Not Even for Love(23)

Helmut and Reeves were waiting for her at the appointed restaurant and they ate a hearty American breakfast. Jordan drank one cup of coffee and then indulged in a pot of chocolate lavishly topped with whipped cream.

The men were dressed as casually as she, though Helmut’s idea of “casual” was dress slacks, a sport coat, a cashmere sweater, and a sealskin overcoat. Reeves looked like he was about to ride the ranges of a cattle ranch, wearing everything a well-dressed cowboy needed except the hat. After he had finished eating and while they were waiting for Helmut’s cigarette to burn down, he checked his equipment.

He had greeted Jordan cordially when she arrived, following Helmut’s lead of kissing her on the cheek. This was Europe. Everyone kissed everyone else on the cheek. Helmut thought nothing of it. Indeed, he was glad that the American photojournalist obviously found his fiancée attractive.

But Jordan hadn’t taken the salutation lightly. Her heart stumbled around in her throat and she had to hold herself rigid to keep from swaying against Reeves as he pulled away.

Reeves, too, had exhibited extreme control. He had longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her fully on that appealing mouth. That fleeting taste of her had only acted as an appetizer and he was starved for more.

The trio created a slight commotion when they boarded the cable car at the base of Mount Pilatus. Helmut’s chauffeur ushered them through the crowd. Tourists and natives alike were intrigued by Reeves and his cameras and watched in fascination as the three situated themselves in one of the small cars. Reeves placed his equipment on one of the four chairs while Helmut and Jordan sat facing him.

“How long will we be in this car?” he asked, checking his light meter as he held it in front of their faces.

“About twenty minutes,” Helmut told him. “Then we get out at a station halfway up the mountain and take another, larger car, one that holds about forty people, the rest of the way to the summit. All in all, it takes about forty-five minutes.”

Reeves looked a little green around the gills as their car lurched forward. They were being hauled away from the ground and up the side of the mountain that stood sentinel over the city and the Lake of Lucerne.

Reeves switched lenses several times; he twirled the focus rings; he changed the filters that snapped onto the end of his lens; and the shutter clicked incessantly. And all the while he was talking to them, putting them at ease, making them forget that camera. Even as Jordan relaxed and began to behave normally, she was aware of his talent.

“You’re great subjects,” he commented as he put his camera back in the case after exchanging a new roll of film with a used one. “I’ll do some more when we get to the top.”

“Look behind you, Reeves,” Helmut said. “There’s a spectacular view of the lake. To your right you’ll see my château.”

Jordan thought he hesitated a moment before he looked behind him at the picture-book panorama of the city and the lake far below.

“Yeah, that’s beautiful,” Reeves said shakily as he whipped his head back around.

Jordan suppressed a giggle. He was afraid of heights! He didn’t look behind him again, but kept his eyes straight ahead, where the mountain loomed behind Helmut and her. Every once in a while they would hear a group of backpackers as they made their way up the mountain. Jordan would lean out the railing of the open-air car and wave to them, shouting greetings in several languages. Reeves remained as motionless as stone and gripped the edge of his chair.

They arrived at the midway point and had only a short wait for one of the larger cable cars. They filed aboard with the other sightseers and Helmut immediately headed for a position near the wide windows.

Reeves held back and clutched a pole in the center of the car. Jordan smiled as she stood with him. “You should have said you’re afraid of heights,” she teased.

“I’m not afraid. I’m petrified,” he admitted with a self-derisive laugh.

“We don’t have to go the rest of the way,” she said.

He looked out the window of the cable car toward the top of the mountain and gulped. Fog shrouded the summit, so that the frighteningly narrow cable, looking like a thread, disappeared into the cloud.

“No. I’ll be fine once we get on solid ground. It’s being suspended that I can’t stand.”

“But surely you fly all the time. How do you handle that?”

“Usually with a good belt of Scotch. Then I started reading about so many people getting plastered on airplanes that if an accident does occur they’re useless in trying to save themselves. Which is even more terrifying. So, I white-knuckle it.” He grinned boyishly. “Unless I have a hand to hold.”