Free The Fragile Hour by Rosalind Laker

that there was an aggressive military presence in the town and the abundance of official notices pasted up everywhere gave further emphasis to the iron rule. She saw one in particular prominently displayed everywhere: ‘Anybody attempting to contact the enemy will be shot ! ’ She knew that it referred to those escaping to England and along this coastline with its hundreds of inlets and bays and islands as well as an abundance of boats it must be a nightmare for the Germans attempting to control the outflow of escapees. She despised their Nazi inability to grasp even now the resolute character of the Norwegian people.
    There was no need for her to ask the way to the Ryan Hotel as Karl had given her full directions. She soon reached it and regarded it appreciatively. It was old, built of stout timber as were most buildings in Norway other than those she thought of as city structures. Ornamented with charming gables, it had a Hanseatic look about it as if it might be as old as Tyskebryggen in Bergen. She must have passed it many times in the past without noticing it, but the war and its terrible destruction of so much fine architecture had opened her eyes as never before to everything that had its own particular beauty.
    After showing her papers to the soldier on duty by the stone steps, Anna entered the lobby, which was hung with woven tapestries in traditional local designs. Three officers were talking together. The two younger ones glanced in her direction as she went to the reception desk. A girl with soft platinum-fair hair greeted her.
    “ I’m here to see Fru Sande,” Anna said, explaining that she had come from Bergen to apply for work that a friend thought she could obtain here. She had used the exact words that Karl had instructed her to say, for it was an undercover introduction for anybody who would know.
    “ Your name, please.”
    Anna gave it and waited tensely while the receptionist left the desk. But the girl soon returned and showed her into Fru Sande’s office.
    Greta Sande, who was in her forties, sat at her desk in a pleasing room with shelves full of books and two eye-catching, strongly-hued paintings. Her looks were arresting in that she had accepted her lack of beauty and dramatised the fact. Her gold-tinted hair was pulled back into a coil that emphasised her angular features with the prominent nose and chin. But her deep-set eyes, one screwed up against the smoke of the cigarette between her lips, were a magnificent violet and her smile on a mouth wide enough to split her face had extraordinary charm. Anna could tell that she was a woman who had always lived life to the full, probably many men passing in and out of her affections, and it was likely that she thrived on the present dangerous role that she played.
    “ Come and sit down, Anna.” The woman stubbed out her cigarette in an empty ashtray and indicated a chair with a graceful gesture. “Who sent you here?”
    “ Karl Kringstad. I’ve a letter for you.” Anna handed it over.
    Greta read it through carefully, leaning back in her chair and swivelling gently to and fro. Then she folded the letter again. “What have you brought me?”
    Anna was cautious. “I’d prefer your door to be locked first with those officers in the hall.”
    Greta smiled again. “Don’t worry. I never lock this door on purpose, which means to them that I’m not concealing anything in here.” Her tone mocked their ignorance. “Until barracks were built the Germans took over town halls, hotels, schools and any sizable building for their own use or accommodation early on in the Occupation and mine was taken almost at once. I soon made sure that they respected me, partly because I’d worked hard to build up this hotel and I was determined not to lose it. I also had wild plans about poisoning those who were staying here and other mad thoughts of revenge.” She gave a wry laugh at her own folly. “Later, when things settled down and the Resistance became