Poppa
Keeping the letter had been insanity. Simple common sense dictated that he should have burned it immediately after reading it. But he was reluctant to do so, feeling that it was likely to be the last word he would ever have from his fa-ther. And further, el Coronel Frade encouraged him to keep it.
"It will be important, Peter, after the war," el Coronel said to him. "Not only personally for you, but to counter the argument that every German, every German officer, supported Hitler and the Nazis."
El Coronel Frade offered to keep the letter for him, and Peter gave it to him. And now there seemed to be a very good chance that it would wind up in the wrong hands.
Peter was stroking Alicia's hair with his left hand, while his right hand held her back. As he did this, he became aware of the warmth of her back, and then the pressure of her breasts against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, tenderly.
Christ, I love her. Which, under the circumstances, is probably the worst thing I have ever done to a
woman.
He became aware of the warmth of her breath against his chest, and her fin-gers on his naked back, holding him close to her. And then that her breath had become uneven, shuddering, and that the muscles of her back were tensing.
He pushed his body away from hers as he felt the warmth of her belly through the towel.
She took her left hand from his back and raised it to his face. He looked down at her.
"Christ!" he said.
She raised her face to his and kissed him hungrily. Her hand slipped off his face, down his chest, and there was a sudden violent movement as she jerked the towel off his body.
It was only when he heard the knock at the door, and Dora's voice calling, "Se¤or! Se¤or!" that he vaguely remembered hearing the telephone ring.
"What is it?" he called.
"El telefono, Se¤or. El Coronel Gr?ner, Se¤or."
Alicia was lying on him. He felt her breasts rubbing against his chest as he reached for the bedside telephone.
"Guten Morgen, Herr Oberst."
"I had the odd thought, von Wachtstein, that if you had nothing better to do today, you might wish to come to work. Loche will be there shortly."
The line went dead.
Peter looked at his watch. It was twenty past nine.
"What is it?" Alicia asked.
"Gr?ner. He's sending his car for me."
"What time is it?"
"Nine-twenty."
"What happened?"
"What happened!"
"You must think..."
"I think I love you, is what I think," he said, and squirmed out from under her and got out of bed.
The clothing he had so carefully laid out on the bed-a tweed jacket, gray flannel trousers, a stiffly starched white shirt, and a finely figured silk necktie- was in a heap on the floor, mixed with Alicia's dress and lingerie.
He dressed quickly and sat on the edge of the bed to slip his feet into tan jodhpurs. Alicia moved on the bed. He felt her arms around him, and then she moved farther and he found her breast in front of his face. He kissed her nip-ple.