She looked back towards Marietta’s American journalist. He was handsome in a homely sort of way. But a journalist. Ah well, Marietta could afford to indulge herself with poor beaux, Ingrid thought with a sudden, fierce shaft of jealousy, while she could not. Eventually her fortune would enable her cousin to marry anyone, no matter how old she was. She, on the other hand, would probably have to settle for someone much older, and she’d have to hurry. It was wealth she needed, not love.
She felt a hand on her arm and glanced round with a happy smile. Then all her sophistication fled. ‘Hugo,’ she gasped. ‘But why . . . how can you be here . . .? Go away, go away.’
She turned as if to flee, but Hugo caught hold of her wrist and pulled her back to face him. ‘It’s all right. I’m invited. Yes, I am. Father has welcomed me back into the bosom of the family.’ He laughed unpleasantly, but Ingrid hardly noticed. She was shivering all over. The memory of the fascination of his extraordinary maleness and his power flooded through her. It was almost as if she were hypnotised, just like before. Hugo looked taller and even stronger. His eyes were deeper set and more amber than she remembered. The impact of his masculinity and his wilfulness recalled a dozen memories and she felt her cheeks and eyes burning.
I’m not the young, impressionable teenager he seduced, she told herself fiercely. Then she shuddered. She doubted if any other man would thrill her as Hugo once had. It was his subtle, underlying cruelty that brought her skin out in goosepimples. He must never find out how he still affects me, she thought. She drew back abruptly. The past must stay dead and buried.
She searched for something scathing to say, but before she could think he said, ‘I must congratulate you for growing into the most beautiful woman imaginable, for being so gracious and so poised . . .’
He’s overdoing the compliments and he sounds so damned gauche, she thought.
‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered. ‘I wouldn’t like uncle to see us together.’ She gestured at his uniform and said, ‘So you’re a Nazi. I might have known. But how could you wear your uniform here? Good God. You know how uncle feels about the New Order.’
‘My dear Ingrid, the Nazis are the powerhouse of the future, and I’m climbing to the top. I told you I’d win, didn’t I? You should have believed me. Dance with me,’ he said peremptorily, ‘I want to be close to you.’
‘No, Hugo. The past is behind us. Let it stay buried.’
Hugo appeared not to hear her and unbelievably Ingrid found herself moving slowly around the room in Hugo’s arms.
‘For old times’ sake, I’ll tell you a secret,’ he whispered. ‘The richest man in this room is Bill Roth. Marietta thinks he’s just a journalist.’
‘Isn’t he?’ she whispered back, knowing her cheeks were scarlet again.
‘Yes, but he’s also joint-heir to one of the biggest arms manufacturing corporations in the States. It seems he’s afraid of his wealth and wants to make his own way.’
The music stopped. ‘Good hunting,’ Hugo said mockingly, then bowed and turned away. Moments later Ingrid was engrossed in her plan of attack. Marietta didn’t need another fortune. She already had more than enough.
*
Leaning back against the mahogany seat, her hair streaming in the breeze, enjoying the gentle sway of the steamer, and sipping the wonderful sparkling wine from Sokol’s vineyards, Andrea wished the day would last forever. She glanced lovingly at Louis, who was briefly greeting his relatives. He seemed to feel her glance, for he turned and smiled and beckoned her, but she shook her head.
Andrea turned as she felt someone sit down beside her and found herself gazing into the sad eyes of the Count. She had only met him briefly when they arrived and she’d liked him on sight. She smiled warmly at him.
‘How are you enjoying yourself?’ he began awkwardly.
‘I’m in a daze. I seem to have wandered into a fairy story.’ Andrea smiled again, hoping to see him smile back. ‘All this . . .’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the castle. ‘The strangest thing of all is that Louis and Marietta never hinted at their wealth. They are modest, kind, caring, down-to-earth people . . . both of them. And I love them both dearly . . .’
She broke off, struck by the serious and troubled look that had crept into the Count’s eyes. ‘I mean . . .,’ she stammered, embarrassed by her frankness.
‘I know what you mean, my dear,’ he said. ‘I see it in your face. Unfortunately, all these privileges also demand great dedication. Take Marietta. A lifetime of selfless devotion to her family lies ahead of her. She asked my permission to be free for four years, but when she gains her degree she must return to take up her responsibilities.’
The Count was looked intently at her and Andrea felt a twinge of unease. What was he trying to convey to her?
‘Of course, her grandmother was a stickler for tradition,’ the Count went on. ‘She used to keep a file of suitable young men . . . royalty most of them . . . absurd, I thought, but the truth is, there are only twenty men eligible to marry Marietta. One day she must make a fitting marriage and devote herself to looking after her inheritance. For this she’ll need a partner with the same background and training. The same goes for Louis. He, too, faces a lifetime of service to his country, either in the government, or the army, plus the strict protocol that goes with it. He’s a bit of a rebel, but everyone is at his age. Later, he’ll take his rank and fortune more seriously and choose a wife brought up to this type of discipline.’
Watching her turn pale, the Count stood up. ‘Good heavens, I’m monopolising you, and stopping you from dancing. Can I fetch you a drink, my dear?’
The Count looked wretched, she thought, through the tears which were flooding her eyes. She bent her head, excused herself and rushed to the toilet where she blew her nose vigorously several times. She felt sick. The Count had gone out of his way to warn her that Louis could never marry her.
‘Oh God. How can I bear it? Louis, I love you,’ she whispered. Louis would never be able to marry someone like herself. The Habsburgs married other Habsburgs, or royalty, or anyone but the likes of her. She shivered again. ‘Oh Louis . . .’ she whispered in anguish.
A feeling of humiliation began to well up inside her. She could not keep up a pretence of happiness in front of Louis. She decided to leave at once. When the steamer docked, she would say that she had to return home urgently.
*
It was a rush to get back to the castle, bath, change and be downstairs by seven, as arranged, but Bill just made it. He found himself sitting next to Ingrid, listening to truly fantastic flamenco being played across the room by four guitarists. There was the sound of laughter and the clatter of feet, some of the guests were trying to dance to the music and making idiots of themselves. It was warm and peaceful and Bill was euphoric. He’d had a wonderful afternoon in Ingrid’s company and he’d decided she would make a superb sister-in-law.
Jan, who was acting as barman, handed Bill another Scotch. Louis was sitting in the shadows, looking deflated because Andrea had decided to go home for some unconvincing reason.
Then Marie made her entrance in a clinging sheath of midnight blue silk that left one shoulder bare and hugged every curve of her body. Bill stood in admiration and bowed formally over her hand. ‘Are you safe in that dress?’
She laughed. ‘It’s straight from Paris. My aunt sent it to me. Do you like it?’ she asked. The lights caught the glittering diamonds at her neck and ears, and Bill was suddenly reminded of her wealth and status.
‘Yes,’ he said grumpily. He preferred her in student clothes, with her hair untidy and blowing in the wind. He caught hold of her hand. ‘Come and dance.’ She stepped easily into his arms.
‘You don’t like the dress, do you?’ she said, sensing his mood.
‘There’s nothing wrong it, it makes you look like a countess . . . fit for a king. I have a vision of you leaning over the fence back home, watching your favourite horse going through its paces; somehow, the
dress doesn’t match that dream.’
He kissed the tip of her nose. For a moment it seemed to Bill that they were alone.
Ingrid watched their every movement, her face twisted with envy.
As the music came to an end, everyone stared towards the door. Looking round, Bill saw von Hesse stride into the room wearing his ceremonial black uniform. At the sight of him Bill’s stomach contracted in a painful spasm. But this is Czechoslovakia, he told himself, and the Nazis had no power here.
‘What’s that bastard doing here?’ Bill whispered to Marie, furiously. ‘Last time I saw him, he was a captain. Now he’s a major.’
Marie did not answer. She looked angry and embarrassed.
Von Hesse crossed the room. Louis stood up and held out his hand. ‘Welcome home, Hugo,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t see you on the steamer, but I hear you were there briefly.’
Home. Bill was astonished.
Von Hesse flung up his arm in a Nazi salute. ‘Heil Hitler,’ he snapped. Then he shook hands with Louis and turning to the girls, bowed to them with a strange twisted smile on his face.
‘Bill, do you know my stepbrother, Hugo?’ Louis said.
Bill had to force himself to stretch out his hand and summon a smile. The evening had taken a macabre turn, and he felt he’d been deceived. He scowled at Marie in shock and disappointment.
Feeling sick with embarrassment, Marietta wanted to puncture Hugo’s assurance. Father had explained why he’d allowed Hugo back into the family fold, and they had fought about it. Eventually she had given in and promised to keep politics out of her party, but her temper was now getting the better of her.
‘Really, Hugo, bringing those dreaded symbols into my home shows contempt for all our feelings. I loathe that uniform.’
Hugo laughed. ‘So you don’t like the uniform?’ He put one hand on her shoulder, a proprietary gesture that infuriated Bill. ‘That’s stupid, Marietta. Within a few months every factory, every institution, every district and every street in Austria will be run by people in uniforms like this.’
Marietta was so shocked she could hardly talk coherently. ‘Oh God. No. Never. Not so soon . . . surely?’
Watching Marie’s reaction, Bill felt completely confused. What the hell was going on? He seemed to have stumbled on to the wrong set, wrong dialogue, wrong occasion.
Hugo neatly appropriated a cognac from a passing waiter. ‘Happy birthday, Marietta,’ he said, lifting his glass. Then he turned to Bill. ‘You see Roth, you had nothing to worry about. The welfare of my little sister is of vital concern to me, although keeping her out of trouble seems to be a full-time occupation.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To the family.’ He tossed back his drink. ‘My God, it’s good to be home.’ Then he stood with his back to the fire, legs astride, looking as if he owned the place.
Bill gritted his teeth. It was a sordid picture of double-values and insincerity played out at the highest level of society, and Marietta was the worst of the lot, Bill reasoned. She’d been playing the fashionable heroine in safety while other Edelweiss students had been at risk. And to think he’d been so worried about her, while she’d known she was safe, because her brother was ‘something’ in the Nazi Party, making sure that nothing too terrible happened to her. No wonder the students had been released so quickly.
Bill didn’t like his thoughts, but he could not banish them. He shot her a look of angry despair and noticed that she had the grace to look embarrassed. Then the band began playing again and she motioned him to dance with her.
Bill joined her reluctantly. ‘How come you never mentioned your brother, never mind his position in the Nazi Party?’ he growled.
‘Oh, Bill, the first time I knew Hugo was in the Nazi Party was when they called him into my interrogation. It was a shock . . . but then, when I thought about it, it made sense. I mean, he’d always been at odds with the rest of the family.’
‘Ah, come on, Marie. I can’t believe you didn’t know his position. All right, I grant that you’re ashamed of his beliefs, but that doesn’t alter the fact that you knew you were safe to demonstrate . . . and rescue the children . . . and publish your damned newspaper . . .’
Marietta turned pale. ‘Is that what you believe of me?’ she stammered. ‘Truly? Are you calling me a fraud?’ She felt sick with humiliation. Her legs felt rubbery, her mouth was dry and there was a lump in her throat so large she thought she might choke. Bill had called her a liar. The word echoed in her mind as she sought words to convince him of her sincerity, aware that pride was preventing her from speaking.
‘I guess you need a Nazi in the family. Someone has to protect the old fortunes and castles,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve always admired survivors. You really had me duped, Marie. Oh, for God’s sake.’ He almost shook her in frustration.
‘Why should you think your opinion matters to me one jot?’ Her eyes flashed in annoyance and she lifted her foot and brought it down hard, stamping his toe with her heel. ‘You are a mean-spirited, suspicious, disloyal . . . Oh, you’re despicable.’ And, holding her head high to prevent her tears falling, she swept through the crowd leaving him in solitude.
Chapter Fifteen
Bill watched Marie leave, then limped back to the bar with a sour taste in his mouth.
‘A lover’s tiff?’ Hugo’s voice boomed beside him. ‘Ingrid, be a good hostess, dance with our guest, won’t you?’
More to get away from Hugo than from any desire to dance with Ingrid, Bill took her hand and led her on to the dance floor. He moved around the floor like an automaton, feeling miserable. When the dance ended everyone applauded Ingrid and she twirled her full skirt in acknowledgement.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ Bill said gracelessly.
‘Am I?’ Ingrid smiled wickedly. ‘Let’s have a nightcap.’
She drew Bill to a quiet corner of the room. She sat so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her thighs through the silk fabric of her dress. ‘Don’t be miserable, Bill. You Americans can never understand the pressures and responsibilities that people like Marietta have to shoulder. I don’t suppose you know that she is one of the richest women in Europe . . . maybe she is the richest. Who knows? There are only twenty men sufficiently eligible to marry her.’ She giggled. ‘Once, when we came here years ago, Hugo stole the list of those eligible men out of the old Princess’s study so that I could set my cap at one of them. The silly goose! But then I can marry for love. The only reason to marry, don’t you think Bill?’
He mumbled unhappily.
‘Uncle is hoping she’ll marry into royalty – did you know that the blood of almost every royal family in Europe runs in her veins? Well, my veins, too. I am even higher born than she. My father was closely related to the British royal family, but there . . . he’s dead.’
She sighed and looked so forlorn that Bill reached out and took her hand in his.
‘Don’t pity me, Bill. It happened long ago. Of course, I can understand Marietta wanting to be free as a bird, but it was selfish of her, too. She insisted on dropping her title during her student days. Uncle was furious, but she’s very spoiled and she always gets her own way. She doesn’t care if people get hurt – she knows she will always be all right.’
Bill wished that Ingrid would keep quiet and he began to wonder how to leave her without being rude, but she was well into her theme.
‘Right under our feet, in the vaults below, is the most prestigious and priceless collection of jewels in Europe – the Lobkowitz collection. It’s all hers. Of course, Marietta is the sole heir to the whole Lobkowitz fortune, the breweries, mile after mile of farms, factories, industries, just about everything . . . spread over Czechoslovakia, Austria and Germany. Then she’ll have a slice of her father’s wealth, too, although Louis will get the lion’s share. So you see, Bill, she has a duty to protect her fortune. Part of her wants to be a free spirit, but most of her knows she is destined for much greater things and she is responsible for the future of the family.’
&
nbsp; ‘But why should Marietta inherit all this?’ Bill asked, feeling wretched. ‘Why not Louis?’
‘It is from her grandmother, Princess Lobkowitz. Marietta was the only child of the marriage of Uncle Frederick and Princess Anna. Her mother ran away from the responsibilities of being the heiress and the Count’s wife, and she was killed later in a car crash in Switzerland. But Marietta is made of sterner stuff, she will never run away.
‘Sometimes I thank my lucky stars that my family lost everything. Freedom is worth a lot, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Bill said with a sigh.
‘Well, I need my beauty sleep. Tomorrow will be tiring. Goodnight, Bill. I look forward to a repeat performance on the dance floor.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek and then she was gone.
Bill stayed where he was, almost too tired to move. He idly watched Hugo walk towards the musicians, say something before sitting at the piano. The guitarists shrugged and stopped playing as Hugo strummed the notes of the Nazis’ Horst Wessel song, while singing raucously:
The flags held high! the ranks stand tight together!
SA march on, with quiet, firm forward pace.
Comrades who, though shot by Red Front or Reaction,
Still march with us, their spirits in our ranks.
Bill wanted nothing so much as to punch that bastard, but who was he to interfere? He was the stranger and Hugo was part of the family. This evening Bill had discovered just how much of a stranger he really was.
Hugo came to the end of his repertoire. He stood up, lifted his glass and roared: ‘To the Führer! Heil Hitler!’
Some of the dancers and the four guitarists raised their voices for a round of enthusiastic ‘Heil Hitlers’.
What a bitch of an evening, Bill thought. He drained his glass and left.
*
Bill woke with a hangover and a feeling of gloom which deepened as the day dragged on. The girls were closeted somewhere with hairdressers and whatever else it was they did before a ball. Finally he went for a long walk and came back feeling refreshed but still foul tempered. By now the castle was crowded with extra staff, arriving guests, drivers, waiters with drinks, musicians tuning up. The great reception hall looked like Grand Central Station in the rush hour.
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