“Have you ever met him?” she asked as they started back towards the lodge.
“Yes, several times. You would like him, Aubrey. He is very charming. He would be most intrigued by your accomplishments.”
Aubrey was flattered and excited by the notion. Then she remembered the snippets of his vitriolic speeches she’d read, translated, in the newspapers. The man was full of hate and venom, and, from what Helmut said, thoughts of war. No, she would not like to meet him or any of these modern-day strong men—Mussolini, Stalin, Franco. No, thanks. She’d take her good old FDR any day. Her father, a Republican through and through, might hate him, but she felt a special kinship with their polio-stricken president. He was a fighter. So was she.
21
Halfway to the lodge, the forest echoed with the warbling sounds of a trumpet.
“What is that?”
“Old Reinhardt, the archetypal mountain man blasting away on his alphorn. Traditional way for men to communicate with each other. He’s going to bring the mountain down on him if he keeps that up. It’s the supper call.”
“He does that all the time?”
“No, my dear. He is just hamming it up, as James Cagney might say, for your benefit. We don’t get many visitors up here any more, certainly not ones from America.”
“I feel honoured. Don’t get him to stop, please. I love the attention. He’s sweet.”
When they got back to the lodge, Aubrey went to freshen up in the bedroom. On the bed was laid out a ruby-red dress with black up-skirts and fringe around the shoulders. It was simply marvellous, and Aubrey was afraid to touch it. It was elegant yet sturdy, made for mountain weather. She held it up and pressed her face into the folds. There was a trace of perfume.
“Try it on,” Helmut said from the doorway, startling her.
“Whose is this?”
“My wife’s. I still have most of her clothes. Our staff have taken the more sensible items for their own daughters, but the formal wear is still here.”
“Your wife?”
“She died. Several years ago. With our two children.”
“Helmut, I’m sorry. I saw that look on your face when I mentioned children earlier. That was insensitive of me.”
He shook his head. “It is in the past, and you couldn’t have known. They died in an avalanche. I was away at the time. I almost missed the funeral. They are buried not far from here. Go ahead, try it on. Beautiful garments like that should adorn beautiful women.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“I insist.”
“Alright.” She retired to the powder room, then came back out and stood in front of Helmut.
“Let’s see it, please.”
She twirled reluctantly for him, not that she was shy—she knew the significance of the moment for him and didn’t want to seem garish or disrespectful.
“It is beautiful on you, as I knew it would be.”
“It feels wonderful.”
“Then you must have it. Take it back to America with you. You’ll be quite a hit, even more than you already are.”
“I won’t protest—I’d love to.”
There was the sound of a bell jingling from downstairs.
“That’s Reinhardt, calling us to dinner. At least he’s not using his alphorn indoors.”
Reinhardt, with the aid of two women in the kitchen, had put on a feast for the ages.
“I am out of practice at eating like this, Uncle,” Helmut said. “How do you pack all of this away?”
“This is a special occasion, and I work for a living.”
“Uncle Reinhardt is the commander of the local ski patrol,” Helmut said to Aubrey.
Intrigued, she turned to Reinhardt. “Have you had to do any rescues?”
“One last week, as a matter of fact. We were out for two days up into the southern mountains.”
“We stopped at the café and Helmut showed me the Führer scope. I think we saw him.”
“Lucky you,” Reinhardt said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He upended the last of the Chianti into his glass and bellowed over his shoulder towards the kitchen.
“Helga, more wine, woman. You can’t get good help anymore, not up here,” he said to Aubrey.
Helga, whom Aubrey had only caught a glimpse of, came out of the kitchen with a bottle in her hands. She was a rotund woman in a long, swirling grey dress and tight-fitting blouse. She placed the second bottle of Chianti, already opened, in front of Reinhardt, and he filled his glass from it.
“Uncle,” Helmut scolded him, and Reinhardt apologized and filled Aubrey’s glass. She stopped him one inch from the brim. Helga busied herself with removing several dishes, once filled with schnitzel and sausage. She paused next to Reinhardt but addressed the count.
“Anything else, Your Grace?”
“No, Helga, that will be all.”
Aubrey saw Reinhardt raise his hand and place it on Helga’s rump in an affectionate gesture, and the woman retreated to the kitchen. She looked at Helmut and met his gaze with an amused grin; he’d seen it too.
After dinner they retired to the smoking room, and glasses of sherry were brought out. Reinhardt explained it was from his friend’s vineyard in France.
“I think I strafed it in the war,” Helmut joked.
“Very funny. His vineyard is far away from the front.”
“Do you travel much, Reinhardt?” Aubrey asked.
“He never leaves his mountain,” Helmut said. “His stories of friends in France with wineries is bock mist, German for bull…”
“Bahh,” Reinhardt said, and he relit his pipe.
Helga popped her head into the smoking room. “Your Grace, we are done for the evening. If there is nothing else...?”
‘Wait a minute, Helga,” Reinhardt said, and leapt to his feet. He put an arm around the woman and ushered her out.
Aubrey let out a giggle.
“Not very subtle, is he?” Helmut said.
“How long has that been going on?”
“Thirty years.”
“Why don’t they marry?”
“More fun their way, I suppose. I know he’s left her everything in his will, not that it amounts to much.”
“Sad to think they’ve been playing games all these years, never to live together openly.”
“They went on a trip to the Italian side of the Alps one time; it was supposed to be secret, but
