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“Does that count?” she asked. “As you said, she’d do anything to save Franz. So would I, if I were his mother.” She realized that this was true. If your child trusted you, loved you, how could you do anything else? Or perhaps it was also Franz’s father she protected?
“It’s not Gabrielle,” he said again, quietly, and there was something like admiration in his voice that Elena had never heard before. “She does what she does for Franz. She won’t betray us.”
“Is there anybody else we can trust?” Elena asked, trying to ignore her aching feet.
“No,” he said. “No. Save your breath, and keep moving.”
Finally, Aiden stopped outside a shabby wooden door in an alley. He gave a brief rhythmic knock. After a moment or two, the door opened and he exchanged a few words with someone Elena could not see. They were speaking neither Italian nor German. Elena thought it might be Serbian. Then the door opened wider and they were let in.
She had no idea where they were, but the man who stood in the small, stale-smelling passage was pleasant enough. “Not long,” he warned in English, shaking his head.
“Gone in the morning,” Aiden promised.
“One room.”
“Whatever you’ve got.” Aiden did not even glance at Elena.
The man nodded and led the way along the corridor for only a few yards, then opened the door to a small room. A single bare bulb showed it was furnished with two mattresses on the floor and a pile of sheets and blankets. He said something in Serbian, which sounded to Elena like instructions. Aiden translated, explaining where the toilet was and a basin. A bath was out of the question.
After the door closed and the man’s footsteps had faded down the passageway, Aiden looked at her. “Take off that dress,” he said. “It’s great, but you can’t wear it anymore. It’s too memorable. If anyone asks, ‘Did you see a woman in a gray dress?’ they will be able to say ‘yes’ without doubt. And apart from that, no one wears such a thing in daylight. And you can’t run at all in those heels.”
“So, what will I wear?” she asked, confused. Now that she had stopped running, exhaustion overtook her.
“Marco will find you something. It won’t be to your taste, but it’ll be comfortable and inconspicuous. Now, get a few hours of sleep. We’ll resume our search for Max in the morning.” His face looked grim in the patchy light, strained and robbed of color.
“Where do we even start?” she asked. The momentary elation she had felt earlier had gone. She was tired and had no idea what they could do that was anything but pointless. “We need to get out of Trieste.”
“Hang on to the list and go as soon as you can,” he retorted, his voice harsh.
“I’d be happy to, if those had been my instructions!” she snapped back. “But they weren’t. I work with you Aiden, not for you.”
“Anton,” he snapped. “As far as you are concerned, Aiden is dead. Don’t forget that. You’re more of a liability than I can afford.”
She felt as if he had slapped her, but another thought came to her mind. How could it all unravel so quickly? Only an hour or two ago they had been allies sharing the danger, the excitement, and then the relief. Had he always been so sudden to bite back, and she had just forgotten? Did she selectively recall only the good times, the exhilaration, the excitement, the laughter, and the tenderness—a little like when someone dies and you weed out all the bad bits and wipe them from memory?
She took off the gray dress and draped it over the back of the only chair. Then she removed her underwear and went to bed with only her slip on. It was as good as some nightgowns, although she was aware of being too near naked for emotional comfort. There had been times when that would have led to intimacy, even passion, but that was in another life. Had he meant any of it? Or had he been that way in order to keep her loyalty? She would never betray a man she thought loved her, and he knew that.
* * *
—
She slept far better than she had thought she would. She was a little cold, but not enough to keep her awake. In the morning, Marco brought her a very plain brown dress. It was unflattering, to say the least, but it was warm enough, and with a rough shawl it was sufficient to keep her sheltered from the worst of the weather outside. He also brought a pair of brown shoes. They were a little large but that was better than too small. He offered socks, too. She was about to decline, then realized she might have to walk a long way, and they would at least make the shoes fit her better. She thanked him and took them.
Aiden, too, left his good dinner clothes behind and took rough work clothes. They instantly changed not only his appearance, but his manner. He set aside the grace and arrogance that usually made him stand out. He was fair-haired and fair-skinned, but here, in far northern Italy, this was not so remarkable. In what had previously been Austrian-occupied Trieste, there were plenty of Germanic-looking people.
They ate a brief breakfast of bread and salami, with a little cheese and good hot coffee. It was still early, before nine, when they set out. No shops were open, but at least it was a mild day.
Elena walked along the pavement beside him.
“You surprised me last night,” he said after a while.
She had no idea where they were going, nor, for that matter, where they were now, but she was quite sure what he was about to say. She did not ask. Silence was, she decided, the better choice.
“I didn’t think you’d make it along the ledge,” he added, the shadow of a smile around his lips.
“But you had me walk it anyway,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice.
“Better to fall into the stream than into the hands of those men, I promise you.” His voice was strained, tight in his throat. “They would have killed you, but had their fun first.”
