Rendezvous With Danger by Margaret Pemberton Page B

he looked up, his expression changing to one of alarm.
    â€˜Susan, what’s the matter?’
    For the second time that day his arms were round me, comforting and protective.
    Breathlessly I said, ‘He’s here. Stephen Maitland. I’ve just seen him.’
    It was the first time I had seen Gunther visibly shaken. He looked frankly disbelieving. ‘ He can’t be: it’s not possible.’
    â€˜But he is , and what’s more he knows we’re here. He’s pulled up behind your Mercedes.’
    I thought Gunther was going to choke. Instead, he issued a string of expletives that fortunately I couldn’t understand, then seized my arms.
    â€˜Come on.’
    â€˜No! Please , Gunther, no! He’s dangerous and there are only two of us.’ Even to my own ears my voice sounded on the verge of hysteria.
    He paused, then patted my arm soothingly. ‘He can’t harm you here. It’s crowded with tourists.’
    â€˜It was market day at Niedernhall,’ I cried, ‘and that didn’t make any difference!’
    He looked down at me, then said gently, ‘You’re quite right, Susan. You’ve been through enough already. Though how the hell he came to be here … I’ll ring the police, they’re the people to handle it.’
    â€˜They don’t seem to be handling it very well so far.’
    â€˜Hey, steady on.’ He drew me closer, his arm around my shoulders. ‘I’m here, remember?’
    I smiled sheepishly.
    â€˜There’s a good girl. I won’t be a minute. The police have to be told, they’ll be looking for him anyhow. It won’t take them long to pick him up.’ He gave me a reassuring squeeze and slipped back into the telephone kiosk.
    The mechanic, unaware of the drama being enacted around him, whistled tunelessly and continued to tinker with my car. I sat on the wall, recovering some of my lost composure while Gunther spoke angrily on the telephone to the police. His face was still flushed when he replaced the receiver, but his voice when he spoke to me was as gentle and considerate as ever.
    â€˜Curtains for Mr Maitland, and an unavoidable change of plan for us. It will be two hours before your car is roadworthy again. Gottfried, the mechanic here, tells me there is a new hotel that has just opened a little way out of town. I took the liberty of cancelling our previous arrangements!’
    I nodded passively. Anywhere. I didn’t care as long as the spectre of Stephen Maitland was laid at last.
    â€˜You can’t go back for your car yet, Gunther. Not till … not till they’ve picked him up.’
    Gunther was deep in thought and for a moment I thought he was going to disagree with me. Instead he said, ‘You’re quite right. We’ll get a cab over there and I’ll come back for my car after dinner.’
    He strolled over to Gottfried and asked him to ring for a cab for us. I took a packet of cigarettes from my shoulder-bag and lit one, inhaling deeply. I was beginning to feel better already. A nice, leisurely dinner, a bottle of wine and the knowledge that Stephen Maitland was safely incarcerated behind iron bars was all I needed to ensure a good night’s rest. I collected my overnight bag from the rear of the Morris, and within minutes the taxi arrived and we were safely enclosed in its dim and shabby interior.
    It seemed to take a lifetime for the taxidriver to negotiate the narrow, busy street. From the depths of the corner where I had buried myself I searched the crowds, dreading to see the familiar, dark head of hair among the swarms of carefree villagers and tourists. At long last, without any further sight of Stephen Maitland, we shook the dust of the town off our heels and I slowly relaxed.
    The sun was beginning to set now, spilling its rosy light on the fields of vines that spread out on either side of us, deepening into a fiery red glow as it silhouetted the still