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“I understand,” she cut him off with a shudder. The thought was repulsive, but the story was that she was a woman who would abandon her husband for a lover, so it made sense that she might extend that favor to include paying her passage in kind.
She prepared for bed, as much as their circumstances allowed, which was not a lot more than to sleep in her slip. It had been a terrible day; irrevocable decisions had been made. She was exhausted, but the idea of relaxing enough to sleep seemed impossible.
What did Aiden expect? They had been lovers once. It seemed like ages ago, another life, another world, and a totally different kind of emotion between them. But was it so different? She wanted the excitement, the comfort. More than anything else, she wanted the tenderness—the elusive, aching, healing tenderness.
She got into bed and pulled the blankets up, glad of their warmth in the chilly air, glad of the gentle sound of the water and the slight rocking of the boat. She had no idea whether he was going to touch her or not. She lay still. Minutes passed. Could he be asleep already, without a word? She drifted off, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
* * *
—
The next day, they had breakfast with the crew. It was plain: bread rolls still reasonably fresh, served with a choice of cheese or jam, and surprisingly good coffee. They were out of sight of land now, the weather was pleasant, if a little windy, and they rode the waves easily enough. There was nothing for them to do, and the long empty hours stretched ahead. Aiden fell into conversation with some of the men. He affected interest in their lives. It might even have been real, perhaps a degree of friendship. Showing respect was a good idea.
Elena went down to the cabin and tidied up a bit. She could at least make it look cared for. She wondered what kind of people the passengers had been on other voyages. Nobody on holiday, that was for certain. Possibly fugitives of some sort, running from private enemies or the law?
She unwrapped the gift that Gabrielle had given her. She hoped Gabrielle was all right, and especially Franz. One of them would only be fine if the other was as well.
She looked at the comb, a generous gift. It was beautiful, made of polished and curved tortoiseshell. It was not for combing her hair, it was to wear as an ornament. But it required long hair, like Gabrielle’s, while Elena’s was little more than chin length. Gabrielle seemed to think she would need it. Why? How could she need an ornamental hair comb with her short hair? She turned it over and looked at the strong clasp. She unfastened it and found it unusually thick, with a section that jutted away from the shell. Carefully, she used her fingernail to dislodge it and found a very fine steel blade, its razor edge a good two inches in length.
She folded it again quickly, making it look like the ornament it had first appeared to be. She wo
uld have to be very close to someone, very close indeed to use that in an attack, or in self-defense.
What was Gabrielle warning her against? She couldn’t know anything about this voyage.
Suddenly, Elena felt very cold. Was the danger coming from the Germans? Or was it…Aiden? She pushed the thought away. Ridiculous! He was risking everything to transport her to safety!
She slipped the comb back into her bag, along with her passport and the remaining money. They had a long way to go to reach the nearest British embassy, where hopefully they could get help. Tomorrow was the first day they would be able to get off the ship for a few hours. The ship was calling in at a small port to offload some cargo, and probably take on more. She was feeling more and more closed in by the tiny cabin, and she was still shocked by the way events had turned violent so suddenly.
One moment Ferdie was pro-Hitler and supported the Fatherland Front, and considered Aiden an ally in this cause. He had been alive, making sly remarks, some of them funny, others edged with a sarcasm that cut deeply. When he turned on them, she had not seen it coming. It had erupted out of an argument that seemed trivial. Was he with the Front…or was he part of the splinter group? If the latter, and if he believed Aiden was loyal to the Front, that could explain the sense of betrayal. She, Aiden, and Gabrielle had escaped precariously, and from then on the whole atmosphere had changed. There was open violence in the streets. She and Aiden were truly running for their lives.
When Ferdie lay dying in the street, he had been unable to speak. What an appalling decision for Aiden to have to make. And yet he had had no choice. Ferdie had somehow figured out that Aiden was a British spy. One of them had to die.
Elena faced the thought she had been refusing to look at for the last twenty-four hours. It lay like a pool of ice around her heart. She really was not certain who was on which side, except that Aiden had given her the list that she was expected to pass on to Peter.
Aiden had infiltrated the Fatherland Front, a group that wanted to undermine the Austrian government and effectively annex Austria into a greater Germany. And now this splinter group wanted to make it all happen sooner, including the assassination of Dollfuss. So Ferdie was with them? It was so daunting! All of them were Nazis, but quick to kill their own!
She remembered the times she had spent with Aiden, both long ago and these past days in Trieste. The excitement, the exhilaration, the daring to do anything you could think of. Above all, the passion to live every last breath of it. Had he always taken such risks, she just had not known it?
What about Gabrielle? What was her part in this? Aiden had said they had worked together. Why, thinking now, did that seem strange? She tried to think back, but she could remember nothing meaningful, at least not clearly. Why had Gabrielle given her the comb? It was far more Gabrielle’s style than Elena’s. Did that mean anything? Affection? Or was it a warning?
She leaned over and took it out of her handbag again, then unwrapped it from the tissue. It was lovely, bright polished shell, beautifully carved. She fiddled with the clasp and slid it open. That blade was sharper than a razor, a beautifully disguised weapon. But why did Gabrielle think she would need such a thing? Who was going to attack her now, at such close quarters? Only Aiden, but that was absurd.
She thought back over all the conversations they had had, she and Aiden. Nothing came to her. Aiden had told Elena that Gabrielle was one of them. What had he told Gabrielle of her? Of anything?
What did Gabrielle know of Aiden that Elena did not? Something hovered at the edge of her mind, half seen, and then pushed away. Aiden’s laughter, his excitement, the vivid, pulsing life in him. The courage. His brief sense of loss at Max Klausner’s death, and then Ferdie’s. Had Gabrielle seen that, too, at some other time, but understood it better? Elena could see in her mind the excitement in his eyes, the flush on his face as he turned to the battle. But did he care who won? How would she know? Where was the vulnerability in him? She searched her memory and found only an emptiness where understanding should have been.
Elena felt suddenly alone on the ship. Only Aiden could protect her from the crew. They liked him, he saw to it that they did. What if she had to fight for her escape, her life? Would he be there for her?
One lie that he heard in her voice, and would she even make it to the shore, never mind back to England? Here she was again, questioning Aiden!
But why had he given her a copy of the list? That was a stupid question! What on earth made her think it was the true list? What better idea than to let her give a false list to Peter Howard, a list that might blame innocent people, people who might get in the way of an alliance under the Nazis? Clever. Was that why he wanted to be sure she got back to MI6? There were high stakes in this game, but Aiden had never shrunk from that.
Was there another list—a true one—the one Peter Howard had sent her for? Or had that never existed? If there was, did Aiden carry it on him, or was it hidden somewhere in the cabin, in his belongings, where no one else would recognize it? She tried to think what she would do if she found it, but her mind was whirling. The safest way would be to carry the names in her memory, but she could not afford to rely on that. No, definitely not. She would have to have something to remind her, perhaps not obviously, but something that would have meaning for her alone.
What did Aiden always carry with him or on him that was indestructible? It would have to be something that could take getting wet, that was of no discernible value for a thief to steal, or for authorities to confiscate if he was searched. The only things she could think of were his clothes, and he changed those every so often. Different shirts, different shoes, socks, underwear. And then she knew. The only thing he always wore was his leather belt. He wore it with everything. She went over all the times she had seen him since that evening in Trieste. Yes, there was always that thin, dark leather belt. The only time he took it off was at night.
Aiden slept naked.
