Katastrophe by Graham Hurley

Author:Graham Hurley [Hurley, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781838938390
Publisher: Head of Zeus

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For the next three hours, not much happened. De Vries’s family of coots, to her delight, emerged from their roost and took to the water. A squirrel, attracted by the little cakes De Vries had brought, waited patiently for crumbs. Then, towards ten o’clock, the Swiss Navy patrol boat returned and anchored three hundred metres offshore. By now, the terrace had been swept twice and the tables laid. There were baskets of pastries, and bowls heavy with fruit. Moncrieff, who hadn’t seen a fresh banana for years, could only marvel at the sheer reach of the Swiss. The blessings of neutrality, he concluded, were numberless.

Two men in late middle age appeared shortly afterwards. One wore a grey jacket over black trousers, the other – taller – a well-cut suit in a dark blue stripe. They carried themselves with an air of easy command, strolling the length and breadth of the terrace, pausing to pluck a grape or two from the fruit bowl before standing at the low front wall, hands clasped behind their backs, to enjoy the view over the lake. These, Moncrieff concluded, had to be the Allied envoys from Caserta, the Generals despatched from Alexander’s headquarters to meet Wolff and weigh whatever proposition he had in mind. They’d have made their way down from the villa further up the hill, and now they were waiting for the most powerful SS commander in northern Italy to appear.

According to De Vries, they’d been here in Ascona for days in anticipation of this meeting, and, watching them deep in conversation beside the wall, Moncrieff wondered what you’d talk about when the first real stirrings of peace were beginning to appear. Would you be cautious? Would you believe a word this man might have to say? And in any event, did you have the authority to move these talks along, to offer encouragement, to make commitments, to demand proof of sincere intent? To none of these questions did he have a sensible answer, partly because an encounter like this was rich with complications, and partly because – to be frank – he was a little out of his depth, but when he stole a glance at De Vries, barely visible among the shrubs, he realised that she, too, must have sensed how this morning might one day feature in the history books. Every war had, finally, to run out of steam. And maybe that long process was about to begin.

Minutes later, there was a stir of movement on the terrace. The Allied Generals turned their backs on the view, and advanced cautiously towards another figure who’d just emerged from the villa. He was tall, handsome, erect. Like the men he’d come to meet, he was wearing a suit, and like them, he radiated a natural authority. Moncrieff had seen photos of Wolff, back in London, and he recognised the set of his face, the high dome of his head, the sweep of thinning silver-grey hair.

‘Wolff,’ he whispered, as De Vries slowly panned the camera.

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