After the Fine Weather by Michael Gilbert Page A

pruned of all unnecessary adverbs and adjectives, an impression of impending disaster?
    “This morning we were informed that Herr Radler, the leader of the Socialist opposition in the Landtag, and his deputy, Herr Hammerle, have both been placed under protective custody. Their offence, apparently, was haranguing the crowd that was burning the Italian church. Further reserve forces have been called up, and camps are being formed near the Italian frontier, ostensibly for road clearance. There is a curfew in the town of Lienz, but movement is not as yet restricted by day. A military tribunal is being set up to try Boschetto. I will add to this despatch from time to time, and will send it by the first available messenger. Yours ever, Consulate.”
    There were other points he considered mentioning: the curious difficulty he was experiencing in contacting his diplomatic colleagues, more particularly Dr Pisoni. The fact that all telephone calls from his flat were now quite openly intercepted and listened to. The presence, on the other side of the road, of three gentlemen who took it in turns to watch the door of the house in which his flat stood.
    Frau Rosa had pointed them out to Laura, with undisguised contempt. “If I wish that they should be allowed to follow me,” she said, “then I allow them. If I do not wish it, I should not allow.”
    “How would you do that?” Laura asked.
    “I have friends in this building. There would be no difficulty. On the ground floor, for instance, is the consulting room of Dr Grill. He is Zahnarzt – Dentisten.” Frau Rosa made the gesture of extracting a tooth. “From his kitchen you can go into the kitchen of the restaurant. There is a door in the wall.”
    “I don’t expect they’d follow you anyway,” said Laura, “even if you went out of the front door. It’s me they’re after.”
    Frau Rosa snorted. It was clear that she did not dislike the idea of being followed by police agents.
    The telephone rang.
    “For you,” said Frau Rosa.
    It was Helmut.
    “Miss Hart. Nice to hear your voice. They haven’t deported you yet?”
    “They couldn’t. No trains.”
    “Of course not. I had forgotten. It’s an ill wind, as they say. I shall be able to implement my promise to you, and show you some of the night life of Lienz.”
    “I’m not sure if I’m allowed out,” said Laura.
    “Allowed?”
    “There’s a man watching the flat.”
    “He won’t stop you. His orders will be to follow you. He can sit at the next table and watch us eat. By the way, you are aware that our conversation is being listened to?”
    “No?”
    “Certainly. Everything we say is being written down. We must be careful not to speak too fast. Dictation speed.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “The gentleman now listening has asthma. If you listen carefully you can hear him.”
    In the silence that followed it did seem to Laura that she detected a faint, and embarrassed, clearing of the throat.
    “I shall have to speak rather in riddles, then,” said Helmut. “You remember the lady I was talking about when we had dinner together. The one who had a lighted cigarette end dropped down her back at an Olympic Reception.”
    “Her Christian name?”
    “Her forename, yes. Let us meet there at eight o’clock this evening.”
    “I’ll see if I can,” said Laura.
    Charles had pointed out the watchers to her but hadn’t actually said that she was to stay indoors. It wasn’t her fault if the way to the frontier was blocked. She wasn’t breaking any law. She had been told to leave the country, and she would do so as soon as the way was clear. Meanwhile she saw no reason why she should mope about indoors, reading back numbers of The Times.
    The local paper had announced that as a result of the prompt measures taken by the chief of police the situation was in hand. The Security Force would be kept mobilized, but as a precaution only, until it was clear that no further outrages were contemplated.
    She looked down at