Chapter 2

In a stately old brownstone residence about a mile from the centre of Innsbruck, the Baroness de Bierli laid down her pen and rang for a servant.

When the footman appeared she ordered a bottle of the cool, dark Bavarian beer which, on a warm day, she loved to take before lunch.

She was looking over her correspondence.

Her cheque to Corona Tours, of Zurich, was attached to the statement covering the hire of one luxury-class bus, to seat twenty persons, for one fortnight from that very day-with an option on a further seven days.

The bus, said a letter accompanying the statement, would arrive from Lucerne. It was hoped that the personnel would find favour in the eyes of their esteemed client. The driver, Istvan Lavoipierrc, was undoubtedly the finest in Europe. The hostess, Althea Dimitrios, had been especially chosen. She would accompany the driver for the first time; if she proved satisfactory it was the intention of the company to team the two permanently.

The baroness smiled. Could the managing director have had any idea, she wondered, why she had specified that the crew chosen should be both young, and with, as she had phrased her request, "minds that have been broadened by much travel. It is my intention to assemble several selected guests, picking them up en route-so the personnel you select should be capable of mingling with my friends without focussing attention, unduly, upon the fact that they are crew members...*'

The second letter was to one of the baroness's oldest friends, whom she addressed simply as Hermann von Wildersee, though he was, in fact, one of the oldest remaining members of the one-time Austrian aristocracy. Born a Hapsburg, and a prince of bis line, in his own right, Von Wildersee had long dropped all use of his tide when he moved from Austria to a chateau he had bought in the Rhone Valley, down the slopes of which ran his terraced vineyards.

In her letter, the baroness intimated simply that she would be arriving for a long-promised visit within ten days or so.

"There will be a dozen-perhaps more-of my guests travelling with me," she concluded the letter to Hermann. "This, my dear Hermann, should not unduly. strain your establishment, so I am sure you will be ready to receive us. Indeed, if you value still the things we once set store by together, you would not think of a refusal of your hospitality."

The baroness took another draught of beer. She smiled speculatively. The letter said no more than what she intended it to say. She signed it, slipped it into an envelope, and rang for the footman to mail it for her.

Then she lit a cigarette and sat back in quiet contentment.

She was a fine figure of a woman and, despite her forty-five years, endowed with a grace that would have been the envy of many a girl in her twenties. With her inbred nobility went that aura of refinement that wealth alone can give. She was beautifully coiffured, simply yet exquisitely gowned, groomed with refinement in every detail. And she was a widow.

She awaited now the four guests whom she had summoned to her home. She had bade them arrive that afternoon. In anticipation, for they knew the fabulous hospitality of the baroness, those four guests were speeding, that very moment, toward Innsbruck.

So, too, were Istvan and Althea...

As they rolled toward Innsbruck, now only a few kilometres ahead, Althea reached forward and snapped off the radio. She looked up at the comfortable mass of

Istvan, relaxed, yet rocklike in his strength, behind the wheel.

"Just what sort of trip is this one, Big Man?" she asked. "You said, last night, you'd tell me-remember? I'm really in the dark till you do."

Istvan shot her a look, liking what he saw. She was quite a courier, this Althea. Newly assigned to him, she had met him for the first time in Lucerne the previous day. Up to then, she had been known to him only by reputation.

But that had been yesterday...

Now he knew her as few men ever would-a woman beautifully sculptured of body, rich in culture, but, above all, a woman so obsessed by sex that it seemed her very intelligence stood in danger of being choked by her excess of libido.

And is that so bad? he thought.

"1 don't know very much," he said, smiling down at her. "But what I do know, 111 tell."

"Big of you."

"Nuts to that sarcasm. Or I'll beat you."

"You will? With a real whip? Lovely!"

"Tramp! O.K., then. I had to phone the boss from Lucerne. This is what he told me-that I'd have to pick you up, and get on over to Innsbruck. The Baroness de Bierli. She's doing the hiring. But not even he knew much more than that."

"The Baroness dc Bierli," murmured Althea reflectively.

"He told me we'd been specially teamed for the job, you and I. Something about the old girl wanting a 'presentable' crew."

"Presentable? What's she mean by that?"

"No clue. But nothing surprises me any more. Not in this game. Could be a load of Dominican nuns. Could be a bunch of sex perves, for all I know. Or the Innsbruck Boy Scouts off on a flipping jamboree."

"I'll plump for the sex perves, me. I've heard of this Baroness de Bierli."

"You have? What was the word. What's she going to turn out to be?"

"No monster, I don't think. I don't know a lot, except that she's stone rich. And they talk about her all over Europe. Not her, so much as her parties. Paris, Rome, Copenhagen-there isn't a city where there isn't a handful of the elite who'd cut off an arm to be invited to one of her parties."

"That so? I begin to see... but, like 1 said, nothing surprises me any more." %

"Anyhow, let's wait till we get there, hey? Before we start getting wrong ideas. We could be wrong, you know. No good getting there all sexy on the dolly, and find out we're taking a load of Scouts on a trip. What's the route, incidentally. You been told yet?"

"Not a word. That's all the boss told roe. Two weeks -and she gives the orders. But I got two hundred pounds for expenses, so it seems as if it's going to be some ride."

"I don't mind. I get it with you, don't I. The ride, I mean.

"Aren't you lucky!" "Like yourself?"

"You got me, pal. Actually it's me, Althea, who's in luck. If they never split us up again, you and me, it's too soon. I've heard plenty about you-"

"Plenty good? Or plenty bad?"

"Good. And bad. Mostly good-bad."

"Men," she said, "talk too damn much."

"Only about superwomen. And you're supreme, compared to most of them."

"I'm honoured the shareholders think so well of their company."

"Shareholders? Then, here and now, I appoint myself chairman of the Board of Directors. There'll be no more meddling."

"With?"

"With internal affairs. From now on, I run the show."

"I'm in your hands. And, for your information, I find them pretty capable hands, too. Held a few titties, those hands, in their time. So I don't see why you hold a few other fellows against me."

She paused a while, then asked:

"You married, Istvan? I heard that you were, somewhere along the road."

Istvan felt as if a whip had laid a sudden scourge across his heart.

Six months ago, he had purposely changed route to drive through the little Swiss town where he lived. Gaston, the restaurateur, would appreciate the unexpected busload of luncheon customers. For himself-he'd walk in and surprise his wife, Wildi...

He'd surprised her, all right. In bed. His bed. Naked. And in the arms of his best friend!

He'd dragged the wretch off the sweating body of his wife, and had beaten the shit out of him. Then he'd walked straight out of his wife's bedroom, out of his house, and out of her life.

He grinned, wryly.

"Was married. It went phut, though, right in my face!"

"Pity," said Althea quietly. "Divorced?" she added, after a moment.

"No. Don't know, rather. Maybe she's doing something about it. I'm not. Lucky there weren't any kids." He patted the engine cowling. "But this is my baby now. This is the only wife I've got."

"Hard to get it to bed, though," said Althea. "So big. So unyielding. So unfeminine-and, I'd say, so cold in winter."

"But she does what I tell her to. Doesn't talk back, either. Grateful for every kind attention--and she isn't unfaithful."

"Unfaithful? So, it's Istvan the Jealous, then?" "Something wrong with faithfulness?"

"No..."

Istvan looked down at her.

"I was faithful, Althea. Once. And for a long, long time." He spoke levelly, quietly.

Althea left the mocking banter out of her voice.

"I see," she said. And then, after a pause: "Yes, Istvan. I believe you could have been. Faithful. You, perhaps, of all men. Because you're a strong man. Not like some of the others I've known. Oh-but don't imagine I'm regretting them, now. I took them for one reason-because I enjoy being fucked. I was pretty selective, out of what was on hand. But I took them, knowing that men are, for the most of them, slime. I may have to be fucked by them-that's a biological necessity-but I don't have to go overboard about them. Love them, I mean. I owe no man anything in that department."

"So you condone infidelity, then?" "For me,-yes, Istvan. But if I were married, I would be very faithful. If I were married to somebody like you, for example. Like you were faithful to... to her..." "And if I'm faithful now?"

"Then you're not Istvan the Jealous any more, either. Besides, why be faithful now? Faithful-who to, for God's sake?"

"Exactly," said Istvan.

And they were silent then, each with their own thoughts, until the bus drew to a halt outside the baroness's residence.