“And the single figure we saw standing watchfully on the balcony last night.” Gabriel scrutinized the chalet window by window. He thought he saw movement behind one of the drawn shades but couldn’t be sure. “I’m wondering whether it’s time to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Allon, but you don’t look like the cup-of-sugar type.”
“I enjoy baking as much as the next person.” He snatched up the key to the Mitsubishi and handed the binoculars to Peel. “Keep an eye on me.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Gabriel slipped out of the cottage and made the short drive across the valley. He parked next to the BMW, climbed out, crossed the tidy front garden, rang the bell. Receiving no answer, he rang the bell a second time, with the same result. He was about to make a third attempt when suddenly the door was flung wide and he found himself staring into a pair of liquid blue eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Allon,” said Alice Winter. “I was hoping it would be you.” She stepped to one side. “Won’t you please come in? I was just about to make a pot of tea.”
32
Lauterbrunnen
The interior of the chalet was a work in progress. The walls were freshly painted, the wooden floors newly refinished, but there was little in the way of furniture and, with the exception of a half dozen novels piled on the low coffee table, even fewer personal touches. It looked to Gabriel as though she had been reading John Banville when he presented himself unannounced at her door. If nothing else, he admired her taste in literature.
At length she returned to the sitting room bearing a silver tray laden with a pot of tea and the usual accoutrements, including an unopened package of English digestive biscuits. She placed the tray on the table and sat down. Gabriel, still on his feet, regarded her for a long moment, a hand to his chin, his head tilted slightly to one side.
“Who are you supposed to be?” he asked at last.
“Marlena Brunner.”
“Nice.”
“I thought so too. But I didn’t choose it.”
“Who did?”
Ignoring his question, she poured a cup of tea. “Biscuit?” she asked cordially.
“They’re a dead giveaway, you know.”
“The McVitie’s? Marlena Brunner is half English. In fact, she spent most of her life living in the United Kingdom.”
“Does she speak German?”
“She can order in a restaurant, but otherwise she’s quite hopeless.”
“That would explain the stack of English-language novels.”
“She’s read them all twice. If you have anything good lying around, she would love to borrow it.”
“I’m sure the Metropolitan Police will find something for her to read when she gets back to London.”
“Come now, Mr. Allon. There’s no need for dramatics.” Despite her unruffled outward demeanor, the hand that poured the next cup of tea was no longer steady. “Nor is there any need to involve the police.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. The police have been involved from the beginning. That’s what happens when the wife of a British real estate mogul goes missing.”
“And the British real estate mogul asked you, of all people, to get her back.” Quietly she added, “Just my luck.”
“Mine too, as it turned out.”
“Edward paid you well, I assume.”
“Unlike you, Alice, I wasn’t in it for the money.”
“Is that why you think I did it?” She gave him a shrewd smile. “Perhaps I overestimated you, Mr. Allon. I thought you were more intelligent than that.”
