Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [41]
She excused herself, saying that her husband was waiting for her. He hadn’t waited; he was already some distance ahead. She hurried after him.
‘My poor dear Vicky,’ Schmidt said gently. He took off his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. ‘Do not allow evil to enter your heart, my child.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, Schmidt?’
‘You are not in despair?’ Schmidt peered up into my face from under the brim of his hat. ‘Well. Perhaps you are not. A woman with so many lovers as you – ’
‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said.
Schmidt paid no attention; he’d heard me say that so often, the words just washed past his ears. ‘And it is not to be expected that all your lovers would remain faithful when you do nothing to encourage them and are, in fact, often very rude to them. Nein, nein, do not deny it, I have seen it myself. I only hope that Sir John did not marry this poor child on the rebounce, for that would not be fair to her. She seems a charming young lady.’
‘Schmidt . . .’ He waited expectantly; but I couldn’t think what to say. It was probably safer to say nothing at all until I had had a chance to find out what pack of lies John had told Schmidt. So I finished lamely, ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘This is not, perhaps, the best place for an intimate conversation,’ Schmidt agreed. Feisal was bearing down – or up – on us, shepherding the last and slowest of the group – a very elderly English lady whose physical strength didn’t equal her zest for living.
Gallant as always, Schmidt whipped off his pith helmet and bowed from the approximate region of the waist. That part of him doesn’t bend easily. I introduced them and Feisal nodded. ‘Yes, Herr Doktor Schmidt; we were told you would be joining us here. Willkommen.’
‘But how well you speak German,’ Schmidt exclaimed. ‘You are our guide, my friend? Excellent! I have many questions. You can tell me – ’
‘It would be better, Dr Schmidt, if you waited until we reach the tombs. The others are already far ahead.’
‘My fault, I’m afraid,’ Mrs Blessington (she had told me to call her Anna, but I couldn’t manage it yet) said cheerfully. ‘You young things are most kind to put up with my infirmities.’
Her smile included Schmidt, who puffed up to twice normal size and exclaimed, ‘I will carry you! Yes, yes, it will be a pleasure, an excuse to hold a beautiful woman in my arms!’
He’d have tried it, too. I looked meaningfully at Feisal, who said quickly, ‘No, no, Herr Schmidt, that is not fair; I saw her first. Anna, if you will allow me – ?’
Laughing, she allowed him. She couldn’t have weighed much, she was all bones and skin and gumption; even so, the ease with which Feisal mounted the stairs was an impressive demonstration of muscle. Schmidt trotted alongside, offering to take over whenever Feisal tired. They seemed to be having a very good time, so I said, ‘I’ll just run on ahead,’ and did so.
It was a long climb, up stairs and along winding paths, and the interval gave me time to think. The only positive aspect of the disaster of Schmidt was that in this at least John and I were on the same side. He didn’t want Schmidt involved any more than I did.
On an earlier occasion John had somehow managed to convince Schmidt that he was an ‘undercover agent’ of some variety, even though Schmidt was well aware that John had been trying to pull off an illegal deal involving antique jewellery when I first encountered him. John and Schmidt were perfectly matched: one the world’s most accomplished teller of tall tales, the other happy to believe any lie so long as it was ‘romantic’
John wouldn’t dare tell Schmidt he was on another ‘secret mission’ this time. But Schmidt wasn’t stupid, even if he was romantic. How could I, or John, possibly explain how we happened to turn up on the same cruise?
Coincidences happen. This was a pretty hard coincidence to swallow, but John might have been desperate enough to insist on it. He had only had about ten seconds to come up with a story that would convince Schmidt we weren’t engaged in some