Snowfall Page 15

  Much as I’d loved Matt – and despite the fun we’d often shared – I had never had this sense of light-heartedness during the time I’d known him. It had proved to be more difficult than I’d thought, to abandon an inherited sense of morality. While I’d lived with Matt, I had never been able to rid myself of a feeling of guilt.

  And then, life with him had always had a haunting sense of impermanence. He would be with me for a few days, or weeks; sometimes for a month or two. And then he would be off, on business, suddenly, with a vague promise to be back as soon as he could. Sometimes he returned within a few days, more often in a week or two; sometimes not for several months. We could never make plans. I had never felt really sure of Matt, or secure in our relationship. Even our times of happiness together had been clouded for me by the knowledge that they wouldn’t last.

  I glanced across the table at Jon, who was discussing with Bruno the cut-out game on the back of a packet of breakfast cereal. They were both for the moment absorbed; absurdly alike, despite their different colouring.

  I wasn’t sure what I felt for Jon Becker. A considerable attraction, certainly. And sympathy with him in his task of bringing up his son single-handed. I could appreciate that if I had been a different person, I might well have wanted to go to his rescue and marry him so that I could help look after Bruno. But, feeling as I do about children – and considering the fact that Bruno was not the most endearing of small boys – the thought of marriage to his father was not entirely pleasurable.

  Which was just as well, I reminded myself, since Jon had made it clear that he would not contemplate marriage simply for the sake of his son.

  And yet there remained that undeniable mutual attraction, the pull of the senses that made Jon glance up at me for a moment and smile in a way that had a disturbing effect on my metabolism. I didn’t want to try to analyse this feeling. All I knew was that I had gone to bed happy, and had woken happier. The sadness of Matt’s death was behind me; so, too, was the loneliness and fear I had experienced in Kirchwald. It was as though a door had suddenly opened at the end of a long, dark corridor, and I could see ahead a wonderful sunlit snowscape, an Alpine panorama such as Jon and I had surveyed together from the top of the Kirchwalder Alm. The clearness of the air about me was heady, the prospect dazzling.

  Then Bruno looked up from his egg. ‘Didn’t I ought to be going to school?’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to be late.’

  Jon downed his coffee, preparing for battle. ‘Well, no,’ he said heartily – too heartily. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve got a lovely surprise for you. You needn’t go to school today, because you’re going back to Scotland tomorrow.’

  Bruno’s fair brows puckered. ‘Are we? I thought we were staying here until the summer?’

  ‘Yes, I shall have to stay in Innsbruck until term ends in May. But as we can’t find anyone to live here and look after you, I’ve decided that the nicest thing will be for you to go back to Edinburgh, to your grandmother. And as Kate has to fly back tomorrow, she has kindly said that she’ll take you with her.’

  The boy looked at me with an expression that made it abundantly clear that my opinion of him was reciprocated.

  ‘But I’m not going without you,’ he protested to his father.

  ‘There’s no reason why not,’ said Jon firmly. ‘It’s extremely kind of Kate to offer to take you, and I rang Grandmama last night and she says that she’ll be delighted to have you back. So it’s all settled.’

  Bruno went on strike. ‘I won’t go, not if you’re not coming! Why can’t I stay here? Frau Kraus can look after me.’

  ‘No, Frau Kraus can’t! She has been very good and very kind, but she’s an old lady now and too tired to go running about after a big chap like you. And will you please stop kicking the table leg.’

  The crockery stopped vibrating; instead, Bruno’s lower lip began to quiver. ‘But I don’t want to live in Edinburgh,’ he gulped. ‘I’m an Austrian boy.’

  His father drew a deep breath. ‘No you’re not,’ he said, making an effort to be patient. ‘I explained all this to you when we came to Innsbruck, don’t you remember? Your mother was Austrian, and that’s why I brought you out here, to meet your relatives and learn the language and absorb this part of your heritage. And my father was Austrian, but he became a naturalized Briton. I was born British, you were born British, and your home in future will be with me in Scotland.’

  Bruno inverted his empty eggshell and bashed it in angrily with the back of his spoon. ‘I dislike Scotland!’ he proclaimed.

  ‘Now you’re just being stupid,’ said Jon coldly. ‘More coffee, Kate?’

  I passed my cup. The last thing I wanted was to intervene between father and son, but I felt that Jon was handling this badly. He couldn’t, of course, explain to the boy why our departure had to be so sudden; but surely he could see that what Bruno really wanted was reassurance? If only Jon would treat him like a bewildered small boy who didn’t want to leave his only parent, instead of addressing him like an audience of recalcitrant students!

  ‘I come from Scotland too, Bruno,’ I mentioned. ‘It’s a beautiful country – and it has something that Austrian boys don’t have at all. Have you forgotten the sea?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Bruno contemptuously; but he calmed down a little. Jon smiled his gratitude, and began to coax the boy into a more reasonable frame of mind with reminiscences of what they had done, and promises of what they would do together in the summer on the Scottish beaches.

  I felt pleased with my effort at diplomacy, and reached with happy anticipation for the imported jar of Dundee roughcut lemon marmalade. Continental breakfasts are pleasant enough, but I can’t say that I’m enthusiastic about eating apricot jam every morning.

  And then Bruno made the announcement that was to overshadow my lovely sunlit snowscape, and lead all three of us straight back into danger.

  ‘But, Papa – I can’t go without saying goodbye to Joachim!’

  Joachim, Jon explained, was Bruno’s cousin on his mother’s side. Bruno had spent most of the previous summer with Joachim’s family on their mountain farm, and they would think it very strange if the boy was sent home to Scotland without seeing them again.

  ‘Do they live impossibly far away?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s only an hour and a half, on the autobahn,’ cried Bruno. ‘I timed it last time we went. If I’m not going to school, let’s go to see them today! We can, easily – oh, please let’s!’

  Jon was clearly reluctant. ‘Can’t you spare the time?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s not that – I’ve cancelled this week’s lectures, anyway …’

  Bruno had scrambled off his chair and was hopping up and down with excited beseechings. It seemed to me only right and proper that he should see his relatives, and I joined in on his behalf.

  ‘Can’t you take him, then, Jon? I don’t mind staying here on my own, so please don’t disappoint him on my account.

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you on your own all day,’ he said. ‘I want you where I can keep an eye on you. It’s just that I’m not entirely happy – in view of all the things that have been going on – about travelling with you in that direction.’

  ‘What direction?’

  Bruno caught at his father’s hand. ‘I’ve just thought – you can still be an Austrian boy if you live in another country, because Joachim is! He is, isn’t he, Papa?’

  Jon shrugged. ‘To all appearances, yes … You won’t think it when you meet the family,’ he told me, ‘but they have Italian nationality. They live in what used to be the South Tyrol – now the Italian Alto Adige.’

  I began to understand his reluctance to make the journey. ‘So it means taking the road through the Brenner? Going near the Nockspitze again?’

  ‘Yes. Still, we have to collect your things from the Alte Post at Kirchwald anyway, so I suppose we might as well do that on the way back from Italy.’

  ‘We are going then?’ cried Bruno. He made for the
door. ‘Oh good – I’ll get my coat.’

  Jon shrugged again, this time with resignation. ‘And make sure you clean your teeth properly,’ he called as the door slammed.

  Jon had hired a four-door Volkswagen saloon to use while his own car was being repaired. I assumed that Bruno would sit beside his father, but Jon said that it is illegal in Austria for children under the age of twelve to sit in front. And then, he pointed out, Bruno was not much interested in scenic routes; the boy preferred to sprawl on the back seat and play with a fiendishly ingenious Chinese wooden puzzle, leaving the Alps to look after themselves.

  We left the city on the old main road, and joined the autobahn at the Innsbruck-South intersection. It was a grey day, with cloud hiding the topmost peaks, but visibility in the valley was reasonably good. Jon, I noticed, was using his rear-view mirror rather more than was necessary; not simply glancing in it to assess the state of the traffic, but obviously keeping a watch.

  ‘Do you think we’re being followed?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘It’s what I was afraid of, but I think we’re clear.’ He raised his voice to normal conversational level and pointed over to the right, where the snow-covered side of the valley rose steeply above the dark winding line of the old main road. ‘That was where I bent the Mercedes yesterday, Bruno.’

  ‘You didn’t really tell me what happened,’ said the boy from the back seat. ‘Why did you hit the guard rail?’

  ‘The brakes failed,’ said his father with pardonable inaccuracy. ‘We were coming down the steep bit of the Kirchwald road, and I couldn’t stop the car. It was a bit hairy, wasn’t it, Kate?’

  I turned in my seat to Bruno. ‘Like being in a spinning top,’ I said. ‘Did your father tell you that we were taken to Innsbruck by ambulance?’

  Bruno’s eyes rounded. ‘Were you? With the horn sounding, and the light flashing?’ he asked enviously. ‘You were lucky!’

  Jon’s hand left the wheel and touched mine for a second. ‘We were,’ he confirmed quietly.

  As we cruised steadily along the autobahn, I looked again at the right-hand side of the valley and identified the village of Kirchwald, perched on its snowy plateau. And there was the line of the ski lift, dark against the snow, rising straight up the Alm above the village. I strained my eyes to try to pick out the winding course of the toboggan run, down which Jon had brought me to safety the night before, but without binoculars it was impossible.

  ‘Look, Bruno,’ I heard Jon say. ‘This is the part of the road you like.’

  The boy’s fair head appeared at my shoulder. ‘Oh, yes, the Europabrücke. That means,’ he translated for me kindly, ‘the bridge of Europe. It’s called that because it links up all the motorways from the north of Germany to the south of Italy. It‘s the highest bridge in Europe –’

  He went on to tell me rather more than I really wanted to know about the bridge, but I genuinely admired the handsome curve made by the dual carriageway as it swept high across the river and continued down the western side of the valley.

  The roads were filled with traffic: apart from the motor coaches and private cars, there was a roaring procession in every direction of great diesel-engined freightliners. They originated from every country in Western Europe and carried everything from fertilizers to furniture, from meat to machinery; and, said Jon, they were travelling not only within Europe, but via the Italian ports to the countries of the Middle East and North Africa.

  ‘So the Brenner Pass is still one of the great trade routes,’ I commented.

  ‘Very much so. It’s the sense of continuity that appeals to me particularly. The Romans built a military road through the pass to link Rome with the North Sea, so this route has been in use for over two thousand years. And this is what makes Austria so important. You said something to me yesterday about Austria being nothing but a small tourist-oriented country, but that’s not true at all. It’s the crossroads of Europe. Quite apart from being one of the main trading routes, this is still a military road. It provides supply and communications links between two of the NATO allies, West Germany and Italy. In that sense, it’s Austria that holds together the Western alliance against communist Europe.’

  ‘But I thought that Austria is a neutral country,’ I objected.

  The Dutch refrigerated freightliner immediately in front of us slowed, with a fierce hiss of air from the brakes. Jon changed down. ‘Just coming up to the frontier,’ he said. ‘Yes, that’s true, Austria is neutral. It has no alliance with either East or West. But geographically it’s in a very awkward position, because it shares borders with communist as well as NATO countries. Both sides want to exert political influence on Austria, so the country is just about over-run by intelligence agents.’

  ‘You mean – men like Matt?’

  Jon nodded. ‘And agents from the other NATO countries; and of course communist agents.’

  ‘Sloan?’

  ‘I’d be prepared to bet on it.’

  We joined the lines of traffic edging towards the Brenner frontier post, and went through without much delay. On the Italian side of the frontier was a group of soldiers, wearing splendidly feathery plumes in their hats.

  Bruno spotted them first. ‘Look, Kate – Alpine soldiers.’

  ‘From one of the crack Italian regiments,’ his father agreed. ‘You saw some of them last summer, when you were staying over here with Joachim, didn’t you, Bruno?’

  ‘Lots of them. They were firing, too – on an exercise, Joachim said.’

  ‘Exercising for what?’ I asked Jon.

  ‘Anti-terrorist tactics, I imagine,’ he said sombrely. ‘There was a lot of bombing and bloodshed in the ’sixties, until the Italian government agreed to give the Alto Adige a good deal of independence. Things have been quieter during the past few years, but there are extremists among the German-speaking population – though not among my relatives, I’m glad to say – who won’t settle for anything less than reunification with Austria. And there are secret organizations based in Innsbruck that will provide them with all the weapons and explosives they need for a full-scale campaign of terrorism to back up their demands. That’s what happened in the ’sixties, and it’s likely to flare up again.’

  ‘And that’s what old Otto Hammerl’s explosives are intended for – for a terrorist campaign?’ I asked slowly.

  ‘Presumably. These mountain men know all kinds of ways of sneaking across the frontier. And I expect Otto sees himself as an Austrian patriot. The crazy old man must be so intent on working for the restoration of the South Tyrol that he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process.’ Jon shook his head. ‘I find that kind of blind patriotism terrifyingly ugly.’

  He wasn’t the only one. ‘But what about Matt?’ I asked bleakly. ‘I can’t believe that he would have been prepared to support that kind of activity – and yet there was obviously some connection between him and Otto, because Otto thinks I know about it too.’

  Jon was diplomatic. ‘The CIA works in mysterious ways. Remember, one of their objectives is to prevent the spread of communism. They’re concerned about a possible invasion of Austria from the communist countries on its Eastern frontier, and they’re very much concerned about the growth of the communist party in Italy. If either country became communist-controlled, the NATO alliance would be cracked open. If both of them became communist, the whole of Western Europe would be in danger of Soviet domination. So if Danby was making use of Otto Hammerl’s patriotism in some way, he would have been doing it with the ultimate object of protecting our political freedom.’

  ‘Even so …’ I said. I felt dispirited. I hated to think that Matt would have been involved in any way with the activities of terrorists.

  Jon glanced at me and was immediately contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t want to have to tell you that your friend was in the CIA – I’d have preferred to leave you in ignorance, which was what he himself obviously wanted. But look at it this way: he was doing what he believed in, and he paid for it with
his life. That’s something for you to remember with pride, isn’t it? The pity of it is that you had to pay too, in sorrow. That’s why I hate violence. It always seems to be the innocent who do most of the suffering.’

  Bruno’s head came pushing over our shoulders. We had left the high Alps behind and the valley had broadened; in its centre was a small town.

  ‘Are we going to stop in Sterzing, Papa?’ the boy said.

  ‘Either Sterzing or Vipiteno,’ said Jon, flicking his indicator to show that he was leaving the motorway. Bruno groaned, as though his father had made a bad joke.

  ‘They’re both the same place,’ Bruno explained to me. ‘Joachim calls it Sterzing, because he’s Austrian. Only the Italians call it Vipiteno.’

  ‘You see how prejudices are transmitted from generation to generation?’ Jon said to me with a sigh. ‘Good heavens, this has been Italian territory for sixty years … Yes, all right, Bruno – we’ll stop here whatever it’s called, and I’ll buy a flowering plant for you to take to your Aunt Viki as a farewell present.’

  ‘Oh yes! And some cigars for Uncle Hans, and a cassette for the recorder we gave Joachim last year, and –’

  ‘Hey, steady on,’ Jon protested, laughing, ‘this isn’t Christmas, you know. All right, I’ll see what I can do.’

  He parked just off the main square. The town had an oddly confused appearance, since the architecture was solidly Tyrolese but the goods in the shop windows were Italian. All the signs and notices were in two languages, Italian and German.

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ Jon told us both as he switched off the engine. He turned to me: ‘And then it’s a fifteen-minute drive up to the farm. All right?’

  He looked as though he would like to kiss me, which was very much what I had in mind myself; I was absurdly reluctant to see him go, even to do a little shopping, but with Bruno in the back we had to content ourselves with touching hands for a moment. Then Jon got out of the car, and since I didn’t want to give Bruno any cause to worry about our relationship I forced myself not to watch his father as he walked away across the snow.