Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  'Maximilian von Hartog,' he said formally.

  'Good morning,' she responded politely as he came towards her, hand outstretched.

  They shook hands, and she felt the smooth skin of slim fingers and a muscular hand, the grasp firm before he released her and stepped away.

  'Won't you sit down?' He gestured to the table.

  She nodded and they sat down opposite each other.

  'I must apologise for last night,' he said smoothly. 'I'd forgotten you would have arrived, and was looking for somewhere to leave the children's presents.'

  'That's all right,' she replied with slight awkward-ness. She raised her head to look into his face, aware of a curious dryness in her throat and a slightly nervous tremor. He returned her gaze, cool, formal and polite, the green eyes steady in the tanned face.

  Just then Lisl arrived with coffee, rolls, hot milk and curled pats of butter. Fresh fruit and home-made preserves were already on the table.

  Sophie relaxed, chiding herself for her nervous qualms as he poured coffee for them both.

  'You had a good journey?' he enquired.

  'Thank you, yes.'

  'I understand you know Kitzbühl. You've been here before?'

  'I've spent some holidays here,' she explained easily as she began to eat.

  'And you speak German?'

  'A little.'

  'We are lucky to have you,' he said next. 'Indeed, we're grateful you've come at all. I understand from your agent it was at some inconvenience. You had to re-arrange your plans.'

  She didn't respond to that, picking up her cup and drinking the excellent coffee, her attention fully on her breakfast.

  'When are the children arriving?' she asked.

  'They'll be here in time for lunch. I've arranged with Lisl that she spends time with you this morning showing you the house.'

  'Thank you. Can you tell me something of the children's routine while they're here?'

  'That was my intention in asking you to join me this morning,' he said drily, and she was aware of a sudden dislike for this cool, handsome man. Did he think she assumed he had a personal interest in having breakfast with her? She raised her chin at the thought and met his eyes. They held a curious smile, almost as though he knew what she was thinking, and she veiled her own expression, waiting for him to continue.

  'You will want to deal with their breakfast,' he suggested, quite correctly, 'and your kitchen upstairs is equipped for that. Lisl will arrange for fresh rolls and whatever else you need to be taken up to you each morning.' He paused and bit into a crisp roll, white teeth flashing for a moment in the tanned face. Sophie looked down at her coffee. 'They'll go to ski school in the morning from nine to twelve, I think. You might check the finishing time with the instructor when you take them tomorrow. Lunch they'll have downstairs, and, apart from breakfast, Lisl will make their meals.'

  She looked up in surprise, a question on her lips. He gestured vaguely with one well-shaped hand. 'It's easier that way. They're on holiday, and you may wish to go to the ski school yourself while waiting for them. I prefer you to spend time with the children rather than in the kitchen. If you can cope with their personal laundry while they rest, that would be much appreciated by Lisl. She has her hands full at this time of year. We have open house, and different members of the family may drop in for the odd day's skiing. Their evening meal the children will have upstairs, and I leave you to make your arrangements with Lisl, whether you share this with them or eat afterwards.'

  He looked across at her.

  'There will be days when I wish you to have dinner downstairs because that may be the only time to discuss problems.'

  Sophie didn't comment or agree, and after a moment he leaned back, touching his napkin to his mouth, before taking a small cigar and lighting it slowly. His movements were oddly graceful, she thought absently, and she noticed his hands, slim, but strong. In spite of his size, he seemed to carry no fat, his shoulders and arms in the light sweater muscled and powerful.

  'That leaves your free time,' he said next.

  'I understand I will have one day a week,' she said, her eyes on her plate.

  'Will Sunday be suitable?'

  'Thank you.'

  'And the evenings, of course. If you wish to go out, just let Lisl know and she'll keep an ear open for the children. They're not babies, but if they know you're going out, they may get into mischief.'

  'Emil is eleven, I understand, and Erika nine?'

  'Yes.' He looked surprised.

  'Unfortunately that's the extent of my information. There wasn't time to find out anything else.' She smiled at him, her eyes briefly lit with warmth.

  His face suddenly stilled, the cigar in his hand arrested in mid air, the green eyes intent, and Sophie was aware of tension, electrically charged. Her smile died abruptly. The sensation lasted only an instant before he collected himself and got up.

  'I believe that's all,' he said. 'Have you any questions?'

  'No,' she replied quietly, 'unless there's anything more I should know, any special circumstances that might affect my dealing with the children.'

  He was standing by the windows looking out and she had a long way to look up at his profile. His height she had noticed the previous evening, but now she noted the wide shoulders and immensely long legs before he spoke.

  'They are children of recently divorced parents, and this I believe you know. But I don't approve of children being handled with kid gloves because they've suffered traumas which should not be part of childhood. On the contrary, the more normal their everyday life, the sooner they'll adapt to changed family circumstances.'

  He turned to her.

  'I trust to your good sense in dealing with them. I understand from your agent that she chose you because of your sensitivity and understanding.'

  Sophie looked back at him with some curiosity. His voice was casual and impersonal. Was he hiding some deeper emotion in talking of his children and the loss of their mother? Her eyes moved to the window. How had the break-up of the family come about? Had his wife left him? Or had he found someone he preferred to the mother of his children? Whatever the traumas he mentioned, his own attitude seemed oddly remote and unfeeling.

  Her glance moved back to him to meet an intent stare strangely charged with feeling, almost as though he was demanding something of her that he couldn't put into words. Was he worried that she might hurt his children? Did he think she would be uncaring of their feelings?

  She held his gaze, her regard steady, her eyes untroubled.

  'I will do my best to ensure they enjoy their holiday without additional tensions,' she said quietly, and relaxed as he withdrew his eyes from their concentrated perusal of her face.

  'Thank you,' he said coolly.

  'If you'll excuse me now,' she said, and got up. He didn't turn as she walked quietly out of the room.

  It was mid-morning when the quiet of the house erupted into noise. Sophie heard the tramping of feet mingle with the low murmur of voices and guessed that the children had arrived. Casting a last look round the nursery to check everything was neat and tidy, she walked out on to the landing. Through the windows she could see the sleigh drawn up outside, the children climbing down as Peter unstrapped the luggage. Slowly she made her way downstairs.

  She was half-way down when the front door opened. At the same moment, Maximilian von Hartog came out into the hall from his study. So he had not fetched the children from the station, she thought fleetingly before the two youngsters came charging into the hall below her.

  'Onkel Max. Onkel Max!' The little girl ran across and hurled herself into his arms. Uncle Max. So he was not the children's father, he was their uncle. She looked down at him in total astonishment as he bent to scoop up the child who wound her arms tightly round his neck and kissed him passionately on both cheeks.

  'Hello, little one,' he greeted her, and lifted his head to glance up at Sophie, his eyebrows raised in ironic amusement. Sharply she turned away. He ha
d done it deliberately, she thought, misleading her at breakfast, and she felt a spurt of anger at his arrogance before her attention was drawn away from him.

  Coming towards her now was another man. Tall, slightly stooped and thin, he was dressed in a thick overcoat and fur hat. Brown eyes regarded her steadily as he pulled off his gloves and smiled gently.

  'Miss Carter?' he asked in a soft voice, and held out his hand. 'Klaus von Hartog, the children's father.'

  Sophie walked down the remaining steps and took the outstretched hand.

  'Welcome,' he said in German. 'I trust you've been made quite comfortable.'

  'Thank you, yes.'

  'May I present my son, Emil?' he introduced the boy, drawing him forward. 'Make your bow to Miss Carter, Emil,' he instructed. The boy took Sophie's hand and clicked his heels, bowing his head briefly before he lifted serious eyes to stare up at her. Thin and slight with soft blond hair brushed neatly back from an intelligent forehead, he had a small, rather anxious face.

  'Emil,' acknowledged Sophie gravely.

  'And my daughter Erika.' He turned to his daughter. 'Nanny Carter,' he said to her.

  Still held by her uncle, she looked down into Sophie's face.

  'Erika,' Sophie said quietly as she met the fierce look of the little girl. Very pretty, with softly rounded cheeks and the same blue eyes as her brother, she had thick blonde hair worn in two plaits down her back.

  'You're not my nanny,' she said crossly.

  'No, I'm not,' said Sophie quietly before either of the men could speak.

  'I'm not going to call you nanny,' the child continued with a heavy frown. Her uncle lowered her to the ground and Sophie looked down at her.

  'What will you call me, then?' she asked softly.

  'Nothing. I don't like you and I won't speak to you at all.'

  'That's enough, Erika!' her father said sharply. 'You will apologise to Miss Carter for your rudeness. At once, please.'

  'No, I won't, Papa.' The small face set rebelliously and Sophie intervened.

  'I wonder how we'll manage if you don't speak to me?' she asked reflectively. 'Perhaps you could use sign language.'

  'That's silly,' said Erika loftily. 'I don't know any sign language. Anyway, you wouldn't understand.'

  'True,' Sophie said thoughtfully. 'Well, I'm sure we'll think of something. But now it's time to unpack and change. And for that I'll need your help to show me where everything belongs.'

  Sophie didn't take her eyes off the little girl, the tension between herself and her charge clearly evident in the silence round them. 'There are some surprises upstairs to be unpacked,' she went on, and turned casually towards the stairs. 'And, of course, Nanny's get well card to write.'

  'What's a get well card?' asked Erika curiously, quite forgetting her resolve.

  'I'll show you,' Sophie answered calmly, and started up the stairs. 'Come along Emil,' she added without turning round.

  Below her no one moved. But she continued up the stairs at a slow, even pace.

  'Right. See you at lunch, then,' said Maximilian von Hartog lightly. 'A drink, Klaus?' He turned to the other man, and suddenly the oddly tense tableau came to life. Peter picked up the cases and headed for the stairs in Sophie's wake, Emil muttered something inaudible and followed, and Klaus von Hartog shed his coat, then the two men walked into the study, leaving Erika alone in the hall.

  Still Sophie didn't check or look back. Above her she heard Emil give a shout.

  'Wow!' came his voice, and it was finally too much for the little girl. She clambered up the steep stairs and ran past Sophie.

  'Wait for me, Emil,' she cried. 'I want to see!'

  With a small smile, Sophie followed her along the corridor and into the nursery.

  The children were asleep. Sophie left the bedroom door slightly ajar in case one of them woke and made her way to the small kitchen to wash up.

  On the whole things had gone well. The unpacking of gifts, the writing of the card to Nanny Elisabeth and lunch with their father and uncle had all helped to break the ice. After lunch Sophie had been firm about a rest, and later they had all walked down into the town where Sophie had treated them to hot chocolate and a sticky cake before they trudged home to baths and a light evening meal. By the time she had read them a story they were almost asleep.

  When she had come to wake them after their rest, she had found them both in Emil's bedroom. They had stopped talking abruptly as she walked in, and Emil had coloured vividly; she guessed they had been talking about her. But she was familiar with hostility when she first joined a household and had ignored Erika's attempts to needle her, making no move to ingratiate herself with the children or be severe with them. After supper she had kept them both so busy with carefully planned activities and plans for the days to come that even Erika forgot her anger in the excitement of new games and the physical jerks that Sophie explained they would be doing together each evening.

  She hung up the kitchen towel and glanced at her watch. It was time to go down. Earlier, Klaus von Hartog had requested her to come downstairs once the children were in bed, gravely promising that he would not keep her long.

  Voices sounded from the sitting-room, and she knocked.

  'Herein.'

  The two men rose as she appeared in the doorway.

  'Good evening. Miss Carter. Please come and sit down.' Klaus von Hartog pulled forward an easy chair to face the fire. Maximilian von Hartog nodded politely and left them. Sophie was conscious of relief; he made her feel uneasy.

  'Now tell me how the day went,' he asked with friendly interest.

  'Quite well, I think.'

  'They're both emotional, as I'm sure you noticed, and Erika does have these sudden outbursts. But your calm kindness will soon simmer her down. She is very much like her mother,' he added, a slow flush mounting under his skin. He's still in love with his ex-wife, guessed Sophie.

  'This time last year we were all here together, so this is our first holiday without her.'

  Suddenly the door opened behind her and Maximilian von Hartog came back. Sophie stiffened.

  'Coffee will be here in a moment,' he said, and smiled blandly at them both, sitting down again in the same chair.

  'I understand my cousin has told you we don't wish to dwell on family problems while the children are here,' Klaus von Hartog went on.

  His cousin! So the two men were not brothers; that explained the startling difference between them: the one so tall and broad, totally masculine, while the other seemed almost frail, perhaps prematurely aged with the break-up of his marriage. There was a sadness in his face, a sense of resignation as though fate had dealt harshly with him. And Sophie sensed he was making no move to fight for what he wanted. She couldn't imagine his cousin permitting the woman he loved to leave him. Maximilian von Hartog would fight ruthlessly to keep her or dismiss her from his life and thoughts without a backward glance. She was not looking at him, but could feel his eyes on her face and wished he would occupy himself with something.

  'I want to spend as much time as I can with the children, but there are problems,' the other man was saying. 'I'm a surgeon and there are several operations to which I'm committed, and for these I will have to return to Vienna. The children understand about my work, of course. They're used to it. But in the past they've had their mother to turn to in my absence. This will be the first time she has not been with them.' He coloured again and then cleared his throat. 'I hope you won't find this an additional burden, because it does mean I have to rely on you rather heavily from time to time.'

  'I will do my best,' said Sophie quietly, wondering why he had not kept them with him in Vienna.

  'My wife—their mother—' he amended, '—and I did not wish to deprive them of their skiing holiday. We felt it best not to disrupt their normal routine.'

  'I can appreciate that,' Sophie said easily.

  'You're leaving tomorrow, Max?' asked his cousin.

  'No.' Maximilian von Hartog was looking
a Sophie again. 'I'll be staying on for a while.'

  'That's marvellous.' The older man's brow cleared. 'The children adore their uncle, Miss Carter, especially Erika. And he can always cope with them if things get difficult.'

  'I, too, will do my best,' drawled Max von Hartog.

  Sophie sat up straight in an effort to throw off the strange effect he was having on her. Even without looking at him, she was aware of the relaxed power of his tall figure, the intent stillness of his eyes on her face. Carefully she shut him out of her consciousness and concentrated on the children's father.

  'Anyhow I want to be here as much as possible.' Dr von Hartog grinned rather endearingly, and Sophie chided herself for feeling contempt for his apathy. It was obvious that he was a surgeon of considerable repute, and Sophie was well aware that talented and successful people did not always have the ability to find happiness in their personal relationships.

  'I'll take them to ski school in the morning and bring them back to lunch. Then I'll hand them over to you for a few hours and come up in the evening to sit with them while they eat. Is that convenient?'

  'Of course,' she responded warmly. 'I'll organise each day as it fits in with your free time.'

  'Thank you.' He smiled ruefully. 'I was a little afraid you might wish to have a strict routine.'

  'I'll be taking them out tomorrow afternoon, Miss Carter,' Max von Hartog intervened.

  Sophie nodded without looking at him. 'Perhaps you'll give them time for a short rest after lunch,' she said quietly.

  'Of course. Just bring them down when they're ready. I'll be taking them up to the top of the Hahnenkamm by cable car, and I'll expect you to join us, if you please.'

  Sophie stiffened. 'I would rather use the time for some chores, if you don't mind.'

  'That will have to wait. It's important they see us together. They have to understand that we trust you. Then, when you're alone with them at a later date, there'll be a clear link with the family.'

  Sophie knew she couldn't object. Much as she would dislike an afternoon spent in his company, he was quite right. If she was seen to be on good terms with their uncle, the children would find it easier to trust her. She looked back at the older man.