The Bormann Testament by Jack Higgins Page A

we need to know about Kruger and his clinic.”
    “That sounds fair enough,” Chavasse said. “What time are we meeting him?”
    “Nine o’clock,” she said. “It will be dark by then.”
    He moved across to the couch and pulled her to her feet. “That gives us almost five hours to kill.” He held her hand securely. “What on earth can we find to do?”
    She drew away from him. “There’s a newspaper there,” she told him. “You can read that while I prepare a meal for you.”
    She went into the kitchen and he followed her and stood leaning in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. “I much prefer to watch you.”
    She turned to look at him, and suddenly she moved forward and into his arms. “Oh, Paul, I was so frightened for you,” she said. “You’ll never know how frightened I was.”
    He held her tightly in his arms and stroked her hair and whispered comfortingly, and all the time he was staring out of the opposite window as he admitted the one, hard fact that he had not wanted to acknowledge. That from the moment he had first seen her at the Taj Mahal, standing just inside the door in her ridiculous harlot’s dress, he had been caught in a tide of emotion so strong it could not possibly be denied.
    As he lifted her face, he wondered ironically what the Chief would say, and then he kissed her and forgot about everything. About Muller, Steiner, the Bormann manuscript—everything except this girl.

CHAPTER 7
    T hey arrived at Blankenese at half past eight and parked the car in the Hauptstrasse. Anna led the way and Chavasse followed her along a narrow, steeply sloping alley that finally brought them out onto the shore of the Elbe.
    There were plenty of people about, and the gaily painted, brightly lit cafés that lined the shore seemed to be doing good business. Anna led the way into one of them, and they sat down at a corner table on a terrace that jutted out over the water. Chavasse ordered two beers and gave her a cigarette while they waited.
    The terrace was lit by a string of Chinese lanterns and they had it completely to themselves. As they sat there in silence, he felt curiously at peace with himself; a small wind lifted across the water, carrying with it the dank, moist smell of autumn.
    “I like this place,” he said. “Have you been here often?”
    She nodded. “Blankenese is one of my favorite spots. It’s very popular with young couples, you know.”
    He leaned across and placed a hand on one of hers. “Do you think we could qualify for the club?”
    A sudden, delightful smile appeared on her face and she took hold of his hand and gripped it firmly. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could, Paul? If only we were like all the other couples strolling along the Strandweg—just two people in love and enjoying each other’s company with nothing else to worry about.”
    For a moment, he wanted to tell her that there was always something to worry about—money, disease, poverty, old age—but he didn’t have the heart. He smiled and said lightly, “Mark isn’t due until nine. That gives us at least half an hour to pretend.”
    She smiled again and said softly, “Then let’s pretend.”
    The waiter brought their beer and Chavasse drank his slowly, reveling in the cold dryness of it, and watched a passenger ship steam slowly past on its way out to sea, a blaze of lights from stem to stern. Faintly across the water, he could hear voices and careless laughter above the throb of the engines.
    “I wonder where it’s going,” he said.
    “Would it matter?”
    She smiled sadly, and he took her hands and said gently, “You’ve stopped pretending already.”
    She looked down into her glass for a moment, a slight frown on her face, and then she disengaged her hands and lit another cigarette. After a while, she looked across at him, a slight, wry smile on her face. “It’s rather ironic, really. Until yesterday, I was perfectly sure of myself, happy in the knowledge that I was doing