The House by the Lake (17 page)

Anna stared through the old glass panes into the empty, dust-filled orangery.

“I’d like to walk around the lake,” she said, turning to Wil.

“I think it’s important you do that.”

She turned around, took the old path back toward the still water, lined with trees.

“Imagine growing up here,” Anna said, turning to Wil, who was close behind her.

“I know,” he said. He stopped then. “Look,” he went on, leaning in a little closer.

A little farther on, the path widened, leading to a grassy embankment. There was a small bridge. Incredibly, a little rowboat was tied to the bridge. Its oars had been left neatly folded in place, as if they were ready for someone—Max perhaps—to return again, one day.

Wil approached the water’s edge, and Anna shaded her eyes, watching him inspect the boat.

“The bridge isn’t safe,” he called back to her. “But the boat looks fine. Would you like to row out to the island?”

Anna felt herself smiling. “Well, yes. Would you like me to row?”

He grinned back at her. “I can row, Anna. It’s one thing I am able to do.”

It seemed Wil was able to do many things, but Anna wasn’t going to say that just then. She followed him down to the edge of the lake while he untethered the boat from its moorings. The oars were tied fast together with thick rope, tucked inside the two metal rings that sat on either side of the little dinghy.

“It’s the perfect weather for a spin,” Wil said. He seemed to be checking the boat over again, and Anna cast her eye over it too. While a swim back to the bank might be amusing, they were an hour from a change of clothes, and the water didn’t look inviting.

“It’s fine,” Wil said. He climbed aboard and stood upright in the small craft. He reached a hand out to Anna.

She felt a little shy taking hold of his hand, but she stepped aboard and sat down as soon as she was able to.

“Shall we take a trip around the lake first?” Wil asked.

Anna leaned back in the sun, allowing its warmth to play on her face. She had forgotten about being jet-lagged, with all the excitement of being here. But now that she had sat down, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She closed her eyes for a moment.

Wil stayed quiet, and she enjoyed the soothing sound of the water lapping against the boat.

When Anna opened her eyes again, they were heading toward the driveway and the main gates.

“It’s like a hidden paradise in here,” Anna said, “a little haven in a vast estate.”

“The Schloss lands stretched for miles to the east,” Wil said. “The estate once owned huge amounts of farmland and forest, but then it all became part of a cooperative during the Soviet era.”

“And now, most of the land has been sold off, I guess?”

“Ingrid bought back a good deal of it.”

When they rounded the lake and the Schloss came into view, Anna pulled out her camera and took some shots of its impossibly romantic facade.

Once they had done a circuit of the lake, Wil rowed toward the island.

“Would you like to have a look at the island?” he asked. He indicated his backpack. “You must be starving.”

“Oh, those streuselly things did a pretty good job of filling me up,” Anna laughed.

“Those streuselly things were ages ago.” Wil started to row again.

Once they had moored the dinghy and walked the entire circuit of the island, Wil put his backpack down at the foot of a horse chestnut tree. Its dappled leaves provided welcome shade from the sun. The day had become thick with heat, sending a haze over the lake. A dragonfly hovered above the rushes at the water’s edge. Wil leaned against the base of the tree, while Anna sat nearby on a rug he had brought.

There was a cold pack with baguettes, cheeses, tomatoes, and cucumbers, and a lemon cake that oozed with syrup for after lunch. And coffee, as well as lemonade.

“Pink lemonade.” Anna smiled, sipping out of the small glass bottle. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.”

“I bet they used to have it, you know, right here, years ago,” Wil said, sounding a little lazy now.

“I bet they did,” Anna laughed, “and pink gins and caviar . . .”

“Anna?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised that you haven’t asked about—”

“Ingrid?”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Anna rolled onto her back, stared up through the floating leaves at the blue sky. “She is your client. I didn’t want to pry.”

“Sensitive of you.”

“Maybe I’m just going to grill her when I meet her—perhaps I’m saving it up.”

“Come on. You must have a few questions.”

“Why did she agree to see me again?”

There was a silence for a while. “I don’t know. Maybe it was the funeral, the realization that Max has gone.”

Anna nodded. She felt almost too tired to ask anything more, and she hardly dared hope to get any real information from Ingrid, but she would certainly try. She felt so lazy now, lying on the rug, and at peace.

“I have some questions,” Wil said.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

But something had shifted. He didn’t laugh back, didn’t take the bait she had cast into the easy banter realm.

“I’m curious. About you.”

Anna felt something quiver in the spot between her ribs. “Oh, there’s not much to be curious about,” she said.

“I understand why you’d want to drop everything to come here—but apart from your business, was there anything else—any person—that you had to leave?”

The quiver in Anna’s chest had turned to a beat. When she tried to speak, it seemed that her words were stuck.

“I, look, I—”

“Tell me.”

Anna propped herself up on one elbow. “There’s not much to say.”

“I bet there is. No, I can see there is.” His voice was drawing her in. Anna felt lazier still, almost as if she were with a snake charmer—and something seemed different. Perhaps it was all the stress of the past few weeks. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk, and she was confident that she could trust Wil.

“Well,” she said, then stopped again.

“Try me.”

But then, perhaps she shouldn’t open up. Because she was having feelings about Wil that were unsettling her. If she were honest, she had never felt so drawn to a man in her life. No one had interested her in this way. But he lived in Germany. It was impossible. She shouldn’t allow herself to get carried away. “Do your parents live near Siegel still?” She kept her voice firm.

“They live in Hamburg. My father is retired but my mother still works as a doctor. They are happy. I guess they sort of have it right.”

Anna nodded. Getting it right. Why was that so hard? Some people seemed to make an art form of it.

“If you want to talk, I’m happy to listen. Nothing goes any further, you know. Unless it makes you uncomfortable—but I think things are better out than in.”

Anna sat up then. Annoyingly, tears bit at the back of her eyes. She focused hard on the haze above the lake.

“Okay,” she said finally. It seemed that she had reached a crossroads. If she opened up about her personal life to Wil, she would be taking a risk that she hadn’t allowed herself to take for a long time; she would be going down a path that she had avoided, adeptly, for years. And yet, a part of her urged her forward. But while she felt safer talking to Wil than she did with anyone else on the planet right now, she also felt confused and panicked and in danger and excited and exhilarated all at the same time.

If she didn’t look at him, it was also easier to talk. She had noticed that when she had been with him before. And why was that? Why? Because something else was happening. She couldn’t avoid it. Something bigger than anything that she had felt for years, no matter how she looked at it. And that something else was life—it was the will to embrace life in all its gloriousness. She realized that Max had not dared to live his life to the fullest ever again, and that she had allowed herself to have only meaningless, risk-free relationships with men. For the first time since her mother’s death and her father’s departure, Anna felt alive.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

London, 1938

Isabelle felt like royalty as she walked into the lobby of the Dorchester. Any doubts that she had about coming to London were dispelled when the doorman called her by name and the bellboys took not only her luggage but her coat, hat, and gloves. The reception staff told her that Max would meet her for the famous Dorchester afternoon tea in an hour. Virginia had rushed off to meet an old friend for some shopping.

The entire place was heaven. The suite of rooms that she was going to share with Virginia was full of the prettiest things. Antiques had been placed in the sitting room, and the entire suite felt more like private rooms in a grand country house than any hotel. Lamps were dotted about the room, and there was a bottle of champagne on ice on one of the cedar side tables, along with a bowl of white roses and a selection of petit fours.

Forty-five minutes later, Isabelle had washed, changed, and redone her makeup. She was ready to meet Max. Stemming her anticipation and her nervousness was impossible, because she knew that this was a turning point. This was where she would find out how Max felt about her. She simply had to know.

A short while later, she made her way down to the hotel’s Promenade in the cherry-red Coco Chanel suit that Marthe had insisted on buying for her last spring.

A charming young waiter escorted her to her table. Isabelle couldn’t resist staring at the ever-so-plush Promenade. Shapely vases filled with spectacular but tasteful blooms decorated nearly every table in the center of the room.

A pianist played Chopin in the background, and when Isabelle sat down, she tugged at the pearls around her neck. Did she look all right? She had hardly slept the night before.

Isabelle sensed Max’s arrival well before she saw him, but she kept her eyes focused on the menu until Max kissed her on the cheek.

“Isabelle,” he said, sliding into the banquette opposite her.

She knew that if she looked into his eyes she would have her answer, but something held her back—not wanting to know, not just yet? Giving up hope was the last thing she wanted to do.

They placed their order and a silver platter soon arrived, containing layer upon layer of delicate savory finger sandwiches on fresh-baked brown and white breads, filled with smoked salmon, chicken, egg, and cucumber.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine. Well. I’m well.”

“You look well.”

Still, she was not able to meet his eye.

“And your grandmother?”

“Yes, fine. Although—she’s been a bit unwell lately. Coughing. Spending more time at home.”

“I’m sorry.”

When a plate of scones arrived along with a selection of delicate macaroons, Isabelle didn’t know if she could manage another bite. But she forced herself to take something in order to be polite.

“Shall we take a stroll through Hyde Park?” Max asked, his voice still coming from some disembodied place.

Isabelle nodded. She stood up and strolled out to the park with him, just like any fashionable young couple out for the afternoon. Dogs scuttled about among the trees, and children accompanied by chattering nannies played timeless games. They rounded a bend in the path. Max was quiet, but it felt as if a river of things unspoken ran between them.

Finally, when the path narrowed and they were in a secluded spot, Isabelle stopped.

“I have to tell you something about Marthe,” she said. “I am so sorry. I should have told you before.”

Max lifted her chin to his face. “Look at me. You haven’t met my eye since we met.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to say this, and I don’t know whether I should. Perhaps, it might make things . . . well . . . I don’t know.” What did she mean? Easier? If she told him about Marthe’s past, would it make it simpler for him to end things with her? Justify his decision to let her go? She shook her head again. Her thoughts were more in turmoil than a wasp trapped in a bottle. But she had to tell him.

Either way, he had to know.

“Grandmother has a past,” she said, her voice sounding rough. But she couldn’t control it. “I was embarrassed, and it has stopped me from being accepted anywhere, by anyone’s family in Paris. People talk to me, men dance with me, but their mothers won’t touch me with the tips of their parasols.”

“Well then, they are stupid,” Max growled. “What in goodness’ name did she do? Murder someone? Throw herself in front of a building site? Whatever it is—”

“She was a courtesan,” Isabelle blurted out. Tears nipped at her eyes. “She was born to a lowly family, became a seamstress. Marthe de Florian isn’t even her name.”

“I don’t care what her name was.” Max leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

Isabelle closed her eyes but then opened them, pulling away slightly. “No. I have to tell you. She worked as a dancer at the Folies Bergère after she was discovered in the garment district when she was twenty. She had two babies—boys—to two different fathers by then. And after she was discovered, she worked her way to the top. She was a demimondaine. A fashion leader, and everything in our home in Paris was given to her by . . . men.” Isabelle was determined to go on. “By her clients. She was a high-class prostitute.”

“Stop.” Max had his arms around her. “For pity’s sake, stop. I don’t care if she had an affair with the Pope. It’s irrelevant. Isabelle, I adore you. I am so sorry for what I’ve put you through in these past years. The thought of you, the idea of you, the real you, has kept me going. If I lose every material possession I own, if this damned Hitler loses another bloody war for Germany, it won’t matter because all I want is you. Please would you marry me?” He took her hands, kissing her forehead, moving down with butterfly touches to her lips. “After this is over, whatever the outcome’s going to be?”

Isabelle reached up to him, her hands stroking his cheeks. “I love you,” she said. “I always have. Yes.”

“I have something to tell you, though,” he said, his words coming out clearer, harder now. “My parents insist that I fight for Germany. My parents insist that Hitler is doing the right thing for our country. God help me if they are wrong, because I am seriously starting to doubt. Last time I saw you in Paris, it was all going on. My parents, the army, seeing you. I didn’t know whether I was on this earth or wanting to jump off it and go somewhere else. But I’m in the damned army. And everything that my parents say is going right is going as wrong as a wrecking ball in my head.”

Isabelle leaned her head against his chest.

Max leaned in closer and whispered in her ear. “If I don’t stay in the army, everyone I know, my parents, my younger brothers, my sister, will be under threat. The Nazis have eyes everywhere. It’s terrifying. I just have to get through it. And the only thing I have to keep me going is you.”

Isabelle choked back the sob that rose in her throat. She hugged Max, held him like she suspected every woman who has loved a man going to war has held him. And she never, ever wanted to let go.

Schloss Siegel, 2010

Anna had made her decision. She decided to talk to Wil. No matter where this conversation was going, no matter what happened in the end, if she didn’t start to live her life, she would regret it, just as Max had done, just as she was beginning to realize she had regrets of her own too. Her steadfast reliance on work had been enough for a long time, but now, she had to move on.

“Are you with anyone, Anna?” Wil’s voice still held some sort of magic. Anna had no idea why, but she took a breath and went with it.

“I haven’t been with anyone for years,” she said. “I had a relationship that ended badly six years ago. He turned out to be not so nice. Cheated on me after almost convincing me to let him buy into the Italian Café. Unfortunately, he did manage to charm me into thinking that he was right for me for a while—until I saw his true colors. I haven’t met anyone who has interested me since.” Until now, she added to herself.

“Ah ha.”

“He had all these grand ideas for the business, and for me. He was very enthusiastic.”

“I’ve met the type,” Wil said.

Anna took in a breath. “You must think I was naïve.”

Wil sounded closer now. “Nope. Sounds like he wasn’t up to the mark.”

Anna sat up. She hadn’t thought of it that way.

She let her eyes wander over the lake, but she wasn’t really taking it in. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“I’m just wondering,” Wil said, sounding thoughtful now, “why you chose someone who wasn’t worthy of you.”

What? Anna’s body seemed to jolt to attention. “What do you mean?”

Wil leaned forward a bit. “What I mean is, why not go for someone who is worthy of you? Who is up to the mark? It can be that simple, you know. It’s all you need to do.”

“But I haven’t met anyone like that.” Anna was almost smiling now. Why had she just said that? Someone who was worthy of her was sitting right here, right now, someone who was clearly kind, who was attractive—and who lived in a country thousands of miles away from home, she reminded herself. And who was probably just using his skills to help her. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that. He probably had a gorgeous girlfriend back home, anyway. She slumped back down on the grass.

“My role models were . . . interesting. My parents were always fighting,” Anna said. “When my mother died of cancer, I was twelve. My father just up and left a year later. It was as if he shrugged his shoulders after she died and moved on straightaway. She was my mother! When he announced he was leaving San Francisco, I absolutely refused to leave my friends, my school, my grandfather, any of it. I was thirteen, and pretty stubborn.”

“Really,” Wil said. “I’d say that was strong.”

“Or mad.” Anna chuckled. “In any case, Max offered to let me stay with him and my grandmother during school, and I would go to my father for school holidays. But I used to hate those visits. A few weeks after my mother died, my father rushed into a dysfunctional relationship with my stepmother, who thought of me as some sort of aberration—in the way of her social life. My father is an architect. He’s always done well. Financially, that is. It’s just that he views his partners as he would a painting or an investment. My mother was so unhappy.”

“Okay,” Wil said. “I get it.”

“Added to that, Max had withdrawn from his relationship with my grandmother. They led separate lives. So I guess I just assumed that . . .”

“There was nothing better out there for you,” Wil said. “That it wasn’t worth trying. Better to rely on yourself. It would never happen for you either.”

“And I didn’t know what the fuss was about love,” Anna said.

“Didn’t?” Wil’s voiced dropped a couple of octaves. The word seemed to hang in the heat.

“Well, at least I’m independent,” Anna said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ve learned what I can do.”

“You have,” Wil said. “But have you thought about letting go and just seeing what might happen? You don’t know what the future could hold. Anything could happen.”

“Nothing to let go of—everything went when I was twelve.”

“I know. But I think you tried to hang onto it. You haven’t let it go. You haven’t opened yourself up to possibilities. It’s time to do that now.”

Anna was still.

“Come with me,” Wil said, standing up. He held out a hand, and instinctively, without thinking about it, Anna took it.

He led her toward the water, then leaned down and picked up a smooth stone. “Let’s say that this rock is your past.”

“My past?” Half the time she felt like bursting into giggles when she was with Wil, and half the time she felt as if their conversation were strung up more tightly than a set of choker pearls.

“Can’t you see that clearly this is a stone sitting in your heart?”

“Do you talk like this with all your clients?” Anna couldn’t help it. She was laughing out loud now.

“Only the clients who I’m really trying to impress,” Wil said. “Only special ones.”

Anna looked down at her feet.

“So.” He was standing behind her now. He handed her the small stone, reaching around her arms and putting it in her fingers. Then he wrapped his fingers around hers, and closed the stone—still warm from the sun and his hands—tight in her fist.

Anna felt her breathing quicken. But she focused hard on the water, not on the feeling of Wil so close to her, not on the sensations that were starting to stretch their dormant selves as if telling her that finally, finally, she was giving them a chance to wake up.

“Now,” he said, sounding ever so close and gentle. “Throw it.”

“This is so funny,” Anna murmured. “But it’s kind of—”

“Therapeutic. And no one can see except me.”

“That’s true.”

“Go for it.”

Anna lifted her arm and hurled the sharp little stone as far as she could. It skipped several times, almost as if in defiance, almost as if it were trying to have a last life or some sort of final say. Anna folded her arms and watched it disappear.

“The past is never coming back again, by the way,” Wil said.

Anna turned to face him.

He had his head tilted to one side.

Anna turned her head to take one last look back at the lake.

But Wil took her chin in his hands.

“You should remember the good stuff. Think about what made you smile. Keep the times you had with Max with you, always. You weren’t responsible for your parents’ fighting, or Max’s broken-down marriage. You won’t get hoodwinked again like you did six years ago, because you are strong now. Trust your own instincts and be true to yourself. That’s all you need to do.”

She caught his eye, which was almost too much, so she looked down again.

“And to think I almost didn’t come on this picnic today with you,” she said.

“Why ever not?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly she felt something shift again. She was embarrassed now. Why had she said that?

And he was on to her. “Hang on, right there,” he said, taking his hand away.

She should have known.

“What put you off today?”

Anna closed her eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit raw—it’s so soon after Max’s death.” She moved toward the wooden boat.