‘I do … I do love you. I love you so much, Bernie. You were gone. I panicked … I’m sorry.’
He put down his bag.
Her face softened a little.
‘I didn’t want to wake you, that was all. I was shifting about and smoking myself silly and you are still healing and need your sleep and so I thought I’d go and buy some fresh hot bread and have it ready for you when you woke up. I don’t think there’s anything in the world nicer than bread straight out of the oven, don’t you agree? We can have it with coffee and then stroll out later for a lovely late breakfast, or, better still, early lunch.’
Stanton smiled. Relief flooding over him. She could still be his.
She was still his.
And yet he’d so nearly lost her. If he’d been just a little quicker dressing, if she’d been a little slower buying bread, he would never have seen her again.
‘Shall we have a slice now?’ she said, with a coy smile, ‘or shall we hop back into bed for a bit first? It’ll be just as nice in half an hour.’
He felt a rush of exhilaration, like he’d been drugged. She still loved him. She still wanted to make love to him.
‘I vote hop back into bed,’ Stanton said.
She began to unbutton her coat.
‘Silly boy,’ she said, taking off her coat, ‘thinking I’d left you when I only popped out to buy you hot bread.’
Perhaps it was the repeat of the word ‘buy’.
Was it that which made him remember?
Her purse was still on the table. Only a minute or two earlier he’d almost mistaken it for his own.
She was unbuttoning her blouse now, revealing her slip. He could see by the way the silk hung that she had no stays beneath it. Her breasts were free and unencumbered. He wanted to step forward and feel them. He wanted to kiss her. He loved her. He wanted her.
But her purse was still on the table.
‘What did you use to buy the bread, Bernie?’
‘Hmm?’ The blouse was off now and she was unbuckling the thin patent-leather belt at her waist. Her skirt was fashionably short, ending just between the calf and the ankle, exposing the high buttoned boots of which he knew she was proud.
‘Your purse is on the table. You must have gone out without it. I was just wondering what you used to buy the bread?’
She stopped her undressing for a moment.
‘I had some coins in my pocket. Are we going to make love, Hugh, or are we to discuss the shopping?’
And so he knew she was lying. It broke his heart.
‘Remember, Bernie,’ he said, ‘on the train? That first time we met? When you said you’d sign for your half of the meal?’
Did she remember? He did, every word. He remembered everything about that first meeting; it was precious to him.
‘What are you getting at, Hugh?’ she replied.
‘You said that I could cover the tip if I liked because you never carry coins in your pockets. “It stretches the fabric and ruins the line.”’ Her mouth was a little open now, revealing those sweet, slightly uneven teeth he loved so much. ‘The police gave you that loaf, didn’t they? So you’d have an excuse for having left if I was awake when you got back?’
If there had been any doubt left at all in his mind, the tiny hesitation on her face dismissed it. She was a strong woman. But she was clearly now the bait in an entrapment, a tense position to be in to say the least. She’d been caught in a lie and she was weighing her options. He saw all that in the tiniest flick of her beautiful green eyes.
And she knew he knew. The bluff was over. She didn’t even try to protest.
‘You’re sick, Hugh,’ she said, and now those enchanting emerald eyes were filled with tears. ‘Deluded. You need to be … you should be in a … Hugh, you have to understand. You’re insane.’
And Stanton discovered that there were yet greater depths of loneliness to sink to. He was sinking now.
‘I’m not insane, Bernie, but I can see that you could never truly know that. What I’ve asked you to accept is too much to believe. I get that.’
I get that. Another phrase from another age. She used to find them so charming. Enlightening. Now all he saw in that lovely freckled face was fear. She was terrified of him.
‘Hugh. You killed the Emperor of Germany. And you blamed innocent people and now they’re being arrested in their thousands. You’re a maniac. An evil maniac. A homicidal maniac. I loved you. I really loved you but you are sick and have to be put away.’
‘Let me show you, Bernie,’ he begged her. ‘Let me show you the—’
‘I don’t want to look inside your magic photographic box! I don’t care what tricks you have! I saw your little needles bring you back to life. I know that there’s some sorcery about you. But you’re also a murderer and I believe you tried to kill the Archduke too and …’
She dropped the bread and buried her face in her hands and wept.
He stepped forward. He tried to hold her but she recoiled as if his hands were made of red hot metal.
‘Don’t you touch me! Don’t touch me, Hugh! I told you before. There’s no love where there’s lies and you’re a liar. I don’t know. Maybe you’re not even mad at all, maybe this is some terrible British plot against Germany. Nothing would surprise me. All I know is that I hate you.’
He gave it up. There’d be time to deal with this new agony later, to place it alongside all the others.
What was he doing anyway? Pleading with her. Trying to hold her. The game was already up. She’d reported him to the police. The whole Berlin military complex would be electrified that the assassin was at last in their grasp. It was time to move on.
Pointing his gun at her once more he tried to compute his plan and his chances.
They hadn’t come yet. They hadn’t rushed straight back with Bernadette and smashed their way into the room, dragged him from the bed and pinned him to the floor with their boots. Instead they’d sent Bernadette back with bread and smiles and unbuttoned blouses to keep him where he was. Clearly they knew him to be a resourceful killer, heavily armed and desperate. Stanton deduced that they wanted him alive.
So what would they do? Take it calmly. Assemble a snatch team. Bide their time and grab him when he left the building.
We can stroll out later for a lovely late breakfast … or, better still, early lunch.
That was the plan. Take it at a leisurely pace. Clear the street. Get the arrest team in place. Make sure all the surrounding roads were blocked in case the first snatch failed.
Which meant that if he was careful, he might still have time to slip away.
To get to Constantinople and leave his warning.
Before finally jumping in the Bosphorus.
He went to the window and took a discreet glance out. Sure enough the street was no longer empty. He could see three male figures dotted along it. All in civvies: a bowler hat, a slouchy homburg and a boater. One with a newspaper, another a ciggie, the other just leaning. To an experienced observer like himself, they couldn’t have been more obviously on stakeout if they’d set up a Gatling gun and pointed it at his front door.
‘They know you’re here, Hugh,’ Bernadette said, sniffing back her tears. ‘Please give up. I don’t want to have to watch them shoot you.’
Stanton took a final glance. They were all watching the front door. None of them were looking up at his window. It was a large building, part of a long terrace of houses. There were a lot of windows. They probably didn’t even know exactly which one was his.
He calculated that he had a decent chance of getting to the roof without being spotted. Then he sensed movement behind him.
Spinning round he was just in time to catch the raised arm bringing the cast-iron fire poker down towards his head.
Never underestimate the anger of a woman who’s fallen out of love. Particularly an Irish redhead.
‘Jesus,’ he gasped, using Bernadette’s own weight to turn her and putting her into a neck lock. ‘You really are a wonderful woman, Bernie. God, I wish you could have believed me.’