The House by the Lake (4 page)

The windows were boarded up. Weeds and bracken climbed up the walls. Several pieces of iron in unidentifiable shapes lay about near the Schloss, relics of the Soviet era or, perhaps, old farm implements from . . . before that time.

This gate was not only padlocked but crisscrossed with barbed wire to ensure that no one could get in.

Anna hated to imagine what Max would feel, standing here, looking at this. It was as if his entire childhood, his former life, had been left to rot.

What was she supposed to do now?

She continued to stare at the part of the house that she could see. The image of a young Max running through the gardens, down to the lake that she knew lay beyond the palace, flashed through her mind. And then, Max as a young man, strolling down to the lake, looking thoughtful. A book in his hand, perhaps, going for a solitary row in a boat. Anna almost felt as though she’d been there, as though she’d known Max back then. She felt more crushed at the sight of the rundown property than she’d ever imagined possible. After all, she’d never given much thought to the past—but there was something about this house and all that it had suffered that threatened to overwhelm her.

Her family, Max’s family, had lost everything. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for them to leave their home, a place layered with centuries of family memories and stories.

And yet, had it been fair for them to have had all of this?

Anna shook her head and turned away. All she knew right then was that she wasn’t going to get any answers by standing there. The Schloss and the park were impenetrable. She’d have to find another way to get inside.

If whatever Max had hidden under the floorboards in his room in 1940 had survived the years of political turmoil, gunshots, and looters—not to mention the current owners, who may have ripped everything valuable out of it and left the rest to rot—it would be a miracle.

But she had to find out. Anna forced herself to return to the village.

As she followed the road back into the tiny town, a plan began to form in her head. There had to be some sort of civil office that she could visit there. If not there, there would be someone she could talk to in another town nearby. Someone had to know who owned Schloss Siegel, and Anna had to get in touch with them.

She walked around the village’s central square, but there was nothing there except the shop, the hotel, the church, and several private, rundown houses on the other side. She turned up the first street she came to and found only a few more cottages.

She couldn’t help imagining what it must have been like once. The village, alive with children and voices and laughter and families and shopkeepers and noise. The fact that the hoteliers wore traditional costume seemed to make everything more poignant somehow. It was as if this place, hidden away in the forest, locked up by the recent past, had been forgotten now, as so much was forgotten once it was gone. Once it was done.

But why did it have to be finished?

Anna made her way back to the square, taking the next road. After several minutes she turned back around. She had passed a ghost of a post office but nothing else. The clouds had turned to dark gray now—she had been walking for at least an hour. It was nearly six. There was still no sign of life in the village beyond the hotel—and the shop.

Of course. It was still open. But for whom?

Anna pushed the door open. She was hungry now, and her eyes burned with exhaustion. She experienced another bout of dizziness, as if the floor under her feet were spinning.

An elderly woman sat behind the counter, but she stood up when Anna appeared and turned to busy herself with the racks of cigarettes behind the till. Anna watched out of the corner of her eye while the old woman pulled a couple of packets out, sorting them in a halfhearted way.

Anna glanced around the store. It looked as if nothing much had changed here for a long time. The merchandise—mostly packaged goods—was arranged in three aisles, and there was a small selection of fruits and vegetables in a fridge at the back.

Anna decided it would be tactful to buy something before approaching the storeowner. She wandered, fascinated by the German biscuits, the jars of sauerkraut, and the packages of sausages in the freezer section, drawn by the colors of the packaging and the potential of new ingredients. She had to shake herself back to the present.

Finally, Anna selected a packet of chocolate cookies. She needed them. After stalling for a few seconds so that she could plan what she was going to say to the woman at the counter, she made her way over to the till.

“
Guten tag
,” she said, wincing at what was probably the worst German accent the woman had ever heard.

“Hello,” the woman replied in English, holding out a hand for the cookies, not smiling.

But Anna was not going to budge. “I was wondering—could you tell me where I could find the mayor of the village?”

The woman scanned Anna’s cookies and punched numbers into her cash register, deadly slow. Anna bit her lip and paid for her small purchase.

The woman studied Anna as if assessing her—up and down the entire length of her being. “I am the mayor of Siegel. If you have questions, you must talk to me.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Lake Geneva, 1934

There was something about being out on the water that spelled freedom, glamour, and exhilaration, all blended into one heady mix. Looking out over the deep-blue water and sparkling sunshine, while Max leaned against the side of the boat next to her, Isabelle felt a sense of hope, of happiness and possibility that she had not felt since she was a child.

Even if today was just an aberration, she could live on the feelings she was experiencing now for months. She had a good imagination, but she hoped that she wouldn’t have to use it. Deep down she hoped that she could live like this, feel like this, forever.

Max pointed out several picturesque towns as they motored along, telling her which of them sold the best Swiss chocolates, which held the most colorful weekend markets, which had the liveliest restaurants and cafés, even which were best for clothes shopping.

Isabelle caught her breath when they passed private waterfront estates, their immaculate gardens surrounding gabled and turreted houses with motorboats and yachts moored to private jetties. But, as Max pointed out, the lake had its wild side. Impenetrable mountains—their tips capped with smatterings of snow—loomed behind the forests above shingled, deserted beaches.

“Here we are. St. Prex,” Max said, as the boat slowed and turned toward the shore.

Didi and Jo were talking in the wild, excited voices typical of young men. Virginia had taken off her hat and turned her face toward the breeze. Nadja sat on one of the wooden slatted seats up at the front of the boat chatting with her friend Sascha.

When the boat pulled up at a small jetty on the edge of the town, Max turned to Isabelle and asked, “Would you like to walk with me? I’d love to show you the town, if you’ll allow me.”

“That sounds perfect,” Isabelle said with a smile.

“I’d like to take Isabelle for a walk,” Max announced to the group while the crew tied the boat to the moorings. There was a pretty park behind the rocky foreshore, and narrow streets led off into what looked like a medieval Swiss town.

“Go ahead,” Virginia laughed. “Unless you think you need that chaperone, honey.” The American girl looked arch.

Isabelle felt herself blush, but she just shook her head.

The crew helped Isabelle, Nadja, Sascha, and Virginia off the boat. Didi and Jo were off next, scampering down to the water’s edge.

“We’ll be back in time for lunch,” Max said, following everyone else off the boat.

A sense of disappointment fluttered through Isabelle. She didn’t want to come back for lunch. She would much rather spend the whole day with Max. But that was ridiculous. She said goodbye to Virginia.

Virginia waved back. “I’ll be here in the park with Nadja and Sascha. We’re going to have a delicious talk.”

Virginia did not seem at all put off by Nadja’s cold manners. Isabelle wondered whether her new American friend was fazed by anything at all.

Max held out his arm for Isabelle. “Shall we?”

Isabelle slipped her arm into his. When she did so, she realized that she was feeling as she never had before.

It would have been easy to become lost in the cobbled streets of St. Prex. Many of the gabled houses were covered in climbing greenery, their window boxes a riot of summer colors. After half an hour of wandering and easy conversation, Max offered to take her to a café for a glass of something cool.

But he seemed hesitant, watching her as he waited for her to respond.

What was he looking for? Did he expect her to be embarrassed at the idea of sitting alone in an unfamiliar café with an unfamiliar man in a foreign country? The truth was, she didn’t feel any sort of embarrassment at all. Oddly, she felt more at home here than she often did in Paris.

“So,” Max said, his blue eyes crinkling at their corners as he offered her a seat under the verandah of a charming café. “Now you know my family.”

Isabelle waited a moment. She wanted to ask about his parents. But this was always a sensitive subject. The war . . . his father.

But Max seemed to sense her thoughts. “My parents are hosting . . . guests this summer. Well, of a sort. My father did not want to leave the men who are staying with us for the month of August. They are from the training camps south of Berlin.”

“Oh,” Isabelle said. Training camps. The idea made her feel like shuddering. “That must be interesting for you—to have them there, in the house.”

Max chuckled. “What a diplomat you are. My parents have their . . . political views. There are movements in Paris too. But I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

Isabelle tensed. The Communist and Fascist uprisings in Paris earlier in the year were still fresh in everyone’s minds. But she couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live in a country where alternative political parties were banned, let alone protests. Hitler had just given himself absolute power. She had read about the SS’s efforts to destroy all opposition within the Nazi party in June. It was impossible to know what to say.

There was a silence.

“My parents want me to join the Nazi party,” Max said. “But if Hitler is capable of ordering the SS to kill men who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him, how can I think of joining them, let alone allowing people like my younger brothers to join his cause? People are saying it was necessary—that in order to move forward, sacrifices had to be made. We all know that Germany needs a new future, and the only way forward that we have is with Hitler. I don’t know what the answer is, Isabelle, but I do know my parents are urging me to join the Nazi party.”

A group of young children ran around and around in circles in the square next to the café. The colors, the window boxes, the waitresses wearing checked pinafores and wielding jugs of lemonade—none of this seemed to fit into the world that Hitler was creating.

“I’m the eldest in my family,” Max went on. “You see, whatever I do will be taken as a model, by my brothers, by the villagers—and I just don’t know.” He leaned forward then, and he rested his brown hand on the table.

Isabelle wanted to reach out her own hand. Instinctively, she almost did so. But then something stopped her. She had only just met Max. She did not know him. And yet, not only did she feel that here was perhaps one of the most interesting men she had ever met, she knew that in front of her sat a good man, a man who carefully considered the world around him. Before she shared her thoughts, she wanted to know more.

Siegel, 2010

Anna felt oddly uncomfortable under the mayor’s gaze. It was unusual for her to feel intimidated. She dealt with the public every day at her café.

Should she tell the mayor her story, or simply say that she needed access to the Schloss and had good reason? If she were to reveal nothing, then the woman would surely become even more suspicious than she already appeared. If she said too much, then the mayor might find Anna’s objective ridiculous. Retrieving something sentimental from the Schloss that was left there in 1940? The woman would think she was mad! And every time Anna had prodded her grandfather for the truth about what she was seeking, he had turned away. Told her that these things were difficult to talk about. But once she was there, he said, once she was in Germany, it would be easier to talk. On the phone. Not face-to-face.

Now, Anna faced the mayor. “My name is Anna Young,” she began. “My grandfather is Max Albrecht.”

The woman stayed dead still. “Why have you come?”

“My grandfather’s family—”

“We know the Albrechts,” the woman said.

“Of course. Well. My grandfather, Max, asked me to come back here. He asked me to go to the Schloss on his behalf. He is ninety-four, you see.”

“My name is Agatha Engel.”

Anna held out a hand. Frau Engel shook it, but she did not smile at Anna.

“What does he want?”

“It’s a long story. But he . . . wants me to . . .” She didn’t think it would be wise to reveal that there might still be something hidden under the floorboards in the Schloss. If anyone in the village did have a key, they might be tempted to go in search of Max’s personal belongings for themselves.

Anna started again. “He’s an old man. He wants me to take some photographs of his childhood home for future generations of the family. I think you will understand.”

After what seemed like an age, Frau Engel leaned her large hands on the shop counter. “I do not have a key, Miss Young. Return to America and forget about the Schloss. Your grandfather should forget the past. I cannot help you. No one here will be interested in your desire for photographs.”

Anna gathered up her cookies. The woman had folded her arms now. Anna nodded. She was not going to make any further progress here. Not now. She thanked Frau Engel and left the shop.

The air outside had chilled, and a late afternoon stillness settled on the village. The atmosphere felt timeless. It was as if the village had slipped back to a lost time. Smoke curled from the chimney of the hotel.

It was tempting indeed to go home to San Francisco—it was certainly a much happier place than Siegel. But Anna couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. Not for two reasons.

First, she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself were she to return home without having even properly tried to get inside the Schloss, and second, Anna was now invested in this place. Having walked around the perimeter of the Schloss—having glimpsed even the tiniest part of Max’s past, that place that he had never talked about—she could not leave without searching harder. And she could never face Max if she had not done everything she could.

She made her way back to the hotel. This time a different scene greeted her inside the restaurant. A fire crackled in the huge old hearth at the back of the cozy room. Three people sat at the bar to Anna’s left, a middle-aged couple who chatted in English and a solitary man—a local, perhaps. His tweed cap rested on the counter next to him.

Music played in the background. Schubert. Lieder—a lilting song that Max still enjoyed listening to. The reminder of Max didn’t help. Anna made her way up to the bar and perched on one of the three spare bar stools. For reasons she couldn’t quite understand, she felt nervous. This was unlike her—she was normally so confident and capable. She had taken care of herself for years, started her own business, cared for Max, built a full life for herself, so why did she feel so edgy? She focused straight ahead. What on earth was her next move going to be?

The man next to her turned to her and nodded, and the woman next to him smiled at Anna.

“Hello,” the woman said. She had a British accent, sounded friendly.

“I’m Anna,” Anna smiled back. “Nice to meet you.”

“Flora Miles,” the woman said, “And this is my husband, Doug. We’re touring for two weeks. Fascinating area, isn’t it?”

“Yes, fascinating.”

The bartender asked what she was drinking. Anna ordered a German Riesling. She could not stomach beer.

“We came up from Berlin today. Tomorrow we head to Poland.” Flora seemed inclined to chat.

“Oh?”

“Yes. We’re taking it day by day. No rush.”

“A good way to travel,” Anna said.

“This is a nice little hotel, isn’t it? Are you backpacking your way around Europe?”

“No.” Anna laughed. “I’m here for . . . more personal reasons.”

The man on Anna’s other side stirred. She sensed him looking at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze.

“My family came from here,” Anna said, speaking loud enough for the man to hear her, hoping he spoke English as well. “They owned the Schloss at the edge of the village. I don’t know if you’ve seen it.”

“The Albrechts,” the man said, out of the blue, in English. “They never came back.”

“They never came back?” Anna asked. Didn’t he mean they were forced to leave?

The couple next to her stayed quiet. Anna sent them silent thanks.

“The government offered to let families buy back their homes in the 1990s, but the Albrechts weren’t interested—they never came back to Siegel—so the Schloss was put up for sale.”

Weren’t interested?

“And do you know who owns it now?” Anna asked, spinning her wine glass by the stem.

“Some big company.” The man shrugged. “Their lawyer came here once to look it over.”

“Do you know who the lawyer is?” She tried to sound casual.

The man placed his beer mug down on the bar with precision. “The lawyer met with the mayor when he was here. That’s all I know.”

“Thank you,” Anna said. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Frau Engel was turning the red door sign on her shop from “Open” to “Closed” when Anna rushed back to the store. While she understood how important these signs were, knew how hard it was when someone begged to come inside when you were closing for the day—this was for Max. So Anna put on her sweetest smile and approached the older woman with care.

“Yes.” Frau Engel did not turn to face Anna when she spoke.

“I spoke to one of the locals,” Anna said. “He told me that you have met with the lawyer who represents the owners of the Schloss. I’m guessing this lawyer has access to a key. I understand what you are saying about the past; believe me, I do, but—”