the truth,” he said grimly, bringing her back to reality. “Grow up, Elena. That list is dynamite. It has the names of most of the major financial contributors to the cause of the Fatherland Front. I don’t mean the odd pound or dollar here or there. I mean millions.”
She felt her insides clench. “You said pound or dollar, not mark?”
“I meant it.” He leaned forward again, removing his hand from hers. “The names of people who contribute to the cause or invest in it. Even some with investments in both sides, or
just in war itself. It’s not only valuable, it’s dangerous. It holds immense power. What do you think would happen if these names were made public? Or even passed secretly to those in office? The foreign secretary is quietly funding Hitler’s overthrow of Austria…”
“What?” She froze as if ice had gripped her body.
“Not actually!” he said sharply. “But it could be made just as important. Do you understand now? It’s power, even if it isn’t used. Knowledge of the list’s existence and the threat of exposure would be enough. A small act at first, and they would use it—”
“I see!” she cut him off. “You don’t have to paint pictures.”
“Howard’s a clever man, Elena. Don’t ever forget that. And ruthless, if he has to be. All brain, no heart. And believe me, I’ve known him longer and far better than you have. He told you to get me out. It’s good policy to get your people out alive, if you possibly can. But, above all, get the information. He will expect you to take it back to him, whatever happens to me. And to get yourself back, too, if possible, but that list at all costs.”
She felt as if an iron hand had closed around her. Was that really what she had become part of? Was that who Peter Howard was? And behind that, far bigger, was that who Lucas was? How had she seen nothing of that? Had they—her grandparents—protected her, even Grandma Josephine?
She felt very small, and blind.
She withdrew her hand from the table automatically, then realized too late how it gave her away. “Then, when it is the right time, you had better give it to me,” she said, trying to control the wobble in her voice. “I’ll hide it not too obviously. Then we’ll go and see if you can get the dates right, and if they really matter more than simply taking the list to Howard.”
“War is dirty and expensive, Elena,” he said softly. “Too often it’s about killing. And believe me, dying in the trenches isn’t any better. At least there, you are betrayed only by incompetence, not by one thing deliberately pretending to be another. And I don’t think you even have the delusion that you are safe.”
“But there you have some people you know are your friends, who would save you if they could and die beside you if they had to,” she said with an edge of bitterness she would rather not let him hear.
“You have that here, too.” He smiled with a downward turn to his mouth. “Even if they are far more difficult to recognize. Howard might just be right about you. We are about to see. There are some people you should meet…”
CHAPTER
13
Margot gave herself one last quick glance in the bedroom mirror. She looked almost as she had wished. There were always slight imperfections, but perhaps that was Nature’s way of keeping her from too much arrogance. Her next really big birthday would be forty. She was more than half a decade off yet, but it would come soon enough. The faint lines on her face would be harsher then, if she was not careful. She remembered Grandma Josephine telling her that at twenty, or even thirty, you had the face Nature had given you, but at sixty, you had the face you deserved, the one you had made for yourself. Maybe that was why Josephine looked so good: all the lines in her face went the right way.
Margot laughed a lot, but did she smile? To be honest, possibly not.
Tonight, she wore a russet-gold dress that had cost a fortune, and it had been worth it. She was not meant for pastel shades. The burning bronze and gold and brown, close to black, were perfect. She had an ideal figure, and she moved with the grace of a dancer. All those lessons in deportment and etiquette had not been wasted.
This was to be a celebration dinner for Cecily’s wedding. When it was over, Cecily and Hans would leave for their honeymoon. It would be short, of course. The demands of duty bent for no one. Their honeymoon would be in a hunting lodge in the Black Forest, lent to them by a man in very high office. That was an honor in itself.
