The Silver Castle (12 page)

I said, keeping my voice level, “It is a difficult situation, but we’re both reasonable people.”

“Ja,
of course.” Ernst took a pigskin cigar case from his pocket. “You don’t mind?” I shook my head and he lit a cheroot. Drawing on it, he continued, “Aren’t you longing to get home to London, to forget this whole wretched business?”

“Whether I’m here or whether I’m in London, I’ll never be able to forget.” I was quoting Anton, I realised.

“But it must make a difference, being here with everything to remind you. I think you’re wise to come into Zurich and get away from the Schloss for a few hours. What have you been doing this morning?”

I laid my hand on the booklet I’d been studying, still open on the table. “Looking at pictures at the Kunsthaus.”

He made a wry face. “Alas, I’m a real heathen when it comes to art. Music is my thing. You like it too, I gather. Raimund was saying the other evening that he’d taken you to a
Konzert
at the Tonhalle.”

“Yes, Chopin and Mendelssohn. It was most enjoyable.”

This friendliness from Ernst Schiller was unexpected. On the evening he and Helga had dined at the Schloss he’d mostly sat in dour silence, contributing very little to the conversation ... though perhaps he’d felt embarrassed by his wife’s carping hostility towards me. But he hadn’t been at all amiable on our first encounter.

I said on an impulse, “That time we met in the cafe in Rietswil, why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

Ernst avoided my glance. “I was thrown off balance,
nicht wehr?
Never having known that Benedict Sherbrooke had a daughter, I did not know what to say to you.”

I couldn’t really believe that a suave and experienced lawyer like Ernst would have been so easily disconcerted.

“What you really mean is that you were trying to shield me, like your mother-in-law and Raimund. No doubt you thought you were being considerate, but it was a mistaken idea. I had to know the truth sooner or later.”

He stroked his beard, and his pale eyes regarded me impassively. “You have taken it very well, Gail, I must say. I was surprised, though, to hear that you were staying on even though Anton was back. Do you not find it rather uncomfortable, having him around?”

“I did intend to leave at once ... in fact I’d actually booked my flight. But then Anton persuaded me to stay on for a while longer.”

“Anton
did? I wonder why?” He flashed me a quick smile of apology. “Do please forgive me ... that does not sound very polite.”

Ernst might well find it curious, and I didn’t want him speculating. I said hastily, “It was really for Frau Kreuder’s sake, more than anything. Anton thought it would upset her if she felt I was being pushed out.”

“That makes sense.” Ernst leaned back and crossed his legs as the waiter set down the coffee. “Sigrid is obviously very fond of you, Gail.”

“I’m glad. But I realise, of course, that it’s only a reflection of the high regard she had for my father.”

Idly picking up his spoon, Ernst drew imaginary crisscross lines on the polished marble table.

“Gail, would it offend you if I suggested that Sigrid was a little ... obsessive about your father?”

“I’d agree with you. She keeps talking about him being a genius. But talented though he was, I’m afraid he fell short of that.”

Ernst looked up at me sharply. “You haven’t said this to Sigrid?”

“No, it would only cause her distress, and nothing would be gained.”

He nodded. “I wouldn’t particularly want my wife to know, either. She’s very bitter about Benedict Sherbrooke.”

“Helga is? I don’t understand you.”

“As a child, she was passionate about painting and believed she had a real talent for it, but her mother refused to take her ambitions seriously. It was Helga’s one desire to have some expert tuition, but she was never allowed this.”

“Why ever not? It seems extraordinary when Frau Kreuder is so keen about art.”

Ernst hesitated, then gave me a candid look. “Perhaps Sigrid couldn’t face the prospect of having her daughter turn out to possess more artistic talent than she did herself. With Benedict, it was an entirely different matter. He was her discovery, her protégé. All Sigrid’s adulation was poured out upon your father, and Helga came in for nothing but scorn and ridicule.”

“Is that really true?” I felt deeply shocked. “How very unfair.”

“Helga constantly broods about the unfairness of it, I’m afraid. She tends to shut herself away with her collection of antique dolls ... though whether they are a compensation for her thwarted ambitions or for never being able to have children, I am not sure.”

A shaft of sunlight pierced the filmy window curtains, freckling our table with gold. I sipped my coffee and resolved to be more understanding towards Helga if and when I met her again. That Ernst should talk about his wife like this seemed brutal. Yet something in his manner, a strand of wistfulness perhaps, softened the harshness of the words. I felt pity for them both.

Changing the subject abruptly, Ernst said, “Your boyfriend must be getting impatient for you to get home.”

I thought about Colin and the scribbled note I’d received from him this morning, demanding to know when I was thinking of returning.

“There’s no one special at the moment,” I said.

“Ach!
What a waste.” Then, seriously, he added, “I should not stay around here too long, just being made use of. There is no future in it for you.”

“Who is making use of me?” I asked.

“All of them, in their different ways ... well, not Raimund, I suppose. Sigrid clings to you because she has lost her idol and you can help fill the emptiness. And Anton ... his motives are complicated,
ja,
but I think I can see them. He failed his wife, by neglect and indifference, and finally drove her to another man, so that Valencienne’s death must be laid at his door. But by accepting you, Benedict Sherbrooke’s daughter ... by not driving you away, he can more easily come to terms with his own sense of guilt.”

I was silent, stunned by a feeling of shock, finding it oddly difficult to breath.

“Forgive me, Gail, I’ve said too much. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, it’s not that. But... you paint a different picture of Anton’s marriage from the one he gave me himself.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Not a great deal, I admit. It was more the impression he gave me. I got the feeling that it wasn’t Anton’s fault that his marriage had failed.”

“But then he’d hardly confess his blame to you, would he? Mind you, I’m not suggesting that Anton has sorted out his feelings concerning himself and Valencienne and Benedict. I’m just trying to give you the psychology behind his attitude towards you. I doubt if I’m far wrong.”

I said desolately, “It hardly matters, one way or the other. It was never my intention to stay on for 1

“That’s right, get back to living your own life and forget about all of us. This book illustrating you’ve been doing—it must be very interesting.”

It seemed so far away, my life in London.

“I’m only just beginning to make my way, of course,” I said. “But I’ve got a feeling that I’m on the right track now.”

“I’m sure you are, Gail, I’m certain you have talent. Only for God’s sake don’t let Helga know I said that, or she’d be out of her mind with jealousy.”

I reached for my handbag as a step towards leaving. Ernst took the hint and called for the bill. Outside on the pavement, he said, “My
Auto is
just around the corner. Where can I drive you?”

I told him my hired Fiat was quite near, and he shrugged regretfully.

“I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to part just yet. Still, I’ve greatly enjoyed our chat.
Wiedersehen,
Gail.”

The Kreuders took pains to ensure that I was kept fully entertained. The following morning Sigrid announced that Helga had invited the two of us for lunch.

“How nice of her,” I murmured unenthusiastically. I guessed that Sigrid herself had engineered the invitation.

“This mist will soon clear,” she went on. “The forecast promises us a really warm day. Why not take your swimsuit to Helga’s and try their new pool? It’s heated, of course.”

Sigrid had a special folding chair for when she left the house. This was stowed in the boot, after Karl had lifted her gently into the rear seat of the Citroen and tucked a cashmere rug around her knees.

As we drove off, she remarked with a little puckered frown, “Gail, you must not allow yourself to be put off by Helga’s manner. I regret to say that she isn’t a very friendly person, by nature, and sometimes she says thoughtless things which can be rather upsetting.”

I mumbled something bland and meaningless, while inwardly I said, “You yourself are largely to blame for your daughter’s unfortunate manner. You should have encouraged her ambitions, instead of thwarting them.” It was really none of my business, though, except I resolved to be as nice as I could to Helga.

But with the best will in the world, I soon discovered that being nice to Helga was a virtual impossibility.

The Schillers’ house was very modern, white walls with green slatted shutters and an orange pantiled roof, and built in the shape of a U to form a sun trap for the patio and pool. The garden was elegantly laid out, though rather formal.

“Come back for us at five,” Sigrid instructed Karl when he’d positioned her wheelchair comfortably on the patio, a small circular table within reach. “Well now, isn’t this nice?”

Helga sullenly offered drinks. She wore close-fitting crimplene slacks, the least suitable garment in the world for someone her shape, and her sleeveless orange blouse did nothing to conceal her hefty shoulders.

I made flattering remarks about the house and garden, and the superb view of the lake. Although Helga seemed gratified, she also chose to take it as a sign that I was envious, and I wished that I’d saved my breath. Then to avoid any risk of appearing secretive, I said, “By the way, Helga, I met your husband yesterday. At the Odeon cafe.”

Her brown eyes clouded with suspicion. “He did not say this to me.”

Damn, I thought. Oh, damn. In assuring Ernst I wouldn’t carry tales to Helga, I certainly hadn’t meant to conceal my own encounter with him. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t he told her about it himself?

“We just ran into one another,” I said lightly. “I
was having coffee, and so was he. He joined me for a few minutes.”

“I’ve not been to the Odeon for years,” Sigrid intervened. “Nowadays I confine myself to those places where I can most easily get in and out with this wretched contraption. Helga, a little more tonic water,
bitte.
You have made this too strong.”

“Ernst mentioned that you have a collection of antique dolls,” I said. “It sounds fascinating. I do hope you’ll allow me to see it.”

“If you wish,” she said indifferently. “Later. Mama, is that better?”

Sigrid sipped her drink and nodded. A little desperately, I went on, “I started collecting old coins once. But I hadn’t the patience to continue. Or the money, for that matter.”

“No, collecting is not for those who are poor.”

I gave up trying and sat back in my chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, the soothing effect of the dry martini. Was Helga so unattractive because she was overweight, I pondered maliciously, or was she overweight because she was unattractive? A chicken and egg situation. And was her bitterness the result of her talent being stifled by her mother? Or the knowledge that she possessed no real talent? A little like my father, I thought with a prickle of distress, who’d had to face the harrowing truth that his art was not of the kind which brings a man immortality.

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Ernst, being married to Helga. And then I remembered his remark that she couldn’t have children, and I felt sorry for Helga all over again.

For lunch we moved to a table set beneath an arched trellis entwined with laburnum, which drooped its golden racemes above our heads. There was watercress soup, a cold platter of smoked meats and a bowl of crisp delicious salad, then a large coffee gateau with thick yellow cream, to which Helga returned for a second generous helping. We had fresh peaches to finish.

Determined to be fair, I complimented Helga on the food. She tossed back, “You eat as well as this in England?”

“Some people do, some people don’t.”

“And you?”

“Only sometimes,” I admitted.

She looked smugly pleased.

The phone rang and Helga went in to answer it. She came out looking sulky.

“It was Ernst. When I told him you were here, he said he would try and come home early. I cannot think why.”

I thought it prudent to make no comment, but Sigrid said at once, “Good. I want to have a word with Ernst. This will save me telephoning him at his office.”

We passed an uncomfortable hour. I left it to the others to do most of the talking. Beside me, a bed of copper-red wallflowers drifted a lazy fragrance into the still, warm air. I could easily have dozed.

Then Ernst arrived home, and the atmosphere changed.

“It’s a glorious afternoon,” he said. “How about a swim?”

“Yes, do,” said Sigrid. “I told Gail to bring her swimsuit.”

I glanced at Helga, but she shook her head. “It is still too cold.”

I’d been looking forward to my swim. “Would you mind if I do?”

“Mind? Why should I mind?”

Ernst caught my eye and gave me a secret little grin. I glanced away uneasily, certain that Helga must have noticed.

There was a small changing pavilion and when I emerged Ernst was already in the pool, swimming a powerful crawl. I dived in and did a few lengths before pausing by the steps for a breather.

“You have a nice style,” he called.

“I’m not a quarter as good as you are, though.”

He swam across to join me. “It’s a matter of breath control more than anything else. Get that sorted out and you’ll soon master the rest.”

He was giving me some tips when I became aware that we were being watched by someone standing beside the pool. It was Anton, looking immensely tall, and incongruously out of place here in his dark town suit.