Trojan Gold - Elizabeth Peters [53]
What I had said was true—most of the hotels would be full-up over the holidays. But the more I thought about letting Tony stay with me—chair or no chair—the madder I got. In addition to the other disadvantages, I resented being used as a bad-conduct prize.
After a moment of chilly silence I said, “Scratch the chair. You can start calling hotels as soon as we get to my place.”
The silence that followed was even chillier.
There was one positive feature to the situation, though. Now I could dismiss my suspicions of Tony once and for all. His odd behavior over the phone had bothered me more than I had been willing to admit; I hadn’t even mentioned it to John, because I knew he’d pounce on it as further evidence of guilt. That was all explained by Tony’s news; he had been apprehensive about breaking the news of his engagement and (the conceited thing) ditto my poor heart, and he must have known I would react profanely and angrily to Ann’s loony experiment.
Tony stirred. “You’ve changed.”
“How?”
“You didn’t used to sulk.”
“I’m not sulking. I’m thinking.”
If I had been tempted to tell all to Tony and invite him to join the hunt, the news of his engagement had changed my mind. I had no right to push Ann’s fiancé into possible danger. He would expect to see something of me, though, even if he stayed at a hotel. Could I keep him amused and unaware for a few days, and then send him off to Turin unscathed and unsmirched? The answer was yes, probably, if nothing untoward occurred and if Schmidt kept his mouth shut and if John stayed far away from me.
In my absorption, I almost drove past the house. I pulled into my driveway with an abruptness that wrung a rude comment on my driving from Tony.
I ignored the comment. “Here we are. We’ll have a drink or two while you call hotels.”
Tony looked hurt. I ignored the look, too. It had been his idea to stay at a hotel, hadn’t it?
My house and its neighbors were part of the Wirtschafts-wunder—the economic rebirth of Germany after the Second World War. Not a distinguished part, however. Like corresponding developments in the United States, there were only two basic plans, endlessly repeated, to which the architects had added minor details in the hope (unfulfilled) of making the houses look different. My neighbor on the north had a bay window in the living room, my neighbor on the south had a bay window in the dining room. I had a front porch. It wasn’t much, just two walls with a roof on top and two teeny benches that nobody ever sat on.
Schmidt was sitting on one of the benches. If it hadn’t been for that damned porch, I’d have spotted him in time and passed on by. To make matters worse, he had swathed himself in bandages that covered his forehead from eyebrows to hairline.
“Ah,” he said, rising stiffly. “You have found him.”
I looked at Tony. “You called the Museum?”
“You were late,” Tony said sulkily. “I thought you’d forgotten. Grüss Gott, Herr Direktor. What the hell happened to you?”
“Grüss Gott. I came,” Schmidt explained, “because I was concerned about you, Vicky. You were not in your office, you did not answer your telephone; and after what happened yesterday—”
“Never mind,” I said.
“I am still sore,” Schmidt said, rubbing his shoulder. “Being dragged by the arms and then thrown—”
“Never mind, Schmidt!”
“Dragged?” Tony repeated. “Thrown. What happened?”
I turned my back on Tony and made a face at Schmidt. It was a sufficient reminder; he was no more anxious than I to let Tony in on our “adventure.”
“Never mind,” said Schmidt.
I had just located my key when the door opened.
“What’s wrong, love? Can’t find your key?” John asked.
The artistic disarrangement of his ambrosial locks was supposed to suggest that he had just got out of bed. I’ve seen characters in soap operas look like that, but never a real person. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was tucking it into his pants as he spoke. He was barefoot.
“I thought you’d gone,” I stuttered.
“You begged me not to leave,” John said.
When, oh when, I