“They want to tell us who still owns the oceans, any ocean, even ours,” Reinhardt said.
“What shall we do today, gentlemen?” Aubrey asked. A maid appeared with a cup of steaming coffee for her.
“I thought we might take in some skiing,” Helmut said.
“Wonderful! Downhill?”
“Of course. Are you experienced?”
“We took trips to Colorado when I was younger, with my mother. She always insisted we learn to ski. Part of her Quebec upbringing.”
“I see you found the clothes I sent up.”
Aubrey rubbed her arms and the warm sweater felt good against her skin.
“We’ll have our breakfast, grab the gear and go,” the count said, “Uncle Reinhardt, what do you say—those legs of yours still strong enough to handle the slopes?”
“I’ll stay here, keep watch on things. You two go.”
After a scrumptious, hearty breakfast of black sausage and eggs, the count and Aubrey headed out to the Mercedes. The chauffeur appeared from nowhere but the count waved him off.
“I’ll take it, Wilbur; you have the time to yourself.”
The driver did not speak; he simply nodded once and then turned, his nose stuck up at the same angle of the nearest mountain, and stalked off.
“He doesn’t like me,” Aubrey said.
“He doesn’t like me, I’m afraid. Barely tolerates Uncle Reinhardt. I would sack him, but he’s been with our family for decades. We’ve put his children through school.”
“You think he’d show some gratitude.”
“Old attitudes die hard. Let’s go, my dear.”
The two of them retrieved a large wooden contraption from a nearby shed and affixed it to the generous roof of the Mercedes.
“You going to let me drive this big beast someday?” she asked as they got underway.
“Not on your life, Fraulein, especially on these treacherous mountain roads.”
“Fair enough. Besides, if I’m going to go flying over the edge, I’d prefer to have wings on either side of me.”
“We never did take that flight.”
“Yes, that is a pity. Can we still make that happen?”
“I’m afraid not, Aubrey. Tomorrow I must deposit you back at your hotel in Berlin. Something has come up.”
So much for his dream of her never leaving the mountain, she mused. That ended pretty quickly. “But that was where the fighters were!” she protested. “Just a few minutes up in one, that’s all I would need.” She realized what she had said. “To fulfill a craving in me,” she quickly added. “I haven’t been in a plane in a long time.”
“No dice, sweetheart, as your American gangsters would say. After I drop you at your hotel, I have urgent business in the capital.”
“I thought your factory was in Czechoslovakia.”
“I rarely spend any time there. All my work is spent stalking the halls of the Reich Chancellery and the offices of the Air Ministry. I have to constantly grease the outstretched palms if I’m going to sell the Luftwaffe any of my wares.”
“I see.”
“Besides, the 109s are stationed miles away, up north at an airfield in Kesselberg at the Luftwaffe proving ground.”
“The exhibition is over, so I have no real reason to stay in Germany. My editors will want my story for their publications.”
“I understand. We will have to make today and this evening something special, then.”
Aubrey stared out at the twisting white roads, thin strips that wrapped around hills and the bases of mountains. Mountains so tall she could not see the peaks from within the confines of the mighty Mercedes. After driving for an hour, steadily climbing in altitude, they reached a chalet perched on the side of a mountain in the valley between two enormous peaks.
“This is it; we have arrived,” the count said. “Mount Tidemoroff. I learned to ski here. My family owned this chalet for centuries.”
“They lost this too in the revolution?”
“Afraid so, although I’m still given the run of the place. They treat my guests and me very well. Come and see,” he joked.
They removed the skis from the roof, stacked them with some others and looked out over the ski hills. There was a chairlift hauling skiers slowly up to an unseen platform. Several more were zig-zagging down a fine blanket of snow. Aubrey worried about her skills; she had never really done the big slopes and hadn’t skied since her mother died. That had been a long time ago.
“Helmut, my ski legs might be a little rusty. Can we do something smaller?”
“This is the smallest, least challenging hill. It’s like riding a bicycle—don’t worry. First, we’ll get a hot drink and some schnapps and you’ll relax.”
The count was right. The château was cavernous and warm, and there were more people inside, sitting around a large fire drinking, than there were on the slopes.
“I thought we did this after skiing,” Aubrey said.
“Nonsense. This is Germany. One always starts an adventure with a schnapps.”
Several men greeted Helmut as he approached the bar. He spoke warmly with the staff and came back to her with two steaming mugs. The added schnaps did the trick; the coffee and booze warmed her and she felt giddy. Maybe she shouldn’t be skiing right now, she thought. She needed her wits about her. It would do her no good to travel back to the States with her leg in a cast.
Helmut introduced her to some of his friends, and after a few blistering conversations in German, he and Aubrey finished their drinks and headed out. They had a chair all to themselves and held hands as it took them higher and higher. Aubrey gasped at the height and space of it all.
“What’s the matter? You’ve flown a plane through the Rocky Mountains. What’s a little chair?”
“I feel naked up here. This is too much of it.”
“Don’t worry; in a minute you’ll be flying down the slope, and I’ll bet you’ll want to do
