He wished he understood other things. She was beautiful; it was the simple truth, and needed no elaboration. Nor could she be unaware of that beauty. She was highly intelligent, again an attribute so obvious no further comment was necessary. And beyond that intelligence she was familiar with the ways of her shadow world. She was street-smart in a larger sense, in an international sense; she moved swiftly, decisively. There had to have been dozens of times when she used sex to get an advantage, but he suspected it was used in cold calculation: Buyer beware, there is nothing but a body for you to take; my thoughts are mine; you’ll share none of them.
She turned from the glass doors; her eyes were soft, her expression warm and yet still distant, still observing. «You look like an impatient maître d’ waiting to escort me to my table.»
«Right this way, mademoiselle,» said Noel, carrying the tray to the small bureau across the room and placing it on top. «Would the lady care for a table by the water?» He moved a small chaise in front of the glass doors and faced her, smiling and bowing. «If the lady would care to be seated, brandy will be served, and the fireworks will begin. The torchbearers on the boats await only your presence.»
«But where will you sit, my attractive garçon?»
«At your feet, lady.» He leaned over and kissed her, holding her shoulders, wondering if she would withdraw or push him away.
Whatever he expected, he was not prepared for what happened. Her lips were soft and moist, parted as if swollen, moving against his, inviting him into her mouth. She reached up with both her hands and cupped his face, her fingers gently caressing his cheeks, his eyelids, his temples. Still her lips kept moving, revolving in desperate circles, pulling him into her. They stood together. He could feel her breasts pressed against his shirt, her legs against his, pushing into him, matching strength for strength, arousing him.
Then a strange thing happened. She began to tremble; her fingers crept around his neck and dug into his flesh, holding him fiercely, as if she were afraid he might move away. He could hear the sobs that came from her throat, feel the convulsions that gripped her. He moved his hands to her waist and gently pulled his face from hers, forcing her to look at him.
She was crying. She stared at him for a moment; pain was in her eyes, a hurt so deep Noel felt he was an intruder watching a private agony.
«What is it? What’s the matter?»
«Make the fear go away,» she whispered plaintively. She reached for the buttons on her blouse and undid them, exposing the swell of her breasts. «I can’t be alone. Please, make it go away.»
He pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest, her hair beneath his face soft and lovely, as she was soft and lovely.
«You’re not alone, Helden. Neither am I.»
They were naked beneath the covers, his arm around her, her head on his chest. With his free hand, he kept lifting the strands of her long blond hair, letting them fall to cover her face.
«I can’t see when you do that,» she said, laughing.
«You look like a sheep dog.»
«Are you my shepherd?»
«I have a staff.»
«That’s dreadful. You have a dirty mouth.» She reached up with her index finger and tapped his lips. He caught her finger between his teeth and growled. «You can’t frighten me,» she whispered, raising her face above his, depressing his tongue playfully. «You’re a cowardly lion. You make noises, but you won’t bite.»
He took her hand. «Cowardly lion? The Wizard of Oz?»
«Of course,» she answered. «I loved The Wizard of Oz. I saw it dozens of times in Rio. It’s where I began to learn English. I wanted so to be called Dorothy. I even named my little dog Toto.»
«It’s hard to think of you as a little girl.»
«I was, you know. I didn’t spring full flower…» She stopped and laughed. She had raised herself above him; her breasts were in front of his face. His hand instinctively reached for the left nipple. She moaned and covered his hand, holding it where it was as she lowered herself back down on his chest. «Anyway, I was a little girl. There were times when I was very happy.»
«When?»
«When I was alone. I always had a room to myself; mother made sure of that. It was always in the back of the house or the apartment; or, if we were in a hotel, it was separate, away from my brother and sister. Mother said I was the youngest and should not be disturbed by the hours they kept.»
«I imagine that could get pretty lonely…»
«Oh, no! Because I was never alone. My friends were in my mind, and they would sit in chairs and on my bed and we’d talk. We would talk for hours, telling each other our secrets.»
«What about school? Didn’t you have flesh-and-blood friends?»
Helden was silent for a moment. «A few, not many. As I look back, I can’t blame them. We were all children. We did as our parents told us to do. Those of us who had a parent left.»
«What did the parents tell them?»
«That I was a Von Tiebolt. The little girl with the silly first name. My mother was … well, my mother. I think they thought my stigma was contagious.»
She may have been branded with a stigma, thought Noel, but her mother was not the cause of it. Maurice Graff’s ODESSA had more important things on its mind. Millions upon millions siphoned off their beloved Reich to be used by traitors such as Von Tiebolt for a massive apology.
«Things got better when you grew up, didn’t they?»
«Better? Certainly. You adjust, you mature, you understand attitudes you didn’t as a child.»
«More friends?»
«Closer ones, perhaps, not necessarily more. I was a poor mixer. I was used to being by myself; I understood why I was not included at parties and dinners. At least, not in the so-called respectable households. The years curtailed my mother’s social activities, shall we say, but not her business interests. She was a shark; we were avoided by our own kind. And of course the Germans were never really accepted by the rest of Rio, not during those years.»
«Why not? The war was over.»
«But not the embarrassments. The Germans were a constant source of embarrassment then. Illegal monies, war criminals, Israeli hunters … it went on for years.»
«You’re such a beautiful woman, it’s difficult to think of you … let’s say, isolated.»
Helden raised herself and looked at him. She smiled, and with her right hand pushed her hair back, holding it at the base of her neck. «I was very stern-looking, my darling. Hair straight, wrapped in a bun, large glasses and dresses always a size too large. You wouldn’t have looked at me twice… Don’t you believe me?»
«I wasn’t thinking about that.»
«What then?»
«You just called me ‘my darling.’»
She held his eyes. «Yes, I did, didn’t I? It seemed quite natural. Do you mind?»
He reached for her, his answer his touch.
She sat back on the chaise, her slip serving as a negligee; she sipped the brandy. Noel was on the floor beside her, leaning against the small couch, his shorts and open shirt taking the place of a bathrobe. They held hands and watched the lights of the boats shimmering on the water.
He turned his head and looked at her. «Feeling better?»
«Much better, my darling. You’re a very gentle man. I haven’t known many in my life.»
«Spare me.»
«Oh, I don’t mean that. For your information, I’m known among Herr Oberst’s ranks as Fräulein Eiszapfen.»
«What’s that?»
«‘Icicle.’ ‘Mademoiselle Icicle.’ At work, they’re convinced I’m a lesbian.»