“I should go upstairs and change.”
“Very well.”
Reinhardt, sensing the impending departure of his female guest, tried his best to entertain Aubrey that evening. He had her in stitches at one point, doing an imitations of film stars and singers and dancing around on his spindly legs mimicking Humphrey Bogart or Lon Chaney.
She looked over at the count, and he too had a bemused look on his face. Then he stared down at the dinner table and fiddled with his napkin. Their eyes met; his seemed full of a coming sadness at what was to transpire tomorrow.
After dinner, Reinhardt permitted his mistress, Helga, to come and join them for a cognac by the fire. Aubrey could see she enjoyed being included as the evening wound down.
At last, Aubrey retired to her room. She had nothing to pack. The count had insisted that the clothes she’d worn here at the chalet go with her to Berlin. She permitted only the evening dress; it really was quite lovely. She insisted the warm clothes stay here, ‘for when I come back,’ she said. It was a test, a lob over the net to gauge the count’s reaction. He smiled and nodded agreement, but did not comment. Another stab of doubt and pain plunged into Aubrey’s heart. Was this really going to be goodbye?
The count had provided her with a valise to take the dress. She packed that away, and then examined the clothes she hadn’t worn since she’d arrived at the lodge. The few droplets of blood that had landed on her clothes during that horrific interrogation had been scrubbed clean. She would have worn them regardless, as a badge of honour.
Aubrey climbed into bed but could not sleep. Instead, she watched the door, tossing and turning in anticipation. Wanting the count to come in for one last night together, but not wanting it. Let it end now. It was well past midnight when she heard the light rapping on the door and the handle turned.
He came in, not full of passion but slowly. Almost hesitant. He sat on the edge of the bed. Made no move to come to her. Was this a test? She sat up.
“You look tired,” he said. “You should get some rest; we have to get on the road early tomorrow. We really should have left tonight.”
“Why didn’t we? That would have been fine.”
“Because I was delaying the inevitable, I guess. When will I see you again, Aubrey?”
“That is up to you, I think. You’re a busy man, but a man of means. I’m just a poor journalist, a flyer without a plane. I have no visa here and no real story to follow anymore. Look, we both know where this is going. It was nice for a while, but you have your work, and so do I. I need to get back home. My father needs me.”
“I see. We have tomorrow together, in the car.” He started to rise.
“Is that it? Is that all?” Aubrey said. She wanted to lash out, jump into his arms.
He paused at the door. “Are you really going to let me leave?” he asked.
“Would you?”
He ran to her. They tumbled back onto the bed, threw the covers aside. The nightgown he’d loaned to her was practically torn off; his nails scratched her back. She did a fair bit of scratching too, clawing at his shirt. Their bodies were warm against each other, and he pushed her back into the pillows and was quickly inside of her.
When it was over the count lay next to her; both of them were wide awake.
“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he said. “I could arrange a tour of American factories; we’re always looking for new markets to expand to.”
“And I could dig up another story idea for the magazines. There’s as much interest in aviation here as there is the States, maybe more so.”
“The Führer has deemed it a priority that young people learn to fly.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She hated the fact he’d spoken that word, that name, in this room after what they’d just done. It spoiled it. Don’t let it spoil it, Aubrey. He has the right to say his master’s name. Is he his master? No. If ever there someone who was his own man, a self-made man, it was Helmut.
They made love again as dawn broke. Neither of them slept, and it showed on Aubrey’s face in the morning. Helmut had the car ready to go before seven, and one of the girls came down to prepare a small breakfast and some food for the journey. Reinhardt was already downstairs, and Aubrey spied the enormous form of the head cook at the top of the stairs for a split second as she scuttled out of the old man’s room.
“Aubrey, Fraulein, it was wonderful having you. You must come again,” Reinhardt said.
Aubrey leaned in for a kiss and a hug and whispered in the kindly old man’s ear. “And you must marry Helga.” She pulled back from him, and he winked.
“How did you know? Am I getting too old to be a sly fox?”
“It’s written all over your face. Just do it.”
“Ja, ma bin. I will promise to give it some consideration. And you, youngster, when will I see you again?”
“I don’t know, Uncle. It may be some time,” Helmut said.
They bid their farewells to Reinhardt and his mountain, and the Mercedes sped them away.
24
The drive was long and quiet. The chauffeur must have known instinctively to get the journey over with as quickly as possible. There was a gap in the curtain and Aubrey could see the speedometer; it was buried. Cars blurred by as he overtook them, swerving in and out with ease, the coach rocking back and forth smoothly. They stopped at a small roadside stop for a quick
