Tempting Fate (99 page)

“Gudrun!” he called out sleepily.

“I’m in the bathroom.” She reached over and turned on the faucets in the sink.

“What are you doing?” He had the petulant sound he always did when he was roused unexpectedly.

“Cleaning up.” She shoved her sweater under a stack of towels and put her boots behind the radiator. “I am having my woman’s friend,” she improvised, though it was at least a week before she expected it.

Helmut’s comment was not clear to her.

“When I am through, I am going down to the kitchen to heat up some milk and port. It eases the cramps. Go back to sleep, Helmut.” She took a washrag and squeezed it out noisily.

“How long—?” he began.

“About five days.”

“—will you be in there?”

She covered her hesitation by flushing the toilet. “Not too much longer. Please don’t wait for me. I feel so … messy.” She reached for her velvet robe and pulled it on. It covered her clothes quite well, especially if she raised the neck ruffle a little. It was exhilarating, this deception. The boots were a greater problem, but she hit on the idea of taking her nightgown and a towel and holding the boots under them. She snatched the nightgown from the floor and dropped it in to the sink, running water on it. With the noise of the water as a cover, she took one of the two pairs of boots from behind the radiator and reached for a towel. The results were fairly bulky, but it could not be helped. She took the nightgown out of the sink, wrung it once, and dropped it atop the towel. “I’m coming out,” she called as she turned off the water and shot the bolt back. As she opened the door, she turned off the light, hoping that the sudden darkness would be as disorienting to Helmut as it would be to her.

“You’re not sick, are you?” Helmut asked suspiciously as Gudrun stepped into the hall. His hair was tousled and his robe was not quite closed over his striped pajamas.

“Of course not,” she said with asperity. “This happens to women quite regularly. It is merely an inconvenience,” She started past him toward the stairs.

“I’ll get the milk for you,” he said darkly, or so she thought.

“It’s … it’s not necessary, Helmut I’ve been doing this for myself for more than twenty years. Best let me take care of it.” She looked at the towel in her hand. “I want to hang this up near the stove so that it will be dry in the morning.”

Helmut grunted and rubbed his hair.

The stairs, as she descended them, seemed to go on interminably. She knew that she must not rush, or Helmut, still watching from above, would notice that something was amiss. She checked her impulse to scream and flee. One step at a time, her hand on the bannister, her step measured. If she moved too abruptly, the robe might open and show she was fully dressed but for the boots. She wished she had had a chance to pull on the sweater, but she had a hacking jacket in the sporting room, and that would be some help. At the foot of the stairs she turned toward the kitchen rather than toward the sporting room, on the chance that Helmut was continuing to watch her. Then she heard the bedroom door close, and she turned and ran toward the other wing of the Schloss, her right hand out against the walls to guide her, her left arm holding the towel and nightgown and boots tight against her robe.

The sporting room was small and more devoted to equestrian activities than shooting, though there was a small gun case at one end of the room. Gudrun’s hacking jacket was hung over the back of one of the chairs, and she rushed to it, pulling the robe off her shoulders and letting the towel and nightgown drop to the floor. Her jacket was heavy wool and lined in stiff silk twill, designed to keep her warm on cross-country rides in brisk autumn weather. She sat down and reached for her boots, pulling out the thick sock that was rolled in the bottom of each of them. It was a habit her father had taught her, placing clean socks in her boots after polishing them, and never was she more grateful for it The boots, without the socks, would have blistered her feet in short order. She tugged the boots on as soon as she had donned the socks, and then stood up, buttoning her jacket as she did so. Then she reached for the robe and towel and nightgown, and after an instant’s indecision decided to put them in the gun case, which was almost never opened. As she laid them out on the old elm boards, she looked at the guns, and, impulsively, took a .30 calibre Carbine from its rack. She had done target shooting with a similar gun when Jürgen was still well. She doubted she could fire at anyone, but it gave her confidence to hold it in her hand. She opened the ammunition drawer and found a box of cartridges for the rifle. She dropped this into her pocket after loading the Carbine.

As she stepped into the hall, she wondered how long she had been, and if Ragoczy had become impatient and had, perhaps, left her behind. The fear of that turned her to inner ice, but she held it at bay. If he had gone, she told herself, it would make no difference. She would leave Schloss Saint-Germain and walk the distance to Wolkighügel. She would wake Frau Bürste and tell her what she had decided they must do. And Frau Bürste would agree. They would take the Lancia and drive … anywhere. They would go to Italy or Yugoslavia or Greece, and live private, frugal, rapturous lives. This resolution banished her fear at last, and she started back toward Ragoczy’s study, visions of Aegean islands drowsing in the sun filling her mind.

“And now, Mein Graf, you will explain,” Helmut Rauch said as he aimed the pistol directly at Ragoczy’s head.

Ragoczy woke abruptly, and stared up at the man in the untidy bathrobe. “How did you find me?”

“My wife thinks she is very clever. I had only to follow the trail of her robe in the dust. I knew that something was the matter when she lied about her woman’s friend: Otto told me when she had it last, and it was not yet time.” He shook his head. “Not very clever, my wife. She tries, naturally, but like all women, she is at a loss outside of her proper sphere.” He motioned with the pistol. “Get up, Herr Ragoczy. I do not like to shoot a man who is lying down.”

“If you shoot me, it won’t matter, Herr Rauch. I will fall in any case.” He turned on his side, propping himself on his elbow. “Would it offend you if I chose to remain on the floor?”

“To grovel?” Rauch inquired maliciously. “You foreigners are all like that, aren’t you? Cowardly and sly when faced with your superiors. Aren’t you?” He was taunting Ragoczy now, wanting to provoke him to some ill-considered action.

“You are Herr Rauch and I am Graf and Prinz, so who is the superior?” Ragoczy responded, suppressing a yawn.

“That is the old order!” Rauch snapped, though from the darkening of his face it was apparent that Ragoczy’s jibe had struck home.

“A very old order indeed, Herr Rauch,” Ragoczy said as he sat up. “And are you so certain that your new order is any different from it? Is there not the same structure? Or have I misunderstood your remarks of the past few years?” He felt his strength return, and wondered if he could goad Rauch into shooting him where it would do little harm. It was essential that he not be shot in the head or the spine if he were to survive. But a flesh wound in the leg or the arm, while painful, would not present any danger to him. And it would buy him a precious morsel of time in which to attack. If he could reach Rauch without being killed himself, then the other man would be dead.

“Be quiet!” He shouted this, and the room echoed it faintly. “Stand up!”

“Very well.” Ragoczy got slowly to his feet, facing Rauch with contempt. “Does this suit you, Herr Rauch?”

“You have come back here like a thief in the night!” Rauch declared unsteadily, a tic in his cheek causing his left eye to jump.

“This is my Schloss, Herr Rauch. I may come here any way I choose. If there is a thief here, it is not I.” His words were infuriatingly cool, and he faced the man with unruffled calm.

“It is not yours! The court has awarded it to the Thule Bruderschaft and the SA! We are deserving of it, not you!”

“A thief’s excuse,” Ragoczy said wryly.

“We are!” Helmut yelled.

“Of course. After all, you hold the pistol.” His penetrating eyes were half-closed and his mouth curved in a sardonic smile.

“That means nothing,” Helmut muttered.

“If that is the case, then give me the pistol and say the same things.” Ragoczy’s ironic amusement was more apparent now.

“You call me a thief,” Helmut said, not responding to Ragoczy’s last barb. “Yet you are the one who seeks to steal my wife. That is why you are here, isn’t it, Ragoczy?”

“She seems more of a hostage than a wife, Rauch. Or do you routinely use blackmail instead of charm to win a woman?” He looked at the other man. “You’re despicable, Herr Rauch.”

Helmut raised his pistol and aimed it directly at Ragoczy’s head. “I have given her my name and my wealth. I have protected her from infamy.”

“I gather she did not want any of it.” Ragoczy shifted his weight slightly, so that he was balanced on the balls of his feet. He needed one chance, one little opening, and he would deal with Rauch.

“She is foolish. Women do not know how to Seal with the world. It is the duty of a man to give them guidance and…” Helmut swallowed hard, as if there were an obstruction in his throat.

“Which is why you used her brother’s debts to court her? How prudent.” His sarcasm was deliberate and heavy, and he waited for Helmut to act. “She would not have had you otherwise, would she?”

“She did not understand!” Helmut bellowed, the barrel of the pistol wavering.

Ragoczy was ready to move. “How could she not? You were the one who threatened her, and you were the one who demanded that she accept you or face ruin. Do you deny that?”

“She is foolish,” he repeated loudly. “She is stupid. She has no notion of how she must live! You were one of those who misled her, seduced her with lies and perversions and … She is incapable of thought, and without any perspective. It was I—
I!
—who brought her out of disgrace and restored her to the position she was meant to occupy. She could never have done it herself!”

“With you extending loans to her brother which you knew he could not repay, she certainly could not,” Ragoczy said, hoping this would be sufficient provocation.

“I had to do that! There was no other way to show her. That was why Maximillian had to die! If he had lived, he might have told her what he had done, and then…!” He lurched sideways and his pistol went off, the bullet embedding itself in Ragoczy’s enormous desk. He reached up one hand, toward a spattering of skin and blood by his ear; then he turned slowly, making a last try to bring up his pistol for a second shot. Quite suddenly his legs collapsed and he fell in a heap, like a puppet with severed strings.

The rifle dropped from Gudrun’s hands and she leaned on the wall, her face white. “Mein Gott, Mein Gott!” she shrieked, staring at the crumpled body.

Ragoczy approached her carefully, his arms open to her. “Hush, Gudrun. It is finished.”

“He killed Maximillian. I knew it. I
knew
it. He did it deliberately, just killed him.” She sobbed deeply twice, three times, gagged and drew herself up. “I will not weep for him. Or for Maximillian.” She turned toward Ragoczy, her face severe. “Do not think I did this for you, Graf. It was for myself. For my honor.”

“Yes,” Ragoczy murmured. “We cannot stay here.” He reached for his jacket, blocking her view of Helmut’s body.

She looked about rather wildly. “No. This is an evil place. Helmut destroyed it, didn’t he?”

“For a time, perhaps,” Ragoczy answered her, and took her by the shoulders. “We must not be found here. If we are, you will have done this in vain. Gudrun, do you understand me?”

“I…” Her face showed the first immobility of shock, and her eyes no longer held the keen anger that had given her the impetus to shoot. “What am I to do?” She tried to pull away from Ragoczy, but his small hands held her with uncanny strength. “They will make me a criminal. And the Thule Bruderschaft, with their policemen and their judges, will condemn me, and I will die. Oh, Christ!” She crossed herself, as she had done as a child, and began to recite the Ave Maria in a low horrified voice.

“Gudrun,” Ragoczy said quite firmly to her, “we’re going to leave here. Do you understand me? We are going to get into my automobile and I will drive you to Wolkighügel. You will wake Frau Bürste and tell her what has happened. She will aid you in finding a plausible explanation of why you returned to your house this evening. If you act wisely, you will have your wish: you will live at Wolkighügel with Frau Bürste without any taint of suspicion touching you, now or ever. Do you want that, Gudrun?”

“I want that,” she said, breaking off her prayers. “Oh, yes.”

Ragoczy was relieved to hear this. He looked into her eyes and spoke directly to her. “We will leave here. We will take the rifle and leave. We are going back to Wolkighügel. Frau Bürste is there and she will help you.”

“Yes, she will,” Gudrun agreed, and the leaden terror began to fade from her features.

“Then come with me, Gudrun.” This time when he reached to take her arm, she let him do it. He picked up the rifle and pulled the door open. “You were very brave to…” He did not know what next to say.

“Kill my husband?” She stood in the hall while he closed the door to his study. Once more she shivered violently. “I was angry, not brave.”

“They’re often the same thing,” he said as they started down the hall. “Is anyone expected here tomorrow?”

“I think Konrad Natter, but … I don’t know, Graf.” She followed docilely enough, going through the kitchen with mincing steps, as if she expected to be apprehended at any moment. As he opened the rear door, she said, “It isn’t tomorrow, it’s the day after.”

“The longer the better,” Ragoczy said, already beginning to concoct a workable story that would account for her absence from Schloss Saint-Germain. He reached into his pocket for the key and locked the door.

“I could send word for him to wait another day,” Gudrun suggested with a hopeful smile. Her hands were shaking now, and she told herself it was from the cold.

“No, that would not be wise. If there are any changes, they will be remembered later, when the police enter the picture.” He started toward the stables, not allowing her to protest his prohibition.