The Silver Castle

by Nancy Buckingham

  The episode was so vivid in my mind. I could recall every minute detail. “Do you need any help?” he had asked, and I’d spun around and he was there, looking in at me through the car window. I remembered being concerned that his grey suit was getting spotted with rain, but he hadn’t seemed to care. I’d liked his voice, I’d liked the look of him at once. And he’d smiled at me that day, just as he’d smiled at me yesterday, looking really pleased to see me again ... until that dreadful moment when he’d learned who I was.

  I said lightly, “I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I was to have your help. If you hadn’t come along just then, I’d never have managed.”

  “You would have.” He smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Do you know, I was very tempted to invite you to have coffee with me or something, and catch a later plane. Would you have accepted, Gail?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, and my heart was pounding. “I expect so.”

  I knew so. But what were we doing, discussing might-have-beens? I coughed away the huskiness in my throat and added quickly, “Until yesterday, all I knew about you was that you were Frau Kreuder’s stepson. It wasn’t until last night, when I was out with Raimund, that he told me about Valencienne and my father.”

  “I realise that.” He gave me a long, steady, measuring look. “Do you like Raimund?”

  “Yes, of course, he’s very pleasant.” Flustered by the candour of his gaze, I added teasingly, “I think he’s half afraid of you.”

  “With good reason.”

  “So it’s true, you do bully him.”

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “No, he didn’t. I just put two and two together.”

  Anton said, after a moment’s careful thought, “Raimund missed having a father’s guiding hand during his late teens, and his mother spoiled him. It’s meant that he has developed the instincts of a playboy, and he has some strange ideas when it comes to ethical values.”

  “He’s been very good to me,” I objected. “Very land.”

  A look I couldn’t interpret flashed swiftly across Anton’s face.

  “Raimund has the trick of winning sympathy, especially from beautiful girls.”

  “You don’t seem to like your brother very much.”

  “On the contrary, I’m very fond of him. That is why I am prepared to go to such lengths to save him from himself.”

  There was a gravity in his tone that I found puzzling. “You make it sound as if Raimund has done something dreadful.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Anton’s lips curved into a smile; but it was a forced smile, strained and unnatural. “Forget what I said, Gail.”

  The seconds pulsed by in awkward silence. I was intensely aware of the barrier that stood between us, making it impossible for Anton Kreuder and me to be frank with one another. And yet, despite this, I felt strangely in sympathy with him. I could understand so much that he hadn’t put into words. Considering his youth at the time of his father’s death, it was forgivable that he should be a little overserious in carrying out the responsibilities entrusted to him. He’d had to bear the entire burden of running the family business, and at the same time watch over the upbringing of a young half-brother, whose crippled mother had been too ready to indulge him. As for the tragedy that linked our two lives, I felt a deep sense of compassion for Anton. He was trying desperately to be fair to my father, who, no matter what muddled reasons he might have had for what he did, no matter how little he could be held to blame, had brought down an avalanche of scandal and misery upon the Kreuder family. And especially upon Anton himself.

  I found myself wondering about Anton’s relationship with Valencienne. I didn’t doubt that Anton Kreuder was a proud man, and I could guess how deeply his pride must have been wounded by the knowledge that his wife was unfaithful to him. Was it because he no longer loved Valencienne that he could so easily appear to accept her liaisons with other men? What sort of loyalty had bound him to Valencienne, when their marriage had failed in everything that counted? There were no children, and I wondered if this was her decision or his, her fault or his. And would children perhaps have cemented the marriage more securely?

  Questions. Questions without answers.

  Anton said, “What is that you’ve been clutching so tightly all this while?”

  In surprise I stared down at my hands and found I was gripping the piece of wood that Willi had carved. Anton reached out to take it from me.

  “What is it supposed to be?”

  “A boat, I suppose. I found it here today, left lying on the bed. I think the boy Willi must have made it. He’s very clever at wood-carving.”

  Anton turned the boat over, studying its shape from several angles. He said absently, not looking at me, “Does this mean you have met Willi?”

  “I’ve seen him here twice, but not to talk with. He ran away both times.”

  “You couldn’t talk to Willi,” Anton said. “Did you not realise that he’s deaf and dumb?”

  Pity caught at my throat. It seemed such a horribly cruel fate.

  “Is that really true?”

  “I’m afraid it is. From birth.”

  “The poor boy. I tried speaking to him in German, using the few words I know, but he didn’t respond at all. I thought it was because he was too scared. I wonder why Frau Kreuder didn’t mention to me that he was deaf and dumb.”

  Anton darted me a curious look. “Should she have done?”

  “Well, I mentioned that I’d seen a boy here at the chalet, and she told me that he’s called Willi, and is a bit simple-minded. But she didn’t say anything about this other disability.”

  “I suppose she didn’t think it was relevant. I’ll have a padlock fitted on the door to keep him out.”

  “Oh no, let him come. I believe he finds a sort of comfort here, a feeling of being close to my father. Have you noticed how immaculately tidy the chalet is? That could only have been Willi.”

  Anton glanced around him. “He’s an odd lad. It’s impossible to know what goes on in Willi’s head.”

  “In a strange sort of way, I think I do know. I get a strong impression that he really worshipped my father. Perhaps he was the only person who encouraged Willi with his wood-carving, and made him think he had talent.”

  Anton looked dubiously at the crude boat in his hand. “And is he talented?”

  “I’m sure of it. There’s a curiously vital quality about that carving that’s vaguely reminiscent of some African fetish masks I saw at an exhibition in London last year. It’s more than just a primitive representation of a boat. There’s something ... something tragic about it. I expect you’ll think I’m being fanciful again, but it’s as if the boy is trying to convey his feelings about my father’s death in the only way he can.”

  Anton let a few moments of silence go by. Then, with a shrug, he turned and briskly laid the carving down on the table.

  “I’ll take your word for it, Gail. But I shouldn’t give Willi any encouragement, if I were you. Otherwise, he’ll become a nuisance.”

  “I won’t be here to encourage him,” I pointed out. But the thought was chilling now. My determination to leave right away seemed to lack point. The Kreuders wanted me to stay, or at least they wanted not to drive me away. So did I really have to go?

  Yes, because I’d said I was going. I couldn’t backtrack now, couldn’t weakly announce that I’d changed my mind ... unless Anton asked me to, once again. I waited, my breath coming fast, and left the outcome to him.

  His eyes, under the strongly marked brows, were strangely clouded as he looked at me.

  “I was hoping, Gail, that what’s been said between us now would alter things for you. I’m asking you to stay on here for a while for my stepmother’s sake. I know she seems a person very much in control of herself, but Benedict’s death, and the circumstances of it, left her badly shaken. She likes you, I know she does, and it would be such a help to her if you didn’t rush away.”

  It wasn’t e
nough that he should ask me to stay for Sigrid’s sake. I was greedy, I wanted more than that.

  I looked back at him, a question in my eyes. But I dared not voice it, and said instead, “If you’re honest, you must wish in your heart that I’d clear off back to England and not trouble any of you again. Isn’t that so?”

  Why did he take so long to answer? Why did he look past me into the shadowy corners of the room?

  He said at last, “Gail, I’d like you to stay. Please say you will.”

  My heart lurched oddly and I caught my breath. With a pretension of calm, I said, “I won’t go today, then. I’ll stay on for a while ... a few more days. Then we’ll have to see.”

  Something fell to the floor with a thud. The boat, ill balanced where he’d hastily laid it, had fallen off the table. I bent and retrieved it, carrying it to the bed where Willi had left it for me to see. I took a small note pad from my handbag and ripped off a page. With a ballpoint pen I drew a rough sketch of a hand, fingers clenched and the thumb sticking up. This, surely, was a symbol of approval he would understand? I propped it inside the boat.

  Anton, waiting by the door, made way for me to pass.

  “I’ll drive you back to the Schloss,” he said. “Sigrid will be delighted when we tell her that you are staying.”

  Chapter Eight

  I had been gazing too fixedly at the woman in the black Persian lamb coat. She murmured something to her companion and quietly withdrew her hand from his. He turned in his seat, recognised me, nodded and smiled. Confused at being caught staring, I gave my close attention to the guidebook about Zurich’s art galleries.

  I couldn’t help wondering what Ernst Schiller was doing here with this strikingly elegant woman at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning. I myself had come to the Odeon to drink a cup of coffee and take a look at this most arty of the Zurich cafes. I liked its rather splendid ambience, still peopled as it were by the ghosts of literati long departed.

  Presently, my eyes kept firmly down, I observed Ernst and the woman stand up to leave. He didn’t glance my way again as he guided her to the door with one hand held lightly under her elbow, and I watched them pass out into the street. A couple of minutes later, to my surprise, Ernst re-entered the cafe alone and came straight across to my table.

  “Hello, Gail. Wie geht’s? May I join you?”

  “Please do,” I said. “I thought you’d gone.”

  “I just went outside to find a taxi for the lady,” he explained smoothly. “In a law practice like mine, it’s necessary to entertain one’s clients and pay them these little attentions.”

  I let my eyebrows quirk sceptically. “I quite understand.”

  “How kind of you.” His smile held a tentative question. ‘It isn’t everyone who would understand.”

  “But then not everyone would know, would they?” I had no intention of carrying tales to Helga about her husband.

  Ernst relaxed visibly. Signalling to a waiter, he drew out a chair and sat down.

  “How fortunate that I have a little time before my next appointment. Now I am able to spend it in the company of another beautiful woman, one who happens to be a guest of my mother-in-law and therefore beyond suspicion.” He gave me a look of curiosity. “I gather there was something of an upset when Anton returned unexpectedly. Has he calmed down yet?”

  I said, keeping my voice level, “It is a difficult situation, but we’re both reasonable people.”

  “Ja, of course.” Ernst took a pigskin cigar case from his pocket. “You don’t mind?” I shook my head and he lit a cheroot. Drawing on it, he continued, “Aren’t you longing to get home to London, to forget this whole wretched business?”

  “Whether I’m here or whether I’m in London, I’ll never be able to forget.” I was quoting Anton, I realised.

  “But it must make a difference, being here with everything to remind you. I think you’re wise to come into Zurich and get away from the Schloss for a few hours. What have you been doing this morning?”

  I laid my hand on the booklet I’d been studying, still open on the table. “Looking at pictures at the Kunsthaus.”

  He made a wry face. “Alas, I’m a real heathen when it comes to art. Music is my thing. You like it too, I gather. Raimund was saying the other evening that he’d taken you to a Konzert at the Tonhalle.”

  “Yes, Chopin and Mendelssohn. It was most enjoyable.”

  This friendliness from Ernst Schiller was unexpected. On the evening he and Helga had dined at the Schloss he’d mostly sat in dour silence, contributing very little to the conversation ... though perhaps he’d felt embarrassed by his wife’s carping hostility towards me. But he hadn’t been at all amiable on our first encounter.

  I said on an impulse, “That time we met in the cafe in Rietswil, why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  Ernst avoided my glance. “I was thrown off balance, nicht wehr? Never having known that Benedict Sherbrooke had a daughter, I did not know what to say to you.”

  I couldn’t really believe that a suave and experienced lawyer like Ernst would have been so easily disconcerted.

  “What you really mean is that you were trying to shield me, like your mother-in-law and Raimund. No doubt you thought you were being considerate, but it was a mistaken idea. I had to know the truth sooner or later.”

  He stroked his beard, and his pale eyes regarded me impassively. “You have taken it very well, Gail, I must say. I was surprised, though, to hear that you were staying on even though Anton was back. Do you not find it rather uncomfortable, having him around?”

  “I did intend to leave at once ... in fact I’d actually booked my flight. But then Anton persuaded me to stay on for a while longer.”

  “Anton did? I wonder why?” He flashed me a quick smile of apology. “Do please forgive me ... that does not sound very polite.”

  Ernst might well find it curious, and I didn’t want him speculating. I said hastily, “It was really for Frau Kreuder’s sake, more than anything. Anton thought it would upset her if she felt I was being pushed out.”

  “That makes sense.” Ernst leaned back and crossed his legs as the waiter set down the coffee. “Sigrid is obviously very fond of you, Gail.”

  “I’m glad. But I realise, of course, that it’s only a reflection of the high regard she had for my father.”

  Idly picking up his spoon, Ernst drew imaginary crisscross lines on the polished marble table.

  “Gail, would it offend you if I suggested that Sigrid was a little ... obsessive about your father?”

  “I’d agree with you. She keeps talking about him being a genius. But talented though he was, I’m afraid he fell short of that.”

  Ernst looked up at me sharply. “You haven’t said this to Sigrid?”

  “No, it would only cause her distress, and nothing would be gained.”

  He nodded. “I wouldn’t particularly want my wife to know, either. She’s very bitter about Benedict Sherbrooke.”

  “Helga is? I don’t understand you.”

  “As a child, she was passionate about painting and believed she had a real talent for it, but her mother refused to take her ambitions seriously. It was Helga’s one desire to have some expert tuition, but she was never allowed this.”

  “Why ever not? It seems extraordinary when Frau Kreuder is so keen about art.”

  Ernst hesitated, then gave me a candid look. “Perhaps Sigrid couldn’t face the prospect of having her daughter turn out to possess more artistic talent than she did herself. With Benedict, it was an entirely different matter. He was her discovery, her protégé. All Sigrid’s adulation was poured out upon your father, and Helga came in for nothing but scorn and ridicule.”

  “Is that really true?” I felt deeply shocked. “How very unfair.”

  “Helga constantly broods about the unfairness of it, I’m afraid. She tends to shut herself away with her collection of antique dolls ... though whether they are a compensation for her thwarted ambitions or for never
being able to have children, I am not sure.”

  A shaft of sunlight pierced the filmy window curtains, freckling our table with gold. I sipped my coffee and resolved to be more understanding towards Helga if and when I met her again. That Ernst should talk about his wife like this seemed brutal. Yet something in his manner, a strand of wistfulness perhaps, softened the harshness of the words. I felt pity for them both.

  Changing the subject abruptly, Ernst said, “Your boyfriend must be getting impatient for you to get home.”

  I thought about Colin and the scribbled note I’d received from him this morning, demanding to know when I was thinking of returning.

  “There’s no one special at the moment,” I said.

  “Ach! What a waste.” Then, seriously, he added, “I should not stay around here too long, just being made use of. There is no future in it for you.”

  “Who is making use of me?” I asked.

  “All of them, in their different ways ... well, not Raimund, I suppose. Sigrid clings to you because she has lost her idol and you can help fill the emptiness. And Anton ... his motives are complicated, ja, but I think I can see them. He failed his wife, by neglect and indifference, and finally drove her to another man, so that Valencienne’s death must be laid at his door. But by accepting you, Benedict Sherbrooke’s daughter ... by not driving you away, he can more easily come to terms with his own sense of guilt.”

  I was silent, stunned by a feeling of shock, finding it oddly difficult to breath.

  “Forgive me, Gail, I’ve said too much. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, it’s not that. But... you paint a different picture of Anton’s marriage from the one he gave me himself.”

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “Not a great deal, I admit. It was more the impression he gave me. I got the feeling that it wasn’t Anton’s fault that his marriage had failed.”

  “But then he’d hardly confess his blame to you, would he? Mind you, I’m not suggesting that Anton has sorted out his feelings concerning himself and Valencienne and Benedict. I’m just trying to give you the psychology behind his attitude towards you. I doubt if I’m far wrong.”