What we want is for him to come rushing here straight from GHQ. In fact, if he gets here late and without his briefcase, we’re going to lock up and pretend you’re out-then next time he’ll know he has to get here fast.” “You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?” Wolff laughed. “You’d better start getting ready. I want you to look irresistible.” “I’m always irresistible.” She went through to the bedroom. He called after her: “Wash your hair.” There was no re- ply. He looked at his watch. Time was running out. He went around the houseboat hiding traces of his own occupation, putting away his shoes, his razor, his toothbrush and his fez. Sonja went up on deck in a robe to dry her hair in the sun. Wolff made the coffee and took her a cup. He drank his own, then washed his cup and put it away. He took out a bottle of champagne, put it in a bucket of ice and placed it beside the bed with two glasses. He thought of changing the sheets, then decided to do it after Smith’s visit, not before. Sonja came down from the deck. She dabbed perfume on her thighs and between her breasts. Wolff took a last look around. All was ready. He sat on a divan by a porthole to watch the towpath. It was a few minutes after noon when Major Smith appeared. He was hurrying, as if afraid to be late. He wore his uniform shirt, khaki shorts, socks and sandals, but be had taken off his officer’s cap. He was sweating in the midday sun. He was carrying his briefcase. Wolff grinned with satisfaction. “Here he comes,” Wolff called. “Are you read0” “No.,, She was trying to rattle him. She would be ready. He got Into the cupboard, closed the door, and put his eye to the peephole. He heard Smith’s footsteps on the gangplank and then on the deck. The major called: “Hello?” Sonja did not reply. Looking through the peephole, Wolff saw Smith come down the stairs into the interior of the boat. “Is anybody there?” Smith looked at the curtains which divided off the bed- 118 Ken Follett
room. His voice was full of the expectation of disappointment. “Sonja?” The curtains parted. Sonja stood there, her arms lifted to hold the curtains apart. She had put her hair up in a complex pyramid as she did for her act. She wore the baggy trousers of filmy gauze, but at this distance her body was visible through the material. From the waist up she was naked except for a jeweled collar around her neck. Her brown breasts were full and round. She had put lipstick on her nipples. Wolff thought: Good girl! Major Smith stared at her. He was quite bowled over. He said: “Oh, dear. Oh, good Lord. Oh, my soul.” Wolff tried not to laugh. Smith dropped his briefcase and went to her. As he embraced her, she stepped back and closed the curtains behind his back. Wolff opened the cupboard door and stepped out. The briefcase lay on the floor just this side of the curtains. Wolff knelt down, hitching up his galabiya, and turned the case over. He tried the catches. The case was locked. Wolff whispered: “Lieber Gott.” He looked around. He needed a pin, a paper clip, a sewing needle, something with which to pick the locks. Moving quietly, he went to the kitchen area and carefully pulled open a drawer. Meat skewer, too thick; bristle from a wire brush, too thin; vegetable knife, too broad . . . In a little dish beside the sink he found one of Sonja’s hair clips. He went back to the case and poked the end of the clip into the keyhole of one of the locks. He twisted and turned it experimentally, encountered a kind of springy resistance, and pressed harder. The clip broke. Again Wolff cursed under his breath. He glanced reflexively at his wristwatch. Last time Smith had screwed Sonja in about five minutes. I should have told her to make it last, Wolff thought. He picked up the flexible knife he had been using to open the cupboard door from the inside. Gently, he slid it into one of the catches on the briefcase. When he pressed, the knife bent. He could have broken the locks in a few seconds, but he THE KEY TO REBECCA 119