The House by the Lake (11 page)

“Thank goodness you came to my rescue,” Virginia said when they were out of earshot.

“This way,” Virginia said once they reached the entrance hall. “Come on.” She headed past the stairs, down a corridor they had never been in before.

Isabelle pulled back. “We can’t go down here,” she said.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, let’s explore. Don’t be so boring.”

Isabelle stopped. “I am not,” she said, “boring.” She was used to Virginia’s ways, used to her boldness, but her friend had never called her boring before.

“No, of course you aren’t, darling,” Virginia said, sounding as if she were talking to a child who needed to be soothed. But she was looking at Isabelle with a challenge in her eyes.

“All right then,” Isabelle said, casting one last glance back at the salon. “Let’s go.”

When a servant appeared at the other end of the hall, Virginia pulled Isabelle into the nearest room. Dainty sofas were arranged opposite French-style armchairs, and porcelain sets were displayed in cabinets that lined the walls.

“I heard that Max went to the government rally in Nuremberg,” Virginia said, once the servant had passed.

“Yes,” Isabelle said.

“What did he say?”

“Not a lot.”

“Well, it is all that the officers would discuss. I trust that Max is not too in sympathy with Hitler’s cause. Have you thought about that?”

Isabelle folded her arms. Somehow, the delicate room felt close. Were they the only ones in this wing of the Schloss? “He just wants to do the right thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not as straightforward as it seems. He has to consider his family, the estate, his workers—he is aware of all the jobs and pride and economic stability that the Nazis are bringing to the village and his country.”

“The officers say that he is not as involved as he should be.”

Isabelle looked down at the patterns on the wooden floor. She ran the toe of her heeled shoe across the edge of the pale pink rug on the floor. “We shouldn’t be in here,” she said.

“Rot,” Virginia said. “You can’t ignore this. It won’t fix it. This is real.”

“I’m not ignoring it.” Isabelle felt something unfamiliar and uncomfortable stir inside her. She had never argued with Virginia before. “I think he is just trying to get informed. He thinks they might bring much-needed change to his country.”

“They might want you too, if they think they’ve got Max,” Virginia said.

Isabelle forced herself to laugh. “Max would never place me in any danger. And in any case, I’m French.”

Virginia reached out a hand. “If they suspect you of anything untoward, of influencing Max away from them, then you could be in danger. Remember, there is no freedom of speech and there are ears everywhere in this country. From what I’ve read.”

“I don’t think Max is in any danger,” Isabelle said. “His first priority is to his family, to the people he employs, and he has a conscience about the future of his country, that’s all. He wouldn’t get involved in anything questionable.”

Virginia had her head tilted to one side. “I see. But the point is, will he stand by while . . . things happen?”

“He says there are only rumors.”

Virginia shook her head. “The officers seemed relieved that he was going to some ball in Berlin.”

Isabelle chewed on her lip. He had invited her to go with him. “Yes,” she said.

“Organized by—”

“The Nazis,” Isabelle whispered the word. “It’s just a ball,” she added.

“Oh, dear goodness.” Virginia stroked Isabelle’s arm. “I don’t like it.”

Isabelle looked in her friend’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I am sure of one thing. He won’t do anything to put anyone he cares about in danger.”

Virginia’s head was on one side again.

“Let’s go back. Max will wonder where I’ve gone,” Isabelle said. She took Virginia’s hand this time. It had been a good thing to voice her views. If she felt something, it was, surprisingly, more confidence than ever in Max.

Virginia stopped just before they entered the well-lit entrance hall again. She seemed to have read Isabelle’s mind. “You might be confident in Max,” she whispered, “but are you confident in Hitler?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Germany, 2010

Anna watched Wil as they climbed the steps to this other Schloss—one that had clearly been restored recently. A frown darkened his features. But when he reached the top of the stairs he stopped, turned to her, smiled that extraordinary, boyish, classically handsome smile of his, and stood aside for her to go inside. As usual, she was struck by his impeccable manners.

The entrance to this Schloss was elaborate—a grand portico sat atop the marble steps.

“Welcome to Schloss Beringer,” Wil said.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping her own voice even.

“It’s a two-hundred-room hotel,” Wil said, “with three restaurants and a conservatory. They specialize in weddings. But tonight, I thought I’d just bring you here for dinner.” His words were cheerful enough, but Anna detected something darker in his tone.

Anna stopped short as she entered the opulent entrance hall, dazzled by the scale of the room, its imposing staircase, the gleaming marble floors, and the flowers cascading out of oversized urns.

“It’s . . .” Anna didn’t know what to say. Beautiful as it was, there was something odd about the atmosphere. Artificiality? She couldn’t help feeling that the place was simply on show. In some ways, while it was ridiculous, Anna preferred Siegel.

“I know,” Wil said. He closed the front door, quietly. The sound of people talking came from the restaurant. “When I look at the facade, I can imagine the past, in spite of the Ferraris and the international flags on the front lawn. But in here . . . it’s all lost . . .” His voice trailed off.

“I’m so sorry,” Anna said.

“The restaurant’s this way. And Anna, I didn’t bring you for the food. So, please, don’t hate me for it.”

With its drab, dark carpet, vivid flowers on pedestals, and stuffy white-linen tables, the restaurant looked like something out of another era again.

“It’s very . . .”

Wil broke into that boyish grin again. “Okay, Anna. Let’s be honest here. It’s tasteless. Hideous. Foul.”

Anna caught his smile and returned it. But at the same time her imagination was busy. How beautiful this room could be—imagine if the floorboards were sanded back, the décor less pretentious. Because what it lacked was charm.

Halfway through dinner, she kept the thought to herself that she had been right. There was nothing wrong with her roast fillet of perch, but there was nothing creative about it.

She didn’t push Wil to talk about his past, his family, or how the Schloss had ended up as it had, because she sensed that his feelings, like hers, ran deep. Perhaps, one day, he would raise the topic himself. She was certainly interested—but it likely depended on whether they were going to be friends. But why was she thinking like that? After all, the likelihood of her seeing him again once she returned home was nil. She shook her head at her own thoughts.

“I would never bring anyone here on a date, Anna,” Wil joked.

“Lucky this isn’t a date then.” She declined the offer of dessert.

They ordered coffee, and Wil sat back in his seat when it arrived. “I wanted to show it to you, though,” he said.

“What, to prove to me that things could be worse?” Anna laughed.

He raised a brow. “Well, there is that. But there’s another reason. I want to show you something. Although, first, I have a question for you.”

Anna looked up.

“What is it that you do back in the US?”

Anna smiled. “My partner, Cass, and I own an Italian deli in San Francisco.”

“Do you cook?”

Anna nodded.

“Double apologies then.”

“For what?”

“For bringing you here! I would never have subjected you to such a dull meal if I’d known.”

“It was interesting,” Anna laughed. “I’m always up for research.”

“You know, the worst thing about this place is that the curtains clash with the carpet and the flowers look like they belong in a funeral parlor. And don’t get me started on the staff.” Wil did a perfect imitation of the unfashionably formal waitstaff.

Anna let out a giggle. “Well, now if I had this place—”

“Oh, do tell.” He leaned forward and that wicked smile appeared again.

“Well, I’d sack everybody, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Next, I’d throw the carpet in a river.”

“Excellent plan,” Wil chuckled. “I’d have a bonfire.”

“Maybe we could reduce it all back to the way Siegel is and cut open the floorboards searching for long-lost rings,” Anna said.

Wil put his coffee cup back in its saucer. “I’ve arranged for contractors to be at Siegel in the morning,” he said. “I’m going to tell them that there’s a problem with the floor—that will do as an explanation. They’ll pull up the linoleum for us, then I’ll get them to leave.”

“Once they’ve established there’s nothing wrong with the floor,” Anna said.

“Mmm hmm,” Wil said.

“Thank you.” Anna sat back in her seat.

When the waiter came to take their payment, Wil had a conversation with him in German. The young man nodded and soon another, older man appeared. Wil introduced him to Anna, and then, after apologizing to her, Wil had another conversation in German with him.

When the man had left the table, having slapped Wil on the back several times, Wil leaned in a bit closer to Anna. “We’re in luck,” he said. “Come with me.”

As Wil led her upstairs, Anna stayed quiet about the unsuitable modern iron banisters, the dark navy carpet flecked with ugly gold insignias, a hideous brass chandelier.

Wil stopped at the first room and opened it with a key that Anna hadn’t noticed until now. He held the door open.

The room had clearly once been grand, but now it was heavy with pretension—gaudy fake flowers, a veneer coffee table, an ugly wooden desk, and an oversize hotel bed.

Wil pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. Anna turned it over wordlessly, slipping her fingers underneath the seal. She couldn’t take her eyes off the old photograph that was inside.

This room had been a woman’s room once.

In the photograph, an easel littered with paint sat to the left of the picture windows. A half-finished picture of a tree with a swing hanging from one of its branches decorated the canvas, and a chaise longue sat next to the easel. A piece of lingerie was thrown across the chaise longue, almost as if it had been placed there for artful effect.

A canopied bed sat in the foreground, scattered with a multitude of cushions. Several pairs of shoes were loose on the floor. A delicate, patterned rug—quite unlike the heavy carpet that was under their feet now—covered the floor.

Anna turned to face Wil. She didn’t have to talk. The question was in her eyes and she felt that he understood it.

“It was my grandmother’s room,” he said. His eyes held hers for a moment, but then he turned away.

“We had the opportunity to buy Schloss Beringer back after the wall came down.”

“Yes.”

“My grandfather knew your grandfather, Max. They had grown up together. And they had been good friends. While my grandfather was a busy surgeon in Berlin, he knew that Max had done exceedingly well with his own business in America. Grandfather needed someone to help him here who was as passionate as he was about the villages, the people, and the palaces—someone who had inside knowledge, who cared. Max could have helped to raise funds, inject them into both villages, and bring both houses back to life. Your grandfather could have sold Siegel to a family if he had not wanted to keep it once it was done. But Max, unfortunately, refused flat out. He didn’t want to be involved with Germany again.”

He paused. “Just like I’m helping you now, Anna. Sometimes you need someone who cares—someone who has the same passions as you, someone who you know wants to do what’s right, someone from the past. My grandfather felt let down by Max. It was about far more than just the homes they grew up in. It was about who he thought Max was. It was about the friend he thought he had.”

“But couldn’t your grandfather have found other investors?”

“The company that bought Siegel was making aggressive offers to the government, just like the hotel chain that bought this Schloss. My grandfather didn’t have time on his side—apart from the matter of the funds.”

Anna inhaled sharply.

“Max was the rightful heir to Siegel,” Wil went on. “I guess my grandfather and the villagers couldn’t understand why that meant nothing to him.”

Anna turned to face to the window. Why had Max abandoned his past, Germany, everything he held most dear? Would she ever know the answer?

“But what if it meant everything to him,” she said, her voice quiet. “So much that he couldn’t even bring himself to speak about it?”

“I can’t see how that’s the case.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think it means?”

“Please don’t play word games with me.”

“I’m not.”

Anna turned to face him. “Don’t you think he may have had his reasons? Even if we don’t know what they are?”

There was a silence.

“If Max had come here, even once—if he’d talked to my grandfather and explained his reasoning—it would have shown that Max cared. As it was, my grandfather spent his final years doing everything he could to try to stop this”—he waved a hand around the room—“from happening. On his own. Until it was too late. It broke his heart.”

Anna took in a breath. “I understand. And I feel for your grandfather and how difficult that must have been. But I also know Max. He must have had his reasons.” She heard her voice cracking.

“I hope they were bloody good.”

A knot formed in Anna’s stomach. Max had avoided talking about the past so deftly, but he seemed like such a loyal person to her—he had been her most steadfast relative. It seemed so out of character for him to ignore his oldest friend when he was in need. There had to be more to this story—but how would she find out what it was?

“I just wanted you to understand. That’s all,” Wil said. He opened the door for her and stood aside.

She walked past him, her arms folded tight to her sides. “I appreciate your help very much.”

Then Anna handed Wil’s photograph back to him. He took it, but he stayed silent, waiting for her to walk ahead of him down the staircase.

At midmorning the following day, Anna stood on the bare floorboards in Max’s bedroom at Schloss Siegel. When Wil came back into the room after seeing the workmen out, Anna was scouring the floor for any cuts in the wood that might indicate a hiding place. Wil leaned against the door for a moment.

“How’s your grandfather today?” he asked.

Anna wiped her dirty hands on the old blue jeans that she had paired with a black polo sweater.

“The operation went well, I think,” she said. “He was groggy with drugs when I spoke to him last but he didn’t complain of any pain.”

Wil stood for a moment, his head tilted to one side. “He does sound as if he isn’t selfish, Anna. Not needy.”

“Oh, no,” Anna chuckled. “You’ve hit the right button there. That’s why I—” She stopped. There was no point getting into another character analysis now.

“So, where do we start?” Wil asked.

Anna frowned at the uneven old floorboards. “You know, I have absolutely no idea.”

Schloss Siegel, Christmas 1934

The household was awake early on Christmas Eve at Schloss Siegel. Isabelle hated to think what time the servants must have begun their day. When she walked into the dining room for breakfast, she was greeted with one of the loveliest sights of her life. On the giant mahogany table was an entire village of gingerbread houses studded with brightly colored sweets. Thick strands of holly and ivy wound around gorgeous silver platters of food.

Isabelle had lain awake a great deal of the previous night, her mind a swirl of thoughts about German politics. Max. Nazism. Did he really believe in Hitler’s policies? Or was he just trying to do what was best for his country? What would she do if he were to become irrevocably involved—in all aspects of it?

Now she moved toward the stack of plates on the sideboard. The family’s Christmas porcelain was decorated with exotic red and green patterns, swirling flowers, and dancing red ribbons. Her shoulder brushed against the arm of Max’s valet, Hans. He apologized in German and stood aside for her to pass. But Isabelle insisted that he go first. He nodded, his blue eyes falling to the floor as he moved on.

This was one of the days of the year on which the servants were given special privileges. The household staff was chatting informally with the family and other guests, and each of them had been given a personal gift, along with a box of gingerbread and a bag of sweets and chocolates. The atmosphere was convivial, even relaxed; it was as if the normal formalities of the house had flown away, if only for a few hours.

“You have to try one of these.” Max appeared behind Isabelle and handed her a plate of chocolates, exquisitely decorated and formed into tiny handmade wreaths, perfect little Christmas stockings, even a miniature Christmas gift, complete with a bow. Isabelle took this one and held it for a moment.

“It seems a little indulgent for breakfast.” She smiled.