Blood Ties (24 page)

The children. It had always been the children. She was,
after all, nothing more than a conduit, a brood mare. A glimmer of hope
emerged.

"Spare him, Charles. I'll do anything you ask."
She was, she knew, operating out of instinct. To pit herself against the guile
and cleverness of the von Kassel mind was, she always knew, beyond her meager
talents. Young, inexperienced, helpless, she could barely understand her own
actions. To survive. To save her children. To save Konrad. Life meant hope. She
would always remember the terrible irony of that moment.

"You can have the children."

She had said the words calmly, as if she had spent years
preparing for this moment. "For Konrad's life."

"For him. You would give them up for that Jew."

It was not enough merely to catch them. The von Kassel mind
had to concoct a perfectly legal method of disposal.

"Save him Charles. You can save him."

He was, she knew, observing her as if she were a fly caught
in his web.

"I will go away. I will give up the children."
She felt the gnawing terror begin. It had never left her.

"You are disgusting," he had said with contempt.

But her mind was alert to the bargain. "Save him,
Charles. For the children," she pleaded.

Helga saw the rage begin again in him, but he had turned
away.

"For the children, Charles," she begged.

"Only if you leave tonight." He started to go,
then turned. "You must not see the children again. Never!"

She could not respond.

"Well?"

Finally she had nodded her consent.

"That is one promise I will buy."

When he had gone, it took her a long time to find the strength
to leave her bed. Only then, when she had risen, did she scream.

Absorbed in the pain of the memory, she had not heard the
footsteps approach. Turning quickly, she found herself confronting the face of
her sister-in-law, the lines of her skin deeply etched in the strong sunlight.
She looked beyond her, observing only the emptiness of the walkway.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"I will take you to him. He is too frail to
come."

"Then why didn't you take me to him in the first
place?" It was odd that her own words, after so much pain, could be so
reasonable.

"Helga," Karla began, hesitating briefly,
faltering. She had never seen the woman falter before, and she enjoyed
observing this sign of weakness. "It is all so pointless now."

"Not to me."

"It's over. His life is over."

"Mine was over years ago." She was ready to
believe that, as if the intervening years had never happened, the life between
merely a dull dream.

"What could you possibly have to say to him now?"
Karla asked with surprising gentleness.

"The truth," Helga said.

"What truth?" Karla snapped, the brief gentleness
gone. Despite the lined face, the strength remained. The eyes resumed their
coldness.

"It is for him. Not for you."

"We share everything," Karla said, the old
imperiousness rising. Watching her, Helga welcomed the increasing intensity of
her hatred for her. She had expected the tyranny.

"Your contempt no longer intimidates me, Karla.
Really, nothing you can say will make any difference now."

"I'll see that you don't get one more cent!" The
words sounded the ring of defeat. Helga focused her eyes, fixing them on the
face. It was a moment to be savored, a preview of what was shortly to happen
between her and Charles. No one must be spared, she vowed.

"They're not his children, Karla. None of them."

But the woman's face was impassive, a mask.

"Did you hear what I said?" It was as if she were
being deprived of a gift.

"I know," Karla said. Her eyes had narrowed.
Anger had become resignation, leaving Helga confused.

"You knew?" Helga whispered, the moment spoiled
forever. Karla nodded.

"From the beginning," Karla said.

"The beginning?"

Karla drew herself to her full height, the imperial
arrogance recalling the old intimidation. "I gave him his life for
providing the children."

What was she saying? Helga was suddenly confused,
disoriented, the sense of time and space awry.

"He was a Jew," Karla went on. "I discovered
him by accident. He was quite willing to trade his life. What choice had he? He
fulfilled his end of the bargain admirably."

"No," Helga said, backing away. Her mind was
desperately trying to recall old images. But the terror was drowning in her
mind.

"Did you think you were so clever? We both knew
Charles was sterile. Who do you think protected you?"

I am somewhere else, Helga thought, surely in the middle of
a nightmare.

"You?" A von Kassel trick, of course, she
decided. Another trick. "I will tell him that as well," she said, her
voice weak. She started to move forward, but her legs would not respond.

"It might have gone on forever. But when it became
apparent that Hitler was losing, I had no choice, no choice at all. There was
no other way, Helga."

"It was you then..."

"They were freeing the Jews. He would have told. He
might have killed your babies." It was Karla who moved closer now.
"Helga, I had to save the children."

"And Konrad?"

She turned away.

"Karla!"

"Charles tried to save him. He really did. The Gestapo
would have been quite obliging. He wanted to keep the bargain. But it was too
late."

"Too late?"

"You can't blame Charles." She paused.
"Don't you see? I had to have him killed before he arrived there. I'm
telling you, Helga. I saved the children."

Helga felt the heat of rage expand beneath the paralysis of
fear.

"Leave it alone, Helga. You see, it has worked out
fine. And it is doubtful they would believe you."

Helga's fingers clutched the passport in her pocket.
"I told Siegfried, Karla. I told him."

A trembling snarl curled Karla's lips, the smugness gone.

"You stupid bitch!"

It was then that the anger exploded and Helga's legs moved.
But Karla barred the way.

"Let me pass," she demanded.

Karla nodded, as if in surrender, moving aside.

Helga had taken a few halting steps when from behind she
felt the weight of something pushing her and she knew that she had not the
strength to prevent it. Even as her body lurched over the shallow wall, and the
force of gravity was drawing her downward, her fingers clutched the old
passport.

Albert saw his Aunt Karla standing over the prostrate body
of a strange woman, limbs askew, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been
cut. Beside him, the hotel manager, his mincing pose gone, made clucking noises
with his tongue.

"So terrible for you, Countess, to have discovered it
by accident. What a shock!" he cried, his voice edgy with near hysteria.
The Countess was pale but controlled. The discovery of a body, Albert knew, was
not likely to ruffle his aunt's inner calm. For his father's sake, he was
thankful that he had found her. The body seemed incidental.

"Who is she?" Albert asked.

"I never saw her before," Karla said. "I
found an American passport in her pocketbook. Her name is Barber."

"A stranger?" Albert asked. He looked down at her
face, twisted in a sneer of contempt. Her demise had not been tranquil. He
turned away, revolted by the attitude of death.

"She came in last night," the manager
volunteered. "I had originally asked her to leave, but the
Countess..." He looked at Karla, whose eyes narrowed, a look of swift
annoyance which passed quickly. But it seemed to serve as a warning to the
manager. He suppressed any further explanation, obviously deferring to the
Countess. Albert did not think it amiss. She always took over.

"It was to avoid a scene," the Countess said.
"She was obviously drunk. It was easier to let her sleep it off." She
paused. "There seemed no need to precipitate a scene. Not in the midst of
the family gathering."

"And no one knew her?" Albert asked again,
puzzled.

"I never saw her in my life," Karla repeated.

He felt the urge to probe further. For a moment he peered
into the woman's face. Her eyes were open. The color had disappeared but the
contempt was clear. The woman's head was awry.

"Probably broke her neck." He looked upward,
contemplating the fall. "Why did she choose this place?"

"There is enough going on here without this," his
aunt said. Albert looked up. His aunt was looking sternly at the manager, who
by now had regained his composure.

"You think she just wandered in?" Albert asked
the manager, who looked at his aunt. She nodded approval.

"It does happen," the manager said.
"Although we are quite remote, an unbooked tourist will occasionally
wander by. But we never book outsiders during a von Kassel reunion."

Albert looked down again at the crumpled body. "She
seems an unlikely tourist."

"When it comes to Americans, you never know," the
manager said.

Albert shook his head. He wondered if she had any remote
relationship to the family, an old retainer, a mistress perhaps. He looked at
her face again, studying it.

"It is curious," he said.

"We mustn't exaggerate it, Baron," the manager
said. He had apparently fully recovered his obsequiousness. "I mean blow
it out of all proportion." He looked at Karla, who nodded solemnly.
"And she might have been some disgruntled ex-employee." He looked
down at her. "She is vaguely familiar."

"You know her?" Albert asked.

"One can't be sure."

"It would do us no good to call the police," his
aunt said.

"I agree," the manager added quickly. "Why
should we be victimized because this lady chose to end her life here?"

It was, Albert agreed, a needless complication. He dreaded
any confrontation with authorities. Interrogation. Suspicion. But he was, he
knew, allowing a thought to take shape. He felt the sense of conspiracy. But
that was a condition he had lived with always. Above all, the effect on the von
Kassels was the principal consideration. Why stir up needless dust?

"The matter can be handled," the manager said.

The man's attitude had subtly changed. The mincing had
disappeared. It would be a costly matter, Albert knew. He would have to be very
cautious now, avoid pitfalls. Again he looked at the body.

"I'm sure Hans can deal with it," his aunt said.
They had been thinking along the same lines.

"Yes, I suppose so," Albert said with
resignation.

Hans bowed, a thin smile emerging.

Again Albert looked at the body. He could not contain his
curiosity. "Where was she from?"

"A place in America. Fargo."

"Fargo?" It was puzzling. "North Dakota. A
long way from home," he whispered. Perhaps he should pursue it, he
wondered. His mind, despite his caution, opened to possibilities.

"You're sure she had no family connection with
us?" he asked. "Someone that Father might have known. Someone from
his past."

Karla shrugged. "Considering where she came from, it
hardly seems likely," she said. If he were curious, a trained policeman
would likely be more so. It seemed too incongruous to accept at face value.

"I see some familiarity," the manager suggested.
He looked at Karla, obviously falling short of committing himself. The man's
insincerity was transparent.

"There are any number of possibilities," Albert
said. "Perhaps we should ask the others?" He felt his aunt stiffen.

"And what would that accomplish? It would be better to
close the matter as quickly as possible. The fact is, it seems like an obvious
suicide."

"She seems to have jumped from the rampart," Hans
added quickly. "There is a promenade up there. It's a marvelous view. Our
guests adore it."

"How would she have known about it?"

"You sound like a detective, Albert," Karla said
with irritation. He admired her utter lack of emotion.

"Well then..." he said. His tone suggested
agreement.

"There are, after all, only the three of us..."
Karla's voice, too, trailed off. There was no need to complete the thought.
They all understood.

"And if someone comes after her?" Albert asked.
It was a persistent tug at his logic.

"That will be my problem," Hans said, his voice
under-laid with new-found arrogance. They needed him now.

He had better not question it further, Albert decided,
looking again at the dead woman's face, searching it. He could find no
familiarity. He turned to the manager.

"Can you do it?" he asked.

"Of course," Hans said, the nerve in his jaw
continuing to palpitate. Albert knew he was already calculating the gain to
himself. "There is a deep lake up there," he said, looking upward
toward the peaks beyond the ridge line.

He had not wanted to hear details. But the manager was
showing his cleverness now. The cost was spiraling upward.

Karla patted Hans' arm. "A very clever fellow. We will
know how to take good care of you, right Albert?"

"Of course.... "Albert nodded. Was there still
time to retreat, he wondered. It was, after all, a monstrous act. Surely the
woman had family, friends. He projected their anguish upon himself, despite
knowing that he would, in the end, go along. Why was there even the slightest
tinge of guilt? What was this woman to him? He had no sense of complicity in
her choice of dying. Like the arms business. Selling inanimate objects of death
did not create death. We are innocent, he told himself.

"You go on into the luncheon, Countess," the
manager said, bowing his head and clicking his heels, recovering his old pose.
Gently, he touched the Countess' arm as if he might guide her back to the
castle. But it was simply a signal for Albert to take it and lead her away.
Albert obeyed and without looking back they headed toward the castle entrance.

"It is really the best way, Albert," Karla said.
"Your father is too weak to be bothered with such nonsense. Police.
Investigations. The press."

She seemed to be belaboring the obvious.

"Let's hope we have avoided it," he said.

"Hans is a good man. You'll see."

"I would imagine that he has great expectations,"
Albert said, watching his aunt. The color had gone back into her cheeks. He
admired her strength.

"I have great faith in your business ability,
nephew," she said. "No one has ever questioned that," she added.
Her implications were clear. But she had added another dimension to his own
dilemma. His complicity had made her an ally. Their arrival in the dining room
prevented further contemplation. He led her to a chair beside his father.

"Karla." His father's face had brightened.
"I was worried."

"She was taking a walk, Father," Albert said
quickly, his aunt nodding in confirmation. He did not linger there. The sight
of food made him queasy.

Seeing Dawn's familiar luggage standing near the lobby
entrance reminded him of her departure. He wished he could avoid a
confrontation, especially now. But he owed her that, he decided. A fond farewell.
It had not been her fault. Indeed, it had not been anyone's fault.

He was surprised to see her sitting calmly in their suite,
fully dressed in her traveling outfit, looking refreshed, relaxed. In her hand
she held a champagne glass from which she sipped daintily.

"I was waiting for you, Albert." She smiled and
lifted her glass. "Surely a farewell glass of champagne is in order."

Thankful for her understanding and grace, he reached for
the iced bottle and poured himself a glassful.

"It was good while it lasted, Albert. Don't you
think?" She raised her glass.

"Of course," he agreed.

"These things are never simultaneous." She had
continued to smile, but a brief tremor in her voice prompted a clue to her
deeper feeling.

"Messy business. Endings." Dawn drained her
champagne glass and held it out to him for a refill. He dutifully poured,
avoiding her eyes, determined to be patient.

"Really Albert, it was great fun. I want you to
understand that, despite our words last night, I am not bitter. Not bitter at
all." She swallowed another mouthful of champagne and he noted that her
hand was shaking.

"You know I still love you." She was not going to
get maudlin, he hoped. Not maudlin, please! To avoid any response, he lowered
his eyes.

"But I'll get over that," she said with forced
cheerfulness. "Nobody dies of a broken heart. As a matter of fact, it
might be a rather interesting experience." He wanted to remind her of the
pressure of departure, the specter of a missed plane.

"And, despite all this rather boring pain, I'm rather
grateful that you brought me." The brief note of sarcasm indicated a
contrived mood. "The von Kassel reunion. A rather dramatic event, don't
you think?"

What was she getting at? he wondered. Lifting his eyes to
hers, he was confused by her mocking glare. So she is not going to be graceful
after all.

"All this dramatic talk about mythical knights and the
glory of the von Kassel blood." Her sarcasm was taking flight now. She
drained her glass again, but did not hold it out for a refill, putting it down
on the table beside the couch.

"A pity," she said. Her smile had disappeared.
"It's all a fraud, you know." the words came casually as if she might
be commenting idly about the weather. She made no move to go.

"I suppose I could leave you to your ignorance, but I
have the feeling you are about to find out anyway and I thought: Why deprive
myself of the special joy of telling it? Why not be the first?"

He tried to maintain his patience. If their parting was not
to be sweet, it might as well be reasonably civil, he decided. Whatever it was
she needed to get out, let it come and be done with it.

"I'm making no sense, am I, Albert?" Her smile
returned, although her eyes continued to mock him.

"He is not really your father, you know."

Incomprehensible, the words hung in the air. He felt a mild
curiosity begin.

"Really, Albert. He is not your father. The Baron had
nothing to do with your precious conception. Siegfried and Rudi as well. You
are all bastards. The lot of you." A croaking sound escaped her, hysterical
laughter suppressed. He looked around the room, wanting to confirm reality.
Either I am a fool to stand here and listen to this raving, or I am having a
nightmare, he thought.

"I am perfectly rational," she said calmly,
reading his thoughts.

"That is open to some question." He had not
wanted to be drawn into the fantasy. Looking at his watch, he hoped that the
gesture might stimulate her departure. She ignored it.

"Your mother is alive," she said, searching for
his face. Despite himself, the reference to his mother challenged his
attention.

"My mother?"

"Ah, so you are listening now."

"I'm listening, yes. But I must admit some concern
about your rationality." It crossed his mind that she had become unhinged,
and he felt the responsibility for her protection. He had not expected that
kind of reaction. His mother. My god, she was dead thirty years ago.

"Your father was a Jew." She paused, letting the
words penetrate the long silence. He had become conscious of his heartbeat and
his concern for her was mounting.

"Really, Dawn. It has been too much...."

"Goddammit Albert." She stood up angrily and
paced the room.

"Perhaps a doctor..." He was instantly sorry he
had said it.

"A doctor?" He had expected a massive blowup, but
she became calm when the full import of his meaning became apparent.

"Crazy? You think I'm mad. But really, the story is
too rich. She had a Jewish lover. Apparently your father is sterile. So she had
the von Kassel progeny by proxy. The old Baron caught her in ... what is that
phrase ... flagrante delicto ... and banished her, sending him off to the
Gestapo. He doesn't know you are not his children. Apparently, she struck some
sort of bargain for her lover's life and went away, with appropriate financial
blandishments. Now she has returned to ... to what ... to topple the whole
silly house of cards. I thought surely you'd be amused by it. I imagine your
father will be hysterical. And your aunt. Her sides will split with
laughter."