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.
When they had returned to the table and were eating lunch and chatting, Victor remembered a comment Nick Latimer had made to him weeks ago, something about there being more to Francesca than met the eye. Perhaps Nicky, the soothsayer, had been right. This thought stayed with him throughout the meal, during which he spent a great deal of time studying her, was most attentive to every word she uttered, whether to himself or her cousins. He was totally tuned-in to her, conscious of every nuance in her voice, her every gesture. At one moment he asked her an innocuous question, and her reply was casually couched and utterly proper, but her expression was inviting, her eyes reflecting a hidden sexuality he had not seen there before. That’s a come-hither look, if ever I’ve seen one, he thought, amused. But a surge of excitement ran through him, one so forceful he was unable to ignore it. Unexpectedly, he was hot under the collar and below the belt, an unprecedented reaction for him across a dining table, at least these days. Well, well, well, so much for the little lady, he commented inwardly. She’s full of surprises.
Later, when they were back in the sitting room, drinking coffee and sipping Obstler, Victor had completely readjusted his thinking about Francesca, and he saw her in an entirely different light. Earlier in the day, on the car ride from the airport, he had finally admitted his attraction to her. Now there was no question in his mind that she felt exactly the same way as he did. But was he prepared to do anything about it? Probably not, under the circumstances. Don’t kid yourself, old buddy, he reproved silently, coming to grips with his emotions. You know damn well she’s under your skin, and has been since the first moment you met her.
Diana walked abreast of Christian, who was slowly wheeling himself down the gallery. She was thoughtful, her eyes subdued, her expression serious. She said quietly, ‘I do wish Dieter Mueller hadn’t come today.’
Christian brought the chair to a stop and swung his head. His eyes searched her face, and he reached out and touched her hand. ‘Yes, in a way so do I. He upset you very much, and I hate to see that.’
‘His information is so sketchy, I can’t take him seriously. Actually, I haven’t been able to for a long time. Personally, I think he’s merely clutching at straws. He believes every little rumour, every little story, because he wants to believe them.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Did he say anything else, after I left you alone?’
‘Not very much. He did suggest we put the pressure on again. In Bonn.’
‘Oh God, Christian, that won’t do much good. It hasn’t in the past. Why should it now?’
‘There’s always the chance that something might give on the other side. It might be worth a stab … just one more time. I told him I’d think about it.’
‘You’re not going to mention anything to Mummy, are you?’ she asked worriedly.
‘No, of course I’m not. There’s no point. It would only agitate her more than ever. Please relax, Diana, and forget about Dieter.’
‘Yes, I will. Life must go on, as I’ve been saying for the past few years, and as normally as possible. I don’t know why I let him get to me today. Stupid really.’ She shook her head, and a smile sprang easily to her lips. ‘Dieter Mueller is already forgotten, my darling, I promise you.’
Christian’s eyes filled with tenderness. He was so sure of her, trusted her, believed her. She always said what she meant, did what she promised. He wondered what he would do without her. Her courage gave him courage, and her determination to make their life normal gave him the strength to do the same. He said now, ‘About the dinner party tomorrow … did you invite Giorgio?’
‘No. Actually, I’ve decided not to see him any more.’
‘Oh!’ he exclaimed, surprised.
‘I discovered the other day, quite by accident, that he’s lied to me. Christian, he’s never been separated from his wife. Not ever. Apart from the fact that I can’t stand duplicity, I’m furious that he’s wasted my time. You know my feelings about married men – strictly no future.’
‘Who told you about Giorgio?’
‘Astrid. Who else?’
‘Ah! … I see. Then it must be true. She’s many things, our little Astrid, but not a liar. Nor a troublemaker. I’m sorry, Diana. I hope you’re not hurting too much.’
‘On the contrary, I think I’m rather relieved,’ she laughed. ‘The Latin lover is a myth, in my opinion. Looking back, I’m beginning to realize Giorgio was more in love with himself than with me; and to be honest with you, his silly games were starting to tire me.’
‘As long as you’re not sad or unhappy, darling. Incidentally, whilst we’re on the subject of romance, does Francesca know Astrid is coming?’
‘Yes. She doesn’t care. Anyway, she’s always liked Astrid. I think the affair with Kim caused her a great deal of amusement. Certainly she doesn’t blame Astrid in any way whatsoever. I don’t suppose Kim does either. He’s a big boy.’
‘Too true,’ Christian said, chuckling. ‘I think if anyone was upset it was poor Astrid. I know she didn’t want that liaison to come to an end, at least not when it did.’
Diana smiled. ‘Yes, she was a bit dramatic at the time. But she soon found consolation elsewhere.’
They
