6
FROM THE lounge where he sat, turning over the pages of a British magazine without the text especially registering on his mind, Hanno could see into the foyer. Twice a woman entered and his heart jumped; but she went on toward the elevator. The third time proved the charm. She spoke with the clerk at the desk, turned, and moved hesitantly his way. At once he rose from the leather of the armchair. It crossed his mind that long residence in this country might not have given a Russian Western habits of punctuality; and a Russian perhaps hundreds of years old—
She came in and halted. His vision flashed across her. Becker’s description was sketchy, and the German had been under orders not to ask for photographs, lest a prospect take alarm. She was about as tall as Hanno, which put her on the short side among modem Nordics though average among her own kind, A full figure, lithely and erectly borne, gave the impression of more height. Her features were broad, blunt, comely. Blond hair in a Dutch bob framed fair skin. Quietly dressed, she wore low shoes and carried a shoulder bag.
Her brows lifted. Tongue touched lips. If she was nervous, which would be more than understandable, she mastered it gamely. “Mr… , Cauldwell?”
How could that husky voice sound familiar? Just deja vu, no doubt. Hanno bowed. “At your service, ah, Dr. Rasmussen,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
She constructed a smile for him. “Miss Rasmussen will do, if you please. You will remember I am a veterinarian, not a physician.” Her English came readily, though the heavy accent was more Slavic than Danish. “I am sorry to be late. It is because of an emergency in my office.”
“That’s okay. You couldn’t leave an animal to suffer.” He recalled how much they made of shaking hands here and extended his. “I am glad you could, and would, come at all.”
Her grip was firm. The blue gaze intensified upon him, no longer shy. Not forward, either; watchful; he thought of a hunter. Yes, but it was also—puzzled, more than this curious meeting warranted? “Your agent made it sound … interesting,” she said. “I can promise nothing until I have heard more.”
“Of course. We need to talk quite a lot; and then, if I am not presuming, I would like the pleasure of your company at dinner.” Win or lose, he would. Why did she excite him so? “The talk should be private. This hotel doesn’t have a bar, but we can find one close by, or a coffee shop or anything you wish, as long as we won’t be distracted or overheard.”
She went straighter to business than he had dared hope. “I think you are a gentleman, Mr. Cauldwell. Let us use your room.”
“Wonderful!” Old manners returned and he offered her his arm. She took it with a natural grace making up for the fact that she had obviously not had much practice.
They were silent in the elevator, never quite looking at each other. Damn, he thought, something about her haunts me. Could I have seen her before? Hardly possible. Oh, I have visited Denmark now and then, but while she’s sightly, she wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of such women as they’ve got here.
He had taken a top-floor suite. The hotel was fairly old, far from Copenhagen’s loftiest, but these windows gave a view over bustling downtown and lovely, soaring spires. Furnishings were comfortable, a little faded, reminiscent of a gentility well-nigh vanished from the world. She smiled more easily than at first. “You have good taste in places to stay,” she murmured.
“This is a favorite of mine,” he said. “Has been for a long time.”
“Do you travel much?”
“Going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it. Please be seated. What would you like to drink? I have a small refrigerator, beer, akvavit, Scotch, soda, or I’ll be glad to send down for anything else.”
“Coffee, thank you.”
A cautious choice. He rang. Turning around, he saw that she hadn’t taken cigarettes from her bag. Probably then, unlike most Danes, she didn’t smoke. He wished for his pipe to soothe him but decided against it and settled facing her.