The Rendezvous by Evelyn Anthony Read Free Book Online Page A

believe me,’ Bradford said. ‘But my wife can’t help you. I promise you, Colonel, I’m not being obstructive; she has no memory of anything that happened during the war. That whole period is a blank, thank God. To be honest, she didn’t even know her own name or anything about herself.’
    â€˜She’s very fortunate,’ the colonel said. ‘How does she account for this gap in her life?’
    â€˜She believes she was ill. That’s all we told her and she hasn’t ever tried to question any further. She’s well and happy, and that’s how she’s going to stay.’
    â€˜Nothing can bring the past back?’ Baldraux said. ‘You are sure?’
    â€˜As far as we know, nothing in the world.’
    â€˜Very well then. Thank you for the interview, I shan’t be troubling you again.’
    â€˜I hope you catch the bastard,’ Bradford said.
    â€˜Ah, Major, so do I.’ The slate-blue eyes were bright with hate. ‘And we will, don’t worry. Sooner or later he’ll be found.’
    Ruth Bradford Hilton smiled at her sister-in-law and then at Karl Amstat. He had taken Terese’s hand and seemed unable to let go of it; he hadn’t said anything to her at all.
    â€˜Darling, Mr. Amstat’s an architect, isn’t that fascinating?’
    â€˜Yes.’ Terese Bradford smiled. He had let her hand drop and there was a fixed, artificial smile on his face. He might even be a little drunk; so many people got high at cocktail parties and it was such a bore. ‘What sort of building do you design, Mr. Amstat?’
    â€˜Industrial, mostly,’ he heard himself answering, and his voice sounded quite normal. There were people pressing in all round him, it was impossible to get away for the moment. ‘And I do some private commissions, if they’re interesting.’
    â€˜I’m very ignorant about it,’ she said. ‘I make all my family furious by saying I prefer traditional styles to the modern.’
    â€˜It’s really a question of extremes,’ Amstat said. It was the same person. She was unmistakable: the same eyes, the same face, voice, everything the same, only older, more sophisticated. He must be going mad. She didn’t recognise him; she was becoming quite animated talking about architecture, and there wasn’t the slightest hint of recognition. He shivered in the hot-house atmosphere, and his hands shook round the empty glass he was holding.
    â€˜Here, let me give you some champagne.’ The English husband was back with a bottle, smiling under his ridiculous little brushy moustache.
    â€˜Darling,’ Ruth said, ‘you are sweet; where’s that waiter got to, this is his job!’
    Amstat’s glass was filled, and he found himself drinking it straight down. ‘It’s so hot in here,’ he said to Terese Bradford. ‘It makes one so thirsty.’
    â€˜It does,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve been fifteen years in America and I still can’t get used to the heating everywhere. There’s a balcony over there – why don’t we go out and get some air? I’m stifled.’
    â€˜Why, yes of course, but I must watch the time.’ He made a futile gesture of looking at his watch, but she had taken his arm and they were moving into a larger room. He opened the balcony doors and they stepped out. It was little more than a narrow ledge with a parapet; below them stretched a magnificent view of the glittering skyscrapers, and the incandescent, changing glow of neon signs like an electronic rainbow.
    â€˜It’s a wonderful sight, isn’t it?’ Terese said. He was standing beside her in the dark; the roar of the party went on behind them, and the roll of traffic in the streets far below came up very faintly like an echo. ‘Better than all the Swiss mountains – are you Swiss, Mr. Amstat?’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said. ‘My home was