Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  Mr Carrington was watching the thoughts cross her face, but made no move to hurry her.

  'Very well,' she said at last, and walked away from them both.

  'I'll leave you, then,' he said behind her. 'No doubt we'll see you in a few minutes, Max.'

  Max. So the two men were on Christian name terms. She heard a low thank you from Max before the door closed quietly behind her employer.

  'Will you please turn round and look at me, Sophie?'

  Slowly she turned, her head up, her breathing tight. He looked magnificent. The black and white of the evening clothes set off the tall, broad figure. His hair gleamed thick and silky in the soft light from the desk lamp, and his skin was darkly tanned as she remembered, his face so achingly familiar that the breath caught in her throat with sudden longing. But something was different. The faint smile on his lips seemed forced, and didn't light up his eyes as she remembered. And he was watching her with a wary, guarded look.

  'I'm sorry to intrude on you at this hour,' he began softly. 'I arrived late last night and have been trying to reach you all day. I was told you were on leave and rang your flat, but there was no reply. In the end I went round there, but you were out.'

  Her eyes veered from his face. He had been trying to find her.

  'What is it you want, Max?' she asked evenly.

  'You're mighty cool,' he said sharply, his politeness slipping. 'So where were you today? Out with some man, no doubt?'

  'Can we please get on with whatever you want of me?' she said, veiling her eyes. Her heart was thudding in the old familiar way, and she was afraid he would see how much he disturbed her.

  'I'm not here on my own account,' he said more quietly. 'I bring a message from my grandmother. She wishes to meet you.'

  'Your grandmother?' Sophie echoed stupidly. 'But how—' She broke off. 'Why would she want to meet me?'

  He moved to stare down into the fire. 'I've told her about you: how we met, that I fell in love with you and asked you to marry me, that you turned me down.'

  'But… I… why did you tell her all that?' she stammered.

  'We're close,' he said tautly. 'She knows me well and guessed most of it anyway.' He clenched one hand on the mantelpiece. 'One way and another the past three weeks haven't been exactly easy for me. Obviously it's been quite different for you,' he added harshly.

  Again she turned away from him. Her composure was shaken. Max had not come because he'd missed her and wanted to change his mind, accept her offer of an affair. She clenched her hands. Nothing had changed, and she had to be rational, to keep her feelings rigidly under control.

  'If you told her about us,' she went on more steadily, 'she must know we don't see each other any more.'

  He sighed and straightened up. 'Yes, I've told her. But she still wants to meet you. And she's used to getting her own way because I love her and because she's old.' His voice hardened. 'I want you to agree to this meeting, Sophie.'

  'But, Max, be reasonable. We could have nothing to talk about, and I…'

  'For God's sake don't be so crassly selfish!' he interrupted angrily. 'Can't you ever think of anyone but yourself?'

  She bit hard on her lower lip to stop the angry words she wanted to hurl at him. He had no right to upbraid her… or to dictate to her. Perhaps it would be easier to agree to a meeting with his grandmother and then slide out of it politely when the time came. In his present mood it was pointless to argue with him.

  'Very well, Max, I will do as you ask. Where do I go for this meeting?'

  'My home in Salzburg.'

  'Austria?' Her voice rose in astonishment. 'You expect me to travel to Austria to see her?'

  'That's where she lives.'

  'But that's impossible. I couldn't possibly…'

  'For heaven's sake, don't make such a production out of it. A few days, a week at the most—that's all it would be. She's threatened to come to London if you don't agree. And that would be against the strongest advice of her doctors.' He paced the room in short angry strides. 'Have you so little human feeling that you can refuse such a simple request?' He hesitated. 'I tried to dissuade her,' he went on grimly, 'but she's adamant.'

  'But why, Max, what does she want of me?'

  He shrugged. 'God knows. A whim? Curiosity to see who's finally brought me to my knees?' he drawled watching the colour flush her face. 'Who can say what motivates a woman?' He walked over to the desk and stood with his back to her, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets. 'Even you can't be so ruthlessly selfish as to deny an old woman what she wants so badly,' he added coldly.

  He sounded so bitter, Sophie thought unhappily. Obviously he regretted his feelings for her, and she could hardly blame him. Was this meeting with his grandmother to be a sort of test? Did he hope she would show up badly in the grandeur of his home, and free him from a love that tied him to her against his will? She shivered with trepidation. It would be madness to go. She would have to watch him living the life she might have shared with him in the home of which she might have been the mistress. Whatever his grandmother might want of her, such a meeting could only lead to more heartache, a second parting from Max harder to bear than the first.

  Unexpectedly he whirled round and came towards her. Before she could back away, he had gripped her shoulders.

  'You don't care, do you?' he ground out. 'Nothing matters to you except your own convenience. How you hurt others is of no interest.'

  She stared at him in consternation. He was in a white rage, his eyes flashing, his lips thinned, the pain he inflicted with his fingers bringing tears to her eyes.

  'Then you must be pleased to be rid of me,' she managed, her head up.

  'Oh, I am,' he sneered. 'I damn well am. Relieved and thankful,' he muttered, and bent to kiss her, catching her half-parted lips in an angry assault. There was no tenderness or passion in his kiss. It was a punishment, and Sophie felt her lips crack as his teeth grazed her skin. She hated him for what he was doing, but felt her body respond to his touch as he plundered her mouth, her head arched back under the pressure.

  At last he lifted his head and released her.

  'Dear God, Sophie, just say you'll come. Don't refuse me again.'

  'I didn't refuse you,' she said sadly. 'I wanted only to be with you, but I couldn't accept your conditions.' She raised her head and looked up into his face. Her voice when it came was strangled and almost inaudible. 'I can't do as you ask, Max. Please apologise to your grandmother for me.'

  The narrow staircase was dark as Sophie pushed open the front door. Upstairs the outer office was empty. Lottie's secretary didn't work on Saturdays.

  'Anyone in?' Sophie called, and the inner door opened.

  'There you are.' Lottie appeared in the doorway.

  Inside her office it was suffocatingly hot, a wall gas fire going full blast, all the windows tightly shut. Sophie took off her coat.

  'Close the door, there's a good girl.' Lottie shivered. 'Terrible draught.' She sat down behind her desk and picked up a half-smoked cigarette from a giant glass ash-tray. 'There's some coffee. Help yourself.'

  'Coffee?' said Sophie brightly. 'This is an honour.' She poured the thick black liquid into the mug.

  'There's no milk, but plenty of sugar.' Lottie leaned back in her chair. 'Talking of honour, to what do I owe this visit? On your free day, too.'

  Sophie sat down, not really sure why she'd come. It was almost a week since Max's visit, and she had been trying ever since to put him out of her mind. By Thursday her head had begun to clear, the ache round her heart slightly dulled. And then the invitation arrived. A thick cream card, embossed with the von Hartog crest, it had confirmed the invitation from Max's grandmother, suggesting a date for the visit.

  'I just thought I'd say hello,' she said rather vaguely.

  'Really?' Lottie was sceptical. 'It wouldn't have anything to do with the appearance of Max von Hartog in London, would it?'

  Sophie felt the blush rise from her neck and looked inten
tly down at her coffee. 'How do you know about that?'

  'He came to see me.'

  'To see you?' Sophie looked up.

  'Of course. How do you imagine he knew where to find you?'

  'I thought he knew the Carringtons.'

  'I expect he did. At a rough guess I'd say he probably made their acquaintance about two hours after he left me.' Lottie laughed at Sophie's astonishment. 'He wouldn't have had any difficulty introducing himself. He's quite a distinguished figure in Vienna, after all. And Carrington moves to his new posting there in the autumn.' Sophie looked puzzled. 'He's going to the Vienna embassy.'

  'Oh.' Sophie frowned. 'I wouldn't have to go with them, would I?'

  'Your contract is the usual one for a year. And your speaking German was a big plus when I negotiated your salary.'

  'Oh.'

  'Why don't you tell me about it?' Lottie suggested, and got up to pour herself more coffee. Sophie didn't answer. 'Look—it's your life, love, and if you don't want to talk about it I certainly won't probe.' She came back and sat down. 'But I'm not quite the old fool you seem to think me. I can still recognise a man head over heels in love.'

  'It's all over,' said Sophie tonelessly.

  'Not for him, it isn't.' Lottie paused. 'What is it, Sophie? Did he want an affair and you refused?'

  'No,' Sophie replied miserably. 'I wanted an affair. He wanted marriage.'

  'Good grief,' Lottie said after a stunned moment. 'I must be getting old—or going crazy. You refused to marry him?'

  'I don't want to talk about it,' said Sophie dully. 'I came about this.' She pushed the invitation across the table.

  Lottie put on her glasses and read it in silence.

  'And how can I help you with this?'

  'I thought—well, you know the family. How can I refuse so that I don't hear from her again?'

  Lottie raised her eyebrows. 'In my day one sent a polite refusal and regrets. What's so difficult?'

  'I have refused, but she won't take no for an answer.'

  'I wonder why?' asked Lottie thoughtfully.

  'She's used to having her own way.' Sophie put down her mug and looked pleadingly at the older woman. 'Would you answer it for me? Tell her I've gone away and won't be back for a while. You'll know just what to say.'

  It was Lottie's turn to stare in surprise. 'And could you please explain to me why I should tell a lot of lies to protect you from an old woman?'

  Sophie didn't answer. She was miserably conscious that this visit had turned out to be another mistake. Nothing seemed to be going right at the moment.

  'Never mind,' she said, and got up. 'Thanks, anyway.'

  'Why don't you try telling him the truth?' Lottie asked quietly. Sophie stiffened and turned away.

  'I do know, Sophie. I've always known,' she added softly.

  'No,' Sophie whispered ashen-faced. 'Nobody knows.'

  'Come and sit down again another minute,' said Lottie gently.

  Sophie subsided on to the hard chair as Lottie got up and stood by the window, her eyes on Sophie's face.

  'When you first came to me I contacted your parents, as I do with any new girl. They told me some of it, and for the rest I approached the convent.' She hesitated. 'I've often wondered why you didn't realise I had to know. I did get you your first passport, and for that I needed a birth certificate.'

  'You never mentioned it,' Sophie said tonelessly.

  'It wasn't important to me. "Father unknown", the birth certificate read. That means you're probably illegitimate. Since your mother died only hours after you were born, we'll never know.' Lottie hesitated. 'There are millions of girls out there in the same predicament, you know,' she added softly. 'It's hardly a tragedy in this day and age.'

  Sophie didn't say anything, her eyes lowered to her bag which she found she was clutching tightly between her fingers.

  'You haven't told him, have you?'

  Sophie shook her head.

  'Are you ashamed of it?'

  'Not really,' Sophie said slowly. 'It all happened before I was born. I suppose I feel a bit… incomplete. It's not easy to explain.'

  'But it's not as if you were abandoned and institutionalised. You were adopted before you were a year old. You have a name, a family and parents who brought you up.'

  'I know,' agreed Sophie huskily. 'I was one of the lucky ones.'

  'Did you ever go back to the convent to try and trace your family?'

  'Yes.'

  'And what did you find out?'

  'The nuns were very helpful and told me all they knew. But they knew nothing of my parentage, and there was no way I could trace my family. In most ways it was a dead end,' she added, flushing.

  'And why didn't you tell your Maximilian?'

  'He's not mine,' Sophie insisted stubbornly. 'I did think about it,' she admitted, 'but I decided against it.'

  'Why?'

  'I think he would have married me in spite of it,' she said painfully, 'and perhaps it wouldn't have mattered right away. But after a while he would have wondered. His friends and family would have been… curious. And it's not as if he's just anybody. He has a position to keep up, a famous name to consider.' She swallowed hard. 'And he has to have a son to follow after him,' she added softly.

  'So? Don't tell me you don't want children of your own?'

  'I… I can't have children,' Sophie said in a rush.

  'Rubbish. You know that's nonsense. You were completely checked out before I took you on.'

  'It's not exactly that I'm physically incapable.' She raised her head. 'You don't know about that?'

  Lottie shook her head. 'So tell me.'

  'I don't really want to talk about it.'

  'And you're quite sure about this… whatever it is… impediment.'

  'Quite sure,' said Sophie firmly.

  Lottie sighed and came back to sit down.

  'Well,' she said eventually, 'you came to me for help, and for what it's worth, here it is. I advise you to be honest with your Max. He's not a child that needs protection. He's a grown man who can make his own decisions.' She sat up straight and looked directly into Sophie's eyes. 'I think you're running scared. You don't dare tell him the truth about yourself because you might find out he doesn't love you enough to overlook the circumstances of your birth. And that would be painful.' She hesitated. 'But at least it would clear up all misunderstandings, and if he turned his back on you, however painful that would be, you could then put the whole thing behind you and make a new life for yourself—or go back to the one you have—with a clear head and unclouded emotions. But leaving him in the dark, and remaining unsure of the strength of his feelings for you, you will find the whole thing will always haunt you. And you'll always look back and wonder, what if I'd told him…? And that could sour your whole life because nothing would ever measure up to the dreams of him you didn't dare put to the test.'

  Sophie sat very still, her eyes on Lottie's face, listening intently to everything she said.

  'So go to him… visit his grandmother. Stop crouching behind your fears. And if the opportunity arises, tell him about yourself—everything. Whatever the outcome, you'll be better able to live with yourself afterwards.'

  She got up. 'And now I'm going to throw you out. You may have all day, but I have work to do. Let me know what you decide,' she added gruffly. 'And the Carringtons you can leave to me. I'll work something out.'

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'Fasten Seatbelts.'

  The sign flashed on above her head and Sophie sighed with relief as the plane began its descent to Salzburg airport.

  The journey had seemed endless. The last two days in London had been too busy to give her time to think or speculate. But once strapped in her seat on the plane, there was suddenly nothing more to do, and her thoughts rambled in disjointed confusion, as they always did at times of uncertainty.

  Should she be going to Austria? she wondered once more. Had she made the right decision, or had she allowed Lottie to persuade her
against her better judgment? Still she wasn't sure, and was apprehensive of what faced her at her destination.

  'Fräulein Carter?' The uniformed chauffeur approached her as she emerged from customs.

  She nodded, and he took her suitcase before ushering her out into the cold where a large limousine was waiting at the kerb. Seated in the back of the luxuriously appointed car, she found her eyes drawn to the yellow and gold flag fluttering on the bonnet, and her mind became numbed with foreboding. The countryside they passed blurred as she gazed blindly out at the snow.

  Leaving the ring road that circled the town, they climbed steadily, passing through several villages, till they entered into deep woods. Here the road narrowed, the snow packed high on both sides, hiding the valley below from view. As they emerged from the trees, Sophie caught a glimpse of the arrowed signpost. Schloss Hartog.

  Nervously she gripped her handbag and sat forward on the edge of the seat as the chauffeur swung the car sharply into a private road and headed towards tall iron gates standing open at the far end.

  The driveway beyond was short and lined with slim, high cypresses that towered darkly above them. They emerged on to a wide expanse of gravel, and Sophie had her first sight of Max's home.

  Until that moment her mind had been vaguely filled with pictures of castles from childhood fairy tales: thick walls and narrow slit windows, huge towers and winding staircases giving access to small, dark rooms. The reality before her was stunningly different.

  Set in a clearing free from the surrounding trees, the castle rose in majestic splendour, its baroque facade wide and elegant, its colour in the glow of the afternoon sun a dazzling yellow gold. Not a fairytale castle, but a private palace from the eighteenth century.