Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  'Is there anything else?' she asked politely.

  'No.' The Herr Doktor rose courteously. 'Unless you'd like to join us for coffee? But then you haven't yet eaten, I believe,' he corrected himself, 'and you must be pretty tired.'

  Maximilian von Hartog rose to open the door for her and she slipped out into the hall with a quiet goodnight. A moment later she found him beside her.

  'Just a minute.'

  Unwillingly she stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  'Will you give me the pleasure of dining with me tomorrow night?' he asked softly. She looked at him in astonishment. 'Not here,' he added quietly. 'Out somewhere.'

  She dropped her eyes and looked past him at a singularly uninteresting portrait on the wall behind him. 'Thank you, no. I'm afraid that's not possible.'

  'Have you another engagement?' he demanded.

  Devoutly she wished she had. 'No,' she said baldly.

  She could feel his smile on her face, almost indulgent, as though he was amused by her refusal.

  'I don't socialise with my employers,' she added.

  'Why ever not?' He sounded genuinely surprised.

  'I don't believe I owe you any explanations about my private life, Herr Baron.' Sophie heard the prim note in her voice and was fleetingly angry with herself.

  'You use my title to keep me at a distance?' he asked lightly. 'But you see, I never use it. It's outdated and has no place in the modern world.'

  At that she did look at him, surprised by the hint of steel in his voice. Had she misjudged him? He was still smiling, his eyes teasing her, but she sensed there was more to the man than his indolent manner suggested.

  'Please excuse me now,' she said politely, and made to go past him up the stairs.

  'You haven't answered my question,' he pointed out, and barred her way, one hand gripping the banisters.

  She felt breathless, hemmed in between his outstretched arm and his body that was suddenly much too close.

  'Well?'

  'My answer is still the same,' she said quietly, her head turned away from him.

  'But what of your own wishes… leaving aside the rules for a moment. Would you like to have dinner with me?' He bent his head towards her.

  'Thank you, but I don't wish to go out with you,' she said awkwardly, wishing he would move away.

  But he didn't stir. Nor was he in the least put out.

  'You are lying, my dear Sophie. And you're not very good at it. If you relaxed that iron guard for a moment, you'd know I mean you no harm.'

  Angry at his use of her Christian name, she was aware that she felt flustered and suddenly unable to deal with him.

  'Please,' she said unsteadily, 'let me go.'

  He moved up a step closer to her and she panicked, flinching away from him, her back against the banisters behind her.

  'You're taking advantage of me—my position in this house,' she whispered, using a phrase that had worked in the past with other men.

  At that his face closed and he stepped back without a word. Hurriedly she brushed past him and almost ran upstairs, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding uncomfortably. At the top she stopped and pulled herself together. Looking back, she saw he hadn't moved, was standing quite still in the hall, his face raised to hers.

  Rather unsteadily she walked away from him along the corridor to her room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The outing with Maximilian von Hartog the following afternoon turned out quite differently from what Sophie had secretly feared.

  They set off for the cable car station on foot, dressed in boots, trousers and hooded anoraks, the children skipping and jumping at their uncle's side; Sophie was relieved that she could remain in the background as he kept them amused with stories of the intrepid explorers who climbed the Tyrolean glaciers. How much was true and how much dramatised she didn't care to guess. It was all very enjoyable and kept the children alternately breathless with excitement and shrieking with laughter.

  The slow journey up in the cable car was dazzling, even Erika reduced to silence by the wonder of the towering mountains ahead and the valley receding below. At the top they had a snowball fight which Emil battled with relentless determination, and it ended with both children burying their uncle in snow, from which he escaped to chase them across to the Gasthaus for a break.

  Sitting on his lap, Erika flirted shamelessly with him, as though nearer twenty than ten years old, and he responded with old-world gallantry until they were all in fits once more. Finally he allowed the children to play with two boys of their own age whose parents were quite happy to keep an eye on all four, leaving Sophie alone with him in the rapidly emptying cafe.

  They chatted desultorily, neither feeling the need to talk, words flowing easily when they had something to say, the silence, when it came, oddly companionable. Max told her of his visits to London, and they shared memories of parks, art galleries and the opera houses which he knew well. Music was his first love, and as a teenage boy he had longed to be an opera singer. He had studied for several years, but in the end family responsibilities had claimed him. Looking back, he admitted ruefully, he saw that his voice had not really been good enough to build a successful singing career. Sophie talked of her travels the people she met and the countries she had visited.

  The shadows lengthened and still they sat on, until finally conversation lapsed. Sophie looked out at the darkening skyline, curiously content, more relaxed with him than she could recall being with anyone. She felt no need to chat politely as she would have done with most strangers.

  'Can I now persuade you to have dinner with me one evening?' he asked suddenly, and leaned towards her across the table. She stiffened, and he continued, 'Do you realise how rare it is to find someone with whom communication is so easy?'

  'I'm sorry,' she answered him reluctantly. 'I…'

  'Don't socialise with employers,' he finished for her. 'I know. Nanny code.'

  'In a way,' she admitted.

  'Not all nannies abide by it,' he drawled mockingly. 'Nanny Lisa is quite prepared to break this particular rule.'

  'Then you've only another three weeks to wait for her return,' said Sophie tartly.

  'Well, well—claws!' He raised his eyebrows at her. 'I'm delighted. But I have to disillusion you. It's my cousin on whom she wishes to bestow her favours. I've never asked for them.'

  Sophie turned her head away as the colour surged into her face. 'I think we should go,' she mumbled, bending her head as she gathered her things.

  'In a moment.' He put out a hand and she sank back in her seat. 'Perhaps we could meet when you're no longer with my family?' he suggested quietly.

  Sophie swallowed. How could she tell him that nothing would be changed when she left? She was no teenager, and knew full well what he wanted of her. A sudden quiver of feeling trembled through her at the thought of intimacy with Maximilian von Hartog. But she controlled it at once.

  She had not had affairs. Her body had developed early, and in her mid-teens several boys had been attracted by her physical maturity, hoping to persuade her to bed. But she had been curiously repelled by their response to the voluptuous curves which only embarrassed her, and she had known even at sixteen this was not for her. Her fellow students at Norland had also tried to explain how much fun it could be, encouraging her to take the plunge. But still she had held back.

  Had she been afraid of intimacy with a man because it involved plunging into the unknown, shedding her reserve and permitting another human being to come close to her? Or could Hilary be right that she was a prude? In recent years it had ceased to be a problem, and she rarely thought about it. Perhaps if she ever met a man she wanted passionately, she would change her mind. But he would have to be of her world, not a sophisticated, handsome aristocrat who had doubtless made love to scores of beautiful women and would expect her to be experienced, fully able to treat a casual encounter with light-hearted ease. Maximilian von Hartog was not the man for her—whatever he wanted.
>
  She turned her eyes to his face. He was no longer looking at her, his head in profile, his eyes intent on his own thoughts as he stared out of the window at the landscape rapidly darkening into the cold grey of evening. His hair lay thick and sleek against his head, and she felt a sharp urge to reach out and slide her fingers through its silky length. The tanned skin had a polished sheen and almost she could feel it—faintly rough—under her fingertips.

  As she gazed at him a curious pain twisted slowly deep inside her, spiralling outward and bringing a heavy weakness to her limbs. His face began to swim out of focus and she closed her eyes to blot him out of her mind. But his image remained under her lids, vivid and painfully real.

  The blood pounded in her head and she began to tremble, dizzy with sensations she couldn't control. Desperately she pressed her knees tightly together and clamped her hands on the arms of her chair, clenching her stomach muscles to fight her way back to sanity.

  Slowly the turbulence subsided. Her body stopped shaking, but she felt drained and limp, her face damp with heat, the past few moments unlike anything she had ever experienced. He had done nothing, yet without touching her he had managed to evoke a shattering response in her body, frightening in its intensity. How was it possible, when she had rejected him? How could her body respond against her will, against the dictates of reason?

  He was a powerfully attractive man with a mouth and hands that hinted at a strong sensuality. And somehow he had managed to reach through her defences. But it must not happen again. She would have to tread warily, ensure she was never alone with him, and keep her distance at all times. Only a vast experience of women could have given him the undoubted understanding of her sex that she sensed below the surface of his charm, and she would have to arm herself against his attractions.

  She sensed he could disrupt her life and throw her into a turmoil from which she might never emerge. If she let him. She clung to that thought. He could harm her only if she let him.

  'Please accept my refusal,' she said now without looking at him, her voice low. 'I don't enjoy saying no.'

  She heard the quick intake of his breath as his head turned sharply towards her. Seeing the anger in his eyes, she guessed she had wounded his pride.

  'I don't give up easily,' he said tautly. 'And whatever you say to me with words, your eyes tell me a different story. So don't imagine this is the end. Whatever it is we share, you and I are just beginning, Sophie Carter.' He stood up. 'Now, shall we find the children?' he added coldly.

  Sunday came quite suddenly, and the day stretched ahead to do with as she wished.

  As Sophie reached the top of her favourite piste the sun was rising, and her toes curled with sudden pleasure inside her boots. She adjusted her goggles and looked round. The fall of snow during the night had been steady and deep, and it now lay in virgin fields to the horizon. She would be making her own trails, the dream of any experienced skier. Putting her head down and bending into her knees, she began the decent.

  The silence was magical. Ahead of her the firs on both sides were weighed down with fresh snow, their branches bent low, threatening to crack under the weight. As she increased speed, the wind caught her face, the warmth of the sun caressing her back. A camera could never do it justice, she thought. Picture postcards always looked unreal, as though the snow was iced on to the scenery. But up here, quite alone, with the sun beating down on her bare head, the cold tang of the snow in her nostrils and the heady thinness of the air in her face, it was all too real. And intoxicating. Nowhere else in the world did she feel this freedom, as though her body was weightless, swinging through the snow, at one with the nature all round her.

  She was about half-way down when she heard the noise. It sounded like a pistol shot, and she swept into a Christiana to stop and look back. But there was no one above her. Everything was still, and she continued.

  Later, thinking back, she realised that it was her proximity to the trees that probably saved her. As she swerved to give them a wide berth, she heard the roar behind her. Distant at first, it seemed to gain momentum by the minute, the noise louder by the second, and suddenly she knew she was in the path of an avalanche.

  Unlikely with the newly powdered snow, it was gaining on her with enormous speed and power. Looking back, she wondered if she could avoid it by hurling herself sideways into the trees, but they were too far away. Panic-stricken, she branched out, skiing across instead of down its path.

  The snow hit her has she bent down to ease the onslaught, arms outstretched. Then she fell and knew nothing more.

  She woke to blackness and suffocation. There was no air and she couldn't breathe. She panicked and struck out, only to fall back as more snow fell in on her. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she tried to pull herself together. Any hope of survival depended on what she did next.

  She knew the drill and tried now to apply it. Forcing down her fear, she took stock.

  Shallow, slow breathing. No movement of head or body. She could hear nothing. With luck the avalanche had passed and the snow settled. Cautiously she began to scrape some snow away from her face; slowly and with infinite care she increased the breathing area round her head and made a small dent in the hard-packed snow.

  Triumphantly she cleared an inch, then another, gently packing it away from her face. Carefully she let out her pent-up breath. The snow stayed. She had begun to create a tiny cave in which there would be a limited amount of oxygen.

  Sophie knew her main enemy was terror. It locked in her throat, tore at her nerves and pumped her heart at a frightening rate—the certainty that she would die of suffocation. She had to find something to think about, to still the dread and to calm her breathing, The heat of the packed snow and the cold of her body were wreaking havoc in her brain. And she had no wish to sink into delirium.

  She wondered if she had broken anything, if her skis had gone, the bindings having broken loose on impact. She couldn't feel her lower body, and didn't try to move. Did anyone know she was up here? she thought next. Only the man at the ski lift who had clipped her ticket. Would he remember her? Had he heard the avalanche? And would they bother to send help if he remembered that she had gone up?

  Her breathing was too fast. She could feel her heartbeat accelerate. She had to slow down. Closing her eyes, she tried desperately to relax.

  She must have dozed, for she woke to a noise. Could it be? It sounded like a voice… calling. But it was muffled, as though reaching her through cotton wool. Unthinkingly she sat up with sudden hope. This time the fall of snow was heavy, entering her mouth, blocking her face. Pulling in her breath, she began again scooping, little by little creating again a tiny space in which to breathe.

  'Sophie, can you hear me?'

  It was Max.

  For a moment sheer joy kept her motionless.

  'Don't answer me. Don't try to shout.' She could just make out his words echoing faintly from a distance. 'If you can hear me, do as I say.' He sounded quite calm. 'Try and find your hand and see if your stick is still looped round your wrist. I'll give you a moment to do that.'

  She looked down at her hand and lifted it carefully, feeling with the fingers of the other hand till she reached her wrist. Amazingly, her stick was still attached to the wrist.

  'If it's there,' Max continued, 'pull it up towards you, slowly and carefully. I want you to push it above your head, out of the snow.'

  She pulled, but the stick was firmly stuck below her. She couldn't move it.

  'I'm going to get you out,' his voice continued reassuringly. 'I know you're here somewhere: I found one of your skis. And I'll stay here and get you out if I have to dig my way through every inch of snow. But to make it quicker, you must try and help me.'

  Sophie felt the tears running down her cheeks, relief and hope struggling with the fear inside her.

  'If it's stuck, use your hand to make a little tunnel for it. But be careful. Take it slowly.'

  It was almost as though he could see what was
happening to her, she thought, and she did as he commanded, trying hard not to rush it. Twice she gave up, certain she hadn't the energy to go on, wanting only to lie down and sleep, unable to find the strength to move even a finger.

  'Keep trying. Don't give up,' he called urgently, and she wondered if there was some unspoken communication between them, that he knew how weak she felt.

  She was certain the web at the bottom of the stick was the cause of her difficulties. It was too hard to dislodge. Suddenly impatient, she heaved at it and felt the stick move upwards in her hand. At the same moment a fall of snow buried her completely, shutting her off from what little air was left. It was up her nose, in her ears and smothering her face. She was finally suffocating… unable to breathe…

  No. She wouldn't give in now, with help so near.

  Cautiously she moved her head and blew the snow out of her nose and mouth. By sheer effort of will she didn't breathe in heavily as she longed to do, but closed her mouth and held her breath. And suddenly she knew what Max wanted. She could no longer hear his voice, but she guessed how he planned to find her.

  Carefully she pulled the sling over her hand to free the stick. It seemed to take hours, and several times she had to stop and breathe tiny breaths through her nose. But finally it was free and she pushed it slowly above her head. If she could penetrate the blanket of snow covering her, he might be able to see the tip of the stick above the white and know where she was buried. She went on pushing until the steel tip of the base was between her fingers.

  Then she fainted.

  The next thing she knew was a dazzling light blinding her eyes and the precious feel of oxygen in her face. Dimly she heard Max's voice as he shovelled with his hands to free her body, murmuring words she couldn't understand.

  Finally he lifted her out and carried her away. And all the time he was talking she was bemused, only half conscious as he stood her on his skis in front of him and belted her against his body, the only sound being her breath coming in deep, desperate gasps. His arms held her upright as they moved forward slowly.