Читать книгу Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection - Barbara Taylor Bradford - Страница 40

‘The dress looks divine on you, Cheska,’ Diana said. ‘Perfect. I’m so glad I remembered I had it in the stock room.’

Smiling, Francesca turned to look at herself again in the cheval mirror. The evening gown Diana had loaned her from the boutique was made of silk velvet in a lovely shade of clear amethyst. The skirt was cut on the cross, flaring to the floor, and the close-fitting bodice had a low scooped-out neckline and long sleeves. It was elegant and its svelte lines made her look more lithesome than ever, whilst the colour was immensely flattering to her fair English-rose complexion and honey-blonde hair.

‘Yes, it is nice,’ she agreed, swinging back to face her cousin. ‘Actually, if it’s not too expensive, I think I’d like to buy it. I could do with it, to tell you the truth. Most of my evening clothes are horribly dull.’

‘Oh do keep it, Cheska. It suits you so well, and naturally you can have it at cost.’

‘That’s sweet of you, but you sold me the yellow ski outfit for practically nothing –’

‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you pay the boutique price,’ Diana exclaimed. ‘Anyway, I feel pretty awful. It was my stupid fault you didn’t bring any evening clothes with you. My only excuse is that when you rang to say you were coming to Wittingenhof, I forgot all about the dinner party in my excitement.’

‘You mustn’t feel badly, Dibs. And you’ve been a darling about the clothes. I’m very grateful. And I did want to get myself a few things with the money I earned for scouting locations. It’s ages since I’ve had anything new.’

‘Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, when Victor’s off skiing, I want you to go down to the town and pick out anything you want from the shop. In the meantime –’ Diana stopped and looked at Francesca closely, her head on one side, her expression assessing. ‘I want you to wear this tonight.’ As she spoke she brought her hands from behind her back, took a step forward and handed Francesca a red leather case. ‘I think this will add just the right finishing touch.’

Francesca stared at Diana and then at the case. She opened it and caught her breath. ‘Oh how beautiful.’ Her eyes widened as they focused on the three-strand choker of lustrous creamy pearls nestling on the red velvet.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Diana lifted the choker out of the case and fastened it around Francesca’s neck. ‘Turn the clasp to the front,’ she suggested. ‘Yes, that’s right. Let it rest there in the middle of your throat.’ Diana smiled. ‘I suddenly thought of this because the clasp has an amethyst in the centre. See how it picks up the colour of the dress. Marvellous.’

‘Diana, what a gorgeous piece. I’ve never seen you wear it though. Is it new?’

‘It was Grandmother’s. She gave it to me for Christmas.’

‘It’s so nice of you to lend it to me. Thank you. But don’t you want to wear it yourself tonight?’

‘No. My dress has a rather high neckline so the choker wouldn’t look right.’ She moved towards the door, halted and turned. Her eyes rested on Francesca lovingly, and she said with a rush of genuine feeling, ‘I’m so happy for you, Cheska. Really happy. And you see, I was right. I told you everything would work out, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’ Francesca’s mouth curved up in a happy smile and her eyes shone. ‘Victor said Wittingenhof was magical, and so it has proved to be. For me. Oh Dibs, he’s wonderful.’

‘And a pretty cool customer,’ Diana laughed.

‘What do you mean?’ Francesca’s face was instantly touched by apprehension.

‘Darling, don’t get upset. I wasn’t being critical. I was referring to his behaviour at dinner last night. He certainly kept a poker face. As a matter of fact, you astonished me too. You were extraordinarily contained yourself.’

‘Well, I had to be. Victor thinks we should be discreet. He’s afraid of gossip, as I explained before. Naturally he realizes you know about us, but he doesn’t think we should flaunt our relationship in front of you and Christian either. He –’ Francesca hesitated and rolled her eyes upwards, then confided, ‘Do you know, this afternoon he actually spent a good fifteen minutes explaining how we’re going to act towards each other tonight. I couldn’t believe my ears.’

Diana burst out laughing. ‘You’re joking. And how are you supposed to behave?’

Francesca also began to laugh. Recovering herself, she said, ‘Like a chum, what else?’

‘And presumably he’ll be cool and faintly distant with you. Am I correct?’

‘Of course you are.’

‘Well then, so be it,’ Diana shrugged. ‘After all, it’s not so important in view of his true feelings. Now I must scoot, otherwise I’ll be greeting our guests in this dressing gown.’

Once she was alone Francesca walked to the dressing table and sat down. As she placed the jewel case on it her eyes lighted on the card, She picked it up and read it again. For you, baby. Because you are. Victor.

The card had been attached to the package she had found on her bed, when she had gone to her room to freshen up just before they all sat down to a very late lunch, delayed until Diana and Victor had returned from skiing. She had not understood the words until she had ripped off the paper. It was the largest bottle of perfume she had ever seen, and it was Joy by Jean Patou. She had been thrilled by his message, his meaning, as well as by the gift itself. Moreover, she had recognized the writing at once. She had seen it before – only last week, on the card which accompanied the truckload of flowers from Moyses Stevens. Francesca smiled.

Removing the stopper, she dabbed her wrists and the cleft between her breasts with the perfume, loving its scent, which was full-bodied and floral. She had never been able to afford Joy. He’s so terribly extravagant, but the most delicious man, she thought, aware of the trouble he had taken to obtain the perfume for her. That afternoon, when they had been together in her room, Victor had explained that Jake Watson had purchased it for him in London, along with a collection of the latest Frank Sinatra records for Diana. All had been in his suitcase with his dinner jacket, which had arrived in Königssee around noon, also courtesy of Jake.

‘Poor old Jake undoubtedly thinks I’m up to no good by now,’ Victor had chortled. ‘What with romantic records, expensive perfume and my dinner jacket. And he’s right,’ he had finished gleefully, pushing her back against the pillows and finding her mouth with his.

A door banging in the distance reminded Francesca of the time, and she straightened up in the chair, glanced in the mirror, patted a wave in her already immaculate pompadour, and rose. Hurrying to the armoire, she took out her own gift for Diana and headed to the door, then she stopped and looked down at her feet, frowning worriedly. Since she had only brought day shoes with her, there had been a problem about evening sandals, until Diana had produced the high-heeled black silk mules she was now wearing. The trouble was they were really bedroom slippers and also a size too small. On the other hand, they looked quite passable since Diana had cut off the ostrich feathers, and because they were mules their tightness was at least bearable. I’ll just have to manage, she muttered, opened the door and went out.

Christian was the only occupant of the sitting room, looking darkly handsome in his dinner jacket. He sat in the wheelchair, fiddling with the knobs of the record player.

‘It looks as if I’m the first, and I thought I was horribly late!’ Francesca cried, tripping across the floor to him. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and continued, ‘I do hope Dibs likes her gift. I took your advice and went to the little antique shop in town. I found a carved figurine, smaller than the ones she has, but it will fit into her collection.’

‘She’ll love it,’ Christian said, smiling up at her. ‘Stand a little farther away, so that I can see you properly.’ He nodded his approval. ‘You look beautiful, Frankie. But different somehow.’ He peered at her more closely, his lips pursed in consideration. ‘Older, a little more worldly, shall we say? Perhaps it’s the upswept hairstyle that makes you seem so very grown up.’ He nodded, as if confirming the fact. ‘In any event, I like the new you, my dear. So will all the men tonight. You’re suddenly a most intriguing woman.’

‘Why thank you, Christian,’ Francesca said. ‘And it probably is my hairdo. It’s sophisticated, isn’t it? But then so is this dress. You’re not used to seeing me looking so elegant.’ She stepped to the coffee table and deposited Diana’s gift on it, and then wondered suddenly if something showed in her face. Did it reflect her recent experiences and Victor’s loving? Were those things detectable? She didn’t care. Unlike Victor, who was determined to keep their romance a secret, she wanted to shout it to the whole world.

Diana rushed in and joined them near the fireplace. She was out of breath and unusually flushed. ‘Sorry, my darlings. I had a problem with my hair,’ she began, and pulled a face. ‘It took much longer than I anticipated.’

‘But worth waiting for, my dear,’ Christian said. ‘I predict you and Frankie are going to outshine everyone this evening.’

The girls laughed, and Francesca, eyeing Diana, exclaimed, ‘And you do look super, Dibs. How on earth did you manage to create that effect by yourself?’

‘I didn’t. Clara helped me, and it was rather complicated,’ Diana explained. ‘I saw the idea in French Vogue and thought it was different.’

‘It certainly is, and it’s lovely on you,’ Francesca smiled, examining her cousin’s hairdo.

Diana’s extraordinary silver-gilt hair had been pulled back from her face, parted in the middle and plaited. Wine silk ribbon was threaded through the waist-length plait, along with tiny white artificial flowers and green leaves. The elaborateness of the hair style was balanced by the simplicity of her gown, which was made of wine-coloured silk jersey. It had a high rolled neckline, long sleeves and a gathered skirt which fell in soft folds to the floor. Her jewellery was minimal.

‘Gosh, you are inventive and clever, Dibs. I wish I had your flair.’

‘I don’t know about you two, but I’d like a drink,’ Christian announced, wheeling himself over to the console. ‘I’ll open the champagne.’

‘Oh yes, do, darling,’ Diana agreed. ‘And perhaps I’d better check the dining room, just to be sure everything is in order.’

Christian waved her to a standstill. ‘You don’t have to bother. I looked in a few minutes ago and Manfred has done a splendid job.’

‘That’s a relief. I can relax at last. It’s been quite a hectic day.’ Diana picked up a cushion, put it on the hearth and sat down. She smoothed her skirt, crossed her legs, and said, ‘I didn’t get an opportunity to say much about our morning on the slopes during lunch. But I must tell you, Victor’s a marvellous skier. At first I thought he was going to be a wild skier, you know, the kind we despise, who takes bigger risks than he should. I was wrong. He handled the Jenner perfectly, and we had a superb run. He’s –’ Diana broke off, her eyes fastened on the doorway. ‘There you are, Victor. I was just talking about you – about your prowess on the slopes.’ She proffered him a welcoming smile.

Victor laughed as he came towards them down the long stretch of carpet, white teeth flashing in his sunburned face, black eyes merry. His tuxedo, like all his clothes, had great distinction. It was expensive, faultless, fitted his expansive frame to perfection, and the white dress shirt enhanced his deep tan, made it look that much darker. Black onyx-and-diamond studs punctuated the ruffled front of the shirt, and a red silk handkerchief flared in his breast pocket. He was elegant, and every inch the star.

Francesca had never seen Victor in evening clothes before, and he seemed more glamorous than ever. She felt overpowered by him again, and her stomach fluttered nervously. Weak at the knees and experiencing a sudden tightness across her chest, she sat down on the sofa and attempted to compose herself. She was amazed at the effect he had on her, especially in view of their recent intimacy. Would she never become accustomed to his stunning looks, his extraordinary presence?

Drawing to a stop in front of Diana, Victor embraced her. ‘Once again, a very happy birthday.’ He handed her the two gifts he was carrying. ‘And these are for you, from Francesca and me.’

‘Thank you. How exciting. I do love birthdays.’

Victor smiled, turned to greet Francesca. Bracing one hand on the arm of the sofa and the other on its back, he leaned over her, his eyes intent. After a long look, he pressed his mouth to her cheek and gave her a lingering kiss, but as he drew away he winked. He straightened up, glanced down at her and then across at Diana.

‘I must compliment you, ladies. You both look mighty fetchin’, mighty fetchin’ indeed, I do declare. Why, you fair take a man’s breath away with your not inconsiderable charms,’ he said, executing a bull’s eye imitation of Clark Gable as Rhett Butler, and bowing to them with an elaborate old-fashioned gallantry.

‘Victor, what a splendid mimic you are,’ Christian exclaimed.

Victor grinned, and in an instant he was across the room, shaking his host’s hand. ‘Evening, Christian. Just one of the tools of the trade, I reckon.’

‘What would you like to drink, old chap? Champagne?’

‘I’d prefer Scotch-on-the-rocks with a splash of water. Thanks.’

Diana said, ‘The presents are divine … all these fantastic Sinatras, and Arpège as well. Thank you both so much.’ She beamed, her eyes swivelling from Francesca to Victor.

‘And this is from … us,’ Francesca said, finding her voice and rising. She gave the gift to Diana and hugged her warmly.

‘You’re both far too generous.’ Diana unwrapped the figurine, her eyes lighting up when she saw it. ‘Oh Cheska, Victor, it’s charming. Thank you again.’ She shook her head, laughing. ‘Everyone is spoiling me today.’ She held out her arm, displaying her garnet ring and a matching bracelet. ‘Christian gave these to me this afternoon.’

‘They’re beautiful.’ Francesca squeezed her shoulders, and went on, ‘And you deserve to be spoiled. I know this is going to be a very special and wonderful year for you, Dibs darling.’

They had just finished toasting Diana when Manfred appeared. He told them the cars were arriving at the gatehouse and that some of the guests were already halfway down the path.

‘Excuse me,’ Diana said, getting up. ‘I must go and greet them. Coming, Christian?’

‘Naturally.’ He promptly put down his drink and followed her to the entrance of the sitting room.

Francesca murmured, ‘I’ll tidy up,’ and began collecting the crumpled wrapping paper. Throwing it into the fire, she then placed the gifts on a side table.

As she passed in front of him, Victor caught her arm, grasping it firmly and pulling her to him. He leaned into her, and said, ‘You ought to be arrested for looking the way you do. You’ll be the cause of my undoing yet.’

The glances she threw him was reproving but her eyes were flirtatious and teasing. ‘Hadn’t you better be careful, Mr Mason. Someone might get the wrong impression, if they see you grabbing me so … so possessively. I’m supposed to be your chum, not your inamorata. Remember?’

‘Touché. And I’ll deal with you later, madame. In the meantime, stand here and give me the dope on everyone.’

‘Do you know, you can be quite bossy at times,’ Francesca said, but, nevertheless, she picked up her glass and joined him in front of the fire. ‘I’ll do my best, but I don’t know all the people who’ve been invited. Ah, that’s Astrid hugging Diana now. Princess Astrid von Böler.’ She drew closer, dropped her voice and added, with a small laugh, ‘A great love of Kim’s, until her husband broke up their affaire.’

Victor’s brows lifted. ‘No kidding! Your brother has good taste. Who’s that with her? The husband?’

‘No. Some Polish count with an unpronounceable name. Her latest … friend, I believe.’

‘And the other people?’

‘Graf and Gräfin Durmann. He’s something to do with banking, I think.’

‘What’s Graf? A title?’

‘Yes, it means count. Anyway, I’ve met them before, and they’re awfully nice. His first name’s Heinrich, and hers is Tatiana.’

Within the next few minutes all the guests streamed in, eight couples in all. Francesca endeavoured to acquaint Victor with a few salient details about those she knew, but too quickly they were surrounded by people. Somehow Victor was separated from her. She was stranded near the fireplace with Astrid and the Polish count, along with two other men she had not previously met. They closed in on her, apparently much taken. Yet she was conscious of Victor all the time.

Effortlessly, he was the focus of attention in the room, had taken the centre of the stage and was holding it. Francesca knew this was not only by virtue of his fame, but also because of his startling looks, his physique and bearing, his commanding manner and his natural charm. Since he was six feet three and towered above everyone else, it was easy for Francesca to keep him in her line of vision. Also, every so often, he would seek her out with his eyes, signalling a private message with a particular look, a smile, occasionally a quick, knowing wink.

But as the cocktail hour continued, with Clara, and another maid hired for the evening, serving the drinks and canapés, Francesca abandoned any thought of joining him. Most of the women had formed a phalanx around him, and were vying for his attention. And very adroitly, and somewhat maddeningly, he appeared to be flirting with each and every one of them. Francesca experienced a spurt of jealousy, but doused it, and retaliated in kind in her own quiet way. Günther Rundt, an acquaintance of Kim’s, had beaten a swift path to her side. He was being flattering and attentive, lavishly so in fact, and she responded with smiles, a few coquettish glances, and summoned an enthralled expression to her face, hanging onto his every word. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Victor staring at her at one moment, and she stifled a laugh. He looked really miffed. She was delighted.

Eventually Manfred announced that dinner was served and the group slowly drifted towards the dining room. Victor caught up with Francesca and said in a low voice, ‘Who’s that guy?’

‘Which guy do you mean?’ she asked innocently, adopting a nonplussed air.

‘You know. The one who was practically grinding you into the wall.’

She laughed lightly. ‘Oh, that’s a friend of Kim’s … I assume you do mean Günther. He’s very sweet.’

‘If that’s what you call sweet, then I’m angelic,’ he countered, falling in step. She did not answer, and as they went into the room, he added, ‘I hope we’re sitting together, baby.’

‘I doubt it. I’m sure you’ll be sitting at Diana’s right, I at Christian’s right. I expect dinner’ll be quite formal tonight.’

‘Then I’ll have to be satisfied with thoughts of what’s yet to come … later, when we’re alone,’ he murmured through the side of his mouth. Surreptitiously he ran his fingers down her back before striding ahead to join Diana, who was beckoning him.

The grace and beauty of the Schloss, elements which had struck Victor so forcefully when he had arrived yesterday, were in great evidence tonight. The ambience in the dining room was decidedly romantic, had an almost fairytale quality. This was created in no small measure by the incredible number of white candles, in all manner of holders, which had been massed together in clusters everywhere, stood on the chests, the sideboard, the mantelpiece and the windowsills. A log fire flared in the immense stone hearth and the room was washed in a soft and mellow light. Dozens of votive candles had been used to encircle the small bowls of flowers, six in all, which marched down the centre of the long refectory table, and interspersed between the bowls were Meissen porcelain birds in the most radiant of colours. The table had been set with the finest china, crystal and silver, and was the decorative focal point. There were flowers and flowering plants banked around the perimeter of the room, and these introduced additional life and colour to an already breathtaking setting.

The flickering candlelight was flattering, and everyone looked their best, the women beautiful in their elegant gowns and glittering jewels, the men handsome in their dinner jackets. It was a young group and they were festive. The conversation was brisk, sparkling, entertaining, and Victor was enjoying himself, even though he was seated far away from Francesca. Occasionally he glanced down the table at her and caught her eye, and she would smile obliquely and continue her conversation. She was anchored between Christian and Vladimir, the Polish count, whilst he was next to Diana, as Francesca had said he would be. Astrid was also at his end of the table, and although she was charming, for the most part he concentrated his attention on Diana.

Francesca also discovered she was having a good time. Her gaiety and warmth quickly surfaced, and her naturalness was endearing to everyone. She laughed a lot, since Vladimir was proving to be a stimulating dinner companion, with his agility of wit and incisive repartee, and hilarity was high at their end of the table. However, as the dinner progressed, Francesca began to realize the others were taking it for granted that Victor was Diana’s date for the evening. That he was now encouraging this in subtle ways was most apparent, and Francesca smothered a little smile, fully understanding his motivation. She also marvelled at his stamina. For a man who had left her room as dawn broke, after a sleepless night, had skied all morning and then made passionate love to her again in the afternoon, he was in remarkable fettle and showed no outward signs of fatigue whatsoever. Twenty years younger though she might be, she was vaguely conscious of aching limbs and a tiredness induced by their nocturnal activities.

Leaning forward ever so slightly, she looked at Victor, feeling the unique thrill of possession. Whatever anyone present believed, and whomever he flirted with, he nonetheless belonged to her. She, too, now thought of later, of when they would be alone, and a shiver ran through her. How extraordinary life is, she mused. A week ago she had been dying on the vine, miserable with longing for him, and he so seemingly beyond her tender reach; tonight she was more alive than at any other time in her life. And all because of him. He had become the centre of her world. Everyone and everything dimmed in comparison …

Vladimir said, ‘I understand the Langley Collection is remarkable for its great paintings. Presumably it is open to the public, is it not?’

‘Oh yes,’ Francesca responded, dragging her mind back to the present proceedings. ‘Every day during the summer months, and at weekends in the winter. My father believes great art should be shared. If ever you come to England, you must stop off at Langley to see the collection. You’re obviously interested in art.’

‘Thank you. How kind. Yes, I would love to visit your home. And I am very keen on art, especially old masters.’ Vladimir went on, ‘It is my dream to go to Russia one day, to view the paintings in the Hermitage. Catherine the Great was an extraordinary woman on many levels, but especially so as a collector of fine paintings. It’s amazing, when one considers her resourcefulness in garnering such an incredible number of masterpieces from all over Europe. She built the Hermitage to house them you know … a marvellous legacy to leave.’ He smiled and added, ‘Catherine has always intrigued me, I must admit. An unscrupulous but fascinating woman. She was involved with one of my ancestors when she was in her twenties, and perhaps that’s why she has always piqued my interest.’

‘That must have been Count Stanislaus Poniatowski, who later became King of Poland. Am I right?’

‘You are indeed, Francesca,’ Vladmir told her, obviously surprised at this display of historical knowledge. He launched into a long story about his ancestor’s love affair with the Empress of all the Russias, and in a most amusing manner. So much so, Francesca was instantly caught up in what he had to say, and the time passed swiftly.

It was suddenly the end of the dinner. Clara carried in a large birthday cake, ablaze with candles. Manfred served champagne, and Diana was the recipient of more toasts and congratulations.

Francesca said, as the toasts came to an end, ‘Diana darling, now you must blow out all the candles and make a wish. A secret wish. Don’t tell us!’

Victor, surveying the cake, leaned towards Diana and teased, ‘Twenty-seven candles. That’s pretty brave of you, honey, letting everyone know how old you are today.’

‘A woman who can’t tell her age doesn’t know who she is,’ Diana retorted pithily. ‘I like to think I do.’

It was turned midnight when the last of the guests finally departed. Christian and Diana accompanied them to the front door to say their goodbyes, and Victor and Francesca were left alone in the sitting room.

Victor, nursing a brandy and smoking a cigar, looked across at her seated on the opposite sofa and began to chuckle.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

He said, his eyes twinkling, ‘Do you realize I was the only person present tonight without a title?’

‘Then we have to find one for you immediately,’ Francesca pronounced, smiling with him. ‘I have it! How about King … of the Silver Screen?’

Victor shook his head emphatically. ‘Not possible, kid. Gable’s the King, and he always will be, even after he’s gone. Nobody, but nobody, will ever inherit that title. I doubt they’d want to. Clark’s a very special guy, much loved, and revered, too, these days. No, there’ll only be one King of Hollywood in everyone’s minds.’

‘Will you settle for Prince of the Silver Screen then?’ she ventured, leaning back against the sofa, her eyes soft and loving as she regarded him.

He smiled, said nothing, stood up and took her glass from the coffee table. He moved across the room to the console. ‘What is this stuff you’re drinking, kid?’

‘Pear William, please.’

Lifting the bottle he poured a generous measure, then held the bottle up, staring at it. ‘How the hell did this pear get in here?’ he asked, swinging to face her.

‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

‘Well, let me see. A glass blower formed the bottle around the pear. I can see from the disgusted look on your face that the answer’s no. Mmmmm. I have it! It’s a collapsible pear, like one of those ships on a string that goes into the bottle flat, and is then pulled up straight,’ he said, obviously teasing her now.

‘Only one more guess, Vic, then you have to pay a penalty.’

‘That sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?’

Observing his face as he came back to the fireplace, she started to laugh. She exclaimed, ‘Not what you think, you wretch.’

He sat down next to her and handed her the glass. ‘Too bad. In that case, I’d better ’fess up that I’ve known all along that the pear started out very small, and just growed and growed in the bottle. Down the hatch, kid.’ He took a sip of his brandy, retrieved his cigar from the ashtray and puffed on it for a few seconds, then he reached out and touched her face with one finger. ‘It’s nice to have you to myself, Ches. It seems as if I ain’t seen you all evening.’

‘Yes, I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it? You did enjoy the dinner party?’

‘Sure did.’ He settled back, feeling relaxed and contented and comfortable with her. His eyes roved around the room, and fell on the photographs arranged on the library table behind the sofa facing them. He allowed his gaze to linger, and after a short while, he said, ‘I haven’t wanted to pry, but I gotta admit I’m riddled with curiosity. Ever since I arrived here, I’ve sensed a sort of, well, a kind of mystery, I guess. About your aunt and uncle. Where are they?’

He got no further. Francesca had stiffened and he felt her sudden tenseness. He saw that the laughter had fled out of her, and seriousness mingled with sadness had crept onto her face. He waited, uncertain whether he ought to continue.

At last Francesca said, ‘My Aunt Arabella lives in West Berlin.’

‘And your uncle? Where is he?’

She returned his concentrated look, bit her lip and glanced down at her hands. ‘I’d rather not … not talk about it, Vic,’ she said softly.

‘We’re not sure where my father is, if indeed he’s alive.’ Christian’s voice rang out clearly as he propelled himself to the fireplace.

Victor went cold and he held himself very still. He shook his head slowly and lifted his hand, as if telling Christian to say no more. He was acutely embarrassed. Clearing his throat, he apologized, ‘I’m sorry. I’m blundering in again – into something that’s none of my business. Please, let’s forget I ever asked the question.’

‘No, no, Victor, that’s all right. And don’t be upset,’ Christian replied. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. And, as I said, Father’s whereabouts are unknown. We don’t talk about him very often, especially with friends, because – well, because Diana and I have come to realize it’s easier to ignore the situation whenever we can. Naturally, it’s always there, at the back of our minds, although we do try not to dwell on it, for our own sanity.’

‘He’s dead!’ Diana’s pronouncement startled them all, and three pairs of eyes followed her movements. She entered the room purposefully, her face uncommonly pale. She took up her position in her favourite spot on the hearth, and continued firmly, ‘At any rate, I believe he’s dead. Originally, when the rumours started about two years ago, I thought there was a possibility of his being alive. But now I can’t give credence to the stories …’ Her voice trailed off, and then she said, ‘Victor, would you mind getting me another drink, please? White mint over ice.’

‘Sure.’ He sprang up. ‘What about you, Christian?’

‘Thanks. I’ll have a cognac.’

There was a silence whilst Victor fixed the drinks. Francesca, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, looked apprehensively from Diana to Christian, and wished Victor had not opened this particular Pandora’s box. On the other hand, in all fairness to him, his inquisitiveness was only natural. Perhaps it would have been simpler if she had told a white lie a moment ago, and said her uncle also lived in West Berlin. Yet the family were so aware of Kurt von Wittingen’s uncertain fate, it was always there in the background, hanging over them like the sword of Damocles.

Victor passed the drinks around without a word, said finally, in a subdued tone, ‘Look, let’s forget I ever –’

‘Just a minute, Victor,’ Christian interrupted and turned his gaze on Diana. ‘I really think we owe Victor an explanation, darling, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. You’d better make yourself comfortable,’ Christian suggested, addressing Victor, all of his attention now focused on him. ‘The story I have to tell you is complex, one I have partially pieced together myself over the years, from bits of information from my mother, my grandmother and several of my father’s friends.’ He sighed faintly under his breath. ‘Can I presume you don’t know too much about German politics in the years before World War Two?’

‘You can,’ Victor said.

Christian nodded, took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going to bore you with a long dissertation about the rise of Adolf Hitler, but to understand my father’s story, you must also understand what was happening in Germany in those days. In the middle of the nineteen twenties the Weimar Republic, which had been created in 1919, was extremely shaky. By 1928 Hitler had re-established his leadership of the Nazi Party, membership in the Party had reached sixty thousand, and the Nazis got two point six per cent of the vote in the Reichstag elections that particular year. In 1933 Hitler was appointed Chancellor by President Hindenburg, and between the burning of the Reichstag a month later, in February, and the elections in March, Hitler had become virtual dictator of Germany. His rise to power had horrified and frightened liberals, my father amongst them. As I told you yesterday, Father was an anti-Fascist who had dedicated his fortune, his energy and his time to fighting Fascism – actively but secretly. There was no way he could come out into the open without exposing himself and the family to extreme danger and arrest. However, for years he had been a leading member of an underground movement in Germany, helping Jews, Catholics, Protestants and so-called “political offenders” of all types who sought to flee Germany.’ Christian took a swallow of his cognac, and asked, ‘Did you ever read a book by Baroness Orczy called The Scarlet Pimpernel, Victor?’

‘No. But I saw the movie starring Leslie Howard.’

‘Good. Then I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say my father was, in many ways, a modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel. Oddly enough, his code name was Blue Gentian, after the alpine flower. You see it was absolutely necessary that my father’s identity be kept a secret from the Nazis, from everyone actually, and according to my mother it was Dieter Mueller, another leader in the underground, who invented the name. Dieter was a professor in literature, and I suppose he thought the name suited my father admirably. After all, Father was an aristocrat, a member of a socially prominent family, and seemingly beyond reproach, who had nothing but time and money on his hands to lead a life of leisure and gaiety in elegant circles. Yet at the same time he was actually a clandestine operator risking his life to save the lives of others.’

‘But wasn’t that kind of pointing a finger at your father?’ Victor asked swiftly.

‘You mean because of the parallels between the Scarlet Pimpernel and my father, the same use of flowers as code names, of course? But no, not at all. I doubt anyone would have thought of making the analogy, and besides Prince Kurt von Wittingen was above suspicion. Not only that, all the men in the underground movement were known by the names of flowers. Dieter’s idea again, who himself had the code name of Edelweiss. But to continue. In the middle of the nineteen twenties my father became a senior consultant to Krupp, the German armaments king. He was travelling all over Europe, handling top-level negotiations, entertaining foreign dignitaries, acting as a kind of roving ambassador, in fact. It was the perfect cover for him. It enabled him to come and go almost as he wished, gave him easy access to all manner of important people, and thus fantastic sources of privileged information. In the spring of 1939, fully aware that the situation in Germany was worsening, Father sent my mother, Diana and me to England, to stay with Uncle David at Langley Castle, ostensibly on a prolonged vacation but really for safety’s sake. By June of that year my mother, like most well-informed people, knew that war between England and Germany was inevitable, and, wanting to be with Father, she decided to return to Berlin. He would not hear of it, and rented a small house in Zurich for us, since it was relatively easy for him to visit Switzerland. He was with us from time to time, even after 1939, but generally he was either travelling or in Berlin.’

After another sip of his drink, Christian continued, ‘We didn’t see him much in 1941, not at all during 1942, but he was with us in Zurich in the early part of 1943, en route from Oslo to Berlin. It seems Mother was growing increasingly fearful that Father’s clandestine activities would be discovered, and she desperately wanted him to remain with us in Switzerland. He would not. He felt he was needed by the movement, also he was worried about his mother. Father’s two sisters, Ursula and Sigrid, had both been killed in Allied air raids over Berlin, and Grandmother was entirely alone, having been widowed years before. So he went back. A disastrous decision, I’m afraid.’ Christian’s face tightened sharply, and he took a cigarette and lit it.

Victor had been listening closely. He shivered and his hands tightened around the glass. ‘And you never saw your father again,’ he asserted, his eyes glued on the young prince.

‘I did. Mother and Diana were not so fortunate. However, I’m jumping ahead of my story. Over the years my mother had always received messages from Father in various ways, but when he returned to Berlin in 1943 it was as if he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth. Months went by without any word from him. I was almost eighteen, and finally old enough to become my mother’s confidant. She told me of her worries, and against her wishes I followed my father to Berlin …’

‘How the hell did you manage that?’ Victor cried.

‘With my family’s connections I had access to a lot of people. They all helped. Also, the times were confusing and erratic, so it wasn’t too difficult to arrange. Mind you, it was very risky in more ways than one, I must admit. I got to our house in Berlin eventually, where I spent twenty-four hours with Grandmother. She told me that she had seen Father a few months earlier, but only briefly. Like us, she had received no word from him since. She had simply assumed he was travelling for the Krupp organization. The next day I was picked up by the Gestapo. Either by deduction, or through traitorous information, they had at last ear-marked my father as one of the leaders of the underground movement. He was on the top of their most wanted list, and they had obviously been watching the house for weeks. I was the guest of those gentlemen –’ Christian snapped off the end of his sentence and a grim smile flicked onto his mouth. ‘In any event, the Gestapo kept me for over six months, working on me day and night, before they finally released me.’ His eyes darkened. He lowered them and looked down at his legs. ‘I’ve not been able to walk properly since then.’

Victor felt a trembling inside, and his hands shook slightly as he lifted the brandy balloon to his mouth and took a long swallow of his drink, which he badly needed. Christian’s words, unadorned and spoken gently, were all the more deadly because of their quietness and simplicity. Oh God, oh God, Victor thought, how easily we forget. And yet it’s only a handful of years ago that the Nazis were committing all manner of unspeakable atrocities and brutalities, that this young man talking to me so calmly was turned into a permanent cripple by them. When he was only a boy. And who knew what torture had been inflicted on him. Jesus Christ!

No one spoke nor moved, and the only sound was the faint hissing of the logs in the fireplace, the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the room.

Christian met Victor’s gaze with grave eyes, and his voice was controlled and steady as he went on, ‘I didn’t break, Victor. Still, I have never considered that a great act of courage on my part. You see, I knew so very little of my father’s activities, it was simple for me to keep repeating the same thing over and over again. After the Gestapo finally discarded me, Grandmother managed to nurse me back to partial health, though God only knows how, conditions and shortages being what they were then. In 1944, Dieter Mueller got a message to me … the blue gentians are in full bloom. Since my mother had told me Father’s code name, in case I needed to use it after I’d returned to Berlin, I knew immediately what the message meant. Father was safe. It was enough to bolster my courage and keep me going. Then, in the early summer of 1945, not very long before Berlin fell to the Allies, Father miraculously arrived at the house in Berlin. He did not explain where he had been and I knew better than to ask.’

Now Christian sat back in the wheelchair looking drained and exhausted. He finished sombrely, ‘Father was with us for two weeks. One morning he left the house, saying he would return later that day. But he didn’t come back … Grandmother and I never saw him again.’ Turning to Diana, Christian said, ‘Maybe you can finish the story, darling.’

‘Yes, of course I will. But are you all right, Christian?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine, I really am.’

‘You don’t have to continue.’ Victor sat motionless in the chair, his face serious and reflecting his disquiet, his immense sadness for them both. ‘I don’t know what to say, how to express my regret for having opened up so many wounds. It was thoughtless of me to pry. I’ve caused you such unnecessary heartache, making you relive these terrible events.’

‘Don’t chastise yourself, Victor dear,’ Diana murmured. ‘And you might as well hear the rest of the story, so that you can truly understand why Christian and I are so reluctant to constantly thrash it over. At first, Christian and Grandmother were not too worried when my father did not return that night. As a matter of fact, they weren’t particularly concerned even after several days had elapsed. After all, continually coming and going was Father’s normal pattern of behaviour. By this time, Grandmother knew a little about her son’s activities as a clandestine member of the underground movement, since Christian had filled her in, albeit in a sketchy way. Also, there seemed to be less reason for them to be alarmed, in that the Third Reich had collapsed, Berlin was in the hands of the Allies – the British, the Americans and the Russians were occupying Berlin. What could possibly happen to the notorious Blue Gentian now? He was amongst friends, wasn’t he? However, as the days became weeks, their anxiety increased, and inquiries were made. They turned up nothing. Father had simply disappeared. A few weeks later, another member of the underground movement, who had been wounded during the fighting in Berlin, finally came out of hospital. When he heard that my father was missing, he told Dieter that he had seen Daddy talking to some Russian officers in the part of the city which became the East Zone. That man, Wolfgang Schroeder, had seen Daddy only a few days after he had left Grandmother’s house, and they had actually exchanged greetings. Wolfgang said he was convinced my father had been a casualty during the last-ditch fighting in the final battle of Berlin. Dieter seized on this and set to work. Hospitals were searched, people were questioned, the dead were carefully checked. In fact, the whole of Berlin was turned upside down by Dieter and his friends. To no avail.’

Diana closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, she said in the lowest of voices, ‘Daddy was never found, his body was never found, and in the end we had to assume he had been killed during the last days of the war. Naturally, as things gradually became a little more normal, Mummy wanted to get back to Christian and Grandmother. We eventually packed up in Zurich and returned to Berlin. Slowly, we attempted to pick up our lives, to go on living as best we could, grieving for Daddy but having to accept the fact that he was gone. You more or less know what happened next, how we moved from Berlin to Munich, then to Wittingenhof. Nine years passed. Two years ago, Dieter came to see Mummy. He was excited, jubilant almost. It seemed he had a possible solution to my father’s mysterious disappearance, as well as information about his whereabouts.’

‘Your father had finally been in touch with Dieter then?’ Victor was on the edge of his seat, innumerable questions running through his head.

Diana shook her head. ‘No. But by accident he had stumbled on a strange story. Let me explain something. In 1953 and 1954, numerous Germans – civilians actually – who had been arrested for one reason or another by the Russians at the time Berlin surrendered were straggling back. They had been released from Lubyanka Prison in Moscow. Anyway, there was talk amongst them about a mystery prisoner who was kept in solitary confinement most of the time. Apparently he was an aristocrat, and a German. Furthermore, he had been in Lubyanka since 1945. The man had been seen occasionally by many other prisoners, and his physical description, his age, along with other details, fitted my father like a glove. This tale was told to Dieter by his cousin, whose father-in-law had just returned from the Russian prison. It didn’t take Dieter long to come to the obvious conclusion that the man in Lubyanka might conceivably be my father. He spoke to lots of repatriated prisoners and the more he heard, the more certain he became that the mystery prisoner was the Blue Gentian, alias Rudolf Kurt von Wittingen. Armed with this information he came to Mummy, and that’s when the trouble really started.’

‘What do you mean by trouble?’ Victor asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Mummy had been able to lead a reasonable existence up until then, a relatively normal life. Believing her husband to be dead, she had been content to build her life around us, her children. The idea that Daddy was alive after all, and rotting in Lubyanka, changed all that. In the last two years she has become a tormented woman … demented by worry, uncertainty and anguish, alternatively buoyed up by hopes … futile hopes in my opinion.’

‘What a horrendous thing for her to live with, for you all to live with!’ Victor stared at Diana aghast. ‘Are you saying that you haven’t been able to find out if it is your father or not?’

Diana nodded. ‘Precisely. Dieter, Mummy, Christian and I all went to Bonn, and through political connections of Dieter’s we were able to meet with Chancellor Adenauer. The West German Government took up the case, and they made a formal request to the Russians for confirmation that the prisoner in Lubyanka was Daddy. The Russians categorically denied the existence of any such prisoner, let alone one who was a German prince. In the last twelve months, Christian and I have been to Bonn twice, and more pressure has been exerted. In consequence, our Government made further approaches to the Russians, only to be stonewalled.’ She bit her lip, frowned. ‘We’re at an impasse.’

Victor was silent. He sat back on the sofa, ruminating on the things he had just heard. Finally he glanced from Diana to Christian and said slowly, ‘Forgive my ignorance, but why would the Russians arrest your father in 1945 in the first place? What possible reason could they have had to take him prisoner?’

Christian smiled faintly. ‘It’s not ignorance, Victor. It’s a perfectly normal question, and one we all asked each other two years ago. Dieter was able to supply the answer only too readily. He believes my father was taken by the Russians because they thought he was a spy. Specifically, a spy for the Americans, and therefore an enemy of the Soviet Union.’ Christian shook his head. ‘Don’t look so sceptical, Victor. Apparently many Germans were arrested by the Russians at that time because they suspected them of being spies – I’ll go further, were convinced they were spies. For the Americans. But whatever the reason, it’s irrelevant really, in as much as Mother and Dieter are quite positive my father is the man in Lubyanka.’

‘And you? What do you think, Christian?’ Victor asked, snuffing out his cigar which had been smouldering in the ashtray, forgotten.

After a few minutes, Christian admitted, ‘I honestly don’t know what to think, old chap. I really don’t. I waver between doubt and certainty. One minute I’m agreeing with Mother, and then, unexpectedly, I’m swayed by Diana’s conviction that Father is dead. But when Dieter makes an appearance, as he did yesterday, with more rumours, I’m siding with the two of –’

‘We don’t have enough concrete facts!’ Diana cried peremptorily, her voice unusually high-pitched for her. ‘The longer I ponder the story the more I come to realize how flimsy it is, in reality. I’m sure Daddy was killed at the end of the war in Berlin, and that his body was one of the many unidentified. I suppose, in a way, I hope he is dead.’ Her tone was suddenly tremulous and she blinked and looked away. She finished, in a sad little voice, ‘Perhaps that’s preferable to me, because then he would not be suffering. I can’t stand the thought that he’s alive in Lubyanka and being subjected to … to –’ Diana was unable to continue and her emotions took hold of her.

Francesca instantly jumped up and joined her on the hearth. She put her arms around her cousin and said soothingly, ‘Oh Dibs darling, don’t cry. It’s not much consolation, I know, but Daddy and I agree with you.’ As she spoke Francesca glanced at Christian, her eyes full of love and compassion. ‘I’m sorry, darling, but we do believe that Uncle Kurt died in 1945, as we’ve told Aunt Arabella many times.’

Christian half inclined his head. ‘Yes,’ he said, and wheeled himself over to the console. He poured himself a cognac, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Returning to the fireside, he focused on Victor. ‘Having heard this extraordinary story, what do you think? Is my father dead, or is he in Lubyanka?’

‘I can’t give an opinion either way,’ Victor pursed his lips. Suddenly he changed his mind. ‘I guess I’m ambivalent, like you, Christian. I don’t know what to think. Jesus, what a goddamn lousy thing to live with on a day-to-day basis. It’s a heart-rending situation. No wonder you never want to discuss it. It’s all my fault everyone’s upset. I shouldn’t be so nosey. I’ve only succeeded in ruining a lovely evening.’

‘Oh please, Victor, don’t be silly,’ Christian said. ‘There’s no need to keep apologizing. And you haven’t spoiled the evening, has he, Diana?’

‘Hardly. In fact, you’ve made it extra special and memorable.’ She smiled at Victor. ‘But would you mind if we drop the subject now? I’d like to concentrate on the present, the next few days to be exact.’ She took a deep breath and, adopting a more cheery tone, went on, ‘Christian and I are going to Munich tomorrow, to spend the day at Grandmother’s, with our mother. I won’t be able to take you skiing on the Rossfeld. However, Astrid and Vladimir will go with you. Is that all right?’

‘Sure. That’ll be great,’ Victor said, pulling his mind away from his troubled thoughts, looking at her with admiration. There was something very unusual in this girl, a certain indomitability that took his breath away. ‘But what about Francesca? She’ll be all alone here.’

‘Oh don’t worry about me, I’ve got lots of things to do,’ Francesca assured him with a warm smile. ‘You will be back for lunch though, won’t you?’

Before he could respond, Diana said, ‘Astrid wants both of you to have lunch at her house, Cheska. It’ll be fun for you, and I know Victor will enjoy seeing the von Böler estate. It’s most impressive and puts Wittingenhof to shame.’

‘That’s nice of her,’ Francesca said. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the place myself. Kim told me it’s like a miniature Versailles.’

‘That’s true.’ Diana stood up. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to tell Manfred to lock up, and then get off to bed. We have to leave very early in the morning.’ She kissed Francesca and Christian, and then moved across the floor to Victor. He rose and hugged her to him. ‘You’re an extraordinary person, Diana,’ he said, and kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘So are you,’ she responded, squeezing his arm, her expression affectionate. She turned and walked to the doorway. ‘Good night everyone.’

Shortly afterwards, Christian also took his leave of them. The minute they were by themselves, Victor said, ‘I guess you can’t take me anywhere, kid. I’m a dumb idiot.’

‘Hush!’ Francesca exclaimed, and moved over to sit next to him on the sofa. She took his hand in hers, and insisted, ‘Please do let’s forget all this, Vic. Diana’s right, we must put the tragedy of Uncle Kurt out of our minds. Just as she and Christian do most of the time. And honestly, they’re not angry or upset with you. Neither am I.’

‘That’s a helluva relief.’ He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. ‘Mind if we sit here for a bit?’

‘Not at all. Would you like another drink, darling?’

‘Sure, why not. One for the road, I guess.’ He released his hold and his eyes following her as she walked across the room were filled with tenderness. ‘Do me a favour, baby, kill the lights in here, please.’

‘All right. Shall I put on a record, one of the Sinatras maybe?’

‘Terrific idea … the Cole Porter selection … together those two are an unbeatable team, about the greatest.’

Within minutes the room was entirely in darkness, its edges grey and murky, but the fireside was bathed in roseate tints and the logs spurted and flared in the grate so that a pool of isolated golden light surrounded them like a nimbus. They sat for a long time on the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms, listening to the romantic ballads, speaking hardly at all, content to be alone together. At one moment Victor turned his head and glanced out of the windows which intersected the wall opposite. Beyond the glass, an indigo sky, speckled with the brightest stars, was being intermittently streaked with silver radiance as the moon came out from behind black clouds. It clearly illuminated the landscape, breathtaking even at this hour in its white and silent beauty.

It’s so peaceful out there, he thought, just as this room is also enveloped in tranquillity. Victor averted his face and stared into the fire, his eyes reflective now. Images of the dinner party danced before him in the flames. It had been perfect down to the last detail. And so civilized. The guests had been charming, cultured, intelligent and well informed, the men elegantly attired, the lovely women exquisitely gowned and bejewelled, and all had been gathered together in the most gracious of settings, partaking of excellent food and vintage wines. yes, it had been an occasion of gaiety and joyfulness as befitted Diana’s birthday.

Coming so quickly after this glittering, happy scene, the story of Kurt von Wittingen had been chilling, had had a curious unreality about it to Victor, as though it were somehow out of sync. Yet this was not the case, and it was only too real, just as Auschwitz, Buchenwald and Dachau had been real, as Christian’s ruined legs were real. Victor dwelt on all that had been said in the last hour and his disquiet returned, and he felt a sudden and terrible coldness in the region of his heart. Evil had cast its dark shadow over this night. But evil is always there, lurking, he found himself thinking, as it has lurked since the beginning of time when man first discovered his immense capacity for it. And as long as man walks this earth it will flourish, for it is man’s invention not God’s. A sigh rippled through him and he closed his eyes.

Francesca shifted her body against his, swivelled her head and looked up into his face. ‘What is it? Is something wrong, Vic?’

He opened his eyes and stared at her. He was tempted, for a moment, to voice his thoughts, but changed his mind. ‘I’m okay. Nothing’s wrong, Ches,’ he murmured and lifted his hand and touched the top of her head, and she relaxed and settled back in his arms and a silence fell between them again. It was long after the music had stopped and the fire had burned low to dying embers that Victor finally roused himself. He led her out of the sitting room, down the long gallery and up the great staircase, and not once did he let go of her hand so tightly clasped in his.