The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett [85]
Billy had been shocked by the bandage at breakfast that morning. Vandam had sworn the boy to secrecy, then told him the truth. “I had a fight with a German spy. He had a knife. He got away, but I think I may catch him tonight.” It was a breach of security, but what the hell, the boy needed to know why his father was wounded. After hearing the story Billy had not been worried anymore, but thrilled. Gaafar had been awestruck, and inclined to move around softly and talk in whispers, as if there had been a death in the family.
With Jakes, he found that last night’s impulsive intimacy had left no overt trace. Their formal relationship had returned: Jakes took orders, called him sir, and did not offer opinions without being asked. It was just as well, Vandam thought: they were a good team as things were, so why make changes?
He looked at his wristwatch. It was seven-thirty. He lit another cigarette. At any moment now Alex Wolff would walk through the door. Vandam felt sure he would recognize Wolff—a tall, hawk-nosed European with brown hair and brown eyes, a strong, fit man—but he would make no move until Elene came in and sat by Wolff. Then Vandam and Jakes would move in. If Wolff fled the two sergeants would block the door, and in the unlikely event that he got past them, the MPs outside would shoot at him.
Seven thirty-five. Vandam was looking forward to interrogating Wolff. What a battle of wills that would be. But Vandam would win it, for he would have all the advantages. He would feel Wolff out, find the weak points, and then apply pressure until the prisoner cracked.
Seven thirty-nine. Wolff was late. Of course it was possible that he would not come at all. God forbid. Vandam shuddered when he recalled how superciliously he had said to Bogge: “I expect to arrest him tomorrow night.” Vandam’s section was in very bad odor at the moment, and only the prompt arrest of Wolff would enable them to come up smelling of roses. But suppose that, after last night’s scare, Wolff had decided to lie low for a while, wherever it was that he was lying? Somehow Vandam felt that lying low was not Wolff’s style. He hoped not.
At seven-forty the restaurant door opened and Elene walked in. Vandam heard Jakes whistle under his breath. She looked stunning. She wore a silk dress the color of clotted cream. Its simple lines drew attention to her slender figure, and its color and texture flattered her smooth tan skin: Vandam felt a sudden urge to stroke her.
She looked around the restaurant, obviously searching for Wolff and not finding him. Her eyes met Vandam’s and moved on without hesitating. The headwaiter approached, and she spoke to him. He seated her at a table for two close to the door.
Vandam caught the eye of one of the sergeants and inclined his head in Elene’s direction. The sergeant gave a little nod of acknowledgment and checked his watch.
Where was Wolff?
Vandam lit a cigarette and began to worry. He had assumed that Wolff, being a gentleman, would arrive a little early; and Elene would arrive a little late. According to that scenario the arrest would have taken place the moment she sat down. It’s going wrong, he thought, it’s going bloody wrong.
A waiter brought Elene a drink. It was seven forty-five. She looked in Vandam’s direction and gave a small, dainty shrug of her slight shoulders.
The door of the restaurant opened. Vandam froze with a cigarette halfway to his lips, then relaxed again, disappointed: it was only a small boy. The boy handed a piece of paper to a waiter then went out again.
Vandam decided to order another drink.
He saw the waiter go to Elene’s table and hand her the piece of paper.
Vandam frowned. What was this? An apology from Wolff, saying he could not keep the date? Elene’s face took on an expression of faint puzzlement. She looked at Vandam and gave that little shrug again.
Vandam considered