The Dark Frontier A. Decker (i like reading TXT) 📖

“It’s very easy, when you’re sitting on the fence, to see betrayal lurking on every corner. It makes your own position so much more comfortable, doesn’t it? But you should take care, Frank. The worst betrayals are those we commit without even realising, without even moving an inch no matter where we sit. Just because we’re too dumb. Or too naive. And they go unnoticed until it’s too late.”

“Well, I feel my position is anything but comfortable just now,” he assured her.

It was not only her thinly disguised criticism that unsettled him – as it was certainly intended to – but the realisation that he was completely out of his depth. And she did nothing to ease his disquiet when she brought her philosophy of betrayal back to the trust he should put in Lutz. That was an investment of faith that called for emotional gymnastics in which he had had little training.

“It’s mainly thanks to him that I found somewhere else to live so quickly,” she insisted. He has some very useful connections.”

Her last words reminded him of the way Achim had described Silverstone, a memory that had him ponder further on Breitner’s interest in Achim.

“You’ve spent a lot of time with Breitner. Did he ever mention anyone called Lola?” he asked.

Patricia’s melancholy lifted for a moment. She smiled with a genuine sparkle of amusement at the question.

“You’ve been to Breitner’s villa,” she said. “So the erotic paintings and drawings on the walls can hardly have escaped you.”

It was a memory Frank would have preferred not to be reminded of.

“He’s vulgar of course,” Patricia continued, “but he likes to think of himself as an art lover. Édouard-Henri Avril is a favourite of his. Not the finest art that France has ever produced. But it feeds his fantasies. Like Lola Bach. She was an erotic dancer in Berlin who Breitner became obsessed with. So, when he saw a painting of her, he was determined to get his hands on it, as were many other people. Your friend was bringing it to Switzerland for safekeeping.”

“And that’s where Silverstone comes in?” he asked, recalling now the rucksack which Achim had with him when they met and which he took with him when he met with Silverstone.

“I have no idea what Silverstone does,” she shrugged.

“Apparently he works at that hornet’s nest they call the Bank for International Settlements.”

Again she smiled with wry amusement. But said nothing. Growing impatient with the dead ends into which his questions kept sailing, he changed tack.

“Why find somewhere else to live?” he asked.

“Breitner,” she replied. “You’re not the only one he’s looking for.”

“Well, if it’s such a safe house that Lutz has found you, why didn’t we meet there?”

“It’s not safe. There’s no such thing. Especially for you,” she added ominously. As if to accentuate the concern expressed in these last three words, she squeezed his hand. “That’s why I want you to stay across the border here in France for the time being, while we consider what to do.”

“What do you mean ‘what to do’?”

She took a last sip from her coffee as only she could – a sparkle in her melancholy eyes and a touch of irony on her lips.

“For one so lacking in curiosity, little squirrel, you ask far too many questions. I shall get Lutz to bring your things out to you from the Kolping house.”

“No,” he interjected. “They’re watching the house. I just have a few things in your old flat. Razor and so on. That’s all I need. Or perhaps I should just grow a beard.”

She laughed.

“Oh no. I couldn’t stand that. Lutz will bring a razor out to you this afternoon.”

Her mock horror at the prospect of him with hair on his chin teased his male vanity. That she was sufficiently interested in him to express such preference pleased him, and robbed him of the strength to contradict her. She was in control, and he was happy to submit.

But the finality with which she put down her coffee cup and got up from the table threw him into a premature despair made all the more acute by her words:

“I shall come out and see you every so often, when I can. But I won’t be able to come for a few days.”

“Please don’t go yet, Patricia,” he begged her. “We’ve hardly spoken. There’s so much I want to say. And so much I want to hear.”

But he knew she had long since reached the limit of what she was ready to tell him. And she was insistent.

“I’m sorry squirrel. I have things to do.”

“What sort of things?”

“Work. Somehow in all this mess I still have to study. And on Thursday there’s a concert at the Stadtcasino – a friend has given me a couple of tickets, and I have to go. I’ll try to get out here on Friday.”

“I’d like to meet some of your friends someday.”

“You will,” was all she said. But she could not disguise a certain amusement in the smile that came with those two words. It chipped away at his self-esteem. ‘That smile will be the death of me,’ he told himself – like a dark inviting destiny shining out across the water from its unlit world.

“What’s the concert?”

“Bartok. It’s a world premiere. I can’t afford to miss it.”

Nor did she miss his desperation. She sensed it in the drift of his questions.

“But it’s much too dangerous for you, Frank. Breitner’s looking for you, and if he sees you with me…”

“I believe I’m right in saying the Stadtcasino was the venue for a Zionist Congress,” he interrupted her. “It’s hard to imagine Breitner setting foot inside the place unless it’s been fumigated first. And since you have an extra ticket, it would seem a shame to waste it. Unless you have someone else in mind,” he added fearfully.

“No.”

“Good. Then I’ll come.”

“No, Frank.”

Patricia was smiling, but she remained insistent. It was only the delicate kiss she left on his lips before taking her leave that