Voice of the Heart (54 page)

Francesca said, ‘Victor, this is my cousin, His Highness Prince Christian Michael Alexander von Wittingen und Habst.’

‘Really, Francesca,’ Christian said quietly, ‘we don’t need
the whole mouthful.’ He shook his head, as if reproving her, but his smile was fond.

‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ Victor said, also smiling, knowing her recital of the string of names and the title were solely for his benefit, after his mild chastising of a few minutes ago. He added, ‘Thanks so much for inviting me to stay with you.’

‘It’s our pleasure, believe me,’ Christian said, his English as natural and as faultless as that of his sister. ‘And do forgive me for not being here to greet you, when you first arrived. I had a surprise visit from… an old friend… of my father’s, and he stayed much longer than I expected.’

‘Please don’t apologize. Francesca looked after me very well, and I’ve been enjoying this room. It’s lovely.’

‘Thank you. Now, how about a glass of champagne? Francesca, will you do the honours, my dear?’

‘Of course.’ She hurried to the console, poured the champagne and brought the tray of flutes over to the low, glass and brass coffee table situated between the sofas. She passed the glasses around and sat down. Victor joined her on the sofa, and they all raised their glasses as Christian said, ‘
Prosit.
’

‘
Prosit!
’ Victor and Francesca reiterated in unison.

‘I’m sorry Diana is delayed. Some problem with her boutique in Munich,’ Christian remarked, resorting to a white he in order to avoid a long explanation about his mother. He took a sip of champagne, smiled broadly and continued, ‘But she’s pretty good at sorting things out, and I don’t suppose she’ll be very long. You must be hungry after your trip. Bertha made some Swedish meatballs. They’re delicious. Please, do help yourself.’

‘I think I will.’ Victor half rose.

‘I’ll serve you,’ Francesca said, and was across the room in a flash. ‘Can I get some for you too, Christian?’ she asked as she spooned meatballs onto a glass plate.

‘Not at the moment, thank you.’ He pushed his chair closer to the coffee table, bent forward and took a cigarette from
the silver box. After lighting it, he said to Victor, ‘It’s simply marvellous for us to have guests at this time of year. It’s generally very quiet. After the onslaught at Christmas, we don’t have many friends visiting us again until the summer. They like to come for the Salzburg Festival. The music’s the attraction, of course.’

‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Victor. ‘And I understand the festival’s the whole enchilada.’

Christian looked at Victor in puzzlement. ‘The whole enchilada?’

Francesca, returning with the plate of food, grinned and said, ‘That’s Victor’s favourite expression. It’s very Californian, and it means the whole works, Christian.’ She put the plate in front of Victor, glanced at him under her lashes, and remarked, ‘You promised to explain its derivation, and you never did.’

‘Sorry. An enchilada’s a corn tortilla, a Mexican flat bread, something like a pancake. It’s filled with a variety of things, chopped beef, cheese, vegetables, then rolled and served with any one of a number of sauces. It’s sort of…’ He stopped, grinned back at her, and finished, ‘Well, it’s the whole works.’

‘Also rather colourful,’ Christian pronounced, obviously amused. ‘I think I might adopt it myself.’

‘Adopt what?’ Diana asked from the doorway.

Christian swung his head, and repeated everything Victor had said whilst she poured herself a glass of champagne. Munching on a meatball, Victor scrutinized them, very much intrigued by this brother and sister. Not unnaturally he was riddled with curiosity, and it was a curiosity that ran on a variety of levels. Innumerable questions about the von Wittingens, those both present and absent, floated around in his head. Perhaps Francesca would enlighten him later. Apparently she had been on the verge of explaining Christian’s disability when Manfred had arrived with the champagne, cutting her short. He glanced at the young prince
surreptitiously. Christian looked extremely healthy, despite his confinement to the chair, and there was a certain vitality about him. Victor recognized immediately that this was not so much physical as mental, had more to do with his state of mind and his personality than his bodily well being. Victor detected a forcefulness in him, just below the level of the gentleness.

Diana joined them, seated herself on the hearth, looked across at Victor and said, ‘Can one use that expression, the whole enchilada, to describe people, or houses, for instance? I mean could one say that Wittingenhof was the whole enchilada?’

There was a hint of laughter in her voice and a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Victor was not sure if she was teasing him or not, but he decided to treat her question seriously. ‘Surely you could. And incidentally, it
is
, at least what I’ve seen of it so far.’

‘Why thank you, Victor. That’s nice of you. We love it. We’ve been very happy here, haven’t we, Christian?’

‘Yes, we have, darling.’

‘Francesca told me the house wasn’t used for many years. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to close this place up. Not permanently. Didn’t your parents even bring you here when you were children?’ Victor asked Diana.

She did not respond. Like Christian, she was reluctant to open up areas of conversation that were complex, often painful, and which also required long explanations. She had learned it was far better to avoid them when she could, without appearing rude.

Always attuned to others, Victor instantly sensed an awkwardness, and he wondered why his innocent remarks had caused this strange silence. He looked at Diana sharply, saw a faint flicker of distress cross her face, and then quite suddenly she smiled and shook her head.

Lighting a cigarette, she remarked, ‘No, they didn’t bring us here. Ever. In fact, they never came themselves. My father wasn’t
very keen on Bavaria.’ There was a slight hesitation in Diana. She had surprised herself by saying as much as she had. It was Victor of course. There was something in him that made her feel relaxed, a trait in his personality that encouraged confidences. His eyes held hers, and she saw the questions, the bafflement on his face. Almost against her own volition, she found herself volunteering, ‘Bavaria was a hotbed of politics in the twenties and thirties. The wrong politics as far as my father was concerned—’ She halted when Christian coughed, not sure she ought to continue, looking at him uncertainly, wondering if he disapproved.

Apparently he did not, for he spoke up himself. ‘Our father was an anti-Fascist, Victor, and he had many adversaries here. Hider’s nasty little band of gangsters was pretty well entrenched in Munich, you know.’ Christian leaned forward, his face quickening, his dark eyes darkening to coal black and becoming intent. ‘Then again, lots of other Right Wing organizations had made their headquarters here, fanatics incensed about the Versailles Treaty, and God knows what else. There were also the Bavarian monarchists champing at the bit, wanting to have an independent state and their own king back, if you can believe that one! In any event, the whole area was dangerous for a man like my father. You see, he did not merely pay lip service to his beliefs, but was an active opponent of all those who were determined to destroy the Republic. He wanted democracy for Germany, not dictatorship, and he committed his energy, his time and his fortune to fight the destructive forces tearing the country apart.’

Christian shifted slightly in the wheelchair, and proceeded: ‘Naturally, it was better if he stayed away from here, safer for him in Berlin, or at our other Schloss, just outside Berlin. That’s why Wittingenhof remained closed, you see, was unoccupied for years, except for the caretakers.’

‘Very valid reasons, too,’ Victor said. He had not been mistaken about that remarkable face in the dated photograph. What he had spotted in those burning eyes was the
fervour of the dedicated idealist. He could not help adding, ‘And what does a house mean, when your life is at stake. You father sounds like an extraordinary man, Christian, a man of great integrity and honour. I hope I get the opportunity to meet him one—’ Francesca caught Victor’s eye and the look now washing over her face prevented him from saying another word. Instinctively he knew he was on dangerous ground, that he had somehow blundered. There was an uncomfortable hush.

It was broken by Christian, who said calmly, ‘There are few men in this world like my father, Victor, men who recognize evil where others do not, who fight it all their lives and with every fibre of their being.’ He smiled gently. ‘But perhaps now is the wrong time to get involved in this particular kind of discussion.’ The smile became dismissive, but it was also friendly. ‘To continue the story of the house. After the war, we decided to move back to Bavaria, mainly because we had nowhere else to go. Our house in Berlin was flattened to the ground, and the area outside the city, where the Schloss was located, had suddenly become part of the East Zone controlled by the Russians. Our grandmother had inherited a house in Munich from her brother, and she knew the only solution to the family’s predicament was to open it up. We lived with her for several years or so, and then Diana came to the conclusion that Wittingenhof would be wonderful for my health—the mountain air and all that.’ He gave Victor a sly grin, chuckled. ‘We also wanted to escape Grandmama, I must admit, who is marvellous, but a bit of an old dragon.’

‘I’ll say she is!’ Francesca exclaimed, relieved Christian had so adroitly diverted the conversation. ‘Oops! Sony, Christian, I didn’t mean to sound rude or disrespectful about Princess Hetti.’

Diana and Christian smiled at her affectionately. The air miraculously cleared, and Victor looked at Francesca, who nodded imperceptibly, as if she was saying everything was
now all right. Diana got up and brought the bottle of champagne, refilling their glasses. ‘But it does happen to be the truth, Cheska.’ She glanced at Victor. ‘You should have heard how Grandmother carried on when I opened my first boutique here. “Going into
trade
!” she kept repeating over and over again, making trade sound like a life of ill repute.’

There was more laughter and Christian said, ‘Poor old thing, living in the past, I’m afraid, but she has a certain sweetness, even if she is a bit dictatorial, and she loves us dearly, wants only the best for us.’

Victor nodded. ‘Naturally she does.’ He directed his attention to Diana and went on, ‘Francesca tells me you’ve been very successful with your business venture. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, liking him, hoping to communicate this with her eyes, wanting him to feel comfortable and at ease with them again.

The warmth flowing out of her registered with Victor, and he returned her smile. ‘You’ve also done a fantastic job on this house. There’s something quite magical about it, and the tranquillity is just out of this world.’

‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ she responded with quickness. ‘And when you go for a walk with Francesca later, you’ll be even more conscious of the peacefulness here, and the views from the mountain are quite spectacular.’

Manfred came in, announced quietly that lunch was ready to be served, and disappeared. Diana led the way into the dining room.

This adjoined the sitting room and was long and narrow in shape, with a stone fireplace on one wall, and a large window at the opposite end overlooking the snow-covered sloping lawns, and a panoramic vista of distant mountains. The room, with its white stucco walls, bare polished floor and dark wood furniture in Bavarian style, was somewhat masculine in overtone. But the basic austerity that prevailed
was softened by a number of lovely floral arrangements in huge copper jugs, a collecting of green plants grouped in one corner, and a series of striking wood figures, intricately carved and painted in bright colours. These graced the tops of two long chests and the mantelpieces above the roaring log fire.

Christian propelled himself to the head of the refectory table that stretched down the centre of the floor, and said, ‘Sit wherever you want, old chap, no formality here.’

‘Thanks,’ Victor said, sliding into the chair opposite Francesca. Diana took a seat at the other end of the table. ‘I hope you like the first course, Victor,’ she remarked, indicating the small covered bowl in front of him. She lifted the lid off her own, and went on, ‘It’s lentil soup, a local speciality, and very tasty.’

‘I love any kind of soup,’ he answered. ‘And I don’t mind telling you, I’ve worked up quite an appetite by now.’

‘Good. Bertha, Manfred’s wife, is a superb cook, and she’s prepared a typical Bavarian lunch for us today. Well, for
you
really.’

‘That’s nice,’ he said, picking up his spoon. ‘You must make a point of introducing me to her later, so that I can thank her personally.’

‘She’ll be thrilled.’

Whilst they were eating their soup, Manfred and Clara came in carrying huge platters of steaming sauerkraut, red cabbage, boiled potatoes, and a large serving plate of
Bratwurst
, thick veal sausages browned to perfection and topped with rich gravy. They placed the dishes on the sideboard, and then Manfred hurried to the table, where he poured local white wine, chilled and sparkling, into long-stemmed, green crystal glasses.

Christian said, ‘Lunch is always buffet style, Victor,’ and swung his chair over to the adjacent sideboard. ‘Come along, help yourself.’

Victor and Francesca rose together and followed him. As
they filled their plates, Victor leaned forward and murmured in her ear, ‘It smells as good as my Italian dinner, doesn’t it, kid?’

She looked up at him carefully, smiling a knowing smile and said nothing. But her eyes did not leave his face and eventually she said, in a low voice of unmistakable intimacy, ‘There’ll never be a meal comparable to that one, at least not for me. It was especially
delicious
, and in more ways than one.’

The look she now gave him was lingering, appraising, and of such intensity Victor was momentarily dazzled by it, found he was unable to tear his gaze away from those topaz eyes. He felt a sudden tightness in his throat as he thought: She’s flirting with me. By God, she really is. I’ll be damned.