The Longest Winter (26 page)

He imagined he would get married some time within the next few years. Out of the immediate future would step some divine girl who would make the same stunning impact on him as Sophie had made on James. If he could not quite picture every detail of his ideal, he was clear about one thing at least. She would be Austrian. He had travelled the countries of Europe without feeling any of them produced women superior to those of Vienna. If anything, it was the other way about. Vienna had an astonishing quota
of superbly good-looking women. His mother would look around for him if he dropped only half a hint, and she would certainly not think it necessary to travel to Germany or France, Italy or Hungary. She would probably not go more than half a mile in any direction. She might not even leave the house but simply say, ‘I’ll invite so-and-so and her family to dinner, so-and-so is a charming girl and it’s time you met her.’

He conceded he was taking his time to enmesh himself in the intricacies of serious life, that he was extending the years of irresponsibility. But at least he was harming no one. He had made no girl shed tears.

There was Helene, of course. Could he consider her seriously?

He decided not.

In any case, there was the Serbian question. Damned hard luck on Sophie if it took the gilt off her wedding day. Sophie deserved a perfect day. He was not affected himself. He had no commitments or involvements. He could fight the Serbians without making a girl weep for him. It would not last long and most generations were called on to fight for their country once at least. It looked as if the politicians weren’t going to settle the matter in relation to Serbia. It was going to be left to soldiers.

All the same, because of Sophie he rather hoped now that the politicians would keep talking.

‘James?’ Carl spoke from under the bonnet. They had arrived home from the picnic and he and James were putting the Benz cleanly to bed.

‘I’m listening.’

‘I don’t think it will alarm you, you’re not that sort of fellow. But there might be a war. It’s those damned Serbians— I must say, this engine is remarkably good on the oil. It’s still quite clean too, have you noticed that? Did I mention it won’t last long? It won’t, you may rely on that.’

‘Are we talking about the Serbians or the engine oil?’ asked James.

‘Oh, nothing to worry about,’ said Carl casually, ‘but I was just wondering about you and Sophie. A war might upset your plans a little. If it does happen – well, look here, would you consider staying on? You and Sophie, I mean. Just for the duration. With the family. We shouldn’t take long to settle the Serbians.’

‘If it’s just you and the Serbians,’ said James pointedly, ‘no, it shouldn’t take too long.’

‘I thought you might consider the idea,’ said Carl, emerging from the bonnet and smiling cheerfully.

‘Has Sophie considered it?’

‘Mmm? Oh, I expect she will when you mention it.’

‘We’ll see what happens,’ said James.

On the evening of the small dinner party the baron telephoned from his office to say he was simply unable to get away in time to help receive the guests. He was profusely apologetic and
hoped his wife would understand. She did, for she knew now that a crisis existed and that it was a serious one. But it must not be allowed to spoil things for Sophie and James. Ernst had known what he was talking about when he suggested the dinner party should be in lieu of an engagement party. There could be no glittering ball, which was what the baroness would have liked to give, if there was a war on. Ernst in his quiet way would very properly discourage it. Therefore, Sophie and James must have a happy occasion this evening.

There were only four guests. James and Major Moeller, Ludwig and Helene. Anne had rather begged for Ludwig to be invited. It looked very much as if Anne was becoming as seriously attached as Sophie. The baroness could not deny she would be pleased to have Ludwig marry Anne. So Ludwig came and Helene too. Helene would provide a pairing with Carl.

The small reception room was used for welcoming the guests. It was more intimate than the larger one, and a champagne buffet had been set up to precede dinner.

Sophie, wishing to dazzle James before settling down to be his earnestly inexpensive wife, wore a new gown. And it was not solely to dazzle him. It was for him, in acknowledgement of him, a reflection of what he meant to her. He was her lover, her protector, her saviour. Her poetic imagination dwelt on every descriptive word, and she was able to reconcile her abandonment to the flowery muse of a past era with her belief in
herself as a modern young lady by remembering that self-expression could not be confined within the limits of what was popular and what was not.

The gown was a sheath of pale, lustrous gold, waisted to emphasize the slender sweep of torso and bodiced to enhance the contours of her rounded bosom. Jewels studded her piled glossy hair. Her eyes were hugely brilliant. She herself was brilliant, her mirror told her so, but when James arrived and looked at her, stared at her, she wondered if she had not overdone it.

‘James?’ she said apprehensively.

‘Is that you, Sophie?’ He smiled. He was darkly tanned and quite immaculate in his tails. ‘Shame on you to look as beautiful as this. I’m stunned speechless.’

‘But, James,’ she said, ‘I am only engaged once, so I did not want to look as if it was an ordinary occasion. I think it very auspicious and had to do my best to look auspicious myself. I will do?’

‘You’ll do for an emperor,’ said James. He took her hand, bent his head and kissed her fingertips. Her eyes laughed at him. He gave her a wink and she sensed the fun they could get out of life together. ‘Yes, my most auspicious Sophie.’

‘Oh, my hero,’ she countered demurely. She greeted Major Moeller, who had had the tact to stand well aside.

‘My dear Sophie,’ he said and kissed her hand with precise gallantry. ‘I think you have James reeling a little. I’m past the worst weaknesses of youth myself, but all the same I am dazzled, by
heaven I am. I’ve congratulated James. May I now give you my felicitations?’

‘I shall be very happy,’ said Sophie, and the major kissed her on each cheek. ‘Thank you, dear Major Moeller. Will you take me to some champagne? I wish to become a little giddy.’

They all drank champagne. Anne, in sheerest sky blue, was happy for James, blissful for Sophie and contented with herself. Her mother, in white, competed with her daughters for charm. Helene, pink-clad, was in a flutter, talking excitedly to Carl about a war. Carl took her aside and explained cordially but clearly that the evening belonged to Sophie and James, not to any war. He understood her flutters but would she kindly make happier contributions to the conversation? Breathlessly Helene said she would talk only about the very nicest things.

But there were underlying tensions which neither the champagne nor the most cheerful conversation could quite dispel. The Austrian ultimatum to Serbia had been received. It virtually asked Serbia to skin herself alive. The speculative newspaper leaders had become messages of warning. However, dinner brightened the atmosphere. The two hanging chandeliers glittered with reflected light and the wine glasses sparkled with reflected colour. No one mentioned the ultimatum and no one suggested the baron’s absence had anything to do with imminent war. The baroness did not want the occasion marred for Sophie and James, and in any case she had the compassionate woman’s wishful belief that it was
the responsibility of statesmen to avoid war, not to provoke it. However, the champagne aperitifs and now the dinner wine flushed Ludwig into indiscretion. He was as intrigued as his sister about the probable war and was bursting with a thousand unspoken words. Visibly more in love with Anne each day, he so far forgot himself in wanting to claim her attention that he suddenly put the cat among the pigeons by mentioning the ultimatum.

‘And I hear,’ he went on with cheerful excitement, ‘that it’s not a question of the emperor deciding if we’re to go to war, but when.’

The ensuing silence was like a dull thud. It had been for Sophie’s sake, the drawn veil, and she perceptibly paled as Ludwig pulled it aside. Anne saw the look on James’s face, the tightening of his mouth, and her heart sank. She had adventured dangerously with James, he had won her lifelong affection during those hazardous hours, and nothing had delighted her more than his engagement to her sister. She saw now what he felt a war might do to him and Sophie. He was a man racked.

Major Moeller lifted his wine glass and regarded its amber contents fondly.

‘My boy,’ he said to Ludwig, ‘it’s hardly as clear-cut as that, is it? I trust statesmen will see the wisdom of honourable compromise and continue to ensure life remains pleasantly undisturbed for some of us and improves for the rest. Anything else would interfere abominably with wandering comfortably about to call on friends or to find
some decent fishing. Baroness, I can’t say how happy I am to be counted among your friends here tonight. Really, I am honoured. And I am warmed by the special significance the occasion has for Sophie and James.’

‘To have you with us is a privilege, Major Moeller,’ said the baroness gratefully, and Ludwig reddened as Anne gave him a reproachful look. And James wondered sadly if the burying of heads in sand was because they too suspected, as Maude did, that the war would go far beyond a conflict between Austria and Serbia.

‘This trout is heavenly,’ said the major.

Sophie, recovering, said with a smile, ‘Oh, but you have never sampled James’s sizzling picnic sausage. That is ambrosial.’

‘Fit for the gods,’ said Carl.

James managed a smile. But he was quiet. Sophie noticed it and said desperate little prayers to herself. He had contributed hardly anything to the conversation, which was unlike him. She glanced at him. He was so sober.

‘James, you aren’t worried, are you?’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t be.’

‘I’m looking for bones,’ he said lightly, dissecting his trout. But he was badly worried. Maude’s latest observation had contained an indirect warning. Much as it would break her heart, for she loved Vienna, she said, she must seriously consider looking out her passport. Her return to England might be unavoidable.

The baron arrived at last. Entering the dining room he expressed sincere apologies to his
family and guests for being so late and for his unsuitable dress. He looked tired and drawn.

‘You’re here, Papa,’ said Anne, ‘that’s enough.’

‘Ernst, we’re halfway through,’ said the baroness, ‘but if you wish—’

‘I need nothing except what is to follow,’ said the baron, taking his place at the table. A servant filled his glass. ‘I only hope James and our other friends don’t think me entirely negligent. Perhaps half a host, as it were, is not as discourteous as none at all.’

‘Honoured,’ said the major.

‘Papa, we are so pleased to see you,’ said Sophie.

The baron smiled at her, then at James. James thought there was sadness in his eyes. At the end of the meal the baron rose to his feet. He waited until all glasses had been refilled.

‘My dear family and friends,’ he said then, ‘there are times when a few words have to be said. I hope those I am going to say will not stretch into too many. I’ve heard many fifteen-minute speeches last an hour. We are here, aren’t we, in honour of Sophie and James. The evening, I think, is an occasion to be happy for them. Between them, among other things, is compatibility.’ He paused, then went on quietly but firmly. ‘That is a hard-won state in the relationship between any man and woman. Some fail, but many do achieve it. Their example should guide nations, for between nations there must be a like compatibility. That is what nations
owe people. That is what Austria and Britain owe Sophie and James. Sophie I regard as a treasure.’ His smile for her was tender. Sophie’s eyes moistened. ‘James I regard as a valiant protector of that treasure. Their engagement I announce with warm pleasure. You will all join me, I’m sure, in wishing peace for them, in wishing a long and full life to them.’ He raised his glass and his smile hid his sadness. ‘My dearest Sophie, my very good friend James.’

‘Sophie! James!’ The table rose to them and drank to them. A speech was demanded from James. He stood up. Sophie, in emotion, took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. It brought tears to Anne’s eyes.

‘Baron, Baroness, and my friends, thank you,’ said James. He knew he must say nothing about nations or peace, for the baron had said enough in his own quiet way, and to mention peace again would be an indirect reference to war. His words must be for Sophie, of Sophie. ‘I agree,’ he said, ‘Sophie is a treasure. Quite priceless, quite unique. I don’t admit to being biased, I do admit to being convinced. Sophie is able to enrich my life merely by being there, by her words and her poetry. If my voice ever fails me I’ll borrow hers and inherit the earth. And I promise you that wherever we may be, Sophie will never fail Austria. Where she is there goes Austria. I’m afraid incoherency comes next, so if I may I’d like to take Sophie into the garden. I’ve not seen the garden at night. I should like to now, with Sophie. Thank you.’

Sophie clung to his arm as they went down the paved steps into the garden, illuminated by lights from the house.

‘James, if you are afraid of incoherency,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid of being almost ready to cry.’

‘Your father was very impressive,’ said James. He realized the baron knew what might happen.

The night was balmy. The Modena Palace was ablaze with chandeliered fire and Vienna itself seemed roofed by a million lamps. Sophie, a silk wrap around her shoulders, turned to James, wanting to be held. But James was looking at the lights that were like fire. He was so serious. Familiar little apprehensions darted at her. But she said in her lightest way, ‘Well, that was our engagement party, you know. I suppose we can say it’s almost out of the way now. James, next month is suitable, isn’t it? For our wedding, I mean. I must tell you, I’m quite nervous about it, I haven’t had one before. But if we get married together, which is the usual thing, we should be a great help to each other, shouldn’t we?’

James, knowing he was coming up to the worst and most unbearable moment of his life, wondered exactly what to say.