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

just to make it clear that of course nothing had changed. Said that, although my father was obviously a resourceful man and understood well enough how to safeguard his own interests (said he had the survival instincts of a rat, but that this was only to be expected of a Jew), he needed the support of his loving daughter more than ever now that he was making so many enemies. And what a tragedy it would be if for any reason my father should make enemies of his – Breitner’s – friends. If they should ever turn against him. But it can so easily happen if you expose yourself the way my father had chosen to, he said. Oh, he was so revolting, it turns my stomach every time I think of it.”

Her words trailed off into the darkness and left a vast hole of desolation. Only their bodies touched, gently, and hers seemed cold and drained of life. He felt powerless beside her. Uncertain what to say. But he knew that any words from him would have been completely out of place: she was gathering the strength to continue this guided tour of her own private hell.

“You can’t imagine what it was like,” she said. “All this happening in my father’s house, under his roof, where I had so many happy memories. I think that’s probably what Breitner found so titillating. But just to ram the message home and make sure that I appreciated the power he had over me, he said he would be taking me to Berlin with him. He had some business there and expected me to go along and…”

“Keep his bed warm?”

“Just like in that tea-room in Davos. You remember?” Still she was trying to avoid his juvenile interjections, but this time Frank sensed that he had pushed her off course. It was not the response he wanted to hear. But he had only himself to blame.

“Damn it, Frank, you don’t make it any easier. Do you really want to go into every detail? Are you so thick-skinned?”

He had no reply to her rebuke. Patricia – at last relieved of her burden – finally gave in to exhaustion and sank into a deep sleep. But his skin was a lot thinner than she gave him credit for. Her story was too uncomfortable for him to sleep on. As the dawn light slowly insisted itself through the single window of their room, his head began to clear and his thoughts crystallise – like the freezing light of the valley that stretched away beneath them: the snow-draped fir trees; the hotel’s ice-rink laid out with last night’s fall of snow; and further down the valley the frozen lake recognisable only as a flat expanse of virgin white. Everywhere he looked, the untouched beauty of an Alpine morning. Clear, innocent, undemanding. Just waiting to be violated.

He turned his gaze from the window to Patricia. Only her hair visible. Like a cascade of jet-black water frozen to the landscape of her bed linen, and the gentle clasp of an arm half-open on the pillow. So vulnerable. Captive to a history that was not of her making. And of course, she was right. She had to go back. But it had to be on new terms. He would not allow her to endure another day enthralled to Breitner. All he needed was to buy a little time, to steel his nerves and let his dark ambition take shape.

It was already late in the morning when Patricia woke. The sun was streaming through the window, as if to celebrate the rare event of an uncompromising decision from Frank Eigenmann. It was the first time for some weeks that they had seen the sun shine with such vigour. It lit up Patricia’s sleepy face with a warmth that lent new depths to her beauty. Despite the traces of sleep that still lingered in her eyes, the way she sat up in bed and stretched – the curvature of her body flexed into the morning light – betrayed a freshness which suggested a sense of liberation. But Frank knew this lightness of being was only a surface reflection, that it concealed an immense hole of despair which threatened to swallow her up if he failed to act soon.

It was over a late breakfast that he began making preparations for his last curtain call. The large breakfast room seemed to him a fitting place for drawing up these plans. He and Patricia were alone except for a few staff who still lingered, clearing away the last remnants of the day’s first meal and making ready for lunch. Although they tried hard to be as servile and ingratiating as the staff in these luxury hotels are always trained to be, they were reluctant to bring their guests anything at all. But they did grant them a pot of coffee and some bread and jam.

“Coffee is all I need,” Patricia insisted when Frank put a sad-looking bread roll on her plate.

“I still haven’t apologised for my stupid remarks last night,” he said. “They were completely juvenile and absurd.”

“Please, squirrel, let’s forget about it. I’d rather think of other things while we’re here. And enjoy the sun and snow.”

“Agreed. But we’re not going to be here for long, are we?” He spread his bread roll with jam while he considered his next words.

“Patricia, you must contact Breitner and invent some story about me. Above all, he has to know that you’re alone, that you need some time to yourself and that you will contact him as soon as you get back in the next few days.”

The searching expression in Patricia’s eyes was tainted with a host of emotions. Under any other circumstances, they might have intimidated him, but now was not the time for faint hearts. He had made up his mind.

“It’s likely he will be returning home today,” Frank continued, “so I suggest you phone this evening. If he’s not there, leave a message that you