Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  'They will have a flat. It is being prepared. The Herr Baron permits them their furniture, so it will be a home. And all the year there is no one, only the dogs. Just at Christmas and for the skiing the family come.'

  Sophie found her interest caught, and was eating with enjoyment the veal with Rösti, the small crisply fried potatoes, and the traditional cucumber salad that Lisl had prepared.

  'So it is an easy job?' Sophie asked.

  'Yes and no. It has not been a happy house since the family divorced.' She sat back and sighed. 'That was last year. The Herr Doktor, he took it hard when his wife left. She is very beautiful, the children's mother. And now there is no mistress.'

  Sophie bent her head to her plate. 'But the master—the Herr Baron—he will marry and then there'll be a mistress again?'

  'Oh, no, he won't marry now,' Lisl said firmly. 'Once many years ago there was… I mean,' she flushed, 'I don't know of course, but Peter told me the Herr Baron, he loved very much. But she married someone else.'

  'Oh, I see,' said Sophie inadequately, her imagination in a whirl. Resolutely she clamped down on her thoughts. 'This is lovely, Lisl, and it tastes much better down here with you.' She sighed extravagantly. 'I've eaten too much.'

  Lisl smiled. 'Coffee?'

  'Yes, please.'

  Lisl had her back to Sophie, stacking dishes. 'You know,' she said carefully, 'we all worry about you— after the avalanche. It was so terrible. You looked so— what is the word?—broken. And the master, he also was down—very tired when he left. It was a bad thing.' She turned to smile at Sophie. 'But now it is perhaps behind you?' she asked quaintly.

  'Yes, thank you, Lisl,' said Sophie evenly. 'Now it is behind me.'

  Later that night, as she lay sleeplessly in the dark, her thoughts returned to Lisl's artless revelations. So Max had loved a girl who'd married another man. She wondered how long ago it was. Was that why he had not married? Had the girl been beautiful, she thought painfully, someone of his world, to grace his home and be the centre of his life, the mother of his children…

  Silently the tears came, and Sophie turned her face into the pillow.

  'Why don't you have a good run, Sophie?' asked Lisl a few days later. 'You've only three days left and the sun is beautiful this morning. I'll keep an eye on the children. And you've had no free time this week. I envy you your skiing; I hear the master say how good it is.'

  Sophie blushed and turned away. The two girls had come to know each other in the past week, an easy companionship developing between them. Even the children felt it and had relaxed, taking over the house and running carelessly from room to room, voices raised in happy laughter. One afternoon they had invaded the kitchen and made fudge, leaving cutlery, pans and tabletops sticky with sugar. The snowman had been finished and now stood fat and shapeless inside the front gate. Peter, doing odd jobs round the house, didn't interfere.

  When he first returned from his weekend leave he had been appalled at the informality of the household. Sophie had heard his voice raised in anger as he scolded his sister, and had wondered if she should go down and interfere, to defend Lisl from his anger. But listening to their voices, trying to disentangle the Austrian dialect, she had realised that Lisl was well able to hold her own against her brother. And she had left them to it. When next she saw Lisl she had asked tentatively if she would prefer things to return to what they had been, but Lisl had snorted indignantly. No brother of hers was going to tell her how to behave. Once the master was back or the Herr Doktor in residence everything would return to the more ordered household as he would wish. For the moment things were fine as they were. The children were happier than she could remember, and Peter could mind his own business.

  'You haven't skied since the accident,' Lisl was saying. 'It is important to ski again quickly to keep your nerve.'

  'Perhaps.' Sophie was non-committal. She didn't want to ski again this year, not because of the accident, but because it would bring reminders of Max, of the time they'd spent together in the mountains, of the touch of his hands and his lips and the beautiful words he had used to tell her of his feelings, all memories that would remain with her for a very long time.

  She had cancelled her skiing holiday and booked a flight home as soon as her time at the von Hartog villa was finished. She had no wish to stay in Kitzbühl and run the risk of seeing Max again.

  'Sophie, it's late; we must go.' The children demanded her attention and she pushed her personal problems to the back of her mind.

  They were all three trudging back up the hill to the house, Sophie carrying Erika's skis as well as her own, when the little girl suddenly stopped and shouted.

  'Emil, look,' she cried out in German. 'It's Mutti! Mutti!' she screamed, and ran.

  Emil stood quite still with shock, his blue eyes enormous in his small face. Sophie touched him lightly on the arm.

  'I'll bring your skis, Emil, if you want to run ahead.' He seemed to come out of his trance. With a swift, rather desperate look at her, he dropped his skis and ran after his sister.

  Sophie picked up all the skis and put them over her shoulders, wondering if Nanny Elisabeth had arrived with her mistress. The big sleigh stood in front of the house, its red upholstery luxurious against the shiny black of the horses. Peter emerged from the side of the house and climbed up into it, waving his hand in greeting before he drove off round the back of the garden to the stables.

  She stacked the skis in the stand by the side door and let herself into the house. The hall was piled high with luggage, and from the living-room she could hear the excited voices of the children mingling with a woman's low tones. Upstairs she changed back into her uniform, and half an hour later, when the nursery wing was looking spick and span, she made her way downstairs to see if she could help Lisl with the unexpected influx.

  The cases had disappeared from the hall and the house seemed oddly silent. As she hesitated, Peter came out from the kitchen and nodded to her.

  'I was just coming up to find you. The Frau Doktor would like to see you.'

  'Thank you, Peter.'

  Sophie realised that she was slightly nervous of meeting the children's mother. Walking past the big mirror in the hall, she straightened up, checked her appearance and told herself firmly not to be silly. She wasn't a schoolgirl about to be scolded. She was an experienced nanny. She knocked and walked in.

  The children were sitting on the sofa, side by side. Before she could look round for their mother, a man rose from a chair by the window. Tall, broad and strangely forbidding, Max von Hartog stood still and bowed formally, his eyes indifferent, his face a polite blank.

  The shock went right through her body. She could feel it in every quivering nerve. She had not expected to see him again—ever. And now he was back, obviously intent on being only the master of the house, treating her with cool courtesy. Why had he come back? Why couldn't he have waited till she'd gone? she thought hopelessly, fighting the elation she felt at the sight of him. She pulled herself together, tearing her eyes from his face to study the woman sitting by the fire in an upright chair.

  'Dorothea, this is Miss Carter, who has been looking after the children.'

  Dorothea von Hartog was beautiful. Tall and slender with ash-blonde hair, she was elegantly dressed in a soft wool suit of lilac with a toning silk blouse, the colour emphasising the fair complexion and the wide blue eyes. Those eyes now surveyed Sophie with cool disdain.

  'You're very large,' she said at last, 'however do you manage with the children?'

  It was a personal comment and it was rude, but Sophie did not react to the tactless remark.

  'Please take the children now,' the Frau Doktor said dismissively, and got up. 'They're late for their lunch.'

  Sophie beckoned to the children, holding out a hand to each as their mother walked across to her cousin. The children hesitated, looking longingly across at their mother, but she was giving all her attention to Maximilian von Hartog.

  'Max, Liebling, wil
l you please…' She stopped and looked across the room at Sophie. 'Are you waiting for something?' she demanded coolly.

  Sophie walked over to the children and shepherded them out of the room.

  'Are you going to take me out to lunch now, Max, darling? This house is like a mausoleum.' Sophie closed the door on Max von Hartog's reply.

  The next hour was spent coaxing the children to eat, watching their set faces during the curiously silent meal. She asked no questions and made casual remarks about everyday events, until they had managed to eat something and she had them in bed. Erika clung fiercely as Sophie bent to tuck her in, and she sat down beside the little girl, who was fighting to keep back her tears.

  'Come, you're tired,' said Sophie gently. 'You'll feel better when you've had a rest.'

  Erika transferred her clinging arms to the best-loved teddy and closed her eyes obediently, ready for sleep. In Emil's room Sophie closed the shutters, wondering what to do about the rigid face and tense figure lying in the narrow bed. He was a loner, this little boy, too young and vulnerable to be ignored by a father who probably meant no harm, but was lost in his own misery. How she could reach him and whether she could help in the odd days left to her was something she didn't know. She had no wish to start a relationship which would leave him bereft when she too came to leave. But how could she bear to see him like this and do nothing?

  She sat down on the edge of his bed.

  'I'll be next door if you want me, Emil,' she said softly.

  He transferred his rigid gaze from the ceiling to her face. 'Thank you,' he replied stiffly.

  'May I stay for a moment?' She changed her tactics. At that he did give her his attention. 'I like this room,' she went on. 'It's like you, quiet and restful.'

  His look became intent. 'Do you think she's beautiful?' he asked awkwardly.

  'Very,' replied Sophie without hesitation.

  'Yes,' he said, his mouth quivering. 'Uncle Max thinks so too.'

  Sophie sat quite still. What did he mean? she wondered.

  'Anyone would consider her beautiful,' she said slowly. 'You must be very proud of her.'

  'No!' he said fiercely. 'I hate her!'

  'Emil!' Sophie was shocked.

  'Oh, not like Erika because she doesn't love us. I got over that years ago,' he said airily, his mouth tight, his eyes wet. 'I hate her for what she does to Papa.' Sophie sat quietly, wondering if it was good for the boy to talk to her like this. 'I think she's going to marry Uncle Max,' he added.

  Sophie uttered a smothered cry which she turned into a cough as the child's huge eyes became suddenly intent on her face.

  'Surely not,' she managed at last.

  'That's why she left Papa,' he announced rigidly. 'I know.' His eyes returned to the ceiling. 'I heard Lisl and Peter talking. They didn't know I was behind the door. She and Uncle Max were engaged once, a long time ago before I was born. Then something happened—I don't know what. They didn't say. And she married Papa. And Papa adores her; he always has. He's not interested in us… only her. And she left because she doesn't care for any of us—only Uncle Max.'

  Her own pain forgotten, Sophie reached blindly for the boy, and he let her hold him as he began to sob, brokenly and wretchedly. She sat on, murmuring soothingly, holding him gently and letting him cry. Finally he quietened and his head became heavy against her. He had fallen asleep. Thank God, she thought, as she laid him back and covered him. The small face was somehow peaceful, still wet with tears, but not so rigid, so controlled. She hoped he wouldn't regret having talked to her.

  She got up and tiptoed to her own room, leaving the door ajar in case he woke. She would miss the children, she thought sadly. In the short time she had known them they had each found a special place in her heart; Erika with her emotions spilling everywhere, her need to be cuddled and her longing for approval; and Emil, so much more complicated than his sister, sensitive and vulnerable, far too mature for his years. Both were discovering early in life that loving could bring pain, and strangely she wished she could stay with them, perhaps help them through a difficult time in their lives. Erika would survive. In many ways she was like her mother. But Emil was too fragile, like his father, only too clearly aware of his mother's indifference.

  But surely he had to be wrong about that? Careless of her children's feelings she might be, but she must love them. How could a mother not do so?

  Restlessly she got up. The house was wrapped in silence. No voices penetrated from below, and she wondered vaguely where Lisl could be. But she didn't move. She had no appetite for lunch, and her thoughts returned again to Emil, to his artless words that had revealed so much.

  Was Dorothea the woman Lisl had meant when she said Max had once been in love with a girl who had married someone else? It was quite possible. Certainly he had been ill at ease downstairs. Sophie had watched him too often in the past to be mistaken about that. And his indifference with her had been genuine. Had he been embarrassed, having to meet her again in the company of the woman he loved? She threw back her head to stem the tears she could feel, damp on her lashes. Dorothea was beautiful enough to turn any man's head, she thought painfully.

  There was a soft knock on the door. Lisl stood in the doorway, and Sophie put a finger to her lips indicating the children were asleep.

  'I'm so sorry,' Lisl whispered. 'Everything's disorganised and I forgot to bring your food.'

  'Come in.' Sophie moved over to shut the nursery door. 'I finally managed to get Emil off to sleep,' she explained quietly.

  Lisl was plainly not listening.

  'I wish they'd let me know they were coming,' she said in German. 'Nothing was ready—food, beds— nothing,' she repeated. 'It's not like the master to be inconsiderate.' She sighed. 'Anyway, I came to tell you there's some soup downstairs if you wish.' Anxiously she looked up into Sophie's face, her mind clearly elsewhere.

  'Don't worry about me, Lisl. I'm not hungry. If I want something later I'll come down and get it.'

  The relief relaxed Lisl's worried face and she turned to go. Outside in the corridor Peter was hovering uncertainly.

  'What is it?' his sister demanded rather sharply.

  'I've been sent to tell Miss Sophie to come down— er—at once,' he added awkwardly. 'The mistress wants to see her.'

  'Thank you, Peter, I'll be right down.'

  Sophie closed the door behind them and checked her appearance. A quick wash, a spray of cologne and she was ready.

  'Herein,' the voice called as she knocked, and Sophie was relieved to see that the Frau Doktor was alone.

  'I wish to talk to you,' she began formally. 'Please come in.'

  Sophie walked into the middle of the room, her hands under her apron in the pockets of her dress, her face calm, her eyes firmly on the face of her employer's ex-wife. She was not asked to sit down.

  'I'm not happy about the children and I want to know what has been going on here,' the other woman began. 'They are noisy and rude. They talk of strange games with money and making toast in here before the fire. It is all most worrying and I am seriously displeased.'

  Sophie did not comment.

  'You say nothing?' The Frau Doktor looked up in surprise. 'Have you no wish to apologise?'

  'I'm an experienced nanny, gnädige Frau, and I don't believe I have anything for which to apologise.'

  'Now you're being impertinent!'

  'I had no such intention.'

  'I think you have been permitted too much freedom in this house,' Dorothea von Hartog continued. 'You forget you are here to work, not to be indulged by the Herr Baron.'

  Sophie looked up in surprise.

  'I understand you have taken advantage of his kindness, begging him to take you on his outings with the children. And he is too much of a gentleman to object—whatever his feelings. He is always considerate of his servants, so it is left to me to tell you of those feelings.'

  Sophie looked away from those large cold eyes as she felt the colour flush her face. Dorothe
a's voice was soft and low as though she was discussing the weather, and Sophie determined to keep her cool. She would not lose her temper with this arrogant woman, or trade insults with her. Since she could hardly inform the Frau Doktor that she was lying, it was best to say nothing.

  'I think it is better if you go,' the older woman said after a moment, her voice unexpectedly vehement. Sophie looked back at her in surprise.

  'I shall be leaving when my employment ends on Saturday,' she pointed out politely.

  'I mean now. Right away. Today. I wish you to go.'

  'You will recall it was the Herr Doktor who employed me,' Sophie said quietly. 'He would be the one to terminate my employment.'

  'It seems you do not know your place, and this I regret. But it makes it even more necessary for you to leave. I will not permit you to ruin my children.' The Austrian woman smoothed the cuffs of her suit with the fingers of one hand, looking intently down at her immaculate red fingernails. 'Since I am the children's mother, I assure you I have the right and the power to make you leave. Naturally you will be paid everything owing to you.'

  'Very well,' Sophie said after a moment. 'Perhaps you could explain to the children…'

  The door opened behind Sophie.

  'There you are, Max darling,' Dorothea von Hartog broke in. 'Please help me,' she pleaded, pursing her mouth in childish misery. 'I'm having trouble with this—person. She is being impertinent.'

  Sophie stood quite still, all too achingly aware of the man standing suddenly so close behind her. She stiffened as she heard his voice, affectionate, indulgent and gentle.

  'My dear, I'm sure Miss Carter has no wish to be rude.' He walked past Sophie and his sleeve brushed her arm. She flinched sharply away from the contact, and Frau von Hartog saw the movement. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, and Sophie wanted only to get away from that hard-eyed stare and the presence of the man now standing beside the beautiful woman. Side by side they looked ideally matched. His towering, formidable good looks and her porcelain beauty.

  'Excuse me,' Sophie murmured. 'I have to pack.' She turned and walked away from them both, a sudden bitterness in her mouth. Without warning came pain, and with it her first taste of jealousy—and envy. It clutched at her heart and blocked her throat.