in you.”
I roll heavily onto my side to face her, although of course she’s no more than a suggestion of a shadow in that black room. “So do you. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
“You’re wrong, Lulu. I’m only here because of you. If Benedict turns up tomorrow with our German friend, I’ll die of shock.”
I close my eyes, and for some reason, some optical trick, the world seems lighter when I do. A few feet away, Margaret’s bed creaks. The sound is swallowed by the window, rattling again in the grip of another gust of Alpine wind.
The soft hiss of a match, as Margaret lights a cigarette.
“But you keep hoping, Lulu,” she says. “You can hope for both of us.”
There’s no more sleep. The clock ticks toward six. The sun rises in an hour. I swing my legs to the floor and start to dress.
Our instructions are to take a stroll at sunrise along the esplanade, and somewhere between the two piers we will encounter Ursula and Benedict, another couple out for a stroll with the papers to prove it. The trouble is, who takes a stroll on a morning like this? The wind tunnels between the buildings, shrieks around the corners. I can smell the lake, the ozone, the churning water, from three streets away. The sky’s lightening by the minute. A violet stain appears behind the peaks to the east. Margaret’s cigarette goes out. She swears softly and drops it in a pile of slush.
By the time we reach the esplanade, the violet’s turned to pink, and the sky is taking on texture, taking on movement, as an array of clouds hurtles over us. An enormous wave crashes against the wall and sends up a spray like a waterspout.
“My God,” whispers Margaret. “How can they survive it?”
“They will. Stefan assured me. He’s used to these storms, he waits for them because the patrols don’t go out.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“Well, you can ride out the waves, can’t you? But you can’t ride out a German patrol boat.”
“Christ. I need a fag.”
“Listen to me. If a patrol comes along, we’re just here to see the storm. We adore storms, do you hear me? We find them thrilling.”
“Oh, jolly thrilling.”
I put my arm through the crook of her elbow. “Come along. Let’s go south first, away from town.”
We tuck our heads into our collars and hold down our hats with our hands. Every so often I make a screech of delight and point to some wave or another, toppling over its mates, just exactly like one of those idiots who gets his kicks from Nature’s wrath, the ones who line up on the beaches to witness a hurricane. We’ve only gone about a quarter mile when a pair of figures resolves from the shadows. My heart stops. Then I see the gleam of rifles, the curve of caps.
“Patrol,” I mutter.
“What’s that?” she says, because the wind is so noisy, and then she sees them too. She turns to the railing and squeals. I join her and pretend to laugh. The Swiss guards approach us.
“Damen! You shouldn’t be out, it’s too dangerous.”
“Oh, but we love storms. Don’t we, Lenore?”
“Ja,” I say, which is about all the German I can safely utter without raising suspicion.
“But she’s expecting! You must go home.”
“Now, my dear fellows. This is nonsense. We’ll be careful, of course.”
“Frau, you’re very foolish.”
“Please.”
The two guards look at each other and shrug. “It’s on your own head, then,” says the one on the right, or something like that, and they continue past us, shaking their heads. I release my breath. When I glance down, I see my hand is laid over my belly like a bandage, and I wonder what the devil good that’s going to do, should a Swiss guard decide I’m a suspicious character, should some rifle discharge some bullet on this wind-whipped esplanade, where only the foolhardy and the desperate tread.
We linger another moment, gazing at the water as if in rapture. The sky behind the mountains is now bright and angry, a bundle of nerves, shedding light on the lake which is now more akin to an ocean. The waves hurtle along the surface and fling themselves on the shore. Our coats are wet with spray, our hats dripping. “It’s impossible,” Margaret gasps.
I can’t stand here like this, doing nothing. I take her elbow and drag her down the esplanade. A half mile away, the second pier juts out into the lake, surrounded by churning water. I