“What . . . what are you doing here?” Steven stammered.
“I could ask you the same question, Mr. Landsdale.” The president of Manstein Systems neatly raised her right eyebrow. “You left my birthday party rather suddenly. Was your plane taking off in the middle of the night, I wonder?”
“No, no.” Steven forced a smile. At the last minute it occurred to him to fake an American accent. He was frantically wondering what newspaper he had said he worked for. At least Luise Manstein didn’t seem to know about the gruesome events at Linderhof.
“Oh, I had a call from the editorial offices in Milwaukee,” he explained. “The boss wants another background story, on Neuschwanstein this time. So I had to get an early night. I hope you had a good time even without me.”
Luise Manstein’s glance turned to Sara and Zöller, who had approached the Maserati, suspecting nothing. “And your two companions?” she inquired.
“Er, this is only Al . . . Adolf, my German photographer,” Steven said hastily. “And the girl there is Peggy, my assistant.”
Steven looked desperately at Sara and Zöller, making small signals with his hand. Zöller was about to say something, but Sara was quick to get in first.
“The tickets, Mr. Landsdale,” she squawked with a broad Texan drawl. “We gotta be up at the castle at one P.M.” Zöller let out a small cry of pain when Sara’s heel kicked him in the shinbone.
“You’re not going up to the castle right now, are you?” Luise asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a madhouse up there—you might as well write about Disneyland.”
Steven shrugged. He was beginning to feel more assured in his role as a provincial American reporter. “I know, but I have to have the story ready by tomorrow at the latest. And I wasn’t able to book a press tour at such short notice. Anyway, I’m more interested in . . . er . . . the historical facts.”
“Ah, I see. The historical facts.” The industrialist looked at him for some time with a narrow smile. Steven felt the sweat under his Bavarian hat beginning to run down the back of his neck.
“I’ll tell you something, Mr. Landsdale. I like you,” Luise said. “I have a weakness for the States and their way of making facts into fairy tales. We ought to have a longer talk about that sometime . . .” Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him, pausing for rather longer than was necessary. “So I’ll make you a proposition: what would you say to a nighttime tour of the castle?”
“A . . . nighttime tour?” The bookseller blinked at her in surprise. “But how . . .”
She smiled more broadly. “You don’t think I’m here at Neuschwanstein for pleasure, do you? Some time ago, Manstein Systems undertook a big contract for this place. The castle needs a general technological overhaul. An interactive museum, improvements to the logistics and transport system, new software to deal with bookings . . . but above all a modern security system with a new alarm complex.” She pointed to one of the horse-drawn carriages trotting past with a set of Japanese tourists on board. “Technologically, this place is still in the last century, although it accommodates a world cultural heritage worth billions. It’s lucky that no terrorist gang has thought of blowing the castle sky-high.” Shaking her head, she looked up at the proud building towering above them, radiant white like something out of a Disney movie. “The contract is mainly advantageous for my firm’s reputation.There really isn’t much money in it.”
“And you’d really get us into the building when it’s empty this evening?” Steven asked in surprise.
“Us?”
Steven pointed to Sara and Zöller. “I’d need my assistant and photographer with me, of course.”
“If you like.” Luise Manstein sounded several degrees cooler now. “I have to go in again myself. The new CCTV cameras were installed only yesterday, and there are still a few minor glitches in the alarm system. I’m one of those annoying bosses who likes to check up on everything herself.” Her eyes twinkled again. “And I must admit I’d be really interested to see Neuschwanstein by night, particularly the king’s bedroom.” The tinted window on the driver’s side of the car went slowly up again. “Think it over, Mr. Landsdale. I’ll be up there at the gatehouse at nine this evening. Maybe we could get a martini after. So long!”
The car’s engine roared, and the Maserati disappeared past the nearest souvenir shop.
“Peggy and Adolf!” Sara blurted. “I suppose you couldn’t think up anything sillier? Sounds like Stan and Ollie, or Tom and Jerry. And what do you mean, I’m your assistant? You should be so lucky.”