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

But his attention was caught by a movement over her shoulder, and she instantly saw his expression change.

“Damn it,” he said. The irritation was driven by an anxiety he found hard to conceal from her watchful eyes. “That’s just like Silverstone to spoil a beautiful evening.”

“Where?”

“Don’t turn round. He’s over by the door.”

She was examining Frank with one of her analytical gazes. “I shouldn’t worry. He’ll never recognise you in that get-up.”

“Maybe.” Frank was less than convinced. “But he certainly will when I leave here in my old coat. He’ll recognise the smell a mile off.” And he gave her a brief résumé of their last encounter in the public convenience.

“Give me your cloakroom ticket and go and stand over in the crowd by the stairs,” she said. Again Patricia took control, and again he submitted unquestioningly to her quick thinking. She appeared so slight and defenceless as she vanished amidst the forest of gowns and evening dress that towered around her. But his concern was superfluous. Within a few minutes she was back at his side, thrusting his cloakroom ticket into his hand. “Here, you’ve just got a new hat and coat.”

“I don’t like hats,” he protested, quietly excited to find that Patricia was capable of such misdemeanours.

“Tonight, squirrel, you love hats. But we must be sure to leave early. Come on, let’s go and find our seats.”

And he let her lead him into the auditorium, both thrilled and intrigued by this new dimension to her character.

“You knew I’d come tonight,” he said as they squeezed along to the only two seats still unoccupied in their row. “Didn’t you?”

“It’s fortunate we’re some way back,” she observed, ignoring his question. “That way we can leave early without attracting too much attention.”

“Didn’t you?” he persisted. But she said nothing, just smiled with her body as she settled the delicate line of her frame into the seat and ran her fingers through the dense cascade of her hair. He was easily seduced and conceded defeat: “Have you seen where Silverstone is sitting?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe he saw you and is lurking outside for the concert to finish.”

He felt the comfort of her hand on his, but it did not come without a certain chilling cynicism: “I’m afraid, squirrel, you have to accept that the bird who sits for too long on the fence is liable to get shot at from either side.”

“Thank you for those comforting words.”

“Look, Frank, I told you not to come – for your own safety.” The impatience in her voice stung, seasoning her charm with a pungency that only added to his disquiet and threatened to nurture a disturbing distance between them, until she added: “Even so, I’m glad you’re here. So let’s enjoy the music and worry about your problems afterwards, shall we?”

It was her utter coolness in face of all the menace that completely disarmed him before he had a chance to say a word in reply. And he sat back in defeated silence to watch her soak up the concert atmosphere. Perched on the edge of her seat, she studied the scene with a girlish wonder he had not seen in her before as she looked out for the slightest hint of activity on the stage. Suddenly he could see her as Isolde, wide-eyed and devoted to her Tristan, and he was pained by a foolish jealousy of this childhood sweetheart she had told him about. Sensed a preposterous sadness that he had not known her then. Yet there were so many impenetrable shadows to her life that he wondered whether he even knew her now. And, as if in answer, she waved to someone from this unlit world of hers. It was her professor, who had just found his seat with what was presumably his wife and was looking almost girlish himself in his anticipation of the evening’s cultural treat.

“This is going to be a wonderful evening, squirrel. I can feel it,” she whispered, as the orchestra came out on stage. “I’m so glad you’re here to enjoy it with me, after all,” and she squeezed his hand. She had crossed so effortlessly into another world. No guilt, no complications, no quarrel with reality. Transported from darkness into a make-believe where Silverstone and Breitner no longer existed, and Achim’s family might be playing somersaults with Max and Moritz for all she knew. Perhaps she was right, he told himself. Maybe this was the way to handle the situation. At all events, he was glad she had taken him along with her, even if he did not feel entirely at home in this fantasy world.

His knowledge of music was limited, but the symmetry of the players, the way the strings were arranged into two small orchestras either side of the podium, with celesta and drums taking up the centre, pleased his eye for harmony, and helped him relax into the journey Patricia was taking him on as a hush came down on the house to let the gentle fugue-like introduction carry them away. He sensed Patricia become instantly riveted by its mysterious haunting quality. And he knew he had already lost her as the slowly surging repetition of its theme began to build a tension into the ambience of sound which perfectly matched the anxiety that had been hounding his every move. Each new entry of strings brought an added strain on his nerves, conjured a fresh image of his persecution. First Breitner, then Silverstone, the cloth cap, Achim, his family, his mother, the carnivorous nurse all assumed a deliberate relentless edge to their features as they lined up before him in judgement, fixing him with the same steady glare. And when the theme began its slow return to the keynote, each one of them began to move pitilessly towards him.

Desperation seized hold of Frank. He felt a burning need to leave, but there was no way out. When he looked at Patricia, he saw a peaceful serenity that only heightened the loneliness of his