The Eden Inheritance by Janet Tanner Page A

though a giant hand had taken hold of his heart and was squeezing it tight.
    Von Rheinhardt, if indeed it was he, had certainly been a handsome man. The features beneath the close-cropped fair hair were classic Aryan and the cut of the uniform accentuated broad shoulders and a powerful frame. But the beauty was marred slightly by a scar running down his left cheek and finishing at the corner of his well-shaped mouth, and Guy thought he had never seen eyes colder than these. They stared arrogantly into the camera and, it seemed, beyond it, mocking whoever it was who had clicked the shutter and now, by a process of transference, reaching out across the years to mock Guy.
    â€˜So that’s the bastard I want,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll check tomorrow with Grandpapa, of course, but I shouldn’t think there’s much doubt about it.’
    â€˜If it is him it will be a great help to you, won’t it?’ Lise said. ‘He’ll be nearly thirty years older, of course, but some things don’t change. He’s bound to still have that scar, for a start.’
    â€˜I’d imagine so.’ Guy took the photograph and slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket, then gathered the other papers and photographs together and replaced them in the box file. ‘That’s it, then. I’m going to bed now. Are you coming, or are you staying here?’
    â€˜If you’re going I may as well do the same,’ she said reluctantly.
    â€˜I must, Lise. I’m absolutely bushed. If I don’t go to bed I’ll fall asleep where I am.’
    They turned off all the lights, closed the study door behind them and parted in the passageway, Lise climbing the stone staircase to her parents’ apartment on the upper story, Guy letting himself into the room which had once, long ago, been his father’s.
    But in spite of what he had said it was a long time before he fell asleep. He lay staring into the soft dark, thinking about von Rheinhardt and what he planned to do when he found him. And when at last sleep did come, it was to dream of a handsome Nazi with a scar running down one cheek and a triptych depicting scenes from the life of the Maid of Orleans.

Chapter Four
    W HEN HE RETURNED home from France Guy telephoned Kathryn at her shop.
    â€˜Just to tell you Grandpapa let me have details of all the missing items. I know you don’t approve but I wanted to keep you in the picture. And I got something else, too – a photograph of von Rheinhardt.’
    Kathryn felt her stomach fall away.
    â€˜Really? You surprise me.’
    â€˜I must say it surprised me, too. I wouldn’t have expected Grandpapa to take snapshots of a Nazi, even if he was living in the château. But it’s made me more convinced than ever that the man Bill met in the Caribbean is von Rheinhardt.’
    Kathryn carried the telephone round her small cluttered desk and sat down in the chair behind it. Her throat felt tight.
    â€˜What makes you say that?’
    â€˜The man in the photograph has a long scar on his left cheek. That’s exactly how Bill described the German he knew as Otto Brandt.’
    â€˜I see.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Do you know yet if you’ve got the job out there?’
    â€˜It’s not confirmed, but it’s looking good. In this business nothing is certain until it’s signed and sealed, of course, but I think it’s very likely. The fact that Bill has put in a word for me should go in my favour – unless he blotted his copybook while he was there, of course.’
    â€˜When will you know?’
    â€˜I’m expecting a call at any time.’
    â€˜But you won’t be going before Christmas?’
    â€˜Oh no, I shouldn’t think so. I wouldn’t want to miss your roast turkey, anyway.’
    He said it lightly in an effort to be conciliatory – he always tried to spend Christmas with his mother and she always spoiled him