The House by the Lake (20 page)

People moved in sad packs down Paris streets—the war had draped dusty curtains across the city and it was as if nobody had the strength to fight it. And at the same time, summer rolled on, oblivious to the relentless forces that were about to destroy everything Paris knew.

The city should be at her most beautiful tonight. It was an evening for walks along the Seine, for dancing in the clubs where only a few years ago, the city’s youth had kicked up their heels and done exactly what young people on the verge of life should be doing—celebrating.

A family passed underneath the window where Isabelle stood—in the absence of a wagon, they seemed to have procured an old, thin horse. Isabelle turned away. Where would she go? Stories had swept the city—by midnight not a café would be open. The SS would shut everything down. The Gestapo would set up military borders and follow up on everyone who was living in Paris, calling on them systematically. The Third Reich was a place where you did exactly what you were told.

And where was Max? How did he feel about the talons of Nazism spreading all through Europe? Did his parents still expect him to think as they did? Had they changed their minds, turned face? Surely, surely . . . and right now, Camille had rushed off, saying she would be right back.

Isabelle shuddered as a new thought struck her. What if something had happened to Camille?

She walked into Marthe’s dressing room. Took in a sharp breath. Closed her eyes for one split second and then opened a drawer.

Isabelle had flurried around all afternoon, grabbing some clothes and getting ready to leave. And now, where on earth was Camille? Isabelle had discussed this with her. Had told her at least two hours ago that they would flee.

She pulled out Marthe’s strongbox, unlocking it with the small key that she had pulled from its hiding place. With the determination of a professional, she removed every piece of Marthe’s exquisite collection of jewelry. Next, she pulled out two silk purses, whose long woven handles were the perfect length to hang around her and Camille’s necks.

Not stopping to even glance at their still-twinkling beauty, Isabelle filled the two bags with all the diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires that Marthe had been given when she was young.

When Isabelle heard the door latch click, she almost sank onto the padded chair in the corner of the dressing room with relief. The sound of Camille’s efficient footsteps echoed through the apartment. The girl was going up to her bedroom above the kitchen.

Isabelle zipped up the purses, but their fabric strained, almost tearing against the thin teeth that bound the little bags together. They would simply have to hold everything in place.

Isabelle ran back into her bedroom and took one last look around. Strangely, she had found it necessary to leave things tidy. If the Nazis were to enter Marthe’s old home, they would, Isabelle knew, take the lot.

She marched out through the dressing room, then said goodbye to Marthe’s bedroom without turning once. She closed all the curtains and pulled the last set of wooden shutters tight.

Everything was still.

She walked through the salon. It was time to go. She had no choice. Marthe’s ostrich seemed to stare at her. It had been such an odd gift, but Marthe would not part with it, like everything else. In a fit of impulsiveness, Isabelle grabbed the shawl that was draped over Marthe’s favorite chair—the one she always sat in to have her coffee—and draped the shawl over the poor stuffed bird’s back. She took a last glance around her room, her heart, her belly, everything aching with a strange new feeling that had started to develop in the last few weeks.

Camille came into the living room from the kitchen, shutting the door that led to the servants’ quarters with a soft click. The girl had her suitcase at her feet. She looked as calm and determined as ever.

“We will have to walk out of the city,” Camille said.

Isabelle shook her head. “Surely, there will be a train?” Suddenly, her sense of desolation at leaving her home was replaced with an urgency to get out of Paris.

“No, we should go directly to Honfleur. Then south.” Camille was frowning.

Isabelle watched her for a moment. Camille was intelligent—she was also street-smart. Without her, Isabelle did not know what she would do.

“I know which way to go, Mademoiselle,” Camille said, her voice low. She had pulled her long dark hair back into a ponytail, and she wore a simple summer dress and sensible shoes.

Isabelle nodded. She would trust Camille.

Isabelle didn’t turn around when she locked the apartment’s front door. She did not look back at the life she was leaving, at the life that had been ripped away from her in a few short, dreadful months. Maybe she would be back by the fall. Who knew? No one did.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Schloss Beringer, 2010

Ingrid was waiting in the conservatory at Beringer with her back to the entrance as Anna and Wil walked in. She was dressed in an elegant suit with a red scarf. When Ingrid turned around and caught Anna’s eye, Anna could tell that the woman was distressed, but after a moment, she bustled across the room, clearly trying to hide her emotions. A maid arrived, pushing a cart with the sort of elaborate breakfast that Schloss Beringer probably did to perfection. There were croissants that did not look fresh, fruit platters, white coffee cups, a jug of milk, and a plate of strudel and other pastries.

Anna held out a hand and nodded at Ingrid, who looked more determined now. Back to her usual self. “Thank you for meeting with me, Ingrid.”

Anna followed Ingrid’s lead and sat down at the polished oval table. Wil sat next to her.

Ingrid poured coffee. “I wanted to meet with you because it seemed important to clarify a few things,” Ingrid said. “Your grandfather, Max, is responsible for Schloss Siegel’s condition today.” Her voice cut like clear crystal through the glass room.

Anna stayed quiet.

Seeing that Anna was not going to protest seemed to spur Ingrid on. “My mother was your great-aunt and Max’s older sister. My mother’s name was Nadja. There were two younger brothers as well. I assume you do not know about these people?”

“Anna doesn’t. No,” Wil said softly as he poured coffee.

Anna sat perfectly still.

“Max and Nadja’s two younger brothers were known by the family as Didi and Jo,” Ingrid spoke with precision. “But their real names were Dieter and Jochim. They were both killed in the war, loyal to Germany until the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Anna said.

“After the war, Max’s mother, Elsa, and my mother, Nadja, tried to contact Max. He was the heir, since my mother, although older than Max, was discounted, being female.

“Their father, Otto, your great-grandfather, was missing at the end of the war, so it was imperative that Max come home and take up his role, but he was nowhere to be found. They thought he might be dead or a prisoner. They did everything they could to track him down.

“On the afternoon my mother and grandmother were told by the Foreign Office to flee the Schloss, the Soviets were ten kilometers away. There was no German unit nearby. They were told to leave within the hour. With only females in the house, my grandmother knew that they would all be raped if they stayed. They had to get out. Taking the old school coach, some loyal servants, and what food they could to survive, plus one suitcase each, they travelled southwest, away from the Soviets. My mother found work along the way as an agricultural hands-on student. But it took them months to get anywhere.

“They sought refuge where they could—travelling through border towns full of refugees and bombed-out German cities. Their anxiety over my grandfather, Otto, and Max must have been like a knife in their hearts.

“Rations were scarce and they were practically starving. And then they learned that their assets had been frozen in the East. They had lost everything. They had no money at all. There was no way of fighting the system. My mother went to college in Hannover, then eventually found work as a secretary. She had to do what she could to survive.”

Ingrid stood up. She walked over to the glass wall and stared out at the tranquil park. How could nature remain so calm in the face of such history?

Anna folded her arms around herself and waited.

“Something else had happened—before they left.” Ingrid stopped.

“I want to know. I am family,” Anna said.

The sound that came from Ingrid’s lips was more of a snort than anything else. “Don’t talk to me of family,” she said. “There is only work, hard work, and grit, and determination. You can only rely on yourself.”

The irony of this hit Anna hard. Was the woman a mirror of herself? She felt a sudden flicker of empathy for Ingrid. She sensed Wil watching her and turned to look at him. He shook his head.

Anna bit her lip.

“So,” Ingrid went on. “Here it is, then. My mother, Nadja, had an affair before she left the Schloss.”

Anna said nothing.

“My father, you see,” Ingrid turned around to face them, “was Max’s valet. Hans Kramer. My mother and Hans Kramer were lovers. When Nadja and my grandmother ended up in Hannover, my mother told me it was Hans who came and found them. Not your grandfather. Max did not appear.”

Anna took in a sharp breath. She shifted in her seat.

Wil reached out, took her hand underneath the table. She was finding it hard to keep her breathing even. She let her hand rest in his.

“Hans and Nadja resumed their love affair in Hannover once he had caught up to her. Your great-grandmother, Elsa, did not know about their affair. She was only pleased to see someone connected with the family. But when Nadja became pregnant, and the two of them wanted to marry, Elsa asked Hans to leave. She refused to acknowledge him as a son-in-law. The only person who could have convinced her was—”

“Don’t say Max.” Anna knew her words sounded like a warning.

“Max’s mother adored him—she would have listened to him. If Max had advocated for Nadja, explained my father’s—Hans’s devotion and steadfastness to Nadja and to the Albrecht family as well, then how different things could have been! The world had changed. My father had grown up with Nadja and Max, and he loved Nadja. My grandmother had not yet adjusted to any such idea.”

Anna took a sip of her coffee.

“Life between Nadja and Elsa became impossible after that. Hans left, unable to face the guilt of tearing Nadja away from her mother. But my mother told me that Elsa could never bear to look at her daughter again. She would never understand what Nadja had done.” Ingrid turned to face them. Her eyes, which had struck Anna as cold before, seemed to flash with something else now.

“My mother left her mother and went to Berlin. She gave birth to me in West Berlin. She continued to work as a secretary. We were poor, but we survived. When I was five, my mother met and married my stepfather, who was a successful businessman. She did everything she could to forget Hans. And he left her alone. You see, he was trained as a servant. He was taught to obey his betters—and then he was trained as a Nazi soldier. He had to obey. It is almost impossible for us to understand this mentality. While my mother knew Hans loved her, she knew that he would not return to her. It was not in him to do so. It is hard to explain to your generation. But my mother’s anger towards her family, towards Max, towards her mother, and towards Germany as well—it bred in her soul. She had lived a life of privilege, of luxury, and she enjoyed those things. I think her attitude, her odd attitude to life started right back when she was a teenager, because she always told me that when she fell for her brother’s valet, she knew that it was going to be impossible. And on top of all this, she was a woman living in a time when the only role she could play was that of wife, sister, mother. She was the eldest in a great German family, Anna, but she was never going to be the heir. She was never going to be the center of her own life. She was never taken seriously, not at all.”

Anna chewed on her lip.

“My stepfather was a property developer, and he nurtured my interest in business. I took over his portfolio when he died fifteen years ago, and I have extended it. Things have changed—but we still have a way to go, Anna. So. There we are.”

Anna nodded.

“Elsa, my grandmother, died in 1963,” Ingrid went on. “She stayed in Hannover until then and never saw my mother again. And as for my grandfather, Otto—it took him three years to find Elsa after the war had finished, but he was ill and did not live long after that. The devastation of losing every one of their children—two to war and two who had left them—certainly contributed to his death. But I only found that out much later.”

Wil let go of Anna’s hand. He leaned forward, looked thoughtful. “Ingrid, I understand where you are coming from—with regard to your mother’s relationship with Hans. Do you know what happened in Max’s life immediately after the war? What I am asking is, do you think there could have been some reason for his leaving everything he knew behind? What you are telling us sounds so unlike the man that Anna has described to me.”

“Max absconded.” Ingrid almost spat out the words. “He left the Nazi party in 1940. He was stationed in Paris until then, but incredibly, with all the mayhem in France, he managed to escape before the Nazis were in total control of Paris. He would have been shot if he’d been found. Furthermore—”

Anna closed her eyes.

“Furthermore, my mother would not mention his name in the house. She said he had always been indecisive. He was torn about Germany’s future and what he wanted. So, you see, this is why what I am doing is right. Schloss Siegel is, by rights, my property anyway—my mother should have been the heir—would have been, in any just and sensible place. Not your grandfather. My mother did not run away from everything. She stayed where she belonged and worked hard. I see Siegel as I do my other properties. It is being preserved in its original state. I do not want people there whom I don’t know. They will wreck it.

“I am now almost the substantial landowner that my family always was,” Ingrid went on. “Everything is as it should be. There is no place for you here, Anna. Max chose to go to America. He left Germany, never to return. You should go back there too. That is where your line of the family belongs now. I only wanted to see you today so that you would know the truth. And so it is. That is all.”

Anna’s mind raced.

But everything came back to one thing.

Ingrid’s story, no matter how convincing she made it sound, was not a true reflection of Max’s character. Anna knew him. She only had to close her eyes and picture any single memory that she had of him. Ingrid’s account didn’t add up. And now, he was dead. How on earth was she supposed to prove her cousin wrong?

His surviving family’s ability to force the blame on him was astounding.

Anna stood up. “Thank you,” she said. She would not speak up until she had some proof of what she knew was true. “I need to think,” she said, simply. “But I have one thing to say. Please would you consider restoring the Schloss? It is part of your history, as you say, but leaving it to rot is cruel.”

“I will run my business interests as I see fit. While I am alive, I don’t want the Schloss touched. I cannot live out there alone. I cannot bear the thought of anyone else living there. It is my mother’s home, her rightful estate. I bought it, I own it, and I will keep it safe for her until I die.”

Anna bit back a response. She couldn’t accept that.

“Ingrid. I will talk to you soon,” Wil said. “Anna, would you like to think about all this? If you have any more questions for Ingrid, anything you would like to say, I can put you in touch. You have shared a lot of information, Ingrid. Anna has a lot to digest.”

Ingrid nodded. She reached out and shook Wil’s hand, then Anna’s, but Anna felt so distracted that she was almost disembodied, somehow.

Wil was silent all the way back to Berlin in the car. What was he thinking? Was he judging her badly? Anna felt embarrassed to have Max exposed by Ingrid in such a way. She climbed out of the car when they reached the hotel before Wil could even say goodbye.

“Anna—” he called, leaning out through the window.

But Anna shook her head.

He climbed out of the car too, raced to follow her into the hotel.

She turned. “I have to think,” she said. After a moment, she had to say something more. “That made no sense.”

“I know,” he said.

Max had some darned good reason for never going back. She knew him. “I should go,” she said. She was going to cry. She did not want Wil to see that.

She had to sort this out herself.

It was what she always did.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Wil’s voice cut into her thoughts.

But Anna pulled away from him. “This is Max. I can’t believe Ingrid’s story.”

“Just think about it. Go slow,” Wil said. “And I’m always here.”

She nodded. “Thank you for your help,” she said.

And as she walked away from him into the lobby, a question repeated itself like a crow circling around one spot. What on earth was she supposed to do? She was the only person who seemed to believe in Max.

She looked back at Wil’s retreating car.

Max was dead. It was going to be impossible to find out the truth about his past.

So. She had a life in San Francisco that she should return to at once, and a tumult of family history that would not go away in her head.