AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How kind of him,” Margot said back to her, and then to Cecily, “If you don’t mind my coming along, I should like it very much. In fact, I can’t thi
nk of anything nicer.”
Winifred settled further into her seat, relaxing for the first time.
* * *
—
Margot disliked Hans on sight, but she masked it for Cecily’s sake. He was everything that set her on edge in a young man: the pale skin, tidy hair, a handsome enough face, but with no lines of laughter, or of pain. He was a little taller than Margot, which gave him two or three inches over Cecily. He was slender in build, but he had been trained militarily and was obviously strong and graceful. He had a faint dueling scar across his cheek, which, to a German soldier, was a mark of honor. Margot could make believe she saw imagination in his face, dreams of achievement to come. What she did not see was humor. Somehow, she found that chilling out of all proportion.
Perhaps it was the change she saw in Cecily that was the real measurement. As they walked in the quiet sunshine, along the graveled path in the park, trees in full leaf, only a few of them turning gold, Cecily kept glancing at Hans, even when she was pointing out to Margot her favorite places. There was no trace of Cecily’s usual wit, just pure admiration for Hans. Did she think Hans would not understand her dry, self-deprecating British humor and would mistake it for criticism? Or was it that her thinking had so changed in his company? Was he so sensitive? Was the stiffness she had taken for arrogance really shyness?
Margot walked and talked automatically, finding something pleasant to say about everything that was pointed out to her. She saw how Hans looked at Cecily when she was unaware of it. There was a tenderness in him, even moments of awe, as if he could hardly believe his good luck that she had chosen him.
To her surprise, Margot felt a wave of sympathy for him. What was it like to be the only son in an ambitious family? A ridiculous thought occurred to her: Did his parents’ prosperity, even their safety, depend on him? What a burden. Of course he did not trust Margot. The only person he could trust was Cecily, and maybe that was only partially. If she was naïve and put her trust where she felt she should, rather than where it was wise, then she could betray them all without knowing it.
That was absurd. Margot was letting her imagination run away with her. She turned to Hans. “How old do you suppose that tree is?” she asked, pointing to an ancient cedar. “It must have seen so much history.”
He responded immediately with a long and unexpectedly interesting account of Berlin’s history through the last 150 years. His observations were cleverer than she expected, and at times drily amusing. By the time they arrived back at the Cordell house, they were conversing with pleasure.
* * *
—
The evening party at an excellent hotel was a different matter. It was very formal, and while the wedding itself was Cordell’s responsibility, this dinner was hosted by Hans’s family and most of the guests were from their social circle.
Winifred had prepared Margot for the event and its formality. Margot was tired from travel and all the new experiences of the last two days. She would have chosen to have a quiet evening and early night, but she was not offered that option. She was there to support Winifred and, more than that, Cecily.
And perhaps she was there to help Hans himself stand firm against his parents’ gentle but powerful insistence on his path upward, and all that it involved.
She hesitated among the gowns she had brought with her. Finally, she selected one that was more daring than the others. It looked at first to be only mildly sophisticated, a heavy black silk. Her arms were covered, and it was modest at the front. But when she turned, the whole impact was stunning. The skirt swung wide, the sleeves were broad and cut off at the elbow. The bodice commanded the eye, cut so low at the back that it was very nearly to the waist. It was a dress for a young woman, a bold and daring woman who would know that her figure benefited from a suggestion, rather than anything obvious. It was all subtle…and outrageous at the same time. It might not please Frau Beckendorff at all, but no one would forget it. And it was so utterly elegant that any criticism expressed would seem mean-spirited and, from a man, cause laughter and a vague pity for someone so lacking in art or humor.
When Margot came down the stairs, Winifred’s eyebrows rose. Roger Cordell’s rose even higher, but his expression was impossible to read.
“Brava!” Cecily said with laughter. “That’s the Margot I remember! Whatever I wear, I will appear unforgettably modest.”
Margot flashed her a wide smile. “As long as you’re unforgettably lovely, my dear, as modest seems to be the excellent thing for a bride. In fact, perfect. Hans will never forget it, and who cares what anyone else thinks?”
Cecily shook her head, but she was blushing with pleasure.
* * *
—
The party was already in full swing when Roger, his wife and daughter, and Margot arrived. An instant silence fell over the large room, almost a lull, then after the noise resumed, a longer hush as Margot turned to Winifred to say something and her startling silhouette was observed. Whether it was awe or not, she thoroughly enjoyed it.
Frau Beckendorff came forward to welcome them. Introducing Margot to their friends, she had a change of expression, which Margot found amusing. She caught Cordell’s eye and a brief laugh in it, before he was instantly sober again.
Margot accepted a glass of champagne and drifted from one group of conversations to another, all of them in German. The room was packed with people: women dressed gorgeously, men in formal black or military dress uniform. The noise was often punctuated with laughter. Several times Margot found herself with the same half dozen officers as Hans, and he seemed hesitant to introduce her. But it was his social duty to make everyone’s name known. It was his parents’ party, but he was, in a sense, the host, and there was a look of pride in his face as he introduced Cecily to many of his friends from society and from the army or associates of his parents.
Several times, Margot found herself standing next to a man named Berthold. He was handsome, in a bold way, strong, and yet he moved with the grace of an athlete. She thought his sport might well be dueling, more likely with a saber than an épée.
To begin with, the conversation was bland enough. He inquired where she lived. He was interested in the time she had spent in Berlin when her father had been ambassador, and he asked her about it with curiosity. They had memories in common, and it was easy and natural to share them. Only gradually did they include older memories, things said and believed by the generation earlier, recollections of times before the war, at the beginning of the century.
At first Margot did not find it uncomfortable. Those were the days when at least the aristocracy of both countries mixed with pleasure and ease. She did not expect mention to be made of Germany’s defeat at the end of the war, but it lay just beneath the surface of their remarks, and the bitterness was unmistakable.
She made a sudden decision. “It was a political mistake,” she said quietly, and could hardly believe her own voice speaking the words. “And one for which we will all have to pay.”
