“Does it matter?”
Leonhard gives her a nip on the ear with his teeth. “Of course it does. I am your husband after all.”
“Then why didn’t you come looking for me if you were so concerned?”
The stateroom is beginning to fill with a pale, silvery light, but they can’t see out the window from the angle at which they are lying. “We’re six hundred feet in the air. You’re afraid of heights. Didn’t figure you could get very far.”
“I didn’t think you’d wake. I’m sorry.”
“Clarify that apology, Liebchen. Sorry that I woke? That you were reckless? Or that you worried me?”
Gertrud turns to face him. She forces one eye open. “Sorry that you think this is a big deal.”
“It is a very big deal. Where did you go?”
“To the bar. I couldn’t sleep.” The look she gives him suggests that this is his fault, that he’d promised her sleep and didn’t deliver on his end of the bargain.
They have spent such a large part of their relationship in some form of playful banter that she is unnerved by the severe crease that forms between his eyes. Leonhard is quite genuinely angry.
“What were you doing? In the bar?”
“Drinking.”
“And?”
“Smoking.”
“With?”
“Edward Douglas.”
“Pray tell, Liebchen, who in the fucking hell is Edward Douglas?”
Gertrud yawns and stretches her arms behind her head until her palms rest flat against the wall. She pushes against it, and the muscles in her spine begin to protest. “Well, for starters, he’s the drunk Arschloch who was on the bus yesterday.”
“Starters?”
She sits up and folds her legs beneath her. Gertrud pushes her hair away from her face, then crosses her arms over her chest. She does her best to match the harsh expression on Leonhard’s face. “He also happens to be the mystery man who ran up the stairs that day in Frankfurt when Herr Goebbels yanked my press card.”
Gertrud waits. Leonhard has the squint-eyed look of a man trying hard to remember something just beyond his grasp. After a moment he sits up with a start. “The mustache!”
“It doesn’t really suit him, does it?”
“You are a terrifying creature. You know that, right?”
“I like to think I’m simply observant.”
Leonhard isn’t ready to let her off the hook just yet, however. He sets a gentle hand on each shoulder. “What I’d really like to do right now is shake you so hard your teeth rattle. And I would if I thought for a moment that it would do any good. But I know you better than that. So instead I want you to tell me every single thing you learned about that man. Do you understand? Everything.”
“You’ll just be disappointed. I don’t know much more than you do. Despite my best efforts. He’s cagey. And a spectacular liar. He answered my questions, but only just. And in a way that left me with more questions. That bastard had five empty glasses on the table when I got there. And two more by the time the bartender kicked us out at three o’clock, and he wasn’t even the least bit drunk. How is that possible, Leonhard?”
“Clearly he holds it well.”
“No one holds it that well.”
“You’re using absolutes again. I would have thought life had taught you better by now.”
“It’s too early to get philosophical.”
“This is logic. Not philosophy.”
“You want logic? Why the act on the bus yesterday? What could he possibly have gained from that little charade?”
Leonhard isn’t a man who smiles often. He isn’t jovial. Or histrionic. He often keeps his emotions tucked behind that reserved, precise exterior. So Gertrud is somewhat anxious when a broad, wicked grin stretches across his face. “That is something you’ll likely have to puzzle over while you get ready. We’re going to breakfast.”
“No.” She dives back into the covers. Pulls them over her head. “I’m going back to sleep. I’m exhausted.”
She can feel the mattress shift beneath her when Leonhard climbs out of bed. And for the briefest moment she actually believes that he will let her sleep. But a second later he yanks the bedding clean off, sheets and all, and drops it to the floor.
“Stop it!”
“Get up.”
“No.” She flings herself back into the pillows like a petulant child.