Jack Higgins - The Bormann Testament (The Testament of Caspar Schultz)

The waiter returned with the brandy, and Chavasse said, “You have a Fraulein Hartmann working here. How can I get in touch with her?”

The waiter smiled, exposing gold-capped teeth. “Nothing could be easier, mein Herr. The girls act as dance-hostesses after each show. I will point Fraulein Hartmann out to you when she comes in.”

Chavasse gave him a large tip and ordered a half bottle of champagne and two glasses. During his conversation with the waiter, a small band had been arranging itself on the stage, and now they started to play. At that moment, a door by the entrance to the kitchens opened and the showgirls started to come through as if on cue.

Most of them were young and reasonably attractive and wore dresses that tended to reveal their charms. They were all stamped in the same mold, with heavily made-up faces and fixed, mechanical smiles for the customers.

He was conscious of a vague, irrational disappointment at the thought that one of them must be the girl he was seeking, and then, as he was about to turn away, the door swung open again.

He did not need the waiter’s slight nod from the other side of the room to know that this was Anna Hartmann. Like the other girls, she wore high-heeled shoes, dark stockings, and a sheath dress of black silk that was barely knee-length and clung to her hips like a second skin.

But there the resemblance ended. There was about her a tremendous quality of repose, of tranquillity almost. She stood just inside the door and gazed calmly about the room, and it was as if she had no part in it, as if the ugliness of life could not touch her.

He was filled with a sudden excitement that he found impossible to analyze. It was not that she was beautiful. Her skin was olive-hued and the blue-black hair was shoulder-length. Her rounded face and full curving mouth gave her a faintly sensual appearance, and yet her good bone structure and firm chin indicated a strength of character that placed her immediately in a world apart from the other girls.

She moved forward, and heads turned as men looked at her admiringly. She skillfully evaded the clutching hand of a drunk, and then she was passing Chavasse’s table. He stood up and touched her arm quickly. “Fraulein Hartmann?” he said. “I wonder if you’d care to have a drink with me?”

She turned and looked into his face, and then she noticed the champagne and two glasses ready and waiting. “You seem to have gone to considerable trouble, Herr…?”

“Chavasse,” he said. “Paul Chavasse.”

Something seemed to move in the brown eyes, but her face betrayed no emotion. To anyone watching, she was just another of the girls accepting a drink from a customer. “That’s very kind of you, Herr Chavasse. Champagne is always most acceptable.”

As he sat down, he pulled off the ring Hardt had given him and pushed it across to her. “I hope you find this also acceptable, Fraulein Hartmann.” Then he took the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and opened it.

As he filled her glass, she studied the ring, her face quite calm, and then slipped it into her handbag. When she looked up, there was a slight crease between her eyes, the sure sign of stress.

“What’s happened to Mark?” she said simply.

Chavasse smiled. “Drink your champagne and don’t worry. We’re working together now. You’re supposed to take me back to your flat with you. He’ll meet us there as soon as he can.”

She sipped a little of her champagne and frowned down at the glass, as if considering what he had said. After a few moments, she looked up. “I think you’d better tell me everything, Herr Chavasse.”

He gave her a cigarette and took one himself. They leaned across the table like two lovers, heads almost touching, and he brought her up to date in a few brief sentences.

When he was finished, she sighed. “So Muller is dead?”

“What about his sister?” Chavasse said. “Is she here at the moment?”

Anna Hartmann shook her head. “I’m afraid not. When she didn’t report for work this evening, I phoned her apartment. Her landlady told me that she packed a bag and left this morning without leaving any forwarding address.”

Chavasse frowned. “That isn’t so good. We don’t have a clear lead to follow now.”

“There’s always the sleeping-car attendant you told me about,” she said. “Through him you can at least find out something about the opposition.”

“You’ve got a point there.” He checked his watch and saw that it was almost three-thirty. “I think we’d better make a move.”

She smiled. “I’m afraid that isn’t as easy as it sounds. I’m supposed to work until four-thirty. If you want me to leave before that time, you’ll have to pay the management a fee.”

Chavasse smiled. “You’re kidding.”

“No, it’s quite true,” she said. “But first, we must have a dance together to make it look good.”

She pulled him to his feet and onto the tiny dance floor before he could protest. She slipped one arm around his neck and danced with her head on his shoulder, her firm young body pressed so closely against him that he could feel the line from breast to thigh.

Most of the other couples on the crowded dance floor seemed to be dancing in the same way, and Chavasse whispered in her ear, “How long are we supposed to keep this up?”

She smiled up at him and there was a hint of laughter in her eyes. “I think five minutes should be enough. Have you any objection?”

He shook his head. “No, but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to relax and enjoy it.”

The smile slipped from her face and she regarded him gravely for a moment, and then she turned her head against his shoulder once more and he tightened his arm about her wasist.

Chavasse forgot about the job, forgot about everything except the fact that he was dancing with a warm, exciting girl whose perfume filled his nostrils and caused a pleasant ache of longing in the pit of his stomach. It had been a long time since he had last slept with a woman, but that wasn’t the whole explanation. That Anna Hartmann attracted him physically was undeniable, but there was something more there, something deeper.

They had been dancing for at least fifteen minutes when she at last pulled gently away from him. “We’d better go now,” she said gravely, and led the way back to the table.

She picked up her handbag and turned with a smile. “As I said, you’ll have to buy my time, otherwise I can’t leave.” She glanced at her watch. “I think thirty marks should cover it.”

He opened his wallet and counted out the money. “Do you do this often?” he asked.

She smiled delightfully, her whole face lighting up. “Oh, no, this will be my very first time. Until now, the manager has despaired of me. After this, he will go home to his breakfast a happy man.”

She moved away between the tables and disappeared through the door at the rear of the club. Chavasse called the waiter, paid his bill, and then he retrieved his hat and coat from the cloakroom.

He lit a cigarette and stood on the pavement outside the club, and after five minutes she joined him. She was wearing a fur coat, and a silk scarf was tied around her hair peasant fashion.

“Do we have far to go?” he asked as she slipped a hand into his arm and they moved along the street.

“I have a car,” she said. “It only takes ten minutes at this time in the morning when the roads are deserted.”

The car was parked round the corner, a small, battered Volkswagen, and a moment later they were moving away through the quiet, windswept streets. She seemed a competent, sure driver, and Chavasse slouched down into his seat and relaxed.

He was still puzzled by her. For one thing, she seemed young for the kind of work she was doing, and for another, there was no hint of the ruthlessness so essential to success. She was a warm, intelligent, and lovely girl and he wondered how the hell she had come to be mixed up in this sort of thing.