thing will be extremely useful to me,” he said with a wink. “With her, for example.”
He was pointing at a tall, dark-haired girl with dreamy eyes who was holding a glass of punch in the middle of the crowd.
“Nice tits,” whispered one of his acolytes.
“Any of you want to bet I can premiere this thing and get back in time for the toasts?”
“I’ll bet fifty marks on Jurgen,” the one with the trodden foot felt compelled to say.
“I’ll take the bet,” said another behind him.
“Well, gents, you just wait here and watch; you might learn something.”
Jurgen swallowed softly, hoping the others wouldn’t notice. He hated talking to girls, as they always made him feel awkward and inferior. Although he was good-looking, his only contact with the opposite sex had been in a brothel in Schwabing, where he’d experienced more shame than excitement. He’d been taken there by his father a few months before, dressed in a discreet black overcoat and hat. While he did his business, his father waited downstairs, drinking cognac. When it was over, he gave his son a slap on the back and told him that he was now a man. This was the beginning and the end of Jurgen von Schroeder’s education on the subject of women and love.
I’ll show them how a real man behaves, the boy thought, feeling his companions’ eyes on the back of his neck.
“Hello, Fraulein. Are you enjoying yourself?”
She turned her head but didn’t smile.
“Not really. Do we know each other?”
“I can see why you’re not enjoying yourself. My name’s Jurgen von Schroeder.”
“Alys Tannenbaum,” she said, holding out her hand without much enthusiasm.
“Do you want to dance, Alys?”
“No.”
The girl’s brusque response startled Jurgen.
“You know I’m hosting this party? It’s my birthday today.”
“Congratulations,” she said sarcastically. “No doubt there are plenty of girls in this room desperate for you to ask them to dance. I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“But you have to dance with me at least once.”
“Oh, really? And why is that?”
“Good breeding dictates it. When a gentleman asks a lady…”
“You know what annoys me most about arrogant people, Jurgen? The number of things you take for granted. Well, you should know this: the world isn’t the way you see it. By the way, your friends are giggling and they can’t seem to take their eyes off you.”
Jurgen glanced around. He couldn’t fail, couldn’t allow this ill-mannered girl to humiliate him.
She’s playing hard to get because really she likes me. She must be one of those girls who thinks the best way to excite a man is to push him away until he goes crazy. Well, I know how to deal with her sort, he thought.
Jurgen took a step forward, taking the girl by the waist and drawing her toward him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she gasped.
“Teaching you to dance.”
“If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll scream.”
“You wouldn’t want to make a scene, now, would you, Alys?”
The young woman tried to force her arms between her body and Jurgen’s, but she was no match for his strength. The baron’s son squeezed her to him even more closely, feeling her breasts through her dress. He began to move to the rhythm of the music, a smile on his lips, knowing that Alys would not scream. Creating a fuss at a party like this would only harm her reputation and that of her family. He saw the young woman’s eyes crystallizing into a cold hatred, and suddenly toying with her seemed a lot of fun, much more satisfying than if she’d simply agreed to dance with him.
“Would you like a drink, miss?”
Jurgen stopped with a jolt. Paul was at his side, holding a tray with several glasses of champagne, his lips firmly pursed.
“Hey, it’s my cousin the waiter. Get lost, you cretin!” barked Jurgen.
“First I’d like to know if the young lady is thirsty,” said Paul, extending the tray toward him.
“Yes,” Alys said hurriedly, “that champagne looks marvelous.”
Jurgen half closed his eyes, trying to work out what to do. If he let go of her right hand to allow her to take a glass from the tray, she would be able to detach herself completely. He slightly weakened the pressure on her back, allowing her to free her left arm, but squeezed the right even harder. The girl’s fingertips were turning purple.
“Come on, then, Alys, take a glass. They say it brings happiness,” he added, feigning good humor.
Alys leaned toward the tray, trying to free herself, but it was useless. There was nothing for it but to take the champagne with her left hand.
“Thank you,” she said weakly.
“Perhaps the young lady would like a napkin,” said Paul, raising his other hand, in which he held a saucer with small squares of fabric. He had moved around so that he was now on the other side of the couple.
“That would be marvelous,” said Alys, staring intently at the baron’s son.
For a few seconds, no one moved. Jurgen studied the situation. With the glass in her left hand, the only way she could take a napkin would be with her right. At last, boiling with rage, he had to give up the battle. He released Alys’s hand, and she stepped back, taking the napkin.
“I think I’ll get some air,” she said with remarkable poise.
Jurgen, as though spurning her, turned his back to return to his friends. Passing by Paul, he clenched his shoulder and whispered:
“You’ll pay for that.”
Somehow Paul managed to keep the champagne glasses balanced on the tray: they clinked but didn’t topple. His inner balance was another matter entirely, and at that precise moment he felt like a cat trapped in a barrel of nails.
How could I have been so stupid?
There was only one rule in life: stay as far away from Jurgen as possible. It wasn’t easy to do, since they both lived under the same roof; but it was simple, at least. There wouldn’t be much he could do if his cousin decided to make his life impossible, but he could certainly avoid crossing his path, much less humiliate him in public. This would cost him dearly.
“Thank you.”
Paul lifted his eyes and, for a few moments, he forgot absolutely everything: his fear of Jurgen, the heavy tray, the pain in the soles of his feet from having worked twelve hours straight in preparation for the party. Everything disappeared, because she was smiling at him.
Alys wasn’t the sort of woman who could take a man’s breath away at first sight. But were you to give her a second glance, it would probably be a long one. The sound of her voice was attractive. And if she smiled at you the way she smiled at Paul that moment…
There was no way that Paul could not fall in love with her.
“Ah… it was nothing.”
For the rest of his life Paul would curse that moment, that conversation, and the smile that would cause him so many problems. But back then he was oblivious, as was she. She was sincerely grateful to the skinny little boy with the intelligent blue eyes. Then, of course, Alys went back to being Alys.
“Don’t think I couldn’t have got rid of him on my own.”
“Of course,” said Paul, still reeling.
Alys blinked; she wasn’t used to such an easy victory, so she changed the subject.
“We can’t talk here. Wait for a minute, then meet me in the cloakroom.”
“With great pleasure, Fraulein.”
Paul did a circuit of the hall, trying to empty the tray as quickly as possible so he would have an excuse to disappear. At the start of the party he’d been eavesdropping on conversations and was surprised to discover how little attention people paid him. It really was as though he were invisible, which was why he found it strange when
