“If you say so.”
They jumped off the lift and slid to the top of the hill. Aubrey ignored the view and concentrated on what she was doing. The count flew off, calling back over his shoulder for her to join him.
“Here goes nothing,” Aubrey said, and launched herself forward. She took the first couple of hundred feet easily, moving in long lateral passages and turning in large arcs to keep her speed down. She used her poles to add drag. The count zipped ahead of her. There was a stretch of moguls to one side, and he steered towards them. After a few moments, Aubrey’s old moves and confidence on the slopes started to come back. She would never catch him, but that was alright. She was admiring his form, and they would be together at the bottom.
She thought about what he had told her, how this was their last night. He’d made no mention of trying to persuade her to stay, or of coming to see her. He was a busy man, she knew. But the thought of it ending tomorrow, on some train platform or in the lobby of the hotel, seemed so cold and so wrong.
Then she chided herself again: You’re in love with a German, Aubrey. Admit it. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she finally acknowledged it: she did love him. Then a new voice spoke in her head. You’re in love with a Nazi, Aubrey, it said, and those butterflies became confused. Some settled down, and the fluttering of their wings dissipated. A few banged against her insides and jolted her out of her dreamlike state.
You’re in love with a wonderful man, Aubrey. Rich and successful. He can give you anything in life you want. Like a career flying? That whole Nazi thing—we can work on that, she said to herself. With a laugh, she turned sharply left and pointed her skis straight down the slope, straight at the count, who was near the bottom. With a mighty push on her poles, she was off after him.
23
After their skiing, Aubrey and Helmut skipped the traditional drinks at the lodge. There had been something erotic about the whole adventure: sitting in the lift, hardly speaking, the sun warming their faces, holding hands... A few words at the top of the mountain and then down again. The count had been content to stay with this same hill, though the more challenging ones beckoned. Aubrey mentioned that she felt she was ready for something steeper but they ran out of time.
Instead of the warm confines of the chalet with Helmut’s friends and more schnapps, they went to the car. After the skis were affixed to the roof and they had climbed in, their passion overwhelmed them and for ten minutes they embraced and kissed in full view of everyone coming and going from the chalet. When they finally separated, Aubrey straightened her clothes, embarrassed.
“I think we had a bit of an audience.”
“We’re still dressed. They probably want their money back.”
Aubrey slapped him playfully on the arm with her gloves.
“Home, James,” she commanded. “Home for supper.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I am, but maybe we’ll skip the meal?”
“I don’t know, Fraulein; I have worked up quite an appetite.”
“Yeah.” She smirked. “Me too. Onward, good sir.”
When they arrived back at Helmut’s family lodge, Reinhardt came out to help with the skis and the roof rack. The sky had clouded over and there was a low-hanging blanket covering the surrounding peaks. It had grown decidedly chillier.
“I hope you have a fire going, Uncle,” Helmut said as they made their way inside. Aubrey didn’t realize how cold she was until she started stripping off her outer garments. One of the servant girls who worked for Reinhardt’s mistress came hurrying out of the kitchen to help.
Drinks were poured and the two alpinists collapsed into the loungers surrounding the fire. Aubrey still stirred inside for Helmut, and he gave her a long, desirous look that only stoked the fires within her. But it would have to wait. It would be impolite to leave Reinhardt to go upstairs for a roll in the deep duvets of her bedroom. There would be plenty of time for that later.
“Aubrey, this arrived for you while you were out,” Reinhardt said. It was a telegram with German markings on it.
“Telegram? Who knows I’m here?”
“I left word at your hotel, in case your editors had to get in touch with you.”
She opened it. It was not from her editor. The note said Where are you? Need to talk. Richard.
“Who’s it from? New York? Washington, DC?” Helmut asked.
“No, just Berlin.”
“Really? Who would have telegrammed you here?”
“My friend Richard Fuchs, the journalist.”
“Ahh. My competitor.”
“Don’t be silly. I hardly know him.”
“You’ve known him as long as you’ve known me.”
“But you and I have gotten to know each other quite well, I should think.”
“Still, he pursues. I might have to shake him off.”
“Scare him off, you mean. Don’t be silly. Besides, you’re abandoning me tomorrow in Berlin. Duty calls.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. She didn’t want to admit it, but his jealously, fake or not, had annoyed her. She was trying to wink herself out of that feeling.
“Will you meet with him? You should.”
“I don’t know. We were together, that last day in Berlin, when I was arrested. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.” She remembered the arrest warrant Richard said had been issued for him. Chances were he’d already been apprehended, maybe as he was sending that telegram. Perhaps he hadn’t even been the one who’d sent it.
“I see. Still, you can telegram him from here. Reinhardt can run it in to the post office, or we can drop it off tomorrow. It would get to him before you arrive in Berlin,” Helmut said.
“Maybe. Let me think on it.”
“Okay, then. Reinhardt! The lady and lord of the manor demand supper,” Helmut bellowed.
Aubrey smiled but, truthfully, her annoyance had grown. No, don’t do that, she cautioned herself.
