Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 36

Salzburg airport was relatively quiet on Wednesday morning. Victor Mason walked out of Customs into Arrivals, followed by a porter with his luggage, and quickly scanned the few people waiting for passengers. Francesca was not amongst them, and although he was momentarily surprised he was not perturbed. He knew she would appear within minutes, and he headed towards the main entrance, preferring to wait outside in the fresh air.

The porter deposited his two suitcases next to him, propped the skis in their custom-made leather bag against the wall, and asked him if he needed a taxi. Victor shook his head, thanked him, gave him a generous tip, and then glanced around, his eyes eagerly absorbing the surroundings.

It was a shimmering sunlit morning. The air was dry and crisp, and for Victor the glorious weather was the most uplifting change after the dreary dankness of London. He took several deep and satisfying breaths, felt a rush of exhilaration, and lifted his head to regard the scenery. In the distance, imposing greyish-purple mountains with white-glazed plateaux and icy, crystal peaks leapt up into a sky that was the clear sharp blue of alpine gentians and without a solitary cloud. It seemed to Victor that everything around him sparkled – the landscape, the sky, the very air itself.

A tingle of excitement ran through him. He could not wait to get up on the slopes. It was perfect skiing weather. Ambivalent though he had been at various times over the weekend, the last vestiges of doubt now disintegrated, and he knew that despite a few earlier misgivings the trip was going to be a success. He discovered he was in a festive mood and the right frame of mind for a five-day vacation away from the burdens, and problems of the picture.

The fierce sunlight stabbed at his eyes. He blinked, took out his dark glasses and put them on. He was about to light a cigarette when he heard a horn tooting merrily and repetitively.

Victor swung his head alertly and spotted a bright red Volkswagen skimming around the corner. It slewed to a standstill and Francesca jumped out,. laughing as she flew towards him across the snow, her fresh young face as sparkling and as sunny as the morning. She looked like a vivid bird escaped from its exotic jungle habitat, a flash of brilliance against the snowscape, in a canary-yellow sweater and a matching woollen cap. Both the sweater and the pert little concoction on her head were trimmed with scarlet pom-poms, and she wore yellow ski pants tucked into short leather boots also of bright scarlet.

The sight of her in the colourful outfit brought a smile of pleasure to his face. ‘Hi, kid,’ he cried, moving forward. He caught her in his arms roughly and hugged her several times.

This display of spontaneous affection on his part delighted Francesca. He seemed more handsome than ever, and her heart was pounding rapidly from his close embrace. She took hold of herself and said, ‘Sorry we’re late. We hit a bad patch of ice on the mountain, and it slowed us down.’

‘I’ve only been waiting five minutes at the most,’ he said, releasing his grip on her arms. Playfully he flicked the pom-poms, strung on lengths of wool and dangling from the shoulder of her sweater. ‘You look exactly the way I feel.’

‘And how’s that?’ she asked.

‘Gay. Lighthearted. And I’ll tell you something else, kid. I think I’m getting high on this fabulous air. It beats Dom Pérignon any time.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, it is marvellous, isn’t it. And I’m glad you’re in a carefree mood, because we are too. Oh look, here’s Diana.’

Victor turned. He was not quite sure what he had expected Francesca’s cousin to be like, certainly not as stunning and stylish as the girl approaching them. Taken aback though he was, he camouflaged his startled reaction behind an affable smile.

Diana was dressed entirely in white, even to the leather boots that rose above her ski pants. The latter were beautifully tailored and fitted her like a second skin, and with them she wore a loose sweater-tunic of fluffy angora wool, belted with a white silk rope which was tasselled at the ends. Her hair was the most astonishing thing about her. It was the colour of silver gilt and it rippled, long and straight, halfway down her back, parted in the centre above a wide brow. As she drew closer he saw that her face was small and delicate, and patrician like Francesca’s, but they bore little physical resemblance to each other apart from this one distinction. Their features were markedly different, and in contrast to Francesca, who was tall and willowy, Diana was small-boned, diminutive, elfin.

She came to a standstill, her eyes sweeping over him with unabashed interest and curiosity. If the face upturned to his was not exactly beautiful, it was arresting, and he was instantly struck by the extraordinary peacefulness that dwelt there. And then she smiled, and he could not help thinking: The Gioconda Smile. The face of a madonna indeed. Her silver-grey eyes, fringed with thick lashes the same silver gilt as her hair, were large, and intelligence and merriment shone out from them. Her complexion had been tanned to a soft golden bronze, and it was patently obvious to Victor that she was a natural, outdoor girl who did not need to resort to the artifice of cosmetics for her appeal. The only make-up she wore was a touch of coral lipstick.

Francesca said, ‘Diana, this is Victor Mason. Victor, this is my cousin, Diana von Wittingen.’

‘How do you do, Mr Mason.’ Diana stretched out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

‘So am I,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘And please let’s drop the formalities. Call me Victor. Can I call you Diana?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, the Mona Lisa smile flickering. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I must go into the airport to ’phone the house. I’m sure Cheska told you there’s ice on the driveway. I want someone to put down sand and cinders; otherwise there’ll be an accident. Whilst I’m ’phoning, perhaps you’d help Cheska stow your luggage. You’ll have to put the skis in the back of the Volks, and manoeuvre them around a bit. They’ll fit, if you stick them through one of the windows.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ He looked at the tiny car doubtfully as Diana disappeared into the airport. He glanced after her and said to Francesca, ‘What a great-looking girl!’

‘Yes, she is. Bavaria is scattered with broken-hearted swains, dying of love for her.’ Continuing in a brisker tone, Francesca said, ‘Now, let’s get the cases into the car. One will fit in the boot, the other will have to be wedged on the back seat, along with the skis. And me.’ Francesca picked up the ski bag and walked to the Volkswagen.

Victor followed with his cases. ‘You two are being over optimistic. Maybe I should get a taxi and have it follow us,’ he suggested. ‘You’re going to be damned uncomfortable, surrounded with all my stuff.’

‘Oh, I’ll be all right, don’t worry. We managed with my two bags yesterday. Mind you, I didn’t have skis.’

Victor took off his cashmere overcoat and flung it on the front seat, then tackled the luggage. It was a tight squeeze, but everything was tucked away in the Volkswagen when Diana returned. She burst into gales of laughter when she saw Francesca squashed in the back, firmly anchored into position by the huge case on one side and the skis which stretched diagonally in front of her and jutted out of the back window.

‘Poor darling!’ Diana exclaimed, getting in and slamming the door. ‘It’s a good thing you’re not a fat girl, and that it’s not a long trip.’

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Francesca replied. ‘Come on, Dibs, let’s get off. We’re wasting time.’

Diana turned on the ignition and pulled out with rapidity, whizzing through the airport at such a speed Victor cringed. She slowed down as they turned onto the main road, and remarked, ‘I hope you won’t be disappointed, Victor, but I’m going to skirt around Salzburg today, so that I can take the fastest route to Königssee. If you want to see the town, we can always come back later in the week. Salzburg is quite beautiful, and the Baroque and Gothic architecture is unique.’

‘Yes, later perhaps,’ Victor said, thinking of the skiing he had planned to do, and which he had no wish to forgo for a round of sightseeing, visiting monuments, museums and churches.

Diana caught his reluctance, and said casually, ‘We don’t have to make a decision about that now.’ Without turning around, she said over her shoulder to Francesca, ‘Are you going to tell Victor, or shall I?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘I will, Dibs.’ Francesca smiled faintly at Victor, who had swivelled in his seat. ‘There’s been a slight change of plan. Diana hasn’t booked you into a hotel. She’s had second thoughts about it, and she thinks you should stay with us. She’d like you to be her house guest.’

Victor’s black brows shot up. ‘That’s really swell of you, and I appreciate your kindness, Diana, but I think it would be more circumspect if I stayed at a hotel, as planned.’

Diana looked at him through the corners of her eyes, and a smile played around her mouth. ‘I’m not sure it would be circumspect. Cheska has explained everything to me, and I think you’d be far too conspicuous in a hotel. You’re so well known, you’d be recognized immediately. There are journalists in Germany too, you know. Our house is halfway up a mountain, rather isolated from town, and also very private. If you stay with us, no one need know you’re even in Bavaria. We don’t have to go into the town at all, and in your skiing gear and goggles you’ll be faceless on the slopes.’

‘Points well taken,’ Victor said. He was thoughtful, mulling the idea over, realizing she made sense. ‘Maybe it is the wisest thing to do. Still, I don’t want Francesca to feel awkward about it. I guess I’ve got to toss the ball back to her. What do you want me to do, kid?’

Francesca leaned forward, her hands resting on the skis, her smile wide with happiness. ‘I’d like you to stay at Wittingenhof with us,’ she said, having resolved earlier to be honest with him, to let her feelings show, regardless of the consequences. She waited, became aware of his indecisiveness, and rushed on, ‘Diana took me down to the hotel in Königssee late yesterday afternoon, and although it’s the best, it’s not what you’re used to, and they didn’t have a suite available. Only a rather grotty room. So apart from anything else, you’d be much more comfortable at the house.’

Victor looked at her carefully. This is one hell of a switch on her part, he thought. He said, ‘Won’t it create problems for you later, if I do? Won’t you have to explain to yo –’

She cut him short. ‘Of course not!’ she exclaimed, smiling reassuringly. ‘I don’t think we should worry about that now.’ Her voice was smooth, unconcerned.

Momentarily nonplussed, in view of their long discussion about her father on Saturday night, Victor intensified his scrutiny. He could see that her mood of gaiety and enthusiasm was undiminished, and he was suddenly convinced she knew what she was doing. Yet he had difficulty in acquiescing. He was not sure why. ‘Well, I’m still –’

‘Excuse me for interrupting, Victor,’ Diana said. ‘But I’d like to make something clear. The Schloss is large. You would have your own suite of rooms and your privacy. We won’t intrude on you in any way, and you can come and go as you like.’ She laughed lightly, threw him a quick glance. ‘I never restrict my guests.’

‘Hey, Diana, that’s not why I’m hesitating. I know you’d make me welcome and comfortable.’ He swung his head to face Francesca, noted the expectancy in her eyes, made a snap decision. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay at the house. Providing you’re sure it’s all right, Francesca.’

‘Absolutely,’ she cried, unable to disguise her excitement. ‘Oh good. It’s settled. On to Wittingenhof, Dibs darling.’

Victor chuckled. If Francesca could accept the situation with such apparent insouciance and pleasure, who was he to argue. He settled back in the seat, relaxing, and took out a packet of cigarettes. He lit one, smoking in silence for a few minutes, and then he said, ‘I hope this doesn’t mean a lot of extra work for you, Diana.’

‘Not at all, we have excellent help. And actually, your suite is already prepared and waiting for you. Christian insisted on that. Ah, we’re almost at the Austrian border. Do you have your passport handy, Victor?’

‘Sure do.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his Harris tweed sports jacket and pulled it out.

‘You have mine,’ Francesca said, tapping Diana lightly on the shoulder.

Diana nodded. ‘Yes, I do. They may not be needed, but it’s best to have them ready.’ She braked as the border guards came forward to meet the car. When they saw Diana, who was leaning out of the window, they smiled and nodded and waved her on. Within a few minutes she was sliding to a stop at the German frontier. Once again the border patrol seemed to know her and they chatted cordially, glanced indifferently at the passports, and signalled her to pass through the barrier which had just been raised.

When they were over the border, and speeding down the road again, Victor said, ‘They didn’t seem particularly interested in us. Is that normal procedure?’

‘Not really, but I’m backwards and forwards to Salzburg all the time, and the guards at the German side live in and around the area. They’ve known me for many years,’ Diana explained. She slackened her speed. ‘Victor, do look around. Isn’t Bavaria beautiful?’

He peered out of the windows with interest. Forests of pine rose majestically on either side of the road, the stately firs of a green so dark they were almost black, their branches weighted with frostings of snow that glistened in the brilliant sunshine. The wooded landscape stretched as far as the eye could see, its impressive sweep unbroken by any form of habitation or signs of civilization. And towering above these great coniferous forests were the glacial Alps, awesome in their grandeur and solitary beauty under a sky of dazzling azure.

‘It’s breathtaking,’ Victor pronounced. ‘I can’t wait to hit those slopes.’ He indicated the range of mountains on the far horizon.

‘I know what you mean,’ Diana said. ‘Francesca tells me you’re a champion skier.’

‘She said the same about you!’

‘Oh, I’m not too bad,’ Diana answered off-handedly. ‘And since you’re obviously an experienced skier, I’ve decided to take you up on the Jenner tomorrow. Then if you want a longer run, we can tackle the Rossfeld on Friday. The snow has been good this year. It’s lasted well. Conditions are ideal. You’ll get some good skiing, Victor.’

‘I hope so. I’ve been looking forward to this break for weeks on end.’

Francesca said, ‘I don’t think I’ll be joining the two of you. At least not on the Jenner or the Rossfeld. They’re too difficult. To tell you the truth, even the nursery slopes seem a bit frightening to me this year. Perhaps I should skip the skiing entirely.’

‘That might be best. You’d better not tax yourself,’ Victor cautioned. ‘You’ve been sick, remember. I think it’s wiser and safer to do something less dangerous.’

‘I’ll potter around the Schloss and keep Christian company.’

‘Oh that will please him, Cheska,’ Diana smiled, affection ringing in her voice. She said to Victor, ‘I hear you usually go to Klosters. The skiing is certainly comparable here.’ She sighed lightly and shook her head. ‘When you’re up above six thousand feet everything down below seems so very petty, utterly sham, wherever the mountain is located. Up there, surrounded by such incredible beauty and purity, you feel closer to God, nearer to the truth, and you suddenly get a totally different perspective on the world, see it with clearer eyes. Isn’t that so, Victor?’

Before he had the opportunity to respond, her laughter echoed around the small car. ‘Oh dear, I’m sounding much too serious and philosophical. The wrong mood entirely.’ Her eyes flicked to Victor and she smiled, brought her gaze back to the road. ‘Cheska and I decided last night that these next few days are going to be carefree, and lots of fun.’

‘That suits me,’ Victor said. ‘And I hope you’re going to let me take you all out to dinner one night …’ He stopped, remembering Diana had said he was conspicuous, and added, with a quirky smile, ‘I guess I’ll have to go incognito, wearing my skiing gear and goggles.’

The girls laughed, and Diana said, ‘That’s an interesting thought. And thank you for your lovely invitation. As a matter of fact, there are some charming old taverns in the area, and also in Salzburg, which I know you’d enjoy. But … well, we’ll see,’ she finished on a noncommittal note.

Francesca reached out and touched Victor’s shoulder. ‘It’s Diana’s birthday later this week. There’s going to be a small dinner party on Thursday evening. It was planned before she and Christian knew we were coming. You don’t mind meeting a few of their friends, do you?’

‘I’m entirely in your hands, kid. And the party sounds great.’ He made a mental note to talk to Francesca about a birthday present for her cousin, wondering absently if there were any good shops in the town.

Diana and Francesca launched into a discussion about clothes and the outfits they would wear for the party, and Victor lit another cigarette, listening to them with half an ear, amused by their feminine chatter, as well as by the turn of events. You never know in life, old buddy, you just never know, he said to himself.

Victor sank into his own thoughts for a few moments. Francesca’s cousin was unusually mature and sophisticated in the best sense of that word. Young as she was, she had undoubtedly experienced her own heartache. There had been a ring of conviction and truth and knowledge in her voice when she had mentioned the worthless, the petty, and the sham. The whole world was sham, wasn’t it? The question hung there and he pondered it, and found himself thinking about Francesca. There was nothing sham or shoddy about her. She was pure gold, and very real. The genuine thing, and then some. She’s also verboten, he reminded himself with a start. Unexpectedly, Victor was no longer able to push aside his feelings for her, nor ignore the attraction she held for him. And he was filled with disquiet, contemplating the five days ahead of him, and of living under the same roof with her. Oh Christ, he thought, what have I done?

Victor glanced at his watch. They had been on the road for almost an hour now, and he was about to ask how much farther it was to Wittingenhof, when Diana announced, ‘Here we are, Victor.’

She dropped her speed and came to a standstill, waiting for another car to pass, and then she drove across the highway and began to climb a dirt road, patched with ice in places and recently layered with cinders. It was narrow and twisting, and rose steeply through a dense wood of giant Scotch pines and drifting banks of frozen snow. They continued to climb for a good twenty minutes. The road began to widen and gradually it levelled off, became a wide flat plateau where the forest thinned out.

Victor was staring ahead. He could see a stone gatehouse, its white-washed façade intersected with dark wood beams, small windows with wooden shutters and brass carriage lamps on either side of a great stone arch. This cut through the centre of the gatehouse like a tunnel, and from it swung massive black iron gates hanging wide open. Victor lifted his eyes as the Volkswagen rumbled over the cobblestones under the archway. He read the name, Schloss Wittingenhof, and the date, 1833, carved in the stonework above the entrance leading into an estate of some considerable size.

Diana swung left and stopped in front of a complex of buildings adjoining the gatehouse, obviously stables and garages, and pulled on the brake. She jumped out of the car, calling to Victor, ‘Let’s release poor Cheska, shall we?’ and began tugging at the skis.

‘I’ll do that,’ he cried, also alighting, but she had already removed them when he came round to the other side of the Volkswagen. Francesca clambered out, stretched herself, and pulled a face. ‘God, I was just about ready to scream. I’m terribly cramped and stiff.’

‘Don’t blame me. I offered to get a taxi for the luggage,’ he reminded her. ‘Listen, swing your arms and touch your toes. That’ll work out the kinks.’ She did as he suggested, and he made a motion to lift his bag off the back seat.

Diana hoisted his skis onto her shoulder. She said, ‘Don’t bother with your luggage, Victor. Manfred will bring it in later.’ She set off down a patch cut through a wide expanse of clean snow, her silver-gilt hair gleaming in the sunlight as she walked in the direction of the house.

Victor retrieved his overcoat from the front seat and hurried after Francesca, who was gaily skipping along behind Diana, for all the world like a little yellow bird let out of her cage. He smiled at his comparison, his eyes fastening on her. And it was true, Francesca did seem different to him, freer and less constrained than she was in London. Perhaps her present demeanour had something to do with being in a foreign country, far away from the strictures of her everyday life and all that this entailed; it could be induced by the holiday spirit they all shared; it might even be Diana’s influence at work. But whatever had wrought the change was irrelevant, as far as he was concerned. He liked her joyful, unfettered mood, for it suited her and, furthermore, it made him feel more relaxed.

Victor pulled his eyes away from Francesca and directed them sharply to the end of the path. Here stood Schloss Wittingenhof in all its ancient glory. Although Diana had said it was large, he had not envisioned a house quite this size, nor one so impressive, for in essence it was a grand manor house of some distinction. It was of excellent proportions, long and relatively low and rambling, with various wings protruding from the central structure. These wings, perfectly balanced to the main building, helped to create a flowing and harmonious effect. Roofs of blue-grey slate pitched gently down to touch stone walls the colour of eggshell, a soft off-white that had a hint of beige. The many windows were flanked by black and white shutters, whilst the double front door, with a lintel of stone, was painted white and decorated with black nail heads and black iron hinges. A series of dormer windows were cut into the roofs, which, in turn, were topped by fat squat chimneys, and all added to the charm of the picturesque architecture.

Wittingenhof nestled against a backdrop of splendid fir trees. These swept upwards over the slopes of the mountain, which continued its soaring ascent immediately behind the Schloss. The mountain, for all its immensity of size and spread and height, did not diminish the house. Rather, it threw Wittingenhof into bold relief, the grandeur of the natural setting underscoring its intrinsic beauty. The plateau upon which the house was built was on high ground, and the atmosphere was clear, bracing, and the intense glare from the crystalline snow converged with the lucency of the sky to create a light of supernatural brilliance, a light that blinded with its clarity. Victor blinked, shielded his eyes with his hand, and caught up with Francesca. ‘The Schloss looks a sensational place,’ he said.

‘Yes, it’s lovely, and wait ’til you see inside. Diana has done a marvellous job with it.’

‘Is the architecture typical of the area?’ he asked, falling into step.

‘Yes, to a certain extent. It’s very much in the Bavarian tradition, but modified, less Hansel and Gretelish. I forget who designed it, someone quite famous in his time though. Wittingenhof is considered an architectural classic, and it’s well over a hundred years old.’

‘Yes, I noticed the date on the entrance when we drove in, I guess it was built for the family, wasn’t it?’

Francesca nodded. ‘One of Diana’s ancestors owned this mountain and the surrounding land, and I understand that he built the Schloss for his young wife, who was frail in health and needed the air at this altitude. She must have had lung problems. After she died, the house fell into disuse. The family only occupied it occasionally in the summer months, for holidays. It was Diana who actually decided to open it up for full-time use, and she and Christian have made it their permanent home for a number of years now. It’s just as beautiful in the summer. These …’ She pointed to the snowy areas in front of the house, ‘are all lawns and there are meadows at the back, and a lovely lake. Oh look, Victor … you’ve got a welcoming committee!’ she cried tugging at his arm.

He followed the movement of her head and his face lit up. A gaggle of geese, sleek, plump and immaculate, were marching across the snow, comical in their sedateness. Victor looked down at Francesca, his eyes laughing. ‘They couldn’t have staged this better in Hollywood. Tell me, kid, how do the geese know how to march out on cue?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Francesca grinned. ‘But they always make an appearance around this time. Feeding hour, I suppose. Come on, Diana’s waiting.’

Diana stood in the doorway, leaning on the skis. ‘I’d like to add my welcome,’ she said. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay at Wittingenhof, Victor. You must consider it your home too.’

‘Thanks, Diana. You’re being very kind.’

Turning she said to Francesca, ‘Why don’t you take Victor down to the cloakroom, and I’ll go and tell Christian we’ve arrived.’ She handed the skis to Victor. ‘Would you mind carrying these, please? Francesca will show you where we store them.’

‘Sure,’ he said, taking the bag from her.

The two girls walked across the entrance foyer and Victor followed in their wake, looking around with quickening interest. The entrance was small and square, with a beamed ceiling, white stucco walls and a floor composed of terracotta tiles, glazed to a burnished hue by the sunlight shafting through the windows. A massive mirror, framed in intricately-chased silver, hung above a carved pine chest, and in its glassy depths trembled reflections of the entire area. Next to it stood a silver urn bursting with branches of red berries. At the opposite end the small foyer splayed out on either side to become an impressive great hall, with many doors opening off it and a spectacular curving staircase floating gracefully up to other floors. It was sparsely furnished, the only pieces being an armoire, several carved wooden chairs, and a desk near the stairwell, all in a rustic country style and made of oak.

This hall had baronial overtones, with a high-flung ceiling and walls painted the same soft eggshell as the exterior of the house. An immense and eye-catching tapestry, depicting a medieval hunting scene, was suspended on the rise above the staircase, a wrought-iron chandelier dropped on long chains from the centre of the ceiling, and the floor of dark wood, polished to a high gloss, was entirely bare.

Diana veered to the right, waving to them as she went into one of the rooms. Francesca guided Victor to the left, along a corridor and down a short flight of stone steps. These stopped in another hallway, on the lower level, where French windows opened onto a paved loggia and beyond, in the distance, was a view of the frozen lake and a copse of trees, their spidery black branches dripping icicles.

Marvellous aromas of food cooking floated on the warm air. Victor sniffed. ‘I guess we’re near the kitchen,’ he said, eyeing Francesca.

‘Yes, it’s down there.’ She nodded to the end of the hallway.

‘I just realized how starved I am. Ravenous. I was up at the crack of dawn to get the plane.’

‘Manfred will bring something up to the sitting room shortly. A little snack with our drinks, before lunch. Come on, put your skis in here.’ She opened a cupboard, moved on, and turned the iron handle on another door. ‘And this is the cloakroom.’

Victor propped his bag next to several pairs of skis lined up in the cupboard, closed it, and followed her. The cloakroom was a mélange of blue and white, these colours appearing in the tiles on the floor and in a faded floral paper on the walls and ceiling. Francesca stuck her yellow woollen cap on one of the pegs attached to the wall, where an assortment of anoraks, Loden jackets and capes already hung. ‘You can put your coat here, and the bathroom’s through that door, if you want to freshen up.’

‘Thanks.’

She turned to the mirror standing on the pine chest, ran a comb through her hair, then shook it free casually. ‘I’ll be in the drawing room, upstairs.’

‘I don’t think I’ll get lost, kid,’ he said.