Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,102
was furniture in the room, cheap wicker picnic chairs and a tray with a coffee pot and cups beside the empty fireplace.
‘Please sit down, Colonel,’ he said in German. ‘I have been to some trouble to prepare this cottage for you.’
Anthony didn’t have any choice but to obey. ‘For me?’ he repeated stupidly.
‘Oh yes. Haven’t you realized?’ Von Hagen laughed. ‘Yes, I moved from my comfortable hotel to prepare this cottage expressly for your benefit.’
He picked up a cup. ‘I would offer you a drink, but I remember what you did once before when you had coffee.’
His eyes gleamed and in that split second Anthony realized just how deep von Hagen’s hatred for him was. ‘I have been looking forward to this,’ he said. ‘I requested to be sent to England solely to hunt you down.’ He gestured towards Josette. ‘Once I had the missing lady, I knew you would follow.’
Josette, her head on one side, could obviously follow something of what was being said.
‘I wanted to write to you,’ Josette said. ‘I wanted to tell you where I was, but Mr Smith said you’d find us. What’s happened to your arm?’
Von Hagen smiled icily. ‘His arm, my dear,’ he said in heavily-accented English, ‘is the least of his worries. You took a great deal longer than I expected, Colonel Brooke.’
Anthony wasn’t going to be drawn. Not by him. Instead he looked at Josette. ‘What are you doing here?’ Anthony could hardly credit her manner.
She seemed so completely at home and in control of herself that it beggared belief. She smiled as happily as if she had been in the drawing room at Starhanger.
‘Please, Colonel, don’t be angry with me.’ She clasped her hands together in a childish gesture of apology. ‘After Patrick was arrested I had to do something. I knew Mr Smith could help poor Patrick.’
Stupefied, Anthony went to draw his cigarette case from his pocket. Von Hagen stopped him with a gesture of his gun.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Anthony. He knew he was being absurdly polite but he couldn’t help himself. Josette seemed so bewilderingly at home that it was easier to take his tone from her, rather than the brutal fact that a cold-blooded killer was pointing a gun at him. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ He instinctively looked towards Josette for permission as if she was his hostess and he was her guest.
‘Please do,’ said Josette.
Von Hagen nodded warily. ‘No tricks, Colonel Brooke. I understand English very well.’
Anthony lit a cigarette, glad of the few seconds respite while his mind readjusted itself. He looked from von Hagen to Josette. ‘Mrs Sherston, does your husband know anything about your association with this man?’
She clasped her hands eagerly once more. ‘Not a thing. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Oh, I do,’ said Anthony slowly. ‘I’m coming to believe quite a few things, as a matter of fact. There’s a lot Mr Sherston doesn’t know, isn’t there? I’m surprised I haven’t tumbled to a good many of them before. “Frankie’s Letter”, for instance. It’s bright and lively and contains all sorts of gossip about fashion and fashionable people. You wrote it, didn’t you?’
Josette’s smile faded. ‘I don’t understand, Colonel. Why are you talking to me like this? You’ve always been so nice before and you’re not being at all nice now. Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. Not really wrong.’
Anthony looked at her steadily. Incredible as it seemed, she believed what she said. ‘Writing “Frankie’s Letter” was wrong. Letting Patrick Sherston take the blame for writing “Frankie’s Letter” was wrong.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But it was Patrick’s idea. He asked me to write “Frankie’s Letter”.’
‘Did he ask you to use it to send information to the enemy?’
She wriggled uncomfortably. ‘Of course he didn’t. He’d have been horrified, so I never told him. I didn’t want to upset him. Patrick doesn’t like being upset. I had to do it, you know. I didn’t have any choice. If you’re looking for someone to blame, blame Veronica. She told me what to put in the “Letters”. She’d have written it herself if she had any talent for writing but she didn’t. You don’t understand.’
Her lip trembled. ‘Veronica threatened . . . Well, I had to do what Veronica said. Besides that, it wasn’t wrong. It was only trivial gossip. It wasn’t really wrong. It was all a joke.’
She meant it. ‘A joke?’ he repeated. ‘It might have started as a joke.’
‘But that’s all it was,’ she said eagerly. ‘Patrick said it was a