Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 37

Francesca bounded up the stone stairs, humming under her breath. She was in a happy mood, engendered by Victor’s presence in the house. Although she was not foolish enough to think this particular circumstance would bring about a change in him, or cause him to suddenly reciprocate her feelings, she did believe their friendship had a better chance of flowering here at Wittingenhof than in London. Furthermore, and most importantly, she had him entirely to herself, did not have to compete with Nicky or Katharine, and the rest of his entourage, for his attention, and this in itself was most gratifying to her.

She swung down the Deer Hall, walking swiftly, still humming, but as she passed the library her steps faltered. The door was firmly closed, and it was thick; nonetheless, she heard Diana exclaiming, ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ and with such impatience Francesca was startled. Again, Diana’s voice rang out, now in a staccato burst of rapid German which Francesca did not understand; however, it was quite apparent her cousin was irritated. She did not wish to hear any more, and so she hurried on in the direction of the gallery, frowning to herself. It was unusual for Diana to sound cross, and especially so with her brother, with whom she was invariably gentle and mild. She wondered what had ruffled Diana, and instantly dropped the thought. It was none of her business, and she preferred not to delve too deeply into certain matters in this household.

When she entered the sitting room, Francesca went immediately to the cabinet where the records were stored, found a classical piece she liked and put it on the record player. Then she crossed to the high stone hearth and sat down on it, warming her hands in front of the fire.

A dreamy expression suffused her face, and she leaned back, her thoughts caught up with Victor and the five days stretching ahead of them. Last night, after she had explained the situation to Diana, told her of the need for secrecy in view of Victor’s complicated life, his impending divorce, and his worry about Confidential Magazine, she had confided in her cousin. But the confidences had only been partial ones, for as always Francesca held back her innermost feelings. Being essentially an exceedingly private person, she deemed these to be too intimate to impart to anyone, even someone close to her. This was chiefly the reason she had not said anything about Victor to Katharine, although fear of appearing foolish and juvenile had also induced reticence, along with a reluctance to give Katharine an opportunity to fill her ears with tid-bits about Victor’s many love affairs, as she was prone to do. Francesca was wise enough to understand this knowledge would only underscore her anxiety and undermine her self-confidence.

After Francesca had finished her carefully-edited recital about her attraction to Victor, Diana had been thoughtful for a while. Eventually she had said, ‘I think you must ignore his attitude towards you, otherwise you’ll be miserable the entire time you’re here, darling. I also think you should be completely natural with him, even let him see you’re attracted to him, like him as much as you do.’ Diana had stopped, her laughter breaking loose, her eyes merry. ‘Don’t look like that, Cheska! You can make him aware of your interest in him without being flagrant, or throwing yourself at him.’

Diana had leaned forward and squeezed Francesca’s arm. ‘Listen to me, darling. Men can be very peculiar, quite odd. And they’re as afraid of rejection as we are, you know. So sometimes they need a little gentle encouragement to make them feel more at ease. And there’s another thing. If I were you I’d forget my age, forget his age, and also forget who he is. He might be a famous movie star, but he’s a man like any other man. That’s how you should view him. Apart from anything else, you’ll feel more relaxed if you do. And who knows, he might pick up on that, and relax himself.’

The cousins had continued to talk along these lines for some while longer, and when Francesca had gone to bed she had felt positive and optimistic, and had decided to take Diana’s advice. What do I have to lose? she asked herself now. Nothing, she concluded. I might even have a lot to gain.

So preoccupied was she at this moment, she was unaware that Diana was standing in the arched doorway to the sitting room. Diana was regarding Francesca closely, but lovingly so, filled with the tenderest of feelings for her cousin. She was suddenly glad Francesca was visiting them at this time, for her presence was comforting, reassuring even. That’s because she’s so down-to-earth, and so very steady, Diana thought. She has a normalizing effect on us all.

Diana now took a deep breath, trying to still the troubling thoughts that continued to nudge at the back of her mind in the most maddening way. She was a little upset, she had to admit. Upset with Dieter Mueller, currently ensconced in the library with Christian; upset with herself, too, for allowing her irritation with Dieter to show so blatantly.

Francesca lifted her head, saw her cousin and smiled. Diana moved forward, heading for the fireplace. She sat down heavily on the hearth next to Francesca, and said in a low tone ‘Cheska … Mummy’s in Munich.’

Francesca tried to keep her expression bland, but she knew it reflected the concern swamping her. ‘Is she coming here?’ she asked, her voice equally subdued.

Diana shook her head. ‘No. But she’s in Bavaria because of my birthday. She came specially to see me, so I’m meeting her on Friday. For the day.’ Her voice trembled slightly, as she added, ‘I’m dreading it, I really am.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Francesca volunteered at once. ‘Perhaps I can be of some help.’ She genuinely meant this; nevertheless, the prospect of making the trip filled her with dismay, and her heart dropped.

Diana was silent, considering, and then she said, ‘No, it’s not necessary, and there’s no point. Your father saw her last summer, when he was here with Doris, and it didn’t do a bit of good …’ Her voice trailed away, and her eyes filled up. ‘I adore Mummy, Cheska, you know that, so it’s unbearably painful for me to see her like this – so troubled and distracted.’ She blinked, brushed her eyes with her hand, swallowed hard. ‘I feel utterly at a loss. I don’t know what to do to help her any more … so frustrating …’

‘Oh Dibs darling, don’t tear yourself apart, please, please don’t. Your love helps her. It truly does, and in so many different ways.’ Francesca took Diana’s hand in hers, held onto it tightly, wanting so much to comfort and reassure. ‘And your immense courage gives her such a lot of strength. Don’t forget, you and Christian keep her going, and there’s not much more you can do than that. Unless you can persuade her to take Daddy’s advice to go home to England, to live on the estate at Langley. That would be the best solution I’m su –’

‘You know she’ll never leave Berlin! Never.’

‘I suppose not.’ Francesca bit her lip and shook her head resignedly, knowing Diana was right in this assumption. She asked, ‘Is Christian going with you to Munich?’

‘Yes, of course. Try to keep him away. He’s in the same boat as I am, as far as Mummy is concerned. He adores her, worries about her, and is constantly seeking a way to make her lead a more normal life. Anyway, we’re leaving very early on Friday morning, around six o’clock, and we’ll get back in time to have supper with you’

‘That’s such a short visit. Look, why don’t you stay longer?’

‘I would like to spend the weekend with her, but when she ’phoned this morning she told Christian she’s going back to Berlin on Saturday. She never stays away from there very long …’

‘Perhaps that’s understandable in a way, Dibs. Her memories are in Berlin. And so many hopes.’

Diana looked past Francesca, her face washed with sadness as she stared into the distance. Finally, she said, ‘False hopes, Cheska. Futile hopes.’

‘You and Daddy, and I too, believe they’re futile, but she doesn’t and she never will. Aunt Arabella is very stubborn. Kim takes after her in that respect, and perhaps I do too.’

‘Yes, it seems to be a family trait.’ Diana sighed. Suddenly she looked at Francesca quickly. ‘Incidentally, what are we going to do about Victor on Friday? It just occurred to me, there’s no one to take him skiing unless you want to brave it, and I really don’t think you should,’ she finished, aware of Francesca’s ineptitude on skis and her fear of high slopes.

‘Dibs, you don’t have to worry about Victor. He can go by himself. He won’t mind. Anyway, surely Manfred can drive him to the Rossfeld, or perhaps you can dig up one of your friends to go along. Don’t give it another thought. He’ll understand.’

A watery smile flickered on Diana’s face. ‘I trust your judgment on that one, and look, I’m sorry I got all weepy just then. I didn’t mean to upset you, or burden you with my problems. You know I’m usually more controlled. But Dieter Mueller is with Christian right now, and I suppose he brought a number of things into focus. And he annoyed me more than usual, made me feel nervous. He means well, yet he only seems to create additional problems. Also, I wasn’t expecting Mummy to arrive for my birthday, and it’s thrown me a bit. Don’t misunderstand me, Cheska, I’m glad she’s here, and it’ll be lovely to see her. It’s just, well, to be honest, the thing I dread about visiting her is having to witness her awful pain.’

‘I realize that, darling.’ Francesca put her arms around Diana and hugged her. ‘I’m here, if you need me, and you know I’ll always do whatever I can.’

‘You’re a great comfort to me, darling. Anyway, I’m not going to think about Friday until Friday comes.’ Diana’s face visibly cheered and her smile became more certain. ‘I said we were going to make your vacation a happy one, and we are. Enough of all this. I’ll cope, in much the same way I’ve been coping for the past two years, simply by taking every day as it comes, one day at a time.’ Diana stood up. ‘I’d better go and telephone Mummy. I won’t be long, and then we’ll have that drink before lunch. In the meantime, when Victor comes up, why don’t you show him his suite?’

‘Oh, there’s no great hurry, Dibs. We’ll sit here and wait for you and Christian. Victor can see his suite after lunch.’

‘Fine, whatever you want.’ Diana touched Francesca’s shoulder lightly. ‘Thanks for being lovely, lovely you, Cheska.’ She turned abruptly and went through the door leading to the west wing of the Schloss.

Gazing after her, Francesca thought: She’s pretty amazing. She’s so tiny, so fragile, yet she has more strength than anyone I know, and her heart’s as big as a paving stone. Instantly her thoughts flew to her aunt. She is beyond our help really, Francesca said inwardly. How Diana handled this difficult and troubling situation so well, and usually with such equanimity, was sometimes beyond her comprehension. But Francesca had come to realize that her cousin was dauntless. There was a well-spring of courage within her which she could continually draw upon; in much the same way, she had the rock of her unshakable faith to cling to. Last year, when Diana had been staying at Langley, they had had a most unusual talk, one which had taken Francesca by surprise, and it had been most revealing.

On a sunny July afternoon, after a shopping trip to Harrogate and lunch at a local pub, they had strolled through the gardens at Langley. Diana had spoken at length about her mother and the latter’s state of mind, and then, she had expressed the opinion that there was a grand design to life itself, a pattern that existed everywhere, and for everyone.

‘Things can happen to us, terrible things which we cannot understand when they’re actually occurring. They seem so cruel and unjust and incomprehensible at the time,’ Diana had said. ‘But they are simply meant to be … they are part of the pattern. And I’m certain that one day the pattern becomes clear to us all, takes on a definite shape, so that finally we see its true meaning.’

After several long moments of silence, she had murmured, and so softly Francesca had had to strain to hear, ‘God has His reasons for everything. And there will come a time in all our lives when we do understand His purpose, His divine pattern.’

Francesca had listened carefully, and though she had found her cousin’s words as extraordinary as they were unexpected, she knew Diana had meant everything she had said. Perhaps it was this spiritual knowledge and this inner sureness that underpinned Diana’s natural fortitude.

And remembering those words now, Francesca was again convinced that Diana believed the tragedies which had befallen her parents had been God’s will, and thus were unalterable. She saw them as a fragment of that divine pattern, and consequently they were her own destiny too. This is what sustains her, enables her to shoulder her burdens so stoically, to carry on with the business of life and of living in such a positive way, Francesca whispered to herself. And that’s not such a bad thing, when you think about it.

As Victor made his way through the Deer Hall he understood at once the reason for its name. A collection of antlers and stags’ heads were mounted above the archway leading into the gallery and on the walls on either side of the arch. Close by was a glass-fronted gun cabinet.

Being a hunter, and a gun collector himself, he approached this eagerly. The cabinet was locked, and he cupped his hands around his eyes, peering through the glass at a fine collection of hunting rifles and other firearms displayed there. All were in first-rate condition, and some were rare antique specimens. He would ask Diana if he could examine them later. He also made up his mind to pay that visit to Purdey’s when he was back in London, as he had long intended, to pick out a couple of new hunting rifles for himself and Nicky.

Victor moved away from the cabinet and strolled down the gallery, his feet clattering loudly against the parquet floor, and this made him conscious of the lack of rugs and carpets in the Schloss. Were the von Wittingens as strapped as the Earl? It didn’t seem likely. Diana was beautifully turned out, and the house was elegant and well kept. But anything’s possible, he muttered, thinking of Francesca, who was always smartly if simply dressed. He was well aware the aristocracy had a clever knack for keeping up the proper front no matter what. It’s all a question of pride, he said to himself, thinking of his own, smiling wryly as he continued on down the gallery.

A number of sombre oil paintings hung on the walls, otherwise it was unfurnished except for an odd-looking cart in the centre of the floor. As he drew closer he realized this was actually a marvellous old-fashioned sleigh, a charming relic from the past. The sleigh had a colourful painted base, brass ornamentation and polished old leather that gleamed dully in the dim light filtering through several stained glass windows. It had been stacked with greenery, flowering plants, and nosegays of dried flowers tied with moss-green velvet ribbons. He guessed the sleigh was Diana’s artistic handiwork, for it seemed to echo the spirit of the girl, whom he had taken to immediately. He found her an interesting study, a combination of gaiety and gravity which was most appealing.

The gallery led directly into the sitting room, and as Victor meandered in he stopped short, all his senses coming into play. His first impression was visual and it was an impression of that lucent light so peculiar to the mountains. It streamed in glittering cataracts through the many shining windows, glanced off reflective surfaces and objects, washed over creamy colours and delicate jewel tones. Instantaneously he became aware of sounds … the hiss and crackle of the fire, the haunting, bittersweet strains of a piano concerto rising and falling in waves, and wafting to him on the still air was a mingling of the most evocative smells … the pungency of pine needles and wooded hills, the perfume of tuberoses, the aroma of ripening fruit.

Francesca was standing at the far end of the long, low-ceilinged room, a flash of yellow against the stone fireplace, one so high and wide it dwarfed her. He went into the room, returning her smile, his feet sinking into velvety pile, and he was aware of sudden warmth, understated luxury, a setting of extraordinary loveliness.

He saw, at a glance, antique chests and tables, cream walls, a cream carpet of Persian design, its graceful configurations running from ruby, rose quartz and amethyst to aquamarine and sapphire. Cushions in some of these tints sparked the two huge sofas, covered in cream velvet, which were grouped in front of the fireplace, and there were vases of fresh flowers and plants in profusion, many candles, and a plethora of objects of art that added the glitter of silver and crystal, the sharp clear hues of Meissen porcelain.

‘Diana had to make a quick ’phone call to Munich,’ Francesca explained, coming to meet him. She took his arm with the utmost naturalness, no longer self-conscious, nor intimidated by him, and steered him to the fire. ‘She’ll be back in a few minutes, and Christian will join us in a moment. Apparently he had an unexpected visitor, and he’s just saying goodbye. As soon as they’re both here we’re going to have a drink and a snack.’

‘That sounds terrific.’ He stood with his back to the fire, reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one. ‘You were right about the house. Jeez, it’s just beautiful, Francesca.’ His eyes swept over the sitting room appreciatively. ‘I could sit here and dream the days away, forget about everything. In an odd way, it reminds me of the ranch, although it’s different, of course, as far as the furniture goes. But there’s the same stillness, that sense of peace.’

‘I’m glad you like it,’ Francesca said, filling with pleasure. ‘I was pretty certain you would. Still, I must admit, I was a bit worried you might find it far too isolated, and that you’d be bored, stuck up here on the top of a mountain with only us three for company.’

‘The world well lost, I’d say,’ he murmured, glancing down at her. ‘This music is lovely. What is it?’

‘Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor.’ At this moment the record came to an end, and she moved swiftly to the cabinet adjacent to the fireplace. ‘Would you like to hear the rest of it?’

‘Sure, I’d love it.’

Francesca turned the record over, started the player, and rejoined him. ‘Diana didn’t think you’d want to ski today, after the plane trip. So we’re going to have a leisurely lunch, and take it easy. But we can go for a walk later, if you like. The woods are perfectly beautiful. Come to the window and see the view from –’

She broke off as an oak door on the far wall opened and a grey-haired, middle-aged man appeared. He was dressed in green Loden trousers and a matching high-necked Bavarian jacket. ‘Gnädige Frau …’ He waited respectfully.

‘Oh Manfred, do come in, please. Victor, this is Manfred, who looks after us so well. Manfred, this is Herr Mason.’ She spoke slowly, enunciating her words with care.

‘Herr Mason’. Manfred smiled, inclined his head deferentially. ‘Velcom. Luggage iss in your suite. Ja.’ He nodded his head, still smiling. ‘I vill haff Clara unpack, iff you vill, Herr Mason. Ja?’ His English was halting, accented, but easily understandable.

‘Sure. Thanks a lot, Manfred. That’s great, terrific. Thanks again.’

Manfred inclined his head once more, his expression courteous. His kindly blue eyes settled on Francesca. ‘Die Prinzessin hat mir aufgetragen, den Champagner zu servieren.’

‘Danke schön, Manfred.’ He retreated, and Francesca said to Victor, ‘Diana’s obviously still on the ’phone, and she’s told Manfred to serve the champagne now.’

‘I sort of gathered as much. I also caught the word Prinzessin.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Is she? Is Diana a princess?’

‘Yes. Oh gosh, didn’t I tell you?’

Victor laughed good-naturedly. ‘No, you didn’t, and it’s not the only thing you forgot, kid. What about her birthday? I wish you’d mentioned it, then I could’ve brought a gift with me from London.’

‘I feel awful about that myself. I remembered on the plane when it was too late.’ Her expression was chagrined, and she rushed on, ‘I would’ve chosen some American records. She loves those, especially anything by Frank Sinatra. I’ll make a trip into town tomorrow, whilst you’re off skiing, to buy something from us both. I think perfume is probably the best thing to get her.’

‘Aren’t there any shops where you can get the records she likes?’

Francesca shook her head, grimaced. ‘There is one shop in town, but I don’t think there’d be much choice. Anyway, I’m sure Diana’s already bought up their entire collection.’

‘Then I guess it’ll have to be perfume. Listen, about the dinner party tomorrow night. I didn’t bring a dinner jacket. I hope it isn’t formal.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sure it will be, but I’ll explain to Diana, and perhaps she can ask her friends to dress appropriately, so you won’t be embarrassed. Victor, there’s something I want to tell you. It’s about Christian –’ Francesca got no further. Manfred returned, carrying a tray of crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne. He was accompanied by a young woman holding a silver chafing dish. She was dressed in a dirndl of Loden cloth and a sweater of the same muted green under a large white apron. They walked, one after the other, across the floor to a console table, and Manfred addressed Francesca. ‘Gnädige Frau, I open, ja?’

‘Please, Manfred.’ Francesca glanced up at Victor. ‘This is Clara, Manfred’s daughter. Clara, Herr Mason.’

The girl returned Victor’s friendly greeting rather shyly, half smiled, excused herself and slipped out. Francesca stepped to the console, lifted the chafing dish lid and looked inside. ‘Wunderbar!’ She turned to Manfred, who was opening the champagne, and began to speak to him in uncertain German.

Victor searched for an ashtray, found one on a long library table behind a sofa, and stubbed out his cigarette. The table held a selection of photographs in silver frames, and he scanned them quickly, his eyes settling on one of a lovely fair-haired young woman wearing an evening gown and a diamond tiara. It had obviously been taken in the nineteen twenties or thereabouts, and he guessed it was of Francesca’s aunt, for he was instantly struck by the family resemblance. The young woman had a look of the Earl around the eyes, the same refined and chiselled features. Victor’s attention strayed to the other photographs, several snapshots of two beautiful children, apparently Diana and her brother when they were young. Placed a little apart from them was another somewhat formally posed portrait, similar to that of the young woman, this time of a darkly handsome man in a rather dated dinner jacket. Their father?

Leaning forward, Victor intensified his scrutiny. The man was exceptional looking, and there was dignity, even regality, in his bearing. However, it was not these characteristics which held his interest so completely. There was a unique quality in the face, a quality of purity, of goodness, but it was the eyes which so stunned in their impact. They were dark, expressive. Powerful, piercing eyes that compelled with their intensity and fervour. Victor stared hard at the photograph, hypnotized by the face. And he, who was only too familiar with the power of the lens and the truth it invariably revealed, thought, with a flash of perception: I am seeing the soul of this man. And it is the soul of a saint …

‘Hello!’ a strong masculine voice rang out.

Victor straightened up and swung around on his heels, and he was jolted. ‘Hello,’ he responded immediately, hoping his surprise did not show on his face. He forced a wide smile onto his mouth.

The young man who had just greeted Victor sat in a wheelchair. It was not so much the chair that startled Victor, but rather its occupant. He was the living embodiment of the man in the photograph. They might be one and the same person, except that Victor knew otherwise, knew this could not be so. Caught on film was the image of the father. Here in the flesh was the son, of that he was quite certain, and if the face he was now regarding was not the face of a saint, certainly it was one of nobility and unusual gentleness.

The young man smiled, and before Victor could make a move towards him he was propelling himself down the long stretch of Persian carpet. He did so rapidly, and surely, displaying the expertise and ease of one long acquainted with this chair.

‘Christian,’ Francesca cried and flew across to the fireplace, positioning herself next to Victor. ‘I just asked Manfred to come and find you. This is Victor.’

‘Of course it is!’ Christian said, laughing. He thrust out his hand as he came to a stop in front of Victor. ‘Welcome to Wittingenhof.’

Francesca said, ‘Victor, this is my cousin, His Highness Prince Christian Michael Alexander von Wittingen und Habst.’

‘Really, Francesca,’ Christian said quietly, ‘we don’t need the whole mouthful.’ He shook his head, as if reproving her, but his smile was fond.

‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ Victor said, also smiling, knowing her recital of the string of names and the title were solely for his benefit, after his mild chastising of a few minutes ago. He added, ‘Thanks so much for inviting me to stay with you.’

‘It’s our pleasure, believe me,’ Christian said, his English as natural and as faultless as that of his sister. ‘And do forgive me for not being here to greet you, when you first arrived. I had a surprise visit from … an old friend … of my father’s, and he stayed much longer than I expected.’

‘Please don’t apologize. Francesca looked after me very well, and I’ve been enjoying this room. It’s lovely.’

‘Thank you. Now, how about a glass of champagne? Francesca, will you do the honours, my dear?’

‘Of course.’ She hurried to the console, poured the champagne and brought the tray of flutes over to the low, glass and brass coffee table situated between the sofas. She passed the glasses around and sat down. Victor joined her on the sofa, and they all raised their glasses as Christian said, ‘Prosit.’

‘Prosit!’ Victor and Francesca reiterated in unison.

‘I’m sorry Diana is delayed. Some problem with her boutique in Munich,’ Christian remarked, resorting to a white lie in order to avoid a long explanation about his mother. He took a sip of champagne, smiled broadly and continued, ‘But she’s pretty good at sorting things out, and I don’t suppose she’ll be very long. You must be hungry after your trip. Bertha made some Swedish meatballs. They’re delicious. Please, do help yourself.’

‘I think I will.’ Victor half rose.

‘I’ll serve you,’ Francesca said, and was across the room in a flash. ‘Can I get some for you too, Christian?’ she asked as she spooned meatballs onto a glass plate.

‘Not at the moment, thank you.’ He pushed his chair closer to the coffee table, bent forward and took a cigarette from the silver box. After lighting it, he said to Victor, ‘It’s simply marvellous for us to have guests at this time of year. It’s generally very quiet. After the onslaught at Christmas, we don’t have many friends visiting us again until the summer. They like to come for the Salzburg Festival. The music’s the attraction, of course.’

‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Victor. ‘And I understand the festival’s the whole enchilada.’

Christian looked at Victor in puzzlement. ‘The whole enchilada?’

Francesca, returning with the plate of food, grinned and said, ‘That’s Victor’s favourite expression. It’s very Californian, and it means the whole works, Christian.’ She put the plate in front of Victor, glanced at him under her lashes, and remarked, ‘You promised to explain its derivation, and you never did.’

‘Sorry. An enchilada’s a corn tortilla, a Mexican flat bread, something like a pancake. It’s filled with a variety of things, chopped beef, cheese, vegetables, then rolled and served with any one of a number of sauces. It’s sort of …’

He stopped, grinned back at her, and finished, ‘Well, it’s the whole works.’

‘Also rather colourful,’ Christian pronounced, obviously amused. ‘I think I might adopt it myself.’

‘Adopt what?’ Diana asked from the doorway.

Christian swung his head, and repeated everything Victor had said whilst she poured herself a glass of champagne. Munching on a meatball, Victor scrutinized them, very much intrigued by this brother and sister. Not unnaturally he was riddled with curiosity, and it was a curiosity that ran on a variety of levels. Innumerable questions about the von Wittingens, those both present and absent, floated around in his head. Perhaps Francesca would enlighten him later. Apparently she had been on the verge of explaining Christian’s disability when Manfred had arrived with the champagne, cutting her short. He glanced at the young prince surreptitiously. Christian looked extremely healthy, despite his confinement to the chair, and there was a certain vitality about him. Victor recognized immediately that this was not so much physical as mental, had more to do with his state of mind and his personality than his bodily well being. Victor detected a forcefulness in him, just below the level of the gentleness.

Diana joined them, seated herself on the hearth, looked across at Victor and said, ‘Can one use that expression, the whole enchilada, to describe people, or houses, for instance? I mean could one say that Wittingenhof was the whole enchilada?’

There was a hint of laughter in her voice and a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Victor was not sure if she was teasing him or not, but he decided to treat her question seriously. ‘Surely you could. And incidentally, it is, at least what I’ve seen of it so far.’

‘Why thank you, Victor. That’s nice of you. We love it. We’ve been very happy here, haven’t we, Christian?’

‘Yes, we have, darling.’

‘Francesca told me the house wasn’t used for many years. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to close this place up. Not permanently. Didn’t your parents even bring you here when you were children?’ Victor asked Diana.

She did not respond. Like Christian, she was reluctant to open up areas of conversation that were complex, often painful, and which also required long explanations. She had learned it was far better to avoid them when she could, without appearing rude.

Always attuned to others, Victor instantly sensed an awkwardness, and he wondered why his innocent remarks had caused this strange silence. He looked at Diana sharply, saw a faint flicker of distress cross her face, and then quite suddenly she smiled and shook her head.

Lighting a cigarette, she remarked, ‘No, they didn’t bring us here. Ever. In fact, they never came themselves. My father wasn’t very keen on Bavaria.’ There was a slight hesitation in Diana. She had surprised herself by saying as much as she had. It was Victor of course. There was something in him that made her feel relaxed, a trait in his personality that encouraged confidences. His eyes held hers, and she saw the questions, the bafflement on his face. Almost against her own volition, she found herself volunteering, ‘Bavaria was a hotbed of politics in the twenties and thirties. The wrong politics as far as my father was concerned –’ She halted when Christian coughed, not sure she ought to continue, looking at him uncertainly, wondering if he disapproved.

Apparently he did not, for he spoke up himself. ‘Our father was an anti-Fascist, Victor, and he had many adversaries here. Hitler’s nasty little band of gangsters was pretty well entrenched in Munich, you know.’ Christian leaned forward, his face quickening, his dark eyes darkening to coal black and becoming intent. ‘Then again, lots of other Right Wing organizations had made their headquarters here, fanatics incensed about the Versailles Treaty, and God knows what else. There were also the Bavarian monarchists champing at the bit, wanting to have an independent state and their own king back, if you can believe that one! In any event, the whole area was dangerous for a man like my father. You see, he did not merely pay lip service to his beliefs, but was an active opponent of all those who were determined to destroy the Republic. He wanted democracy for Germany, not dictatorship, and he committed his energy, his time and his fortune to fight the destructive forces tearing the country apart.’

Christian shifted slightly in the wheelchair, and proceeded: ‘Naturally, it was better if he stayed away from here, safer for him in Berlin, or at our other Schloss, just outside Berlin. That’s why Wittingenhof remained closed, you see, was unoccupied for years, except for the caretakers.’

‘Very valid reasons, too,’ Victor said. He had not been mistaken about that remarkable face in the dated photograph. What he had spotted in those burning eyes was the fervour of the dedicated idealist. He could not help adding, ‘And what does a house mean, when your life is at stake. You father sounds like an extraordinary man, Christian, a man of great integrity and honour. I hope I get the opportunity to meet him one –’ Francesca caught Victor’s eye and the look now washing over her face prevented him from saying another word. Instinctively he knew he was on dangerous ground, that he had somehow blundered. There was an uncomfortable hush.

It was broken by Christian, who said calmly, ‘There are few men in this world like my father, Victor, men who recognize evil where others do not, who fight it all their lives and with every fibre of their being.’ He smiled gently. ‘But perhaps now is the wrong time to get involved in this particular kind of discussion.’ The smile became dismissive, but it was also friendly. ‘To continue the story of the house. After the war, we decided to move back to Bavaria, mainly because we had nowhere else to go. Our house in Berlin was flattened to the ground, and the area outside the city, where the Schloss was located, had suddenly become part of the East Zone controlled by the Russians. Our grandmother had inherited a house in Munich from her brother, and she knew the only solution to the family’s predicament was to open it up. We lived with her for several years or so, and then Diana came to the conclusion that Wittingenhof would be wonderful for my health – the mountain air and all that.’ He gave Victor a sly grin, chuckled. ‘We also wanted to escape Grandmama, I must admit, who is marvellous, but a bit of an old dragon.’

‘I’ll say she is!’ Francesca exclaimed, relieved Christian had so adroitly diverted the conversation. ‘Oops! Sorry, Christian, I didn’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful about Princess Hetti.’

Diana and Christian smiled at her affectionately. The air miraculously cleared, and Victor looked at Francesca, who nodded imperceptibly, as if she was saying everything was now all right. Diana got up and brought the bottle of champagne, refilling their glasses. ‘But it does happen to be the truth, Cheska.’ She glanced at Victor. ‘You should have heard how Grandmother carried on when I opened my first boutique here. “Going into trade!” she kept repeating over and over again, making trade sound like a life of ill repute.’

There was more laughter and Christian said, ‘Poor old thing, living in the past, I’m afraid, but she has a certain sweetness, even if she is a bit dictatorial, and she loves us dearly, wants only the best for us.’

Victor nodded. ‘Naturally she does.’ He directed his attention to Diana and went on, ‘Francesca tells me you’ve been very successful with your business venture. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, liking him, hoping to communicate this with her eyes, wanting him to feel comfortable and at ease with them again.

The warmth flowing out of her registered with Victor, and he returned her smile. ‘You’ve also done a fantastic job on this house. There’s something quite magical about it, and the tranquillity is just out of this world.’

‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ she responded with quickness. ‘And when you go for a walk with Francesca later, you’ll be even more conscious of the peacefulness here, and the views from the mountain are quite spectacular.’

Manfred came in, announced quietly that lunch was ready to be served, and disappeared. Diana led the way into the dining room.

This adjoined the sitting room and was long and narrow in shape, with a stone fireplace on one wall, and a large window at the opposite end overlooking the snow-covered sloping lawns, and a panoramic vista of distant mountains. The room, with its white stucco walls, bare polished floor and dark wood furniture in Bavarian style, was somewhat masculine in overtone. But the basic austerity that prevailed was softened by a number of lovely floral arrangements in huge copper jugs, a collecting of green plants grouped in one corner, and a series of striking wood figures, intricately carved and painted in bright colours. These graced the tops of two long chests and the mantelpieces above the roaring log fire.

Christian propelled himself to the head of the refectory table that stretched down the centre of the floor, and said, ‘Sit wherever you want, old chap, no formality here.’

‘Thanks,’ Victor said, sliding into the chair opposite Francesca. Diana took a seat at the other end of the table. ‘I hope you like the first course, Victor,’ she remarked, indicating the small covered bowl in front of him. She lifted the lid off her own, and went on, ‘It’s lentil soup, a local speciality, and very tasty.’

‘I love any kind of soup,’ he answered. ‘And I don’t mind telling you, I’ve worked up quite an appetite by now.’

‘Good. Bertha, Manfred’s wife, is a superb cook, and she’s prepared a typical Bavarian lunch for us today. Well, for you really.’

‘That’s nice,’ he said, picking up his spoon. ‘You must make a point of introducing me to her later, so that I can thank her personally.’

‘She’ll be thrilled.’

Whilst they were eating their soup, Manfred and Clara came in carrying huge platters of steaming sauerkraut, red cabbage, boiled potatoes, and a large serving plate of Bratwurst, thick veal sausages browned to perfection and topped with rich gravy. They placed the dishes on the sideboard, and then Manfred hurried to the table, where he poured local white wine, chilled and sparkling, into long-stemmed, green crystal glasses.

Christian said, ‘Lunch is always buffet style, Victor,’ and swung his chair over to the adjacent sideboard. ‘Come along, help yourself.’

Victor and Francesca rose together and followed him. As they filled their plates, Victor leaned forward and murmured in her ear, ‘It smells as good as my Italian dinner, doesn’t it, kid?’

She looked up at him carefully, smiling a knowing smile and said nothing. But her eyes did not leave his face and eventually she said, in a low voice of unmistakable intimacy, ‘There’ll never be a meal comparable to that one, at least not for me. It was especially delicious, and in more ways than one.’

The look she now gave him was lingering, appraising, and of such intensity Victor was momentarily dazzled by it, found he was unable to tear his gaze away from those topaz eyes. He felt a sudden tightness in his throat as he thought: She’s flirting with me. By God, she really is. I’ll be damned.

When they had returned to the table and were eating lunch and chatting, Victor remembered a comment Nick Latimer had made to him weeks ago, something about there being more to Francesca than met the eye. Perhaps Nicky, the soothsayer, had been right. This thought stayed with him throughout the meal, during which he spent a great deal of time studying her, was most attentive to every word she uttered, whether to himself or her cousins. He was totally tuned-in to her, conscious of every nuance in her voice, her every gesture. At one moment he asked her an innocuous question, and her reply was casually couched and utterly proper, but her expression was inviting, her eyes reflecting a hidden sexuality he had not seen there before. That’s a come-hither look, if ever I’ve seen one, he thought, amused. But a surge of excitement ran through him, one so forceful he was unable to ignore it. Unexpectedly, he was hot under the collar and below the belt, an unprecedented reaction for him across a dining table, at least these days. Well, well, well, so much for the little lady, he commented inwardly. She’s full of surprises.

Later, when they were back in the sitting room, drinking coffee and sipping Obstler, Victor had completely readjusted his thinking about Francesca, and he saw her in an entirely different light. Earlier in the day, on the car ride from the airport, he had finally admitted his attraction to her. Now there was no question in his mind that she felt exactly the same way as he did. But was he prepared to do anything about it? Probably not, under the circumstances. Don’t kid yourself, old buddy, he reproved silently, coming to grips with his emotions. You know damn well she’s under your skin, and has been since the first moment you met her.

Diana walked abreast of Christian, who was slowly wheeling himself down the gallery. She was thoughtful, her eyes subdued, her expression serious. She said quietly, ‘I do wish Dieter Mueller hadn’t come today.’

Christian brought the chair to a stop and swung his head. His eyes searched her face, and he reached out and touched her hand. ‘Yes, in a way so do I. He upset you very much, and I hate to see that.’

‘His information is so sketchy, I can’t take him seriously. Actually, I haven’t been able to for a long time. Personally, I think he’s merely clutching at straws. He believes every little rumour, every little story, because he wants to believe them.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Did he say anything else, after I left you alone?’

‘Not very much. He did suggest we put the pressure on again. In Bonn.’

‘Oh God, Christian, that won’t do much good. It hasn’t in the past. Why should it now?’

‘There’s always the chance that something might give on the other side. It might be worth a stab … just one more time. I told him I’d think about it.’

‘You’re not going to mention anything to Mummy, are you?’ she asked worriedly.

‘No, of course I’m not. There’s no point. It would only agitate her more than ever. Please relax, Diana, and forget about Dieter.’

‘Yes, I will. Life must go on, as I’ve been saying for the past few years, and as normally as possible. I don’t know why I let him get to me today. Stupid really.’ She shook her head, and a smile sprang easily to her lips. ‘Dieter Mueller is already forgotten, my darling, I promise you.’

Christian’s eyes filled with tenderness. He was so sure of her, trusted her, believed her. She always said what she meant, did what she promised. He wondered what he would do without her. Her courage gave him courage, and her determination to make their life normal gave him the strength to do the same. He said now, ‘About the dinner party tomorrow … did you invite Giorgio?’

‘No. Actually, I’ve decided not to see him any more.’

‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, surprised.

‘I discovered the other day, quite by accident, that he’s lied to me. Christian, he’s never been separated from his wife. Not ever. Apart from the fact that I can’t stand duplicity, I’m furious that he’s wasted my time. You know my feelings about married men – strictly no future.’

‘Who told you about Giorgio?’

‘Astrid. Who else?’

‘Ah! … I see. Then it must be true. She’s many things, our little Astrid, but not a liar. Nor a troublemaker. I’m sorry, Diana. I hope you’re not hurting too much.’

‘On the contrary, I think I’m rather relieved,’ she laughed. ‘The Latin lover is a myth, in my opinion. Looking back, I’m beginning to realize Giorgio was more in love with himself than with me; and to be honest with you, his silly games were starting to tire me.’

‘As long as you’re not sad or unhappy, darling. Incidentally, whilst we’re on the subject of romance, does Francesca know Astrid is coming?’

‘Yes. She doesn’t care. Anyway, she’s always liked Astrid. I think the affair with Kim caused her a great deal of amusement. Certainly she doesn’t blame Astrid in any way whatsoever. I don’t suppose Kim does either. He’s a big boy.’

‘Too true,’ Christian said, chuckling. ‘I think if anyone was upset it was poor Astrid. I know she didn’t want that liaison to come to an end, at least not when it did.’

Diana smiled. ‘Yes, she was a bit dramatic at the time. But she soon found consolation elsewhere.’

They paused at the door of the library, and Christian said, ‘I’m going to try to finish my Mozart piece for the Sunday Times. I want to get it off to London tomorrow. What are you going to do this afternoon?’

‘Finalize the details for the dinner.’

‘I’ll see you later then,’ he said as he wheeled himself into the library and closed the door.

Turning, Diana saw Francesca running down the main staircase. She waved and went to meet her. ‘Where’s Victor?’

‘In his suite, which he loves by the way. He’s making a call to Jake Watson in London. That’s the line producer on the film. Then he’ll change his clothes and we’ll go for a walk. Do you want to come with us?’

‘Heavens no, darling. I wouldn’t dream of intruding,’ Diana laughed. She linked her arm through Francesca’s and they walked down the hall together in the direction of Diana’s den.

Francesca looked at her cousin. ‘Dibs, I think Victor’s finally beginning to notice me. I mean me as a woman.’ She was unable to hide the joy she was feeling.

‘I know he is, I caught the look he gave you, when you were getting your food, and he didn’t take his eyes off you all through lunch. Frankly, I thought he was going to eat you up right there and then.’

Francesca glowed. ‘You do like him, don’t you, Dibs?’

‘Yes. He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. But more importantly, he’s terribly nice and intelligent and kind. Yes, of course I like him. He’s very special, and this may sound like an odd thing to say, but I trust him. I don’t mean on a man to woman basis necessarily. Rather, I mean I trust him in the broadest sense of that word – you know, on a human level. I think he is loyal, that he’d be a really good friend, and that one could count on him in a pinch. Am I making sense?’

‘Yes you are. As a matter of fact, Daddy liked him too, the night we all had dinner together. Afterwards, he told me he thought Victor was a good human being. Quite a compliment coming from Daddy, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes indeed.’ Diana opened the door of her den, which also served as an office. ‘Enjoy yourself. Tea in the sitting room around four-thirty, four-forty-five.’

‘That’ll be lovely, Dibs.’ Francesca leaned over and kissed Diana on the cheek.

Diana was halfway through the door, when she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Francesca. ‘By the way, darling, we’ve simply got to break him of that bad habit.’

‘Which bad habit?’ Francesca frowned.

‘Calling you kid all the time. Most unromantic.’

‘We can’t! I mean, that’s affectionate, coming from him!’

Diana gave her cousin a look of mock horror and then disappeared through the door, smiling to herself.