The Silver Castle

by Nancy Buckingham

  I said desolately, “It hardly matters, one way or the other. It was never my intention to stay on for 1

  “That’s right, get back to living your own life and forget about all of us. This book illustrating you’ve been doing—it must be very interesting.”

  It seemed so far away, my life in London.

  “I’m only just beginning to make my way, of course,” I said. “But I’ve got a feeling that I’m on the right track now.”

  “I’m sure you are, Gail, I’m certain you have talent. Only for God’s sake don’t let Helga know I said that, or she’d be out of her mind with jealousy.”

  I reached for my handbag as a step towards leaving. Ernst took the hint and called for the bill. Outside on the pavement, he said, “My Auto is just around the corner. Where can I drive you?”

  I told him my hired Fiat was quite near, and he shrugged regretfully.

  “I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to part just yet. Still, I’ve greatly enjoyed our chat. Wiedersehen, Gail.”

  The Kreuders took pains to ensure that I was kept fully entertained. The following morning Sigrid announced that Helga had invited the two of us for lunch.

  “How nice of her,” I murmured unenthusiastically. I guessed that Sigrid herself had engineered the invitation.

  “This mist will soon clear,” she went on. “The forecast promises us a really warm day. Why not take your swimsuit to Helga’s and try their new pool? It’s heated, of course.”

  Sigrid had a special folding chair for when she left the house. This was stowed in the boot, after Karl had lifted her gently into the rear seat of the Citroen and tucked a cashmere rug around her knees.

  As we drove off, she remarked with a little puckered frown, “Gail, you must not allow yourself to be put off by Helga’s manner. I regret to say that she isn’t a very friendly person, by nature, and sometimes she says thoughtless things which can be rather upsetting.”

  I mumbled something bland and meaningless, while inwardly I said, “You yourself are largely to blame for your daughter’s unfortunate manner. You should have encouraged her ambitions, instead of thwarting them.” It was really none of my business, though, except I resolved to be as nice as I could to Helga.

  But with the best will in the world, I soon discovered that being nice to Helga was a virtual impossibility.

  The Schillers’ house was very modern, white walls with green slatted shutters and an orange pantiled roof, and built in the shape of a U to form a sun trap for the patio and pool. The garden was elegantly laid out, though rather formal.

  “Come back for us at five,” Sigrid instructed Karl when he’d positioned her wheelchair comfortably on the patio, a small circular table within reach. “Well now, isn’t this nice?”

  Helga sullenly offered drinks. She wore close-fitting crimplene slacks, the least suitable garment in the world for someone her shape, and her sleeveless orange blouse did nothing to conceal her hefty shoulders.

  I made flattering remarks about the house and garden, and the superb view of the lake. Although Helga seemed gratified, she also chose to take it as a sign that I was envious, and I wished that I’d saved my breath. Then to avoid any risk of appearing secretive, I said, “By the way, Helga, I met your husband yesterday. At the Odeon cafe.”

  Her brown eyes clouded with suspicion. “He did not say this to me.”

  Damn, I thought. Oh, damn. In assuring Ernst I wouldn’t carry tales to Helga, I certainly hadn’t meant to conceal my own encounter with him. Why in heaven’s name hadn’t he told her about it himself?

  “We just ran into one another,” I said lightly. “I was having coffee, and so was he. He joined me for a few minutes.”

  “I’ve not been to the Odeon for years,” Sigrid intervened. “Nowadays I confine myself to those places where I can most easily get in and out with this wretched contraption. Helga, a little more tonic water, bitte. You have made this too strong.”

  “Ernst mentioned that you have a collection of antique dolls,” I said. “It sounds fascinating. I do hope you’ll allow me to see it.”

  “If you wish,” she said indifferently. “Later. Mama, is that better?”

  Sigrid sipped her drink and nodded. A little desperately, I went on, “I started collecting old coins once. But I hadn’t the patience to continue. Or the money, for that matter.”

  “No, collecting is not for those who are poor.”

  I gave up trying and sat back in my chair, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, the soothing effect of the dry martini. Was Helga so unattractive because she was overweight, I pondered maliciously, or was she overweight because she was unattractive? A chicken and egg situation. And was her bitterness the result of her talent being stifled by her mother? Or the knowledge that she possessed no real talent? A little like my father, I thought with a prickle of distress, who’d had to face the harrowing truth that his art was not of the kind which brings a man immortality.

  I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Ernst, being married to Helga. And then I remembered his remark that she couldn’t have children, and I felt sorry for Helga all over again.

  For lunch we moved to a table set beneath an arched trellis entwined with laburnum, which drooped its golden racemes above our heads. There was watercress soup, a cold platter of smoked meats and a bowl of crisp delicious salad, then a large coffee gateau with thick yellow cream, to which Helga returned for a second generous helping. We had fresh peaches to finish.

  Determined to be fair, I complimented Helga on the food. She tossed back, “You eat as well as this in England?”

  “Some people do, some people don’t.”

  “And you?”

  “Only sometimes,” I admitted.

  She looked smugly pleased.

  The phone rang and Helga went in to answer it. She came out looking sulky.

  “It was Ernst. When I told him you were here, he said he would try and come home early. I cannot think why.”

  I thought it prudent to make no comment, but Sigrid said at once, “Good. I want to have a word with Ernst. This will save me telephoning him at his office.”

  We passed an uncomfortable hour. I left it to the others to do most of the talking. Beside me, a bed of copper-red wallflowers drifted a lazy fragrance into the still, warm air. I could easily have dozed.

  Then Ernst arrived home, and the atmosphere changed.

  “It’s a glorious afternoon,” he said. “How about a swim?”

  “Yes, do,” said Sigrid. “I told Gail to bring her swimsuit.”

  I glanced at Helga, but she shook her head. “It is still too cold.”

  I’d been looking forward to my swim. “Would you mind if I do?”

  “Mind? Why should I mind?”

  Ernst caught my eye and gave me a secret little grin. I glanced away uneasily, certain that Helga must have noticed.

  There was a small changing pavilion and when I emerged Ernst was already in the pool, swimming a powerful crawl. I dived in and did a few lengths before pausing by the steps for a breather.

  “You have a nice style,” he called.

  “I’m not a quarter as good as you are, though.”

  He swam across to join me. “It’s a matter of breath control more than anything else. Get that sorted out and you’ll soon master the rest.”

  He was giving me some tips when I became aware that we were being watched by someone standing beside the pool. It was Anton, looking immensely tall, and incongruously out of place here in his dark town suit.

  Ernst flicked water from his hair and beard. “Hello! What are you doing away from the silk mill on a working afternoon? It’s not like you.”

  “I was passing, and I thought I’d drop in to see Helga.” Anton held up a small package he was carrying. “I’ve brought her a little gift to add to her collection. I saw it when I was in New York, and thought she’d like it.”

  I felt too self-conscious to stay in the pool with Anton looking on. Muttering that I’d had enough
now, I climbed the steps and fled into the changing pavilion. As I towelled myself dry, I reflected about the gift he’d bought for Helga. I found it difficult to keep in mind that he was her half-brother. It looked as though he might be Helga’s one true friend in the family.

  When I rejoined the others, Helga was still exclaiming in delight over her present ... a Red Indian squaw in a bead-embroidered leather tunic, with a baby on her back. Helga threw her arms around Anton’s neck and kissed him. The doll was lovely, the workmanship exquisite, but there was something rather pathetic about a grown woman so excited over what most people would regard as a child’s plaything.

  “Come,” she said eagerly, “let us go and introduce her to the rest of my family. I know exactly where I’ll put her.”

  We all trooped into the house, Anton pushing Sigrid’s wheelchair. Helga led the way to a bright L-shaped room with windows on two sides, which had been set out like a small museum. Hundreds of exhibits were arranged around, many in glass cases ... dolls of all sizes and types. Victorian dolls with pink china faces, dolls in colourful peasant costumes from every imaginable part of the world, clockwork walking dolls, and leather dolls and wax dolls and talking dolls and jointed wooden dolls. Some of the clothes were quite beautiful, and I learned that Helga did a lot of the delicate restoration work on the dolls herself. I began to feel a new respect for her.

  My eye was caught by a carved wooden figure lying on a side table. Misshapen, ill proportioned, crude in workmanship and lacking any touch of charm, it somehow compelled attention.

  “I like this,” I said to Helga. “Where did you get it?”

  The sunny mood brought on by Anton’s arrival embraced even me.

  “It is interesting, nicht? I bought it at a market stall for just a few francs. I must think of some way to dress it that will suit the curious style.”

  I studied the figure more carefully, turning it in my hand.

  “I have a strong feeling that it’s the work of that deaf and dumb boy, Willi.”

  The sudden silence in the room was deafening. Then Helga said in a choked voice, “Are you sure of this?”

  “Well, I’m pretty certain. Wood-carving seems to be his one means of expression.”

  Helga looked affronted. She snatched the figure from me and thrust it away in a drawer which she slammed shut. Then she brushed her palms against her slacks as if wiping them clean of contamination.

  “I do not think it suits my collection,” she said. “It is too badly carved. I will not keep it.”

  I faced her challengingly. “Why should it displease you that the carving might be Willi’s work? You obviously liked it until I mentioned his name.”

  She shrugged petulantly, not answering. “Anyway, how do you come to know the boy? He cannot speak or hear.”

  “There are other ways of communicating with someone as gifted as Willi. I know that he’s supposed to be simple-minded, but it seems a pity not to try and make contact with him.”

  “Why should you be so interested?”

  ‘It’s obvious that he hero-worshipped my father, and misses him dreadfully,” I said. “I suppose I feel a sort of responsibility to do what I can.”

  Anton said quietly, “The lad is well cared for, Gail. He lives with his aunt and uncle at an inn in the village.”

  “Yes, so your stepmother told me.”

  “He receives all the education he’s capable of absorbing,” Anton added. “There’s really nothing more to be done for him.”

  The rubber-tyred wheels of Sigrid’s invalid chair gave a squeal as she spun it around on the polished wood-block floor.

  “Goodness me, what a morbid conversation this is,” she protested. “Let’s go out into the sunshine again. We must make the most of what we get at this time of year.”

  But I made no move, staring back at them defiantly. They all seemed so thoroughly disapproving of my attempt at friendship with Willi, but I felt strongly about the boy, and I refused to be shut up.

  “I don’t think Willi is happy,” I said. “He seems timid, almost frightened. Maybe I’ll go and have a chat with his aunt and uncle, to see if there’s anything I can do for him.”

  “Perhaps they will tell you about his father,” Helga retorted, her plump face quivering with spite.

  “Helga, in Gottes Namen!” Anton was frowning angrily at her. To me he said, as though reluctantly, “Willi’s father is Josef, our gardener. When his wife died he couldn’t look after the boy, so he handed him over to his sister-in-law. You don’t need to concern yourself about Willi. He’s in perfectly good hands.”

  With a sense of dismay I pictured the boorish, sullen figure of the gardener at the Schloss. Willi’s father. At least it was something, I thought, that Willi was no longer in that man’s charge.

  Sigrid had paused in the doorway. Now she propelled her chair forward again, through into the hall.

  “Do come on out,” she called. “Perhaps Helga will make tea. I expect Gail would like some.”

  Anton stayed only a few minutes longer, but there was still a while to go before Karl was due to collect Sigrid and me. Helga, rebuked by her adored half-brother, was behaving rather like a small child caught out in some naughtiness—subdued, yet oddly pleased with herself. Neither she nor I said much, leaving the conversational effort to Ernst and Sigrid.

  When Karl arrived with the car, Sigrid turned to her son-in-law. “I almost forgot, Ernst ... concerning the sale of those securities of mine that we were leaving in abeyance. I’d like you to go ahead now.”

  His brow ridged with sharp displeasure.

  “But, Sigrid, I thought we agreed ...”

  “Circumstances have changed.” Her tone was crisp, final. “Well, Gail, we must say our good-byes.”

  As Karl came forward to push her chair, Ernst said quickly, “Before you go, Sigrid, there are one or two documents needing your signature. I have them in my study, and it will save me a trip to the Schloss.”

  She hesitated, then shrugged. “Very well.”

  They were away for fifteen minutes, fifteen uncomfortable minutes for me. My resolve to be nice to Helga was quite gone now. She had made it very plain that she didn’t want my friendship.

  After a long, prickly silence, she remarked, “You will be returning to London soon, I expect.”

  “I really can’t say. I’ve made no definite plans yet.”

  “There is nothing to keep you here, surely?”

  I gave her a wintry smile which reflected her own malice.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know when I decide to leave.”

  When the other two returned, Ernst was full of false joviality. “My apologies for allowing business to intrude on a social occasion. I hope you didn’t mind, Gail?”

  “Not at all,” I said politely.

  The Schillers saw us off, standing together at their front door while the Citroen turned on the paved forecourt. Ernst, smiling, raised his hand in a cheerful wave, Helga, looking sullen, stood watching with arms hanging limply. What an ill-matched couple they were.

  Sigrid was unusually silent on the drive home, locked in her own thoughts. I myself felt no urge to talk. I was trying to recall, to analyse, every word and look and gesture that had passed between the four people I had been with that afternoon. Why did I have this irrational feeling that the more I was told, the less I truly understood? It wasn’t just that I needed my questions answered. First, I needed to decide the right questions to ask.

  Chapter Nine

  Afterwards, I couldn’t pinpoint whose idea it had been originally.

  The suggestion of a Sunday outing grew from a conversation over the dinner table. And by the time we moved through to the salon for coffee it was all arranged --- a trip to a mountain viewpoint somewhere in the Lucerne region. “Not Pilatus,” Anton stipulated. “That’s too much on the tourist track.”

  “And it must be somewhere possible for this wretched chair of mine,” added Sigrid, who was determined to join in. She gave me
a waggish smile. “It’s quite an achievement, Gail, to get these two boys of mine to take me out.”

  The expedition today, though, was entirely for my benefit—I knew that.

  It was a day of mixed weather. The sun shone bright and clear as we set out in Anton’s car, but clouds had gathered by the time we parked near the base station of the mountain railway. There was a slight fuss about getting Sigrid aboard in her folding wheelchair, but Anton and Raimund managed somehow.

  With a jolt, the quaint little tip-tilted train started to move, grinding steeply up the narrow track that rose like a stitched seam across the broad shoulder of the mountain. On either side of us dun-coloured cows placidly grazed the sloping meadows, ignoring the clatter of the train. As it climbed higher we pierced the cloud drifts and all we could see were the tall ghosts of pine trees, looming and vanishing in an endless succession.

  We alighted at the summit station to find snow underfoot, but here at this height the sun was seeping through and the mist was in retreat before its warmth. The levelled path to the restaurant—a circular building like a squat white tower with wide picture windows—had been cleared of snow so that Anton managed Sigrid’s wheelchair easily.

  We sat together at a fretted white table, sipping drinks from tall glasses and enjoying the majestic vista of snow-clad peaks that stretched into infinity. I viewed the panorama with a painter’s eye ... a glistening pure white where the sunlight caught a snow surface, through blues and greys and smoky browns to deep lamp black in the shadowed crevasses, the whole scene rising above a drifting lake of pearly mist.

  “Was it worth coming?” Raimund asked me.

  “Oh yes. I could sit here for hours.”

  “Let’s go outside,” Anton suggested. “There’s a path around that big crag, and on the far side you can get a wonderful bird’s-eye view of one of the valleys.”

  “Yes, I remember,” said Raimund. ‘It’s pretty spectacular.”

  “Off you all go, then,” Sigrid ordered us. “And when you come back we’ll be ready for some lunch. I shall spend the time studying the menu.”