White Death: An Alex Hawke Novella

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hawke was playing country music on the car’s 8-track audio system: Willie Nelson Live at the Opry! After a bit of small talk, Sigrid had settled deep into her bucket seat and turned her face to the scenery. She was, for many miles, content to watch the seamless parade of Swiss postcard pictures floating past her window.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. He felt just the way he’d felt that first night — he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He would remember later on that he began to fall in love with her that day. An hour later, they were cruising along the shores of Lac de Genève. Hawke found the scenery breathtaking; the white-capped Alps marching along the shoreline beneath a crystal-blue sky. It was another idyllic Swiss scene you couldn’t duplicate anywhere else in the world.

“Getting close,” Hawke said for something to say.

“I do love this old car, Alex. It’s very cozy. I don’t know anything at all about old sports cars, but this one is a dream. Will you be driving it back to England when all this is over, Lord Hawke?”

“Want to come?”

“Down, boy.”

“I’m quite serious, you know.”

“Precisely what I’m afraid of.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Tell me something, Alex, what’s your real interest in this murder mystery of ours? I can understand the motives of your two friends, but not yours. You don’t seem to fit the profile the way Ambrose and Blinky do. So tell me, why are you really here, your lordship?”

“Good question. I might actually answer it some day.”

“Wait. You’re really not going to tell me why you’re in Switzerland? After we all took that vow of secrecy together?”

“No.”

“Because?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“That’s odd. Wolfie does.”

“Whatever Wolfie does or does not do is no concern of mine. Tell me something, Sigrid. Do you trust me?”

“About as much as you trust me. Which is to say, not a lot.”

“Are you sleeping with Wolfgang von Stuka?”

She gestured classically and said, “What? How dare you! I’d no idea you were so ill mannered!”

“Doesn’t matter. Just curious. Calm down or I’ll eject you.”

“Why would you even say such a thing to me?”

“Wolfie had quite a hard time concealing his heat at dinner that night.”

“Don’t be absurd. And even if he did, so what?”

“Did he give you that red sapphire ring?”

“No. We just met, Alex, for God’s sake. Besides, although he’s a very attractive man, he’s married. Are you?”

“No.”

“Liar. I don’t trust you.”

“Cheap shot, Sigrid. I said I’m not married and I’m not. I fell in love with a Russian woman in Moscow many, many years ago. We never married. We had a son. He’s six years old now. His name is Alexei. He’s my whole life now. His mother was arrested for something I’d done in Moscow. She’s held captive in a KGB prison in Siberia. I can’t get her out. Her name is Anastasia. We both miss her every day.”

Sigrid let a long time pass before responding. “For the record, Alex Hawke, you’re a very attractive man, too.”

Hawke glanced over at her and smiled. “I’d trust you more if you started telling the truth about the damn ring.”

“Oh, all right, Alex, just to get you to shut up about it. I kissed him. Once. Nothing more. He invited me to dinner the same day we met in Dr. Scheel’s office at the bank. I accepted his invitation. We had a very nice time. He dropped me off at my apartment. He wanted to kiss me at the door, and I let him. The next day this ring appeared on my doorstep. I tried to return it to him next morning, of course, but he adamantly refused it. He’s a very attractive man, as I said. Every woman in Zurich is in love with him. What of it?”

“Just curious,” he said with a grin.

“Well, now you know. I hope you’re happy.”

“Very.”

Sigrid turned her face to the window, the image of his fleeting smile imprinted on her brain. She thought back to the evening before. She’d just been getting ready for bed. It was after ten when Blinky had called her apartment. He’d had a question about the late Leo Hermann’s responsibilities at the bank. Just before she’d hung up, she’d asked him about Hawke, what kind of man he was, what he was really like. When he’d asked her why, she’d replied, “Just curious.”

“He’s a warrior,” he had said, after thinking a moment about her question. “Royal Navy fighter pilot, now just Commander Hawke. He delights in the gamesmanship of war and is said to be utterly ruthless, albeit in an engaging way. You have to understand, Sigrid, he’s part Machiavelli, part schoolboy. The Machiavellian side can be cruel, but the schoolboy is always waiting round the corner. And then there’s his love of this dangerous game he’s playing, that we’re all just playing; it just bubbles to the surface; the fun and audacious hazard of it all fills him with infectious delight. Sorry to go on, but he is a bit complicated, you see.”

“And those eyes, my God.”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ll ever meet another man like him, Sigrid. And you’re right. Such eyes that man has! My Lord, he can look right through you and see the inner workings of your immortal soul while he’s talking to you.”

She had sighed and hung up the telephone. And, later, she’d turned out the lights, taken to her bed, and slipped into her dreams. And she had taken him with her.