Tempting Fate (21 page)

“I’m alone, Mr. Tree. Most of those I have loved are dead. You … are kind, I think. Would it be so dreadful to kiss me?” She held out one arm to him.

He would have thrown himself upon her if she had not looked so full of courage. Slowly he knelt beside her, then bent over and touched his mouth to her cheek. He might have drawn back, but her hands met behind his neck. “Madelaine,” he murmured, then put all his resolutions aside. Their lips met, tentatively at first, and then with esurience and a need he had not known he possessed until that moment. He bent over her, the silk of her dress, the cashmere of her shawl pressing the side of his face. All he had ever been told of women warned him that he would have his face slapped and hysterical tears to deal with in a moment, but he could not pull back from her. His arms enfolded her; he murmured, “God, sweet Jesus God,” when there was space enough between their lips for him to draw breath.

Madelaine gave herself over to his kisses, accepting them as if they were rain after drought. She let her shawl drop from her shoulders, taking warmth instead from James’ nearness. As his hands plucked at the square neck of her gown, she sighed, then uttered a cry of disappointment as he moved back from her.

“I don’t think…” James said unsteadily, “that I can keep from … I’m going to want more of you if this goes on.” He looked at her as if she were all that was left in the world, and he was breathing more deeply. “You may not know…”

“But I want more of you,” Madelaine said, catching one of his hands in her own. “You seem to think I am unaware of what you desire. I’m not.” She rolled onto her side, and was close to him again. “If you doubt it…” She rose suddenly and pressed her opened lips on his.

“There are servants,” he began uneasily.

“I am mistress here.” Madelaine looked deeply into his eyes. “I do not want to pass this night alone, Mr. Tree.”

“I don’t want to, either,” James whispered, hoping that he had not misunderstood her. “Madelaine, if we lie together … Oh, hell!” He no longer wanted to use evasive terms. “I want to make love to you, to … to…”

“I know what you want,” she said with sympathy. “It is what I want, as well.”

James rose to his feet and reached down to help Madelaine to her feet. He pulled her tightly against him, as if she were the most ephemeral fire and he was not able to contain her with his body alone. He could not say her name, for fear it would end the closeness between them.

It was Madelaine who withdrew. “I will come to your rooms. No one will disturb us.” She moved back from him, thinking that she had only once experienced an intimacy more profound than this one. Her eyes saddened, but in the dim light James did not notice. Madelaine bent to gather up her shawl. “I will not be long,” she promised, then went quickly from the salon des fenêtres.

James did not know how he found his room that night. He had little recollection of climbing the stairs or counting the doors. He was more than drunk, more than exhausted. He tugged himself out of his clothes and stuffed the lot of them into the armoire, then flung himself onto his bed. What if she did not come, after all? The thought went through him like a shard of ice. What if she decided that she had been too hasty and kept to her room? He did not know where it was, so he could not go in search of her. The very thought made him dizzy, and he stumbled to his feet He would not believe that of her. He stared down at his swollen flesh and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel her hidden warmth around him. He pulled the blankets back almost violently, and got into bed. He would give her ten minutes, and then he would fend for himself. His watch was somewhere in his luggage, and he had not seen a clock in the room. Ten minutes would be worse than eternity. He decided to count to one thousand, convinced that would be time enough.

He had reached six hundred twenty-three when the door opened and Madelaine came into his bedroom.

She was dressed in a magnificent negligee, a cloud of pale lace and threaded ribbons. She stood for a moment staring at him. “Do you want to undress me?” she asked softly.

James was barely able to nod. He got out of bed again and approached her, deeply self-conscious. Twice before in his life he had slept with a woman when entirely naked, and neither had been the least like Madelaine de Montalia. He reached out and his fingers brushed the profusion of lace. A series of nine satin bows held the peignoir together, and he loosened each of them; the little tension of that act was unendurably pleasurable. When all the bows had been untied, he slid the garment off her shoulders so that it settled like a cloud at her feet. The nightgown itself was not so challenging: he gathered the paneled skirts and lifted them over her head, letting the nightgown drop as he stared at her. For him she glistened in the dark and he touched her as if he feared she would disappear.

“James,” she said, so quietly that he could hardly hear her.

He took, her in his arms, letting her presence blot out the night. They sank back on the bed, bodies pressed close together. He strove to recall every nuance of excitation he had learned from the women he had hired. Then it had been a sensible matter, a way to add variety and the illusion of intimacy to a necessary act; now it was the culmination of all he had yearned for, and he reveled in her.

Madelaine’s ardor ignited with an intensity she had not known for a long time, and rose steadily as James grew more insistent. When at last he opened her flesh with his own, she welcomed him, her lips moving to his neck as he reached the culmination of his passion.

Later they would learn of one another: what they had together was revelation, beyond understanding, or thoughts, or words.

James’ sleep was content when it came, his dreams rapturous, but never as superbly fulfilling as that ultimate instant of lovemaking when he had known to the depths of his soul what it was to be flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood.

Text of a letter from Lieutenant Colonel Gotthard Aufenthalt to Idelle von Rathenau.

Koln

November 2, 1918

Gnädige Frau von Rathenau:

By now the Ministry of War will have informed you of your son’s death, and told you of the honors he is to receive posthumously, which are richly deserved. You may take pride in having raised so valiant an officer and so honorable a son.

As Captain von Rathenau’s immediate superior officer, I had the opportunity to see him in action. Never did he falter in his duty, or turn aside from the obligations he owed his men. I wish you to know this from my own hand, as I have heard a few derogatory remarks made of him, and should these fabrications reach your ears, they would add unnecessarily to your grief. Rest assured that had Deutschland had more such as he, we would not be facing the ignominious defeat that is now ours.

The unit to which Captain von Rathenau was attached was, as you probably know, an artillery unit, one of those left to guard part of the retreat at Saint-Quentin. Most of these units were cobbled together out of the odd bits of companies that had been decimated by enemy fire and the hazards of the trenches. Morale was desperately low, and few of the new officers had any conception of the enormous difficulties confronted by men fighting for their lives.

Your son was not this sort. He had an intuitive grasp of the obstacles to be overcome and accepted his task willingly. He did not exhort his men for laxness, but fired them with his own spirit and conviction, never misrepresenting to them the tremendous danger in which they all stood. He released two men from duty because they had families and he would not expose them to greater risks than the ones they had already survived. Sergeant Klinge and Private Lukas Jetzt were relieved of duty and sent to the rear so that they might be reunited more quickly with their wives and children.

With fewer than twenty men, Captain von Rathenau made a stand, holding off the advancing Allied forces for more than twelve hours. In this act of sacrifice, he saved the lives of more than two thousand men who would otherwise have been caught in the crossfire. He was entirely aware of the magnitude of the danger in which he stood, but did not flinch from his task. One man, Corporal Edmund Falls, survived his stand, in part because he was already wounded and Captain von Rathenau informed me that Corporal Falls would be called to the guns only if no other choice were possible.

When our surrender comes (and it cannot be far distant), you may take pride and solace in the knowledge that your son spared many from the ravages of this too-costly war. No one could wish for a better officer, in this or any army.

Please accept my most sincere consolations in this terrible time. You have lost a treasured son, and I have lost a Captain whom I would have wished to call my friend for the rest of my life. As it was, you were blessed by his presence for many years, and I knew him less than two days. Were it a soldier’s right to envy, I would be envious of you for this long association with Captain von Rathenau. Doubtless it was the example of your family and your values that made him the admirable officer he was.

I thank you for reading this; I hope that in some degree I have lessened your loss.

Dear Madame von Rathenau, believe me to be

Forever in your service,

Lieutenant Colonel Gotthard Aufenthalt

PART II

Gudrun Maria Altbrunnen Ostneige

Text of a letter from Franchot Ragoczy, Count of Saint-Germain, to his manservant, Roger.

Schliersee

Near Hausham

Bayern

December 10, 1918

My dear Roger,

As you can see, I have returned at last to Schloss Saint-Germain. It is in a shambles, but from what I have been told, none of the other houses in this area have fared any better. Apparently vandals made a sweep through this district sometime last spring, and whatever caught their fancy, they wrecked. I will need to begin repairs at once, although most of the work will not be possible until the snow is gone. There is enough shelter here to make life tolerable, but not elegant. I trust that funds are available through Zurich so I may place my orders at once and do what I can to improve the place.

I would appreciate it if you would leave for München as soon as possible. Travel should become easier now that the Great War has ended. If you encounter significant delays, notify me so that the proper alternatives may be provided at once.

For the time being, it is my intention to remain here. I have discussed a few of my projects with Professor Isidore Riemen, and he is willing to make some of his findings available to me in exchange for occasional use of my facilities and notes, once I have my laboratory rebuilt. I am hopeful that living in this remote area I will be left to myself so that I may continue my studies in as much peace as possible.

Perhaps I should mention that I have adopted a child, a girl of about seven whom I found abandoned. If she still has living relatives, there has been no indication of it, and from what I saw when I found her, I doubt that anyone will come forward to claim her. So at my age, I have become a father, of sorts. I rely on your past experience and good advice, old friend, to guide me through this. She is suffering from partial amnesia and often has nightmares. Let me ask you to be kind to Laisha Vlassevna, for her sake if not for mine.

When you have your travel plans made, wire the stationmaster at Hausham and I will have an automobile sent for you when you arrive. If you are bringing extensive supplies and material, warn me of that so that transportation may be arranged in advance. It is not wise to leave goods standing about unattended at this time.

It has been too long: I have missed you. There is no way that I can thank you enough for the services you have rendered me in these difficult years, but if you wish anything of me, you have only to name it and it is yours.

Saint-Germain

his seal, the eclipse

1

Outside it was snowing; inside the house smelled of mildew and drying paint. Gudrun sat in the library, an open book turned over on her lap, and stared out into the snow. Half an hour ago Walther had stepped into the room to tell her that Jürgen was at last calm again, and would probably sleep until the next morning. Gudrun sighed. It had been so delightful to be married, three years ago. Jürgen was whole and hearty, they lived in München, and despite the trying necessities of war, it had been a pleasant life. She reminded herself sternly that she was the one who had decided to come here to this remote place in the mountains. She had always liked Wolkighügel, but that had been when she was younger, when the Schloss had been filled with guests and cousins and bustling servants, so that no one ever felt alone. Now it was as isolated as a rock in mid-ocean.

Gudrun set the book aside and got up slowly. She admitted that she was cold, that she was lonely, that she was bored. More for something to do than any other, more conscientious reason, she found the right spot in the shelves and put the book back where she had found it. She decided that she had a mild headache and therefore did not want to read anymore that afternoon. But there was little else to do. The builders were busy in the dining room and had made it apparent that her presence made them uneasy. Maximillian was at his cottage closeted with one of his strange new friends from München, and had let her know that she was not precisely welcome to join them. One hand strayed to a wisp of blonde hair, twining it around her finger absentmindedly as she watched the snow.

She was still at the window half an hour later when Otto knocked at the door. “Frau Ostneige?” the old man called out.

“Yes, Otto?” She turned away from the window reluctantly, disliking the intrusion. It was not that she was angry with Otto—far from it. The old servant had been a constant source of gruff understanding since she had returned to Wolkighügel.