Winter Sunlight

by Susan Alexander

  She breathed in deeply.

  'It was the evening of the spring ball. Each year we give a ball at the start of the Salzburg Easter Music Festival. And I was proud of my grandson, handsome and tall in evening dress. Seeing the many beauties on parade, I hoped he might choose one of them and settle down. Instead I learnt a lesson I have never forgotten.'

  Sophie gazed at her, totally absorbed in what she was being told, learning at last something about the man she loved.

  'I watched in amazement as the women threw themselves at him, some brazen, others casting longing looks, hoping to be noticed. And each one he put in her place, politely, with charm and totally without compunction. I was horrified… frightened. So young and yet so ruthless. And I agonised that night over what might become of him. Since that evening nothing has happened to reverse my opinion or allay my fears for him. Until now.'

  'I know,' Sophie said quietly, 'only I'm not beautiful.'

  'Oh, no, my dear,' Véronique said firmly. 'I was quite wrong about that. Your beauty is there, waiting, and once you're happy it will blossom and everyone will see it.'

  Sophie blushed.

  'What of his mother?' she asked. 'What happened to Henriette?'

  There was such a long pause that Sophie wondered if Véronique had heard her.

  'While Max was in Canada,' came the soft reply, 'Henriette left us to enter a convent. That was fifteen years ago. Since then she has refused all visitors, sent back our letters and never leaves the convent. As far as we know, she's still alive.'

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was raining, and Sophie dashed up the driveway to the castle. Her walk had done her good, blowing away cobwebs that had been gathering over the last week. In the vestibule she took off her boots as Boy shook his wet body. Inside the hall the fire greeted them and the dog made a beeline for his favourite spot by the blaze.

  She had been out longer than she intended, and it was time to change and join the invalid for tea. Striding along the corridor, she waited for the lift. It came to a stop, the doors opened and Max stepped out into the corridor.

  For a moment Sophie stood speechless, gazing up at him, thinking she must be dreaming as she had done so often in the last few days. But then he moved and she stepped forward into his arms with a cry of gladness.

  'You've come,' she whispered. 'You've come back!'

  'Oh, my dear,' he breathed softly, holding her close.

  'Have you seen her?' she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

  'Yes, I have.' He was stroking her hair, gentle fingers threading it back from her face, and she felt a rush of happiness at his nearness. 'She'll make it now.'

  'I know,' Sophie managed brokenly before her control suddenly gave out and she burst into tears. Sobs shook her as she wept into his suit, her fingers hanging on to his lapels. 'I'm sorry,' she gulped, and felt his arms tighten round her.

  'It's all right now,' he whispered into her hair. 'I'm here.' A large white handkerchief appeared, and he tilted back her head to wipe her eyes and dab at the tears on her cheeks. 'There, that's better,' he said softly.

  She gave him a shaky smile just as a movement behind her caught her attention, reminding her that they were standing in the middle of the corridor in full view of anyone coming by. She turned round and the smile died on her lips. Standing in the corridor was Dorothea von Hartog.

  Sophie froze.

  So that's why Max couldn't be found, was her first thought. He must have left the castle that night and gone straight to Dorothea… immediately after she had told him all about herself. Sharply she pulled away from him and stared up into his face as bits of information long forgotten came back to mind.

  Emil had been so sure of his mother's love for his uncle. Was Max a constant visitor in Dorothea's home? Was that how the little boy knew all about their relationship—because he saw it day by day? Perhaps the whole fabric of her own relationship with Max had been an elaborate charade to deceive Klaus von Hartog? Dear God, it was all possible. The sophistication of the von Hartog family was way beyond her, she realised with sudden bitterness.

  Dragging her eyes from his face, Sophie brushed past him into the lift.

  'Sophie—wait!'

  She heard him call out as the doors closed and then she was alone, being swept up and away from him.

  In her bathroom she washed her face and stared at her reflection in the glass. She looked ghastly. Her skin was grey with fatigue, her eyes ringed with black shadows, her hair a mess and her suit crumpled. Listlessly she walked into the bedroom and sank on to the bed, her mind vacant, her eyes staring blankly at nothing.

  She barely heard the knocking on her door or Max's voice calling her name. And eventually there was silence. She turned to slide on to the bed, burying her face in her arms as misery engulfed her.

  When she woke it was evening. The telephone by her bed was ringing, and momentarily she was confused to find herself fully dressed on top of the bed. Then she remembered and reached for the phone.

  'Hello?' It was Dorothea. 'I have to speak with you,' she said urgently when Sophie didn't speak. 'Can you meet me downstairs in the hall… right away? Max has gone up to change for dinner and we won't be disturbed.'

  'No,' Sophie said, 'I don't think we have anything…'

  'Please,' Dorothea insisted, her voice strange—as though she was pleading.

  'Very well,' said Sophie curtly.

  Twenty minutes later, refreshed and changed, Sophie came downstairs. Dorothea was sitting on one of the sofas, a magazine in her hands.

  'There you are,' she said impatiently.

  As always she looked impeccable. Every curl in place, she was wearing a cashmere skirt and jacket, a cream silk blouse and glossy boots, her jewellery sparkling on her fingers and round her neck, and suddenly Sophie wished she hadn't agreed to this meeting.

  'I want to talk to you. Please sit down.' Dorothea tossed the magazine on to a table and Sophie felt a quick flicker of dislike.

  'I don't believe we've anything to discuss,' she said coolly.

  'Oh, yes, we do,' said Dorothea grimly, and Sophie sat down, not wishing the servants to hear them squabbling. 'If we're going to share the same man, we have something in common, wouldn't you say?'

  Sophie said nothing, her eyes fixed on the other woman as she waited for what was coming.

  'Max can be ruthless, as we all know,' Dorothea went on, 'but in some ways he's soft as butter, and I have this feeling he hasn't yet told you the truth about this marriage of yours.'

  Sophie tensed, her hands clenched in the pockets of her skirt.

  'I'm getting a bit bored with the delay,' Dorothea continued, her eyes on the perfection of her nails. 'After all, we've known since Kitzbühl about the annulment.' She looked at Sophie's frozen face and stopped in surprise. 'You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?'

  When Sophie didn't speak she sighed impatiently.

  'So I was right. He hasn't told you. I'd better fill you in,' Dorothea said bluntly. 'Max has been hoping for an annulment of my marriage so that we can be married in church. But that has now been refused, so Max has ruled out our marriage. But in a way it suits me better. He's not really good husband material, but he'll make a dazzling lover, and they'll be green with envy in Vienna when they find out I've snaffled him.' She smiled to herself. 'Anyway, in Kitzbühl I had this brilliant idea. You were obviously dotty about him, so why shouldn't he marry you? It would make his grandmother happy, give him the children he has to have and provide him with the respectable front so dear to him. He can spend time here for all the duties and ceremonies he thinks important, but our home together will be in Vienna where I want to live.' She looked up. 'It's really a perfect solution. And you're the ideal woman for the job. Not only do you love him, but you'd put up with his grandmother, you adore children and you're obviously a born little organiser and quite happy to be the mistress of this awful place.' She looked round and shuddered. 'My life is in Vienna, not this provincial village with
its outdated lifestyle.'

  She shrugged. 'I had some trouble persuading Max, of course. He has these terrible hang-ups. There's Klaus whom he doesn't want to hurt; there are all those damn trees and there's his grandmother. But I persuaded him in the end,' she added with a curl of her lips. 'So all he had to do was persuade you into marriage.' She looked across at Sophie with some curiosity. 'And it seems he's having difficulty with that. Normally he has no trouble persuading women to do as he wants, but for once he seems to be a bit slow getting there, and I thought a little chat between the two of us could hurry it along.'

  Sophie hadn't moved; her eyes were riveted to the other woman's face watching every word emerging from that round pink mouth. When the spate finally dried up, she felt bludgeoned, battered by words that glanced past her guard, digging deep into the places where they could wound unbearably. Sitting quite still, she tried to ignore the pain, to figure out if it could be true.

  It certainly explained Max's insistence on marriage, even his suggestion in Kitzbühl of a bogus marriage. And Dorothea was right. She herself was the ideal candidate for such a plan. Neither beautiful nor well born, she would be offered by such a marriage a life she could never have envisaged for herself. She would have a splendid home, money, a family and a handsome husband to stand at her side when needed. And to all that could be added the fact that she was no longer young, with dreams of romance addling her brain. Yes, it all fitted only too hideously.

  But was it true? Was Max capable of such deceit? Could he betray the trust of his cousin Klaus, his grandmother? And was his love for Dorothea so strong that he was prepared to abandon his estates? His grandmother had told her how indifferent he had always been to other women. Could that be because of his secret love for his cousin's wife?

  And it answered another question that Sophie had never openly admitted to herself.

  Why me? she had asked herself countless times.

  She had no beauty, no prestigious family background, none of the qualities to attract a man like Max von Hartog. So had he pretended to love her, convincing her of feelings that never existed? Had she been so gullible that she had never seen the reality, only what she hoped was true? The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell into place, bringing the finished picture sharply into focus.

  'Well?' Dorothea asked impatiently.

  Sophie had nothing to say to this woman who had finally brought the last of her dreams crashing down around her. Without a word she got up and walked away.

  Once more back in her bedroom, Sophie stripped off her clothes and stepped under the shower, scrubbing her body with vicious force as if to cleanse it. By the time she had rubbed herself dry, the pain was giving way to a slow, burning anger, so strong it was driving out the deep hurt.

  Max had deceived her—lied to her. She said it out loud to her reflection in the mirror as she powdered and lotioned her body. He had traded on her feelings to get what he wanted—a marriage of convenience. Convenient for him! Had he been honest with her, telling her what he wanted, she would have felt some respect for him. But pretending to feelings that didn't exist in order to persuade her into marriage, she couldn't stomach. It made her feel ill, and her chest constricted with the familiar pain. But never again, she vowed. She had shed her last tears for Maximilian von Hartog. And she wished him joy of his Dorothea, who was brutally selfish, hard as steel, and would probably make him thoroughly miserable.

  Sitting on a stool before the dressing table mirror, Sophie stared at her reflection. Nothing had changed. Beauty hadn't suddenly blossomed in her face. She had been gullible, she admitted to herself, stupid and naive, all the things she prided herself she was not, falling into his arms at the first sign of male attention. But at least she'd been honest. She had loved and wanted him, and now she felt no shame, only anger. He was the loser in this little game he'd played with her, and this time she would leave him without regrets. And Lottie had been right after all. She was suddenly fiercely glad she had come. It was better to know the truth and learn to live with it.

  Half an hour later she was ready, surprised at the image that smiled rather warily back at her. She had chosen the blue dress she had worn on her first evening. Her hair she'd left loose, brushing it into a thick mane of soft curls that just touched her shoulders. Her eyes she'd glossed with blue shadow that faded to her brows into glittering silver, and her lips were a brilliant red. She looked good, she decided firmly, and tightened the sash of her dress to emphasise the curve of her waist. She was ready to go down and face them both—for the last time.

  'Here she is!' said Dorothea rudely as Sophie appeared in the dining-room. She looked down at the glamorous figure, tonight in black, and met the blank stare of those cold blue eyes. There was triumph in Dorothea's face and her mouth was curved into an empty smile.

  Dorothea lacked dignity, Sophie decided suddenly. However impeccable her background, she had no manners, and where Sophie came from that rated very low. You have to have manners, her parents had taught her. Without them we'd all be back in the jungle. She returned Dorothea's look without blinking, her own eyes brilliant with scorn.

  Max came across the room, his eyes glittering as he looked down at her.

  'My dear,' he said softly, and lifted her hand to his lips before he pulled out a chair and she sat down. She tilted her head and gave him a wide smile. The colour rose darkly under his tan, and sudden triumph swept over her. Not entirely indifferent to her was the Herr Baron. Across the table Dorothea glowered, and Sophie felt an exhilaration that was highly pleasurable.

  'Have you seen your grandmother?' she enquired of Max as she was served with soup.

  'Yes. She missed you this afternoon.' He waited, but Sophie didn't respond; her face was bent to her plate. 'You couldn't make it, apparently,' he added.

  Still she didn't comment. 'Did you find her better?' she asked.

  'She's very weak,' said Dorothea shortly. 'I don't believe in all this kidding around. She's not going to get better.'

  Sophie's spoon clattered into her plate and she turned shocked eyes on the other woman.

  'No. Dorothea, that's not so,' Max said after a tense moment. 'She's weak, of course. Her system has to recover from the terrible strain of her illness, but most certainly she'll get better. She's strong and determined.'

  Suddenly the other two at the table no longer interested Sophie. For a while she had forgotten about the old lady upstairs, and as the meal progressed, she took no further part in the conversation. When the dessert arrived she excused herself.

  'I'd like to see Madame before she settles for the night,' she explained, and Max rose as she left the table. Tiptoeing into the sick-room, she saw Maria by the window, a shaded lamp on the table beside her, a newspaper open. Véronique was asleep, the pale face tranquil. Sophie hesitated. Should she wait? Maria got up and gestured for her to follow. Outside in the corridor they whispered.

  'How is she?' Sophie asked anxiously.

  'It's slow,' said Maria.

  'But there is improvement?' Maria nodded. 'What about the heart?'

  'The doctor's optimistic.'

  Sophie sighed. 'And how are you, Maria? Would you like me to take over for a while? Have you eaten?'

  Maria smiled. 'Yes, I've eaten, and no, I wouldn't like you to take over. I think you should leave it for tonight.'

  'She was expecting me earlier and I didn't come.'

  'I know. She was disappointed, but we didn't wait with tea.' Maria pulled Sophie's sleeve and led her to the sitting-room. 'I hear you're leaving tomorrow,' she said.

  Sophie nodded and watched Maria bite her lip.

  'I'm sorry to hear that,' said the nurse. 'Have you got to go?'

  'Yes.'

  'But you'll see her before you leave?'

  'Of course.'

  They both stood irresolute, aware there were things to ask and answer, and Sophie felt a sudden longing to confide in the other woman, but of course that was not possible.

  'She has you and Martha, af
ter all,' she said uneasily.

  'She's become very fond of you,' Maria pointed out. 'You know of course she hopes you'll marry her grandson?'

  Sophie flushed. 'I think she wants her grandson to marry and it doesn't much matter whom he chooses.'

  'You're wrong,' answered Maria quickly. 'It matters a great deal. She's not bothered about great-grandchildren. She knows she's too old to enjoy them for long, even if they arrive before she dies. But she is concerned about him. She adores him and wants him to be happy.'

  'I know,' Sophie said miserably.

  'Perhaps you could play it down, tell her you'll be coming back, that you'll keep in touch—write to her.'

  'Would she like that?' Sophie asked doubtfully.

  'She'd love it.'

  'All right, Maria, I'll do that.'

  Maria left her, and Sophie stood in the hall. Should she return downstairs and go through the meaningless ritual of coffee and saying goodbye? She had no wish to see either of them again. Her earlier elation was rapidly disappearing, and in spite of everything she was unhappy to be leaving. The castle drew her, and so did the indomitable old lady.

  There was one more thing she wanted to do.

  The small stool still stood by the fireplace in the ballroom, and the dog lay beside it as though waiting for her. He raised his head briefly to give her an intent stare before he lowered it to lie between his paws, his eyes watching her. She would miss him, too.

  The portrait looked exactly the same, but it didn't draw her as it had done on other evenings. She got up and moved to the windows, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor. Outside it was dark, and her eyes blurred with sudden tears as she looked at the snow melting on the lake, small clumps of white bobbing gently on the water. Another month and it would be gone, the lake fully revealed, the trees on its banks bursting into blossom.