Girland moved into the room and Gilly followed him. He closed the door.
‘This will do,’ he said. ‘Come on… let’s go to bed.’
‘You will tomorrow. Hungry?’
He felt her shudder in the darkness.
‘No.’
‘Lucky you… I am. Well, Dumas once said the man who sleeps, dines. So let’s go to sleep.’
‘I couldn’t… I’m too scared.’
Girland stretched out on the bed and pulled her down beside him.
‘It’s a pity you didn’t think of being scared when you made those films,’ he said, sliding his arm around her. ‘Couldn’t you see you were sticking your neck out when you started this blackmail idea with your father… he’s a toughie if ever there was one.’
‘I’d do it again!’ Gilly said but without much conviction in her voice… She pulled away from him. ‘And stop nagging!’
‘ Sorry… I was forgetting you are a mature, well-balanced woman.’
‘Oh, shut up! You madden me! Listen… suppose we go down to the count and tell him he can have the films and I promise not to make any more-if he will let us go… suppose we do that?’
‘A marvellous idea.’ Girland laughed. ‘He will have the films by tomorrow anyway. Why should he trust you? Why should he let you go?’
‘But you are going to trust me.’
‘Yes, but I have to… he doesn’t. Go to sleep,’ and Girland moved away from her, made himself comfortable and shut his eyes. In a few moments, he was in a light sleep while Gilly stared fearfully towards the invisible ceiling. After a while, she began to think back on her past life. Although still hating her father and mother, she was now regretting what she had done. She reluctantly admitted that Girland was right. The Ban War was a weak-kneed organisation. She had only joined because she knew it would enrage her father. She thought of Rosnold, now realising with a sense of shock that she wasn’t sorry that she wouldn’t ever see him again. He had been her evil influence, she told herself. Without his persuasion and his flattery, she would never have made those awful films. She felt hot blood of shame run through her.
How could she have done it? Of course that massive dose of L.S.D. had made the films seem fun at the time. If Rosnold hadn’t given her the L.S.D. she wouldn’t have done what she had done. She was now sure of that.
If she ever got out of this mess, she told herself, she would begin a new life. To hell with her father! If he became President, then the American voters got what they deserved! She would have to leave Paris. The Ban War mob would never leave her alone if she stayed. She would go to London. She had a cousin there working at the American Embassy.
He might help her find a job. She listened to Girland’s gentle breathing and she envied him. She remembered their night of love-making. He was the sort of man she would like to hook up with, but she knew that was hopeless. He was a loner… he had called himself a mercenary. He wouldn’t consider having her around with him for long.
She thought of him with envy. Men had all the advantages.
Then suddenly she stiffened and her heart began to race. Had she heard voices? She half sat up and Girland’s hand closed over hers. He had become instantly awake.
‘What is it?’
‘I thought I heard voices.’
‘Stay here.’
Although she couldn’t see him in the darkness, she felt the bed ease as he slid silently off it.
‘Don’t leave me!’ she whispered urgently.
‘Wait here!’ His voice was the barest sound but there was enough snap in it to force her to remain on the bed.
Girland moved to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he put his hand on the ornate gilt door handle and gently levered it down, then he edged open the door.
A faint glow of light met his eyes. It came from the head of the stairs. Then he heard a man, speaking in German, say,
‘Are you all right down there, Rainer?’
A voice said something that Girland couldn’t catch.
‘Me?’ The first voice said. ‘How can I be all right… sitting on these stairs for the rest of the night?’
There was a laugh, then silence.
Girland edged open the door and peered down the corridor. He saw a heavily-built man, wearing the count’s livery, sitting on the top stair at the head of the staircase. Between his knees, his hands clasped around the barrel, was a shotgun.
The sight of this man startled Girland. Why was he there? Girland asked himself. Could be that the count suspected that Gilly and he hadn’t escaped into the forest but had remained hidden in the Schloss?
It seemed to Girland this must be the explanation why this man was guarding the staircase. But if the count thought they were still here, why hadn’t a search been organised? Girland considered this and then realised the difficulties of searching such a vast place in darkness. It looked now that the count had sealed off the landings and was waiting for daylight.
Girland closed the door softly and returned to the bed. He sat beside Gilly and told her what he had seen and what he thought would happen in the morning.
‘You mean they know we are here?’ Gilly gasped fearfully.
‘They can’t know, but I think they suspect we could be here. Now just relax. We have a lot of space to manoeuvre in. If you do exactly what I tell you, they won’t find us. But if you lose your nerve, they will find us.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘We’ll wait. We have lots of time.’
Gilly started to speak, then stopped. There was a long pause while Girland stretched out on the bed.
‘Relax and let me think,’ he said.
Gilly tried to relax, but it was impossible. She willed herself to remain still. Time crawled by. She became aware suddenly that Girland’s breathing had changed slightly and she realised he was asleep. She lay by his side, miserable and envying him his complete indifference to the danger that was crowding in on them. Then she heard a sound that made her stiffen: a faint, but distinctive sound of snoring coming from the corridor.
Girland said softly, ‘Hear that? The guard has gone to sleep.’
‘Oh… I thought you were alseep.’
‘ So I was, but I sleep lightly.’ She let him slide off the bed. He went to the door, eased it open and peered along the corridor. He saw the guard, sitting on the top stair, his head resting against the banister rail. From him was coming the gentle snoring sound.
Girland closed the door and switched on his torch. He crossed to the high windows.
‘Come on, Gilly, we have work to do.’
She scrambled off the bed and joined him.
‘Catch hold of these curtains and hold them together.’
When she had a firm grip on the heavy, velvet curtains, he took hold of the thick green and gold rope that opened and shut the curtains and threw his weight on it. For a moment it held, then came away from its fastening and dropped to the floor. He did the same with the other side of the curtain. Then he moved to the second window. Within a few minutes he had eight metre lengths of heavy curtain cord on the floor: these he began to knot together.
‘What are you doing?’ Gilly asked as she held the flashlight so he could see.
‘Confusing the situation,’ Girland said. ‘When you’re in a spot, confusion is your best friend.’
He opened one of the windows, unlatched the heavy wooden shutter and eased it back. Then he stepped out on to the balcony and looked down. There were no lights showing from any of the windows below. The light of the moon lit the vast expanse of lawn, and the distant forest was only visited by the outline of the tree tops.
He began to lower the knotted rope down the side of the outer wall, keeping the rope well clear of any window or balcony. The end of the rope finally dangled above the balcony on the second floor.
‘We want two more curtain ropes,’ he said. ‘Wait here. I’ll get them.’