Tempting Fate (43 page)

There was the sound of an automobile in the driveway, and a cheerful greeting called out. “I’m home in good time!”

Then, as Hedda started down the stairs and Olympie began to cry, Simeon Schnaubel opened the door of his home and stared in bewilderment at the abandoned roses at his feet.

Text of a letter from James Emmerson Tree to Madelaine de Montalia.

Amsterdam

September 4, 1921

Madelaine de Montalia

Hotel Anglais

Bucharest, Romania

Dearest Madelaine:

Try to keep me away. I’ll meet you in Lausanne in three weeks or go to Australia for the shame of it. But what on earth are you doing in Bucharest? Take my advice and stay out of that area. There’s too much going on in that part of the world, what with Charles trying to get the throne of Hungary back for himself, and with the King of Yugoslavia just dead, there’s no telling what will happen next. That area could be another Persia, and I don’t want to see you caught in it. You told me yourself that one of the reasons you decided to come back to France was that with the new King of Syria just in power, you didn’t want to endanger your team. What makes you think Romania is much different from Syria?

They say that the Avus Autobahn will open in Berlin next week. There are half a dozen journalists who are going over to have a look at it. Everyone is saying that it’s the way of the future. It would make things a lot easier to have auto roads with a decent surface and more than two lanes. I’ll take you driving on it, if you like. I’ve got a new automobile, a Mors. It’s two years old and there’s a dent in it, but it’s still the greatest thing I’ve ever owned. Maybe after Lausanne we can drive up to Berlin and try out the Avus Autobahn.

I’ve been trying to get some reactions to General Mitchell’s contention about aeroplanes and navies. The Dutch are great seafarers, and no one has paid them much attention, so I’ve been asking shipbuilders if they could make a ship safe from aerial bombs. Since General Mitchell sank the
Ostfriesland,
there’s been quite an argument about it. The generals can’t make up their minds, but the shipbuilders tell me that they are pretty much worried. I’d like to get the opinion of some of the shipbuilders in Germany, but I don’t know if they’d talk to me. After all, the
Ostfriesland
was one of theirs, and General Mitchell sank it.

Now that the Civil War is over in Russia, I’m going to see if I can get in there to do a story on the famine, which is supposed to be terrible. I’m not holding out much hope for being permitted in, but I want to try. If I go, it’ll be a fairly quick trip: Crandell doesn’t want me that far away for Very long. I understand there’s going to be a relief act passed back home so that the U.S. can send food over to them. That would be a story to file.

I’ve missed you so much, Madelaine. I dream about you at night, and that Dr. Freud wouldn’t have to guess about these dreams, believe me. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve arranged to have ten days for you. When I thought you wouldn’t be back for a time, I considered going back to the States for a little time, but now that you’ll be in France, I’d rather have my vacation time with you than in Denver or St. Louis or New York, for that matter. I’ll be at the Reine Marie on the twenty-sixth, that’s a promise.

I’ve got to get two more interviews into the mail tonight, so I’ll close now. Besides, there are things I can’t tell you in words, and if I try much longer, this letter is going to have to be written on asbestos.

All my love, and I mean that,

James

9

There was a stand of birches around Wolkighügel, and behind them the pines offered their eternal shadow. The first touch of autumn had already spangled the leaves and a few lay on the ground like coins. This afternoon there was still enough warmth left in the air to permit Jürgen’s servant to carry him out onto the narrow terrace at the back of the Schloss, where the sun could reach his parchmentlike skin and impassive face. Walther sat nearby, a book open and unread in his lap.

“May I come out?” Gudrun asked, and saw Walther start as she spoke to him.

“Of course, Frau Ostneige,” Walther said, but there was that ill-concealed resentment that had become familiar to Gudrun over the last two years.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I have so few chances to see Jürgen these days.” She had put on a new dress, a modest and becoming afternoon frock in lavender wool. The skirt hem was only four inches above her ankles, but the condemning glance that Walther gave her made her feel a hussy, and she darted a challenging look at him.

“He’s not up to visitors,” Walther said grudgingly. “But you, being his wife … Come ahead.” He half-rose, then sank back in the chair.

“Yes, wives are different, aren’t they?” Gudrun said sweetly before she turned to look at Jürgen. She had never got used to the shock of seeing him so changed. He was little more than a husk, and everything she had ever loved in him, ever known, was gone. She forced herself to smile affectionately while telling herself the whole thing was a travesty. “I’m glad to see you outside, Jürgen,” she said in a bright, loud voice. It had been more than a year since she was able to address him as husband.

“He doesn’t respond much,” Walther said. “I’ve asked the doctor about it, but there’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do but care for him and trust that God will restore him.”

“Yes,” Gudrun said, wanting to shout that it was a lie. “Jürgen, I’m having our neighbors over to tea. We’re being very English today, with little cakes and sandwiches. I wish you could join us. Walpurga is very frail now, but she does like good conversation. Gerwald hates to deny her the opportunity to get out. You might remember them.” She searched Jürgen’s faded eyes for some sign that he had heard her, but there was nothing. She stepped back, almost sighing.

“He is growing tired, Frau Ostneige,” Walther informed her. “When he is tired, he does not show much interest.”

“No,” she said sadly, thinking that Jürgen must be tired all the time. Poor man, if he was, to have to be locked away from the world, wanting nothing more than rest. She looked up, shocked, a flush tingeing her cheeks. There were those who would condemn her for such sentiments, and quite rightly. It was not her husband’s fault that he had become something so … alien to her. She leaned forward a bit. Yes, that was it. He was like a creature from another country, another planet, with nothing in common with her.

“Perhaps I should take him in, Frau Ostneige?” Walther’s tone was always polite, but the contempt he felt for her was apparent.

“Why is it necessary? The air is pleasant, isn’t it?” She took petty satisfaction in opposing him. “You’ve said so many times that he has few pleasures, why deny him another ten minutes here?”

Walther glared at her. “Gnädige Frau,” he said, becoming more subservient as his annoyance increased, “I’m sure you mean kindly by your husband. I must point out that a man who is not often in the sun must limit his exposure to it, or risk burning. Your husband is in no condition to stand a burn at the moment.”

“Then move him so that he is in shadow. Or will that make him cold, which we must also not risk?” She let her voice become sharp for the last of her question, and did not wait for Walther to answer. “Oh, do as you think best. Doubtless you believe that I am too feckless to keep him alive if he were left in my care. But remember that this is my home, Walther Stoff. It is not Jürgen who pays you for your attentive care, but I. Without my inheritance and caution, we would not have Wolkighügel, or fuel to burn, or food on the table. Before you rebuke me, reflect on this.”

“I am aware of the financial arrangements here, Gnädige Frau,” Walther said through tightened teeth as he recalled those days, not so very long ago, when it would have been unthinkable that a woman should address him, or any man, in such a tone. “But let me say that your husband was my commander in battle, and for that reason, if no other, I would not desert him if it meant that I begged bread for him on the meanest street in München.”

“Luckily, that isn’t necessary,” Gudrun countered, thinking that it was infuriating to be lectured in this way. “I will leave you, Walther, since I am clearly not wanted here.” She looked once at Jürgen as she turned to leave. She wondered if he heard the argument, if he understood it, if he cared it was happening. There was no change in his face, and his eyes had the same vacant expression she had seen so many times when she had tried to speak with him. She sighed, thinking it hopeless.

“I will inform you when Herr Ostneige retires,” Walther announced with great formality, his badger-gray head lowered with derisive courtesy.

“How kind,” Gudrun murmured, and stepped back into the rose sitting room, which faced the stable and an area which a century ago had been a rose garden and was now being cleared for a tennis court.

“There you are!”

Gudrun turned as her brother came through the door. “Maxl, you’re back.” In spite of herself, she was glad to see him. “I’m surprised you’re—”

“Well, there was no reason to stay two weeks, after all,” he said with a merry wave of his hand. “There were a great many people—the von Grünstrasse clan is as enormous as ever, it seems—and it was really rather boring, so I came home. It wasn’t as if I was that far away.” He reached up to loosen his tie, grinning at her. “I stopped in München and brought a friend with me. You remember Helmut Rauch, don’t you? The banker? Now, there’s a man you should know better, sister mine. He has been making predictions about the sad state of the economy ever since we crossed the Istar.”

“But…” She chose her words carefully, knowing how easily Maximillian could take offense. “I am having company at tea. They … It’s Gerwald and Walpurga, and I don’t think you’ll find them very entertaining.…”

“Those old fossils? I should think not! Whatever possessed you to invite them?” His outrage was faintly mocking.

“Well, you were not here, Maxl, and they are neighbors. It’s difficult enough with Jürgen ill as he is, but this way I don’t feel completely walled up in this place!” She was astonished at her own indignation. “Oh, Maxl, pay no attention. I … I’ve had a quarrel with Walther and I think I’m still upset.” She saw some of the thunder fade from his brow. “I’m sure your friend is welcome here, my dear, and if you think he would enjoy having tea with us, then, by all means, come to the main drawing room. With a straightened tie, however.” She was pleased and relieved to see the smile come back into his eyes.

“What a minx you are. I’ll speak to Helmut, but don’t expect us. I think we may take the horses out for some exercise. Maybe stop at the Hirsch Furt for a little refreshment. What time do you expect the orgy to be over?” He reached out and gave an affectionate pat to her cheek.

“I doubt they’ll stay later than five-thirty, and I’ve asked dinner to be served at eight.” She had done no such thing, but she knew her cook would require time to prepare for two more guests, particularly if Helmut Rauch had as hearty an appetite as Maxl did.

“Well, no doubt we’ll be back by then. Don’t eat it all by yourself, will you?” He glanced out the window toward the terrace. “Poor old Jürgen. I don’t suppose there’s been any change?”

“I haven’t been aware of any,” she answered carefully.

“Terrible thing. Let’s not dwell on it.” He ambled toward the door and turned to smile at her. “I know you’ve been worried about me, but I assure you, Gudrun, I’m not quite the wastrel some of our friends think I am. When things change, you’ll see that…” He stopped and shrugged. “We’ll talk later.”

“Very good.” She sighed as the door closed behind him. For the better part of a minute she stood quite still, her gaze fixed on nothing more than the pattern in the carpet. What if she simply ran away? she asked herself. What if she packed a bag, took the Hispaño-Suiza, and drove to … anywhere? Leave Wolkighügel to Maxl and Otto and Jürgen, forget everything that had been her past and become someone else, someone quite new.…

The little clock on the end table chimed the half-hour and Gudrun scowled at it. No, it was not possible. She was an Altbrunnen and an Ostneige, Wolkighügel was her home, and it was contemptible to think of abandoning her responsibilities like one of those reckless American heiresses she occasionally read about in the magazines. She was part of a tradition, an honor. She smoothed the front of her dress and went into the hall, deciding that she must first placate the cook, and then ask Otto to run a few errands for her.

Maximillian was not aware of these troubled thoughts that plagued his sister. He sauntered out into the L-shaped courtyard and waved to Helmut, who was pulling a suitcase from the trunk of his new Mercedes. “We’ve arrived at the wrong moment,” he called out. “Seems my sister is having a couple of ancient neighbors in to tea. If you can imagine that!” He laughed, and if the sound of it was a trifle wild, neither man noticed it enough to remark on it.

“Then we’re imposing,” Helmut said heavily.

“Nothing of the sort. You and I can take a couple of horses and go for a ride. Gudrun keeps the stable—not the way it was when our father was alive, but there should be five or six passable animals to choose from. It’s a pleasant day for it, don’t you think?” He was eager to show Helmut his most charming manner, as he had the uneasy feeling that the young banker did not think well of him.

“I haven’t brought riding clothes.” He had set the suitcase down and fastidiously wiped his hands with a large linen handkerchief.

“Who needs them? It’s not as if we’ll be making a social event of it.” He tried to make light of the objection without seeming a complete boor.

Helmut responded sharply, with something of the manner he had used to his subordinates in the army. “My dear Altbrunnen, I haven’t brought my boots, and it would hardly do to greet your sister at dinner with shoes that stink of horses. If we’re to have an outing, let it be in the automobile.”