Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection

‘Yes, that’s no problem.’

‘There’s one more thing, Francesca,’ he began tentatively, seeking the right words, knowing he must exercise great tact. ‘Are you going to tell your father I’ll be in Bavaria too, when you’re visiting your cousins?’

‘I was going to, yes. Don’t you want me to mention it, Victor?’

‘No, I don’t think you should. I know how straightforward you are, but leaving something unsaid is not actually lying –’

‘It’s lying by omission, isn’t it?’ she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes, I reckon it is,’ he answered, reminding himself how scrupulous of nature she was. He got up and stood with his back to the fire, gazing out into the room, reflecting, and then he looked down at her. ‘I do have my reasons for asking you not to say anything,’ he began slowly. ‘Very good reasons.’ He wanted to both convince and reassure her, and he said, ‘Look, Francesca, if your father knows I’m in Königssee, Kim will know, and in turn he’ll tell Katharine. Very honestly, I’d prefer her to be in the dark. I want her to think I’m in Klosters. I want everyone to think the same. Except Jake Watson. He has to know where I am, in case he needs to reach me about the picture. But I’m not worried about Jake. He’ll keep his mouth buttoned.’

Francesca was dismayed. ‘Why on earth don’t you want Katharine to know?’ she cried. ‘She’s my very best friend, and a close friend of yours! She would never breathe a word! Not to anyone. After all, she knows about Confidential, so I would think she’d really be on her guard. In fact, I’m positive she would. Honestly, Victor, I trust her completely.’

‘Hell, so do I, Francesca,’ Victor said, sounding emphatic. In all truth, he was not distrustful of Katharine, but being a man of the world he knew how easily a careless slip of the tongue could create untold misery. Also, although he detested covertness, he was genuine in his desire to protect Francesca, and so he considered secrecy imperative.

He explained this carefully, and she listened, obviously digesting his words. Feeling compelled to dispel any false impression he might have given about Katharine’s integrity, he then proceeded, ‘I know as well as you do that Katharine is exceptionally loyal, and that she wouldn’t intentionally hurt either one of us. But hell, you know how she gets around in London society, and with the show business crowd. Journalists are always on the fringes, or in the midst, of these groups. She might say something accidentally – and to the wrong person. Imagine your father’s distress if that lousy magazine did run some sort of suggestive, disgusting story about us, or if there was gossip among your friends.’

His eyes rested on her, and he finished gently, ‘I know you want to be open with your father. On the other hand, I think we should be as circumspect as possible, don’t you?’ When she was quiet, he went on, ‘Later, when you’re back in London, you can tell him we ran into each other in the Alps, also say that I spent some time with you and your cousins.’

Francesca nodded her head slowly, recognizing the soundness of his suggestion. Also, she was no fool, and she understood that if she did not agree he would revert to his original plan. He would go to Klosters. Alone. Her yearning to be with Victor was so forceful it was overcoming her few remaining qualms about her father.

Victor was watching her, waiting, and wondering, suddenly, why he had invited her to go with him in the first place. Now it seemed like a big mistake.

As if he had read her mind, he bent towards her and said, ‘Look, I don’t want you to go against your principles. Perhaps we’d better forget the whole idea. I’ll go to Klosters by myself, as I originally intended.’

Francesca laughed lightly, and exclaimed, ‘I was just about to say you’re absolutely correct. My father would be dreadfully upset if our name was besmirched, so we should be careful.’ She did not give him a chance to answer, and rushed on, ‘I like your suggestion about telling Daddy I ran into you when I get back. It really is the ideal solution. And he won’t be at all surprised I’m going off to see Diana and Christian for a few days. I usually go over once a year. So …’ She took a deep breath. ‘So, I’m on, if you are.’

‘Okay!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s a deal.’ His misgivings of a moment ago dissipated instantly, and he grinned at her. ‘We’ll have a great time, kid.’

She looked at him quickly. It was the first time he had used any term of endearment when addressing her. Kid was hardly that, but coming from him, it did denote affection. Unless he looks at me and sees Nicky, she thought; but nevertheless, she was pleased. Another thought occurred to Francesca, and she said, ‘I’m going to have to explain the situation to Diana, to be on the safe side. Is that all right?’

‘I guess you’ll have to fill her in, so go ahead, but make sure she understand … understands we’re just friends.’

‘Naturally,’ Francesca said sweetly, glancing at him through the most innocent of eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong impression either.’ God forbid, she added to herself, and swallowed a laugh. Victor was as old-fashioned as her father, and equally stuffy, it seemed.

Victor said, ‘I’ll have your ticket to Königssee by Monday afternoon at the latest. Gus will bring it over, and he’ll drive you out to the airport on Tuesday.’

‘Thank you very much. But there isn’t an airport in Königssee. We have to fly to Salzburg and drive across the Austrian border into Germany. But it’s not a long trip, only about an hour.’

‘Salzburg it is then. By the way, I’m curious. How come you have cousins living in Germany? When did they move there?’

‘They didn’t, they were born there. My father’s elder sister, Arabella, married a German in the late 1920s. It is she who is their mother. Diana and Christian are very English in many ways, and they’re bilingual, so you don’t have to worry about language barriers.’

‘That’s a relief,’ he said. ‘And what about your aunt and uncle? Do they live in Königssee too? And will I be meeting them?’ he asked.

There was a tiny silence before she said in a low voice, ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Victor was not certain, but he thought he saw the merest trace of sadness trickle into her eyes. He looked at her again, and more closely. The expression had disappeared, if it had been there at all. He told himself he had imagined it, and went on, ‘So give me the dope on your cousins. How old are they? What do they do?’

‘I know you’ll like them,’ she said, and thought of Diana and Christian, and then of the tragic events which had engulfed their lives. But she only ever mentioned positives when speaking of her cousins, and she said brightly, ‘Christian is thirty, and he’s very involved with music. He plays the violin beautifully and he’s an expert on Mozart. Diana is twenty-six. She has a boutique in Königssee, and another one in Munich. She surprised us all when she went into business, and her German grandmother was awfully put out. But, credit where it’s due, she’s been ever so successful. Also, Diana’s a great skier, and she’ll be able to show you the best runs.’

‘Terrific. I assume Christian also skis.’

‘Oh no,’ Francesca said quickly. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘And what about you? Am I going to have the pleasure of your company at the top of the mountain?’

Francesca pulled a face, and then she giggled. ‘Not at the top. The bottom, I’m afraid. I’ve never graduated from the nursery slopes, and I seem to spend most of my time slithering around on my backside. I’m very clumsy.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ Victor chuckled. ‘So it looks as if I’m stuck with Diana, or vice versa.’

‘That’s right. And I bet she gives you a run for your money.’

Chapter Twenty-Four (#ulink_9fe1eb40-d99f-540c-961d-5b2d21a2d0bc)

Salzburg airport was relatively quiet on Wednesday morning. Victor Mason walked out of Customs into Arrivals, followed by a porter with his luggage, and quickly scanned the few people waiting for passengers. Francesca was not amongst them, and although he was momentarily surprised he was not perturbed. He knew she would appear within minutes, and he headed towards the main entrance, preferring to wait outside in the fresh air.

The porter deposited his two suitcases next to him, propped the skis in their custom-made leather bag against the wall, and asked him if he needed a taxi. Victor shook his head, thanked him, gave him a generous tip, and then glanced around, his eyes eagerly absorbing the surroundings.

It was a shimmering sunlit morning. The air was dry and crisp, and for Victor the glorious weather was the most uplifting change after the dreary dankness of London. He took several deep and satisfying breaths, felt a rush of exhilaration, and lifted his head to regard the scenery. In the distance, imposing greyish-purple mountains with white-glazed plateaux and icy, crystal peaks leapt up into a sky that was the clear sharp blue of alpine gentians and without a solitary cloud. It seemed to Victor that everything around him sparkled – the landscape, the sky, the very air itself.

A tingle of excitement ran through him. He could not wait to get up on the slopes. It was perfect skiing weather. Ambivalent though he had been at various times over the weekend, the last vestiges of doubt now disintegrated, and he knew that despite a few earlier misgivings the trip was going to be a success. He discovered he was in a festive mood and the right frame of mind for a five-day vacation away from the burdens, and problems of the picture.

The fierce sunlight stabbed at his eyes. He blinked, took out his dark glasses and put them on. He was about to light a cigarette when he heard a horn tooting merrily and repetitively.

Victor swung his head alertly and spotted a bright red Volkswagen skimming around the corner. It slewed to a standstill and Francesca jumped out,. laughing as she flew towards him across the snow, her fresh young face as sparkling and as sunny as the morning. She looked like a vivid bird escaped from its exotic jungle habitat, a flash of brilliance against the snowscape, in a canary-yellow sweater and a matching woollen cap. Both the sweater and the pert little concoction on her head were trimmed with scarlet pom-poms, and she wore yellow ski pants tucked into short leather boots also of bright scarlet.

The sight of her in the colourful outfit brought a smile of pleasure to his face. ‘Hi, kid,’ he cried, moving forward. He caught her in his arms roughly and hugged her several times.

This display of spontaneous affection on his part delighted Francesca. He seemed more handsome than ever, and her heart was pounding rapidly from his close embrace. She took hold of herself and said, ‘Sorry we’re late. We hit a bad patch of ice on the mountain, and it slowed us down.’

‘I’ve only been waiting five minutes at the most,’ he said, releasing his grip on her arms. Playfully he flicked the pom-poms, strung on lengths of wool and dangling from the shoulder of her sweater. ‘You look exactly the way I feel.’

‘And how’s that?’ she asked.

‘Gay. Lighthearted. And I’ll tell you something else, kid. I think I’m getting high on this fabulous air. It beats Dom Pérignon any time.’

She laughed. ‘Yes, it is marvellous, isn’t it. And I’m glad you’re in a carefree mood, because we are too. Oh look, here’s Diana.’

Victor turned. He was not quite sure what he had expected Francesca’s cousin to be like, certainly not as stunning and stylish as the girl approaching them. Taken aback though he was, he camouflaged his startled reaction behind an affable smile.

Diana was dressed entirely in white, even to the leather boots that rose above her ski pants. The latter were beautifully tailored and fitted her like a second skin, and with them she wore a loose sweater-tunic of fluffy angora wool, belted with a white silk rope which was tasselled at the ends. Her hair was the most astonishing thing about her. It was the colour of silver gilt and it rippled, long and straight, halfway down her back, parted in the centre above a wide brow. As she drew closer he saw that her face was small and delicate, and patrician like Francesca’s, but they bore little physical resemblance to each other apart from this one distinction. Their features were markedly different, and in contrast to Francesca, who was tall and willowy, Diana was small-boned, diminutive, elfin.

She came to a standstill, her eyes sweeping over him with unabashed interest and curiosity. If the face upturned to his was not exactly beautiful, it was arresting, and he was instantly struck by the extraordinary peacefulness that dwelt there. And then she smiled, and he could not help thinking: The Gioconda Smile. The face of a madonna indeed. Her silver-grey eyes, fringed with thick lashes the same silver gilt as her hair, were large, and intelligence and merriment shone out from them. Her complexion had been tanned to a soft golden bronze, and it was patently obvious to Victor that she was a natural, outdoor girl who did not need to resort to the artifice of cosmetics for her appeal. The only make-up she wore was a touch of coral lipstick.

Francesca said, ‘Diana, this is Victor Mason. Victor, this is my cousin, Diana von Wittingen.’

‘How do you do, Mr Mason.’ Diana stretched out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’