At nine o’clock, not a second late, when the hands of the wall clock passed the hour, he came out from the inner room. Seeing his figure, she, who had been curled up on the long bench, immediately straightened up. His gaze swept over the food on the coffee table beside her; it had already gone cold and remained untouched.
He said coldly, “Let’s go.” Then he bent down, hooked her handbag with his finger, holding the soft dark red leather bag in one hand, and turned to walk out of the reception room.
She silently got up from the bench, adjusted her woolen skirt, and buried her head, following behind him.
He took her to the car, letting her sit in the passenger seat, not using his driver, and started the car himself.
She looked around, confused, and asked, “Where are you taking me?” Her words betrayed her nervousness and fear.
“You don’t need to know,” he replied in a low voice, driving out of the government building’s courtyard, circling around the dimly lit square, and turning onto the long, dark avenue.
Isn’t that how it is? Everything is under his control, and she can only helplessly accept it. Khanyi self-mockingly thought, sinking into the leather seat. However, this time she was wrong; the reason he didn’t answer her was not to dominate her, but because he himself didn’t know where to go. He drove quickly along the sparsely lit street, the night wind blowing in through the open car window…
She shivered slightly from the cold wind.
He didn’t roll up the window for her but suddenly seemed to remember something and said, “This city is cold; spring comes late. I have a manor by the Rhine in Basel, filled with cherry trees. A few days ago, I received a letter from my steward, Martin; it is already spring there.” His blue eyes stared intently at the road ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he spoke a long string of words. Just listening to his tone, it was as if they were meeting for the first time, as if she were a beautiful girl he had just met at a ball, and he was merely a gentleman driving her home after the event, casually chatting.
When he finished speaking, there was no response except for the howling wind rushing in through the car window. He finally lifted his head, glancing at the rearview mirror, where her pale face was reflected. He fell silent for a long time, his tone no longer light, as if something was stuck in his throat.
“Sometimes, I wish it could always be like this, never stopping. But whether brief or long, fate always has its end.”
She squinted against the wind, pretending not to hear his words, thus avoiding the realization of his helplessness and sadness. He was clearly a cold-blooded killer, countless souls had perished at his hands; how could he lament fate? She closed her eyes, curling up, leaning against one side of the seat, trembling.
He took off his uniform coat and draped it over her. It was a thick black wool coat, finely crafted, with a velvet lining still warm from his body. Covered by such a coat, she should have felt very warm, but she felt her body growing colder, almost freezing her hands and feet.
All the way, he didn’t say another word to her, nor did she speak. She tried to bury herself under his black coat; although it wasn’t warm, at least it could shield her eyes from the cold night wind howling in through the window.
He drove for five hours, crossing the former national border. At two o’clock in the morning, they finally arrived at his residence. The guards were clearly unprepared; he had to get out of the car himself to let the responsible officer see that it was him.
He climbed back into the driver’s seat and drove the car to the front of the house. He got out first, opened the car door for her, lifted the black coat covering her, but didn’t put it on himself; he just shook it off and draped it over his arm. “Wake up, get out.”
She opened her slightly dazed eyes; in fact, she hadn’t really slept during the journey. Although the car had driven smoothly, she stared blankly at the familiar house. Five hours ago, she had been in another country; now, he had brought her back here, just like the last time, the experience in the concentration camp was the same, everything happened so suddenly. She had no chance to say goodbye to her family or friends; she had almost nothing, not even her suitcase, clothes, or belongings, just a small handbag containing a letter of introduction from a gentleman and the remaining money from selling her diamond necklace. After bribing the prison officials, only a small portion was left, but it wasn’t insignificant. However, since she was here, what use was money? Once she stepped into this house, she would have nothing; her body and soul would no longer belong to her.
When Abigail and a few servants saw her, they all wore expressions of disbelief. Khanyi looked up and met Abigail’s gaze; the maid must have thought she was dead. They must have seen him take her into the woods at gunpoint; her body should have been buried somewhere in the forest.
He gently nudged her, and Khanyi knew what to do. She ignored the servants who looked at her with strange eyes and stepped up the stairs. He escorted her to the third floor, to the door of the attic room where she had once lived. He opened the door for her, gesturing for her to enter. She hesitated at the doorway for a while, turned around, and looked up at him. “You promised me you would let them go!”
