Silhouette in Scarlet (9 page)

‘In you? I am, of course. If I cared only about Smythe, I would seek information by telephone instead of taking you to dinner.’

He offered a stiff bent elbow. Stifling a smile, I took it. On the whole I was more inclined to believe Leif’s blunt comments than the florid endearments of certain other people.

I suggested we go back to the same restaurant so I could ask about my notebook, but Leif was firm. He had another place in mind. It was a pretty cafe, with tables on a balcony overlooking some
stretch of water or other, but the prices on the menu were considerably lower than those of the other restaurant. Studying it, I muttered, “Why is it no one ever sent me yet, One perfect
limousine, do you suppose?”

Predictably, Leif said, ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ I wondered whether this evening’s outing would go on his expense account. The prices didn’t prove anything one way or the other The only people I know who
enjoy lavish expense accounts are politicians and business executives.

Covertly I studied my companion over the top of my menu. He wasn’t looking at me. One finger nervously stroked his moustache; the other hand beat a restless tattoo on the table as his eyes
moved around the room, inspecting the faces of the diners. I had been too preoccupied with my own thoughts to notice that he had something on his mind too. He was looking for someone –
possibly John, possibly someone else. But if he was a policeman of any variety, I was a Short Person.

He just didn’t have the right look. I’m not referring to his physical appearance; as we all know from movies and television, undercover cops aren’t supposed to look like cops;
they are supposed to look like pushers or hookers or crooks. But all of them have one thing in common – professionalism. They wouldn’t live long if they didn’t know their trade.
Leif’s performance as a member of the Special Branch had a few glaring flaws. The way he picked me up, for instance – pretty crude, for a pro. Yet he knew me, my reputation and my
background, including the fact that I was on good terms with members of the Munich police. So why didn’t he take me into his confidence if he wanted me to help him? And if he didn’t
want my help, why was he hanging around?

There was an obvious answer to that question, but I wasn’t conceited enough to believe it. He was mildly interested, but it was only too apparent that he was even more interested in John.
Surely he didn’t suspect me of being John’s confederate. Even if he knew about the Paris affair . . . If he was a police official, he probably did know about it; the whole damned
embarrassing business was on record at the Sûreté. However, the French police had cleared me completely, and if Leif was familiar with that episode he would have every reason to assume
I wanted to get even with John. There was only one thing I could think of that might arouse official suspicions of my present trip, and that was the message John had sent. I had flushed it down the
toilet in a fit of pique – but the package had been opened before I received it.

Maybe Leif was a cop after all. It isn’t easy for a private citizen to interfere with the mails.

I decided it was time to get a few things off my chest ‘You owe me an explanation,’ I said.

Leif started. ‘What?’

‘You heard me. All you’ve told me is that you are following John . . . No, damn it, you haven’t even told me that much. Were you following him? Is that why you were at the
airport – or were you waiting for me to show up? Why didn’t you arrest him when I identified him? Do you suspect me? Was one of your men following me today, and is six to midnight your
shift?’

I had Leif’s complete attention now. He quit fiddling with his moustache and folded his hands on the table. He was trying to look cool, but the whitened grip of his fingers destroyed the
image.

‘It is known that you have been in communication with Smythe,’ he said.

‘How? Mind you, I’m not admitting that I have; I’m just asking what gives you that idea.’

‘I am not at liberty to divulge my sources. You understand – ’

‘No, I don’t understand. I’m sick and tired of oblique hints and vague accusations. And, what’s more – ’

‘Be quiet!’

My rising voice had attracted attention. Fortunately for me, he had stopped me before my big flapping mouth had made any damaging admissions or accusations.

We glared at one another. Leif was breathing so hard the air from his nostrils made the ends of his moustache flap. After a moment his tight lips relaxed and he chuckled softly.

‘The little kitten spits and hisses,’ he said. ‘It is charming. I suppose many men have told you that you are beautiful when you are angry.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re the first.’

He looked pleased. I guess he thought I was complimenting him. ‘Have you any more questions, little lady?’ he asked.

‘Suppose you answer the ones I’ve already asked.’

‘Certainly. But not here. We will walk, and find a place where we can talk privately.’ When we left the cafe he took my hand and continued to hold it as we strolled along the quay
The sun was setting; it would go on setting for hours, hanging around like an unwanted guest. The water reflected the deepening blue of the western sky. The tall masts of the sailing ship
Wasa
, now a youth hostel, lifted like pointing fingers. She was a beautiful craft, long and sleek. I decided that if Leif suggested a boat ride, I would make damned good and sure the boat
was crowded. Yet it was difficult for me to be afraid of a man who called me little lady and told me I was beautiful when I was angry. I couldn’t imagine a cop using a tired old line like
that one – in fact, I couldn’t imagme any man under seventy using it. Was he, or was he not?

He didn’t suggest a boat ride. He didn’t say anything until we reached Kungsträdgården. Then he announced, ‘This will be suitable,’ and looked around for an
empty bench.

There weren’t many. People were watching a chess game, played on a giant board laid out on the pavement, with wooden men several feet high. Children were at play; couples were talking and
drinking and making out. Watching one such pair, intriguingly entwined, Leif shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Such people.’

‘“They are the dirtiest of creatures,”’ ‘I said. ‘“And they do not wash themselves after sex.”’

‘What?’

“‘Furthermore, women have the right to claim a divorce. They do this whenever they wish.”’

‘What?’

‘Ibn-Fal-Ibrahim al-Tartushi said that in the tenth ccntury, when he visited Scandinavia.’

‘I do not understand what you are talking about’

‘Everything is relative.
Autre temps, autre moeurs.
’

‘We will sit here,’ Leif said, abandoning hope of making sense out of my comments. The bench he selected was in a quiet corner under a clump of lilacs. We sat down. Leif put his arm
around me and mashed me against his side.

‘Now we appear like innocent lovers,’ he explained.

‘Uh-huh.’ There were plenty of people around. Two nearby benches were occupied, and pedestrians passed constantly. ‘Now, then,’ I said.

‘Always business first, eh?’ Leif chuckled and squeezed me. My breath came out in a grunt.

‘I am sorry; I forget my strength,’ Leif said, relaxing his grip a trifle.

‘Leif, you’re stalling.’

‘No, no, I don’t stall. Believe, Vicky, I have full trust in you. In your honour, at least. But you are too trusting. What are your feelings for that evil man?’

‘John?’ I hadn’t thought of him as evil. Tricky, dishonest, sneaky . . . ‘I hate the bastard,’ I said.

‘I am glad you don’t love him,’ Leif said. ‘He is not the man for you, my Valkyrie. He is too small.’

I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t because Leif had given me another hug and I was short of breath. When I got it back, I said, ‘Were you following John or waiting for me? Why
didn’t you arrest him at the airport?’

Leif’s right hand began making little sorties, hither and yon. The sweater frustrated him at first, but he dealt with it rather ingeniously. ‘I did not arrest him because we must
catch him in the act. We have no proof, only suspicions.’

‘Suspicions of what?’

Leif’s left hand, hitherto unoccupied, came swooping around like a cable car on a wire. When the heel of his hand was under my chin, his fingers curled up over the crown of my head. He
turned my face towards his. His pupils looked like big chunks of amber. His moustache tickled my nose. My lips parted. I was about to sneeze. He muffled the explosion with a kiss. When he let me go
I tasted blood. (That’s not a complaint, it’s only a comment.)

‘You distract me,’ he said gravely.

‘I distract
you
?’

‘Yes. Have you more questions?’

I will not claim that I had not enjoyed that kiss. It was a masterful performance. I was pretty sure now that Leif was not what he pretended to be and, what is more, I resented his attempt to
distract my feeble feminine brain by making love to me. However, his hand was resting on the back of my neck, and I despise characters who blurt out their suspicions to the villain. ‘Then it
was you who destroyed Sir Reginald’s suicide note! But that – that means . . .’ ‘Yes, my dear, you have stumbled on the essential clue. Now I am forced to silence you before
you can tell the police.’

A dialogue like that was the last thing I wanted. So I said meekly, ‘I’m still curious, Leif. What is John after this time?’

‘It is a reasonable question,’ Leif conceded. ‘You must realize, however, that the information is classified.’

‘Don’t tell me Mr Smythe has gone into espionage. He used to specialize in art.’

‘Oh, yes, that is his expertize. But it is a state secret, all the same.’

‘Give me a hint.’

‘I would be violating my oath as a police officer if I did that.’

I could see his dilemma. I don’t mean to disparage my ancestral homeland when I say there wasn’t much in the entire country that was worth stealing. John didn’t fool around
with minor treasures, he went for the big stuff, the Mona Lisas and Koh-i-noors. Leif didn’t even know enough about the Swedish collections to invent a believable lie; he must be aware that I
knew more than he did.

I couldn’t resist. I owed him for insulting my intelligence with his inept fabrications and his macho lovemaking.

‘Oh,’ I cried, as if enlightenment had suddenly dawned on me. ‘You don’t mean . . . It isn’t . . .’

Leif waited hopefully for me to finish. I just sat there, wide-eyed and fascinated.

Finally he said between his teeth, ‘Don’t speak the word aloud. There are enemies everywhere.’

‘Naturally. But how is he going to do it?’

‘If we knew for certain, we would not be so concerned.’

‘I wish I could help you.’

‘You can help me by dropping the subject,’ Leif said sincerely.

‘But I’m intrigued. I can’t believe even John would try . . . What a scandal it would cause!’

‘Oh, yes.’ Leif was sweating. I decided to let him off the hook, not because I didn’t enjoy watching him sweat, but because it was getting late. John might come or he might
not; if he came, I wanted to be there in good time.

‘Well, I hope you can tell me about it once the case is solved,’ I said, untangling myself from Leif and rising to my feet. ‘I’d better be getting back to the hotel
now.’

‘Must you?’ But he rose with alacrity, and offered me another stiff elbow.

As we walked along the flower-lined path, Leif said, ‘I did not answer your questions.’

‘I noticed that.’

We left the park and stood on the corner waiting for the lights to change. Leif put his hand over mine. ‘You are not a criminal. But I think you know more of this John Smythe than you have
told me. Are you not aware that one of his confederates has followed us this evening?’

‘You’re imagining things. Unless it was one of your men – ’

‘He was no police officer. I saw him at the restaurant and also at the park – short, very fat man, with large whiskers, wearing a straw hat.’

The light changed. Leif towed me across the street.

I had kept an eye out for followers, but I was looking for brown beards, not bushy whiskers, and for a familiar profile, however garbed. The man Leif had seen might have been John. I discounted
the description; anyone under six and a half feet tall might seem short to Leif, and false whiskers and fat tummies are easily procurable.

‘Why didn’t you apprehend the miscreant?’ I inquired.

‘How could I prove what I suspected? It is not a crime to be in the same places we are in.’ He added, ‘You do not seem alarmed. Do you know who it is that follows
you?’

‘You’re the only one I know who is following me.’

‘Vicky, I beg you to tell me the truth,’ Leif said earnestly. ‘I only wish to protect you. Oh, I know the power a man like Smythe has over young and inexperienced females. You
think he is romantic,
nicht
? He is handsome and brave, he robs only the rich. But he will break your heart – he will throw you on the trash, like a wilted flower.’

Nobody, not even my father, who thinks I am still six years old, has ever pictured me as a fragile blossom. The image had a certain eccentric charm. It was also hysterically funny, the crowning
masterpiece of all the antiquated clichés with which Leif had favoured me that evening. My efforts to suppress a shriek of laughter resulted in convulsive muscular spasms and a series of
gurgling noises.

Leif looked at me in alarm. ‘Do not break down until we reach your room. You will tell me all. It will relieve you.’

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I reeled across the lobby and leaned on the desk, my face hidden in my hands and my shoulders heaving.

‘She is not well,’ Leif explained to the mystified concierge. ‘Pay no attention. I will escort her to her room.’

‘No, you won’t.’ I recovered in time to grab the key, which the concierge was offering to Leif. ‘I’m fine, I’m perfectly all right. Goodnight, Leif. Thanks
for a very entertaining evening.’

‘But – ’ Leif began.

‘No buts. I appreciate your efforts to protect me from myself . . .’ The image of the flower on the trash heap flashed onto my mental screen. The flower was a petunia – a
wilted purple petunia. I covered my mouth with my hand and ran for the elevator.