and a desk near the stairwell, all in a rustic country style and made of oak.
This hall had baronial overtones, with a high-flung ceiling and walls painted the same soft eggshell as the exterior of the house. An immense and eye-catching tapestry, depicting a medieval hunting scene, was suspended on the rise above the staircase, a wrought-iron chandelier dropped on long chains from the centre of the ceiling, and the floor of dark wood, polished to a high gloss, was entirely bare.
Diana veered to the right, waving to them as she went into one of the rooms. Francesca guided Victor to the left, along a corridor and down a short flight of stone steps. These stopped in another hallway, on the lower level, where French windows opened onto a paved loggia and beyond, in the distance, was a view of the frozen lake and a copse of trees, their spidery black branches dripping icicles.
Marvellous aromas of food cooking floated on the warm air. Victor sniffed. ‘I guess we’re near the kitchen,’ he said, eyeing Francesca.
‘Yes, it’s down there.’ She nodded to the end of the hallway.
‘I just realized how starved I am. Ravenous. I was up at the crack of dawn to get the plane.’
‘Manfred will bring something up to the sitting room shortly. A little snack with our drinks, before lunch. Come on, put your skis in here.’ She opened a cupboard, moved on, and turned the iron handle on another door. ‘And this is the cloakroom.’
Victor propped his bag next to several pairs of skis lined up in the cupboard, closed it, and followed her. The cloakroom was a mélange of blue and white, these colours appearing in the tiles on the floor and in a faded floral paper on the walls and ceiling. Francesca stuck her yellow woollen cap on one of the pegs attached to the wall, where an assortment of anoraks, Loden jackets and capes already hung. ‘You can put your coat here, and the bathroom’s through that door, if you want to freshen up.’
‘Thanks.’
She turned to the mirror standing on the pine chest, ran a comb through her hair, then shook it free casually. ‘I’ll be in the drawing room, upstairs.’
‘I don’t think I’ll get lost, kid,’ he said.
Francesca bounded up the stone stairs, humming under her breath. She was in a happy mood, engendered by Victor’s presence in the house. Although she was not foolish enough to think this particular circumstance would bring about a change in him, or cause him to suddenly reciprocate her feelings, she did believe their friendship had a better chance of flowering here at Wittingenhof than in London. Furthermore, and most importantly, she had him entirely to herself, did not have to compete with Nicky or Katharine, and the rest of his entourage, for his attention, and this in itself was most gratifying to her.
She swung down the Deer Hall, walking swiftly, still humming, but as she passed the library her steps faltered. The door was firmly closed, and it was thick; nonetheless, she heard Diana exclaiming, ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ and with such impatience Francesca was startled. Again, Diana’s voice rang out, now in a staccato burst of rapid German which Francesca did not understand; however, it was quite apparent her cousin was irritated. She did not wish to hear any more, and so she hurried on in the direction of the gallery, frowning to herself. It was unusual for Diana to sound cross, and especially so with her brother, with whom she was invariably gentle and mild. She wondered what had ruffled Diana, and instantly dropped the thought. It was none of her business, and she preferred not to delve too deeply into certain matters in this household.
When she entered the sitting room, Francesca went immediately to the cabinet where the records were stored, found a classical piece she liked and put it on the record player. Then she crossed to the high stone hearth and sat down on it, warming her hands in front of the fire.
A dreamy expression suffused her face, and she leaned back, her thoughts caught up with Victor and the five days stretching ahead of them. Last night, after she had explained the situation to Diana, told her of the need for secrecy in view of Victor’s complicated life, his impending divorce, and his worry about Confidential Magazine, she had confided in her cousin. But the confidences had only been partial ones, for as always Francesca held back her innermost feelings. Being essentially an exceedingly private person, she deemed these to be too intimate to impart to anyone, even someone close to her. This was chiefly the reason she had not said anything about Victor to Katharine, although fear of appearing foolish and juvenile had also induced reticence, along with a reluctance to give Katharine an opportunity to fill her ears with tid-bits about Victor’s many love affairs, as she was prone to do. Francesca was wise enough to understand this knowledge would only underscore her anxiety and undermine her self-confidence.
After Francesca had finished her carefully-edited recital about her attraction to Victor, Diana had been thoughtful for a while. Eventually she had said, ‘I think you must ignore his attitude towards you, otherwise you’ll be miserable the entire time you’re here, darling. I also think you should be completely natural with him, even let him see you’re attracted to him, like him as much as you do.’ Diana had stopped, her laughter breaking loose, her eyes merry. ‘Don’t look like that, Cheska! You can make him aware of your interest in him without being flagrant, or throwing yourself at him.’
Diana had leaned forward and squeezed Francesca’s arm. ‘Listen to me, darling. Men can be very peculiar, quite odd. And they’re as afraid of rejection as we are, you know. So sometimes they need a little gentle encouragement to make them feel more at ease. And there’s another thing. If I were you I’d forget my age, forget his age, and also forget who he is. He might be a famous movie star, but he’s a man like any other man. That’s how you should view him. Apart from anything else, you’ll feel more relaxed if you do. And who knows, he might pick up on that, and relax himself.’
The cousins had continued to talk along these lines for some while longer, and when Francesca had gone to bed she had felt positive and optimistic, and had decided to take Diana’s advice. What do I have to lose? she asked herself now. Nothing, she concluded. I might even have a lot to gain.
So preoccupied was she at this moment, she was unaware that Diana was standing in the arched doorway to the sitting room. Diana was regarding Francesca closely, but lovingly so, filled with the tenderest of feelings for her cousin. She was suddenly glad Francesca was visiting them at this time, for her presence was comforting, reassuring even. That’s because she’s so down-to-earth, and so very steady, Diana thought. She has a normalizing effect on us all.
Diana now took a deep breath, trying to still the troubling thoughts that continued to nudge at the back of her mind in the most maddening way. She was a little upset, she had to admit. Upset with Dieter Mueller, currently ensconced in the library with Christian; upset with herself, too, for allowing her irritation with Dieter to show so blatantly.
Francesca lifted her head, saw her cousin and smiled. Diana moved forward, heading for the fireplace. She sat down heavily on the hearth next to Francesca, and said in a low tone ‘Cheska … Mummy’s in Munich.’
Francesca tried to keep her expression bland, but she knew it reflected the concern swamping her. ‘Is she coming here?’ she asked, her voice equally subdued.
Diana shook her head. ‘No. But she’s in Bavaria because of my birthday. She came specially to see me, so I’m meeting her on Friday. For the day.’ Her voice trembled slightly, as she added, ‘I’m dreading it, I really am.’
‘I’ll
