Snowfall Page 12

  The pile of hay smelled uninviting, but at least it would be soft. I flopped down wearily on it, and discovered my mistake. Pushing the hay aside, I found that it concealed a heavy wooden box – half a dozen heavy wooden boxes. Most of the German words stencilled on the side of the boxes meant nothing to me, except for one: the warning ‘Achtung!’. Beside it was stencilled a skull and crossbones, the international danger symbol.

  It was almost an hour by my watch before I heard Rosemary’s anxious voice: ‘Kate – are you there?’

  I jumped up from the hay, which I’d put back over the boxes; I hadn’t wanted to sit there staring at them and worrying about their purpose. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come!’ I exclaimed. ‘But can you undo the padlock?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Hammerl gave me the key. Just wait a second –’

  I heard metal grate against metal, and then the door was flung open. The sun was no longer shining, but even so the snow gave off such a dazzle of whiteness that I had to put my hands to my eyes for a moment. Rosemary helped me out of the hut.

  ‘You poor soul! I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get here – but do you know what, some wretch barricaded me in the loo! At least you’ve had pleasanter quarters.’

  Her face was so eloquent of disgust as well as indignation that I began to count myself lucky. ‘It was Toni Hammerl who shut me in here,’ I said, brushing hay from my clothes, ‘so I suppose he went back to the inn and took the opportunity to get you out of the way too. But why, Rosemary? It just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Phil’s at the inn now, trying to sort it out. He’s threatening them with the police and goodness knows what else, but there’s no sign of Toni Hammerl – I didn’t know he’d been up here. Old Otto’s here, but you know how impossible he is to understand. It was the woman from the inn who made him tell us where you were, and hand over the key. He’s very upset about something, and I left him trying to tell Phil a long story, but I don’t suppose we’ll be any the wiser.’

  Phil obviously wasn’t. We returned to the inn to find him in the process of retreating before the incomprehensibility of Otto and the hostile silence of the three other men. He looked very relieved to see us.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I think the weather’s clamping down, and we’ve a long walk to the top of the chair lift. We’ll leave Hammerl and his friends to decide what tale they’ll tell the police when I report this.’

  He shepherded us out of the inn, and back along the main path. There was room for just two abreast, and I walked on ahead of the couple, pulling the hood of my anorak over my ski cap to keep out the rising wind. I couldn’t hear what Rosemary and Phil were saying, but presently I heard my name called.

  I stopped. Phil came to stand beside me, leaning his elbows on the parapet of frozen snow. We were standing at the point where the mountain fell away, just above the sheer drop into the valley.

  ‘You’ve achieved what you wanted?’ he asked pleasantly.

  I gave him a blank stare. ‘What do you mean, Phil?’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘No need for any of us to go on pretending – I know now why you’re here.’ He was still smiling and in no hurry, though the wind had a howl in its voice; a snow-storm must be coming.

  I shivered. ‘I’m not pretending – for goodness’ sake, Phil, don’t you start imagining things about me! Do let’s hurry; I’m sure that Rosemary wants to get back to the hotel as much as I do.’

  I glanced at her. She was standing very much in the background, as though she were disassociating herself from us, gazing out at the view which was rapidly diminishing as the clouds lowered.

  ‘Don’t worry about Rosemary,’ said Phil. ‘She’s agreed that this is as good a time and place as any for our chat, now that we’ve established that you’re involved with Otto Hammerl and his friends. The hut he was trying to show you was his dump, I take it? I scouted round yesterday, but it was securely locked. You’ve been able to reassure yourself that he’s got the stuff, though?’

  There were tiny beads of ice on his moustache, where the freezing wind had solidified the moisture from his breath. Ever since I’d first set eyes on Phil Sloan, I’d thought of him as pleasant but weedy; for one thing, no strong-minded man would have been seen wearing such a straggly little moustache. But now, the ice that had formed on it seemed to have hardened his character.

  And I disliked the place he had chosen for our discussion even more than I resented his allegations. I looked down over the parapet. The road at the bottom of the valley was completely hidden by cloud, but I knew that it was a long way down. I shuddered and glanced upwards, but that was a mistake too. The dark clouds above us were travelling fast, revealing occasional glimpses of a sheer, icy mountain peak. Just to look up at it made me feel dizzy.

  ‘That’s the Nockspitze,’ said Phil quietly. ‘It’s a dangerous mountain, as many climbers have found. But then, you don’t need me to tell you that you’re playing a dangerous game. Not that you’ve anything to fear, as long as you’re prepared to be co-operative. All I want from you, Kate, is a little information.’

  ‘But, Phil,’ I protested, ‘I don’t have any information. I don’t know what –’

  ‘A name,’ he said, ‘that’ll be enough to start with. Is it Becker? I thought at first it must be Marsh, but now I’ve come to the conclusion – although you’ve played your hand with such apparent innocence that I admit you’ve had me confused – that Becker is the one. Am I right?’

  My brain felt numbed, as much from bewilderment as from the gripping cold. I couldn’t begin to reply; I felt exhausted and emotionally drained. I simply couldn’t cope with any more mysteries or hints or threats. Everyone I had met at Kirchwald had betrayed me in some way, except the Sloans. I had put all my trust in their kindness and ordinariness and sanity, and if I now had to start suspecting and worrying about them …

  ‘I – I just don’t know what you mean –’ I said dully.

  Phil smiled, took my arm in a grip so firm that it was almost painful, and began to walk with me along the path. ‘That’s your story, is it? Believe me, it’s silly of you to go in for heroics, Kate. That way you’ll only get hurt. Just think about it, and I’m sure you’ll soon see sense. Because now that I know I’m on the right track, and that your trip to Austria wasn’t merely coincidental, I shan’t let you out of my sight. Understand? Rosemary and I are your best friends from now on, and as long as you co-operate with us, we’ll take care of everything.’

  When we reached the top of the chair lift, the terrace and restaurant were understandably deserted; mountains are not good places to linger on when the clouds begin to gather. A few stragglers were going down in the lift. Phil collected his skis – the last pair left sticking out of the mound of snow where dozens had been parked earlier – and saw me on to one of the chairs. He and Rosemary took the one immediately after.

  I sat hunched in the swaying seat, clinging to the safety bar and ducking my head against the wind. Snow began to sting my face; not the soft fat wet blobs of lowland snow, but sharp Alpine crystals that slashed my cheeks and brought tears to my eyes. I was numbed with cold and misery; I no longer knew what to do, who to trust, where to turn. If only I’d thought to ask Jane for the address of the hotel where she was staying in Igls … Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to pack my case and go to Igls anyway, and call at every hotel until I found her. I couldn’t stay on at Kirchwald, not after Toni Hammerl had locked me up … and besides, were the Sloans really my friends … ?

  The chair was swaying far more than usual, because of the wind. Presumably the lift would stop running as soon as all the skiers were safely off the mountain. I began to be alarmed by the movement, by the way the chair swung from the dipping wires between each pair of pylons. If only the journey would end –

  It did. Quite suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, the cable stopped running. The chair still swayed, but we were no longer going downhill. I realized then how comforting the noise of the lift had be
en – the hum of the cables, the chunk as the stanchion above each chair passed over each supporting pylon. I never really appreciate the wonders of technology until something breaks down.

  The only sound now was the wind, plucking at the wires above us and soughing in the pine trees somewhere below. The chair carrying Rosemary and Phil was simply a dark shape suspended from the cable, about ten yards above and behind me. I was isolated by swirling clouds, assailed by spicules of ice, oppressed by the silence; I was bitterly cold, but it wasn’t only the cold that made me shiver.

  ‘Are you all right, Kate?’ Rosemary’s voice; and surely Rosemary was my friend, even though her husband believed that I had some kind of information that he wanted. It was Rosemary who had tended my cut hand, and Rosemary who had let me out of the hut. I had good reason to be grateful to her.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I called back. ‘Is it a breakdown, do you think?’

  ‘Must be. Phil says that the people at the top station know that we’re on the lift, so they wouldn’t have stopped it running. It’s just a matter of sitting tight until they can get it going again.’

  I could hear the murmur of the Sloans’ voices as they conversed. All very well, for them; they had each other. It’s difficult for one person to sit tight.

  I had never felt so much alone in the whole of my life.

  My desolation was so complete that when I heard my name shouted, from somewhere far below on the mountain-side, I thought that it was merely my imagination.

  Then it came again, thin on the wind: ‘Kate? Kate Paterson – where are you?’

  ‘Did you hear?’ Rosemary called to me. ‘That must be your friend Stephen.’

  I turned quickly in my chair, grabbing at the safety bar as the frail contraption lurched, straining to hear the voice again. I’d hardly given Stephen a thought in the past twenty-four hours, but at the moment I could think of no one I’d like to see more.

  The shout came again a little nearer. ‘Kate … ?’

  It was Phil who replied. ‘She’s here,’ he shouted. ‘With Rosemary and me, and perfectly safe. Over here!’

  ‘Here?’ The voice was almost below us now, and I sat quite still in my chair not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Because I knew that voice. It wasn’t deep and friendly like Stephen Marsh’s, but lighter and cooler. It belonged to the man who had had me followed in Innsbruck and almost run over, the man who had tried to hold me in his apartment against my will: Jon Becker.

  ‘Kate,’ he called sharply, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘Becker … ?’ Phil Sloan’s voice held a note of satisfaction and interest. ‘Even better. Well, well – so now we know.’

  Jon Becker ignored him. ‘Kate,’ he called with authority, ‘we need to talk. In private. You’re not all that far from the ground, and there’s deep snow to land on. Jump!’

  It was more of a croak than a laugh, but I managed to convey my derision. ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life. Come on, jump!’

  ‘Ignore him, Kate,’ advised Phil Sloan. ‘You’re staying with us – we’re looking after you, remember?’

  I clung to my safety bar and peered down into the grey mist. I thought I could see a dark blob against the snow, somewhere down there a good twenty feet below my swaying chair; but even if I’d wanted to trust myself to Jon Becker, nothing would induce me to make a blind jump. ‘Come on, Kate,’ said Becker impatiently. ‘Don’t you realize that you’ve got yourself into real trouble? If you’d stayed with me in Innsbruck you would have been perfectly safe, but now you’re involved in something dangerous. Don’t trust these people. Jump now, and I’ll get you away to safety!’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Kate!’ cried Rosemary indignantly. ‘How can you possibly trust Becker after the way he’s treated you! He’s made attempts on your life, hasn’t he? But we’re your friends, we’ve helped you –’

  ‘Kate – Kate, listen to me.’ Becker’s voice rose urgently through the swirling mist. ‘You’ve got to trust me. I couldn’t tell you the truth before because I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you’ll come with me I’ll tell you everything I know. I won’t hold anything back from you this time, I promise. Trust me.’

  ‘If Kate jumps,’ called Sloan, ‘I jump too, because I intend to keep her close to me. Besides, I want a word with you, Becker, and this will be as good a place as any. Are you prepared to take me on?’

  ‘If I have to, yes.’ Becker’s voice sounded strained but determined. ‘Only if I were you, Sloan, I wouldn’t jump. Kate’s chair is over a clear patch of snow, she’ll be perfectly safe. But you’d fall on an outcrop of rock, and I wouldn’t give much for your chances.’

  There was a short silence. Then I heard Rosemary say to her husband, ‘Don’t risk it. You’ll be able to find him later.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ asserted Phil Sloan. ‘He is a liar, isn’t he, Kate? You know that. You stick with us, and we’ll look after you.’

  ‘On your honeymoon?’ said Becker contemptuously. ‘You’re no more a honeymoon couple than Kate and I are! Now for God’s sake jump, Kate, before he turns to violence.’

  I was incapable of speech. I sat shivering on my swaying perch listening to their exchange and not knowing where the truth lay. Now, I waited tensely to hear the Sloans refute Jon Becker’s ridiculous allegation.

  But they didn’t. Instead, they muttered to each other. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I began to fumble with the catch that held the safety bar across my lap.

  ‘Are you still there, Becker?’ Sloan called.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘Could we perhaps do some negotiating, then? After all, there’s no need for any of us to go leaping about blind, is there? The mechanics will soon get the lift moving again, and we can all meet in the hotel at the bottom and conduct our business there.’

  ‘I’ve no business to conduct with you, Sloan,’ said Becker coldly. ‘This isn’t my game, thank God. And it’s not Kate’s either – all I’m trying to do is ensure her safety.’

  Sloan jeered: ‘Then you’ve chosen some very strange ways of going about it, haven’t you?’

  I had pushed the bar out of the way, and now I sat shivering on the edge of the chair, peering down into the mist and trying to decide which of the men to trust, and what to do. As Rosemary had reminded me, Becker had made at least one attempt on my life; as Sloan had pointed out, I knew that Becker was a liar.

  If I jumped, what guarantee did I have that he wasn’t lying again? Why should I believe him when he said that I would fall into snow? Perhaps this was another of his attempts to kill me.

  And yet … and yet, instinctively, I wanted to put my trust in Jon Becker. I knew that there was no rational basis for my inclination, but it was there, tugging me down to him.

  I upbraided myself for it: surely I wasn’t fool enough to trust in a man simply because we had, at our last meeting, established a tenuous bond of sympathy? Simply because I found him, despite his cavalier treatment of me, increasingly attractive? Because I’d thought of him, on and off, most of the time since our last meeting, and now he had come to find me I couldn’t bear to let him go?

  ‘Kate,’ called Jon Becker again, and this time I thought I could detect anxiety as well as urgency in his voice: ‘Kate, please.’

  I couldn’t jump. The chair wasn’t sufficiently stable to jump from. I gulped, shut my eyes, leaned forward, admitted my folly and let myself fall.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a long way down. I think I cried out as I fell, until the wind snatched away my breath.

  I made quite a hole in the snow. It was very quiet, deep down in all that whiteness, and surprisingly warm; I lay there hoping that my problems would simply go away and leave me in peace.

  Then I heard Phil Sloan’s voice, from somewhere far above. ‘Leave her, Becker, or I’ll use my gun!’

  And then the edge of my snow hole crumbled, and I saw Jon Becker, crouched on skis, peering down at me.
‘He can’t see well enough to shoot. But don’t just lie there,’ he hissed. ‘We’ve got to get away!’

  He stretched out a hand and hauled me to my feet. I was almost waist deep in snow. Becker raised his head and called out, loudly enough for the Sloans to hear. ‘I’ve brought a pair of skis for you, Kate, we’ll be down the Alm in no time.’

  That was ridiculous. Even if we could have seen where we were going, I couldn’t stay upright on skis for more than a couple of minutes – and that was on the nursery slopes. ‘But I can’t –’ I began.

  A cold wet hand clamped over my mouth. ‘Shut up and move!’ he muttered in my ear. ‘Make for the shelter of the trees.’

  All very well for him, since he was on skis; I’d have needed a shovel to make any progress. Realizing my predicament he reached down, put an arm round me and hauled me out of my snow hole. My heavy ski boots promptly sank again in the snow. He swore under his breath, heaved me on to his shoulder with all the gallantry of a greengrocer shifting a sack of potatoes, and skied for cover.

  Among the trees the snow was much less deep. Jon Becker dropped me un-gently on to my feet, drew me behind the trunk of a large pine, and put his finger to his lips. His face was frowning, intent, straining to hear what was happening out on the mountain below the stationary chairs. The combination of mist and gathering darkness restricted visibility to a few yards, though the whiteness of the snow made it possible to distinguish the dark trunks of the nearest trees.

  We both listened. Presently we heard a whirring, a mechanical hum; the lift was moving again. I relaxed, but felt Jon Becker’s grip on my shoulders tighten. Then, from out on the slope, came a clatter.