Free In Satan's Shadow by John Anthony Miller Page A

the street, studying a crowded café, and noticed an attractive brunette, her wavy hair almost to her shoulder, standing on the pavement. It was Amanda Hamilton.
    He wondered whether to shout and wave, or to hurry across the boulevard to greet her. For some reason, his instinct told him not to. He remained where he was, moved behind the stout trunk of a tree, and pretended to wait for the tram. But his eyes never left her.
    She stood still, her hand at her mouth, her attention riveted to a black Mercedes parked a half block down the road. A German soldier sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes directed forward.
    A few minutes later the rear door opened, and a man dressed in a grey suit got out. He reached in the car for another passenger, and a feminine hand became visible, followed by a shapely leg. A slender brunette emerged, smiling, dressed smartly.
    The man was Manfred Richter. He hugged the woman tightly, holding her for a moment, and then he kissed her, lingering on her lips. She pulled away, smiling, and started walking down the street. Richter turned and watched her, staring for a moment, and then climbed in the car, a smile on his face.
    Amanda Hamilton stood motionless, her eyes wide, her face pale.

 
    CHAPTER 13
     
    Amanda was nauseated, her heart breaking, as she watched Manfred embrace another woman. Her eyes misted, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks, and then she closed them, wishing the image would go away. But she knew it wouldn’t. Just like it didn’t six months before. Only then it was a different woman, a redhead.
    She opened her eyes and watched as the Mercedes pulled away from the curb. The woman walked towards her, almost to the café, but turned into a gray granite building housing the Berlin Bank. She was older, probably early forties, dressed in an expensive charcoal skirt and blue silk blouse. She seemed happy, with a bounce to her step and a smile on her face, as if her life had changed for the better.
    Without even knowing why, Amanda followed her into the bank. She was numb, stunned and shocked, feeling like a fool for forgiving a man who didn’t deserve it. But what would she do now? She couldn’t confront the woman. But she still wanted to know more about her. She kept at a distance, staying near a handful of customers filling out deposit slips.
    The woman went to an office located just past the tellers. It was plush; two leather chairs sat in front of a mahogany desk. She walked to a window, pushed the drapes open a bit farther to capture both the sunlight and a view of the side street, and then scanned some papers on the desk. She then looked up, as if she realized she was being watched.
    Amanda didn’t move. She stared at the woman, her expression pained, her eyes misty. Even though she wanted to, she couldn’t seem to avert her gaze.
    The woman looked at her curiously and, when Amanda’s stare continued unabated, she walked to her office door and closed it. The sign, now visible, read: Gretchen Baumgartner, Bank Manager.
    Amanda left the bank, dazed, and climbed into a taxi, mumbling her destination to the driver. As he pulled away she stared out the window, seeing nothing. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream, but she knew that sooner or later, she would figure out which.
    When she arrived home she fled to the sanctity of her music room, but didn’t play her violin. She stared at the walls, a vacant look in her eyes, an occasional tear dripping down her cheeks. She felt like a fool. Manfred had convinced her he had only strayed once, that he was sorry, that he was a good husband, and it would never happen again. But in reality, it had been happening all along, and with more than one woman. She had devoted ten years of her life to someone who could care less. She had given up everything for him, and now she was a British island in a German sea.
    Her sadness eventually turned to anger and, if Manfred was there, she probably would have hit him. But instead she only fumed at