The House by the Lake (10 page)

What plagued her now was what on earth she would tell Max.

Every room seemed to be a carbon copy of the one before. Linoleum had been stuck fast to every floor except for the hallways, whose floorboards were bare and dusty and rotted through in places. Traces of what had once been elaborate, beautifully designed light surrounds dangled from the ceilings. Every window, whether patched with newspaper or not, was bare of any curtains or blinds. The light shone in where it could, floating through the dust, scattering dotted patterns onto the patched walls.

Anna found it impossible to stop her mind from wandering—wandering to the past, thinking about what these rooms must have once been like. Had Max destroyed all of his photographs of Schloss Siegel too?

It was Anna’s American grandmother, the ever-practical Jean, who had told her that when the family had fled before the Russians came, they had taken only the old village school cart, filling the wagon with anything they could grab.

Anna walked into Max’s old bedroom. A boarded-up fireplace was built into the right wall of the empty room. Try as she might, Anna found it impossible to feel any sense of Max here.

But she had to focus on the task at hand. She had to find Max’s ring. But after breaking three fingernails tugging at the linoleum, she was growing irritated. She was going to have to ask Wil if he had any idea how to remove a box from under the floorboards.

He’d installed himself with his laptop at an old wooden table in the entrance hall. Wil looked up and closed his laptop when Anna hovered on the bottom step.

“No luck?” he asked. Anna saw his eyes run down to her empty hands.

She shook her head, suddenly shy. What had she been thinking? How on earth had she expected to pry up floorboards with her own bare hands?

“I don’t suppose you have a toolbox in your car?”

Wil smiled. “Do I look like the sort of man to carry a toolbox? I should have thought of it, though. It’s a good point.”

“I’m a bit stuck. The floor is kind of—stuck.”

“What color’s the floor in that room?”

“Chicken manure.”

“Nice.”

Anna pressed her lips together.

“We’d have to ask the owner’s permission before removing the linoleum,” Wil pointed out.

“Would they care?”

Wil chuckled. “Oh, yes. She’d care.”

“She? I thought a company owned the Schloss.”

Something twitched in Wil’s cheek. “A businesswoman bought it. It’s simply an investment. She owns a large company and Siegel is just part of her estate.”

“But why is she leaving everything to rot?”

“We’re not here to talk about that, Anna. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Anna sighed. She must stay focused on Max’s ring.

“Hang on,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Your client doesn’t own most of the village too, does she?”

Wil started walking up the stairs.

Anna followed him into Max’s room.

“I can’t discuss my client’s other interests with you, Anna.”

Anna turned to face him and shook her head. A bird called through the trees in the park, its solitary note hanging in the air. Suddenly she was aware of the silence in the empty house.

It was wrong.

“But this is my family’s past,” Anna said, turning to him. “And it deserves a future.”

Wil stood where he was. He shrugged, as if to himself.

What did that shrug mean, exactly? Acceptance? A lack of willingness to fight?

Anna moved toward the window, allowing her eyes to roam over the park. If she wanted Wil to help . . .

He tugged at the linoleum. “It won’t budge,” he said.

“Is there any chance you could ask this—owner—about Max’s ring? Is there any chance that she might understand?”

“Let’s not go down this path again, Anna.” He was quiet for a moment, as if deliberating. “I am so sorry, but I have to get back to work soon. Turns out that a client has to see me.”

“Of course,” Anna murmured.

“Tonight—” Wil was saying.

How was she supposed to convince everyone that this all had to be fixed? “What?”

He shook his head and suddenly that grin that she had seen when she first met him reappeared. “You were off with the pixies.”

“What a funny expression.” In spite of herself, Anna was smiling.

“Didn’t want to interrupt you.” He still looked amused.

Anna hid her own smile.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“About what?”

He chuckled. “Thought so. About what I just said.”

Anna allowed the silence that followed to drift about for a moment. “So, what . . . ?”

“Did I just say?”

She chuckled. “Yes!”

“Well, what I said was, could I pick you up about eight tonight, and maybe we can work out another way of doing this over dinner? Sorry. I really do have to get back to Berlin now.”

Anna’s jaw dropped. She had been expecting him to tell her that there was nothing more he could do to help.

“Oh,” she said. Dinner? She could hear Cass’s voice in her ear. Why not? Why on earth not? But then, that was all it would be—just dinner. No matter how attractive this man was. For goodness’ sake, all he wanted to do was talk about Max’s ring. He was offering to help her. She had no other avenue to follow for Max.

“Anna.” His voice came out of the fog again. “Do you always overanalyze everything?”

“What?”

“I could almost see the thoughts in your head.”

“No, no.”

“I have to go.” He turned to leave the room.

“Okay.”

He stopped, looked at her. “Okay?”

“Yes, thank you. It would be great if we could come up with some more ideas on how to find this ring. And tonight is fine. Thanks.”

“Excellent. Could you text me your mobile number and the address of your hotel?” He handed her a business card.

“Sure.” Anna’s voice came out a little husky as she took the card.

“Good. Let’s get back.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Anna said. As she followed him down the once-beautiful stairs, she understood why Max had never been able to talk about the Schloss. The loss was simply too great.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Schloss Siegel, December 1934

Didi and Jo had taken Virginia sledding with them on the local village slope for the afternoon. It seemed the boys were going to adopt Isabelle’s friend, and Virginia seemed happy to charm them right back.

Isabelle was in the library with Max. He had organized afternoon tea for them both. Snow fluttered outside the tall windows overlooking the park. The terrace outside was carpeted in a thick white layer, and the urns that were dotted along its edge were draped in black coverings, protecting them against the harsh winter.

“I can only imagine what it must have been like to grow up surrounded by such beauty,” Isabelle said. She turned from where she stood in the window to face Max, who leaned against a heavy leather armchair in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

He came to stand next to her. “I wish I felt confident that I could preserve it, that it would be safe.”

Isabelle turned to face him.

A maid appeared with a trolley just then and began to set out thin slices of cake, strudel, slices of rich fruitcake, and doughnuts.

When she left, Isabelle poured coffee.

“You have to try one of these,” Max said, picking up a doughnut. “It is filled with
Pflaumenmus
.”

“What?” Isabelle laughed as he placed the sugar-covered treat onto a plate.

“
Pflaumenmus
.” Max grinned.

“And what on earth is that?”

“Plum jam,” he said, keeping eye contact with her the entire time.

Isabelle kept her eyes on him as she took a bite. The doughnut was delicious, melting in a swirl of sugar and soft dough and sweet jam on her tongue.

“Please tell me that there is no chance that anything will happen to the estate,” Isabelle said.

“I don’t know. We have to be able to support the village. We must provide work.” Max turned the spoon in his cup. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Nuremberg was strange.”

“I wanted to ask you about that,” Isabelle said. He had not mentioned it in his letters. But the topic hung between them.

“It was almost mystical,” Max said. “The pageantry, the color. There were thirty thousand people in the Luitpold Hall.”

“And what did you make of it?” She had read up on Nazism over the fall. If Max was going to support the party, then she worried that she should take a stand too. All her instincts pointed toward one word—no.

But Max sounded far away. “The ‘Badenweiler Marsch’ played when Hitler made his entry. He strode down the aisle while we all had to salute. The lighting was atmospheric. The orchestra played Beethoven, the
Egmont Overture
. Hitler’s speech was almost like word from on high.”

Isabelle stayed quiet.

“Hitler encouraged us to go home and spread the word—his word.”

Isabelle’s sense of unease grew stronger. She had read that the government was Nazifying schools, that there was going to be only one religion permitted in Germany.

Max stood up. “Hitler still insists that if war comes to Europe, it will only be because of Communist chaos. And yet at the same time, he is building up Germany’s strength by staging mock battles using weapons that are allowed by the Versailles Treaty.”

“Your young people are marching the goose step.” Isabelle kept her voice gentle, but the pictures she had seen in the papers had sickened her. What did Max really feel? Apart from duty, honor, family, and his country, what did he want?

Isabelle knew how hard it was for him to separate himself from those things. Where did they end, and where did he begin?

He smiled at her. “My parents are insisting that I support our government. What choice do I have? I cannot abandon everything that I care about; on the contrary, I have to do everything that I can to protect it.”

She stood up, moved toward him.

He lifted his hand to her face, traced his fingers, gently, across her lips. “I adore you, no matter what,” he said.

Isabelle took in a sharp breath. What did that mean?

But his eyes caught hers, and she was lost, again.

Berlin, 2010

There was a frisson among the reception staff at Anna’s hotel when Wil walked into the lobby that evening. But Anna was having none of it. She gave herself a stern reminder that this was a business relationship, nothing more, and that she was going out for dinner with Wil only to help Max.

Wil strolled over to her, seemingly oblivious to anyone who might be staring at him. “Hi there, Anna,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t appear to notice what she was wearing—a classic black dress and heels with her favorite black silk trench coat—nor did he seem interested in even looking at her, which was a relief. Wasn’t it? She was aiming for a professional look. They were simply working together, after all. On her case. That was it.

Wil seemed to be as focused as she was. He opened her car door for her and waited while she climbed into the front seat.

When he was sitting next to her, the interior of the car felt a little close, for some reason, more than it had earlier that day. Maybe because it was dark outside and the only light in the car was the pool cast by the lights in the street. Anna took a deep breath and ignored whatever it was she was feeling. It was annoying, but it would pass. She had not had this feeling for years, and she would not let it bother her now.

“So,” she said, keeping her voice bright.

“I want to take you somewhere that’s out of Berlin,” Wil said, starting the engine. “I hope that’s okay.”

Anna gazed out the window. The sidewalks were bustling with people going out for dinner, window-shopping, bundled up in warm coats. “Sure,” she said. “I don’t suppose someone in your position can afford to be charged with murder, so why not?”

“I had every opportunity to murder you this morning, just decided not to,” Wil said.

Anna sensed her lips forming a smile, but she kept staring out the window.

Wil reached forward for the car radio as they followed the same road out of the city that they had taken that morning. “What sort of music do you like?” he asked.

“Tend to have eclectic taste,” she said. “Jazz, classical, modern.”

He chuckled. “Helpful. Thanks.” He turned on some soft jazz. It was exactly the style that Anna favored. She sat back and let the mellow sounds of the double bass drift through her.

Wil didn’t talk for most of the journey. He seemed content to just drive, and this suited Anna fine. After around forty-five minutes, he drove through an elaborate set of gates and moved along a wide, well-lit driveway lined with bare-limbed trees.

“Another Schloss?” Anna asked. It would be interesting to know how many of the old palaces had been left to decay like Schloss Siegel. Perhaps she could do some research. Then she caught herself. Numbers again. They were such a good retreat for her troubled mind.

“Yes, another Schloss,” Wil said.

But now, Ann found her thoughts skittering about—what were they going to talk about over dinner? It had been easy enough today, because they had a focus. But what if the conversation dried up once they had worked out a plan for Max’s ring? Anna shook her head. This was unlike her. It was ridiculous. She could always ask Wil about his career. That was a good topic.

When the driveway opened out, Anna laughed. “It couldn’t be more different from Schloss Siegel if it tried,” she said.

Wil stayed quiet as she took in the sight before her. Floodlights shone on the expansive facade, highlighting this grand Schloss’s pristine, pale yellow walls. Lines of gleaming cars were parked right in front of the entrance. Anna took in the rows and rows of windows, most of which cast light into the dark country night. Their panes were lined with curtains, tucked into neat tiebacks.

Wil pulled into the parking lot at the right of the building.

“Well,” Anna said. “This seems to be an example of what can be done.”

Wil’s eyes caught hers, and his voice was soft when he finally spoke. “This was my family’s Schloss, Anna.”

Schloss Siegel, December 1934

Drinks were at eight in the salon every evening, and tonight, guests had been invited to the Schloss for dinner. Isabelle sat before the mirror in her bedroom. Rain fell outside, but it was cozy in her private room, which was lit with soft lamps. Virginia was perched on the edge of her bed while Berthe added the finishing touches to Isabelle’s hair.

Once Isabelle was satisfied with her appearance, she collected the lower half of her floor-length evening dress in one hand and followed Virginia to the staircase. The sounds of conversation drifted up from the music salon, mingling with the chamber music that was being provided by a small group of musicians from the Berlin Philharmonic.

“Schubert,” Isabelle mused, almost to herself.

“I wouldn’t know,” Virginia said, gathering her own gold gown into one hand and placing the other on the top of the banister. “I have fallen in love with this entire lifestyle here already, though,” she said.

Isabelle hesitated at the top of the stairs. It was so tempting to raise Max’s political dilemmas with Virginia. But now was not the time to enter into a complex discussion. Isabelle followed her friend down the staircase and into the warm salon, where the guests stood about in front of the three large arched French windows. The terrace outside was lit up, its beauty both stark and wondrous.

Young officers chatted in groups, along with the family and other dinner guests. The young men were from Eberswalde, where there was a regimental headquarters. Some of them had returned after their visit during the summer months. Several young women—daughters of family friends, no doubt—were among the guests, but everyone turned when Isabelle and Virginia entered.

Max was at Isabelle’s side straightaway. He placed a hand on the small of her back, and a footman appeared and offered the young ladies drinks. Two officers followed them as they made their way into the room, seeming to realize that Isabelle was with Max, while Virginia was on her own.

Having seen that Virginia was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, Max led Isabelle over to stand near the windows.

“I’m afraid this is all rather formal tonight,” he said.

Isabelle gazed around the room. “It’s beautiful.” She smiled. She didn’t hide the twinkle in her eye.

“Mutti cultivates people, you see. Otherwise, she finds the countryside dull.”

At half past eight, the butler stood in the double doorway and announced dinner. Max smiled at Isabelle and held out his arm for her. As he did so, Isabelle noticed his quick glance back toward Virginia, checking, no doubt, that she had a partner to walk her into dinner. Isabelle smiled to herself at his thoughtfulness. If she wasn’t already completely in love, she knew that she was falling in deeper every day.

Max led her through the next room, its wallpaper decorated with bright birds against a background of dark foliage. Lamps cast a soft glow in here too, and the long white candles that sat in silver holders on the table in the middle of the room were lit.

“This is such an intimate room,” Isabelle said. “I can’t help thinking that my grandmother would love this.”

“The small dining room is one of my favorite rooms in Siegel,” Max said. “I hope that your grandmother will visit us here soon.”

Isabelle chewed on her lip as they moved toward the next set of open double doors and the big dining room. The thought of Marthe coming to Schloss Siegel caused Isabelle the sharpest of confusion. She couldn’t continue much longer without telling Max the truth—and it was not fair to Marthe to withhold who she really was either. But the longer Isabelle left it, the harder it seemed.

At dinner, Isabelle chatted nervously with the officers who sat on either side of her, both of them able to carry on a conversation of sorts in English. She picked at the food in front of her—dumplings in white sauce, followed by rump steak with fried onions, and then pancakes with blueberries and elderberry soup with egg-white islands. Two hours after dinner began, she found herself relieved to be dancing in Max’s arms in the salon.

After several turns around the room, Isabelle spotted Virginia making faces at her from where she was surrounded by a group of young men. Isabelle recognized Virginia’s expression, and she told Max that she needed to talk to her friend.

“Virginia, I am so sorry to interrupt. I need you for a moment,” Isabelle said, putting on her brightest smile.

“Oh really, darling?” Virginia said, in her best Southern imitation.

“Yes, you see, I have this dreadful problem.” Isabelle had to force herself to stop a grin.

The young men looked devastated, as only young men who think they have a fighting chance with a girl can look.

“Maybe we can help,” one of them said in broken English. He had a particularly eager face and disposition. “Why don’t you both stay here? We can chat?”

“We really should go,” Virginia said. “You boys will be just fine without us for a while.”

“But you’ll be back, won’t you?” another one groaned.

Virginia patted him with her elegant gloved hand. “Oh, of course we will,” she reassured him. She reached up, placing her hand in Isabelle’s.