Betrayal Page 5

  “Oh no. What did Finn do?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Looked at Weidel with the most outrageous expression of hurt innocence and said—” He paused and threw her a sideways look. “Do you really want to hear this?” he asked, his voice droll.

  His gentle teasing only made the sunshine more brilliant and the sky more blue. Like potent champagne, sudden happiness bubbled up inside Georgina. “I assure you I do.” She sounded breathless, but didn’t care.

  “I did warn you.”

  “Is it so bad?”

  “Terrible,” Herr Renner said in mock grave tones.

  “So tell me.”

  He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Your son said, ‘But the colours match.’”

  Georgina had to bite her lip to prevent herself from chuckling. “Oh dear.” She managed to imbue her voice with an appropriate amount of sympathy.

  “Weidel’s shrieks could be heard in the whole warehouse, I tell you.”

  They shared a look and then burst out laughing.

  “Oh dear.” With her free hand she wiped her eyes. “I hope Finn did at least apologise.”

  “Apologise?” Herr Renner stepped to the side of the path in order to let a small cart pass by. “I’m afraid he did not.” His teeth flashed white in a broad grin. “Instead he thrust out his chin in the most mutinous fashion, glowered at Weidel, and mumbled something to the effect how he should have known where to stack the bales.”

  Georgina clasped her hand in front of her mouth, once more not knowing whether she to cry or to laugh. “And?”

  “And we wouldn’t have been surprised if foam had formed in front of poor Weidel’s mouth. ‘Because you’ve been doing this for three years!’ he yelled so loudly you could surely hear him all the way to Frankfurt!”

  “And then Finnian apologised?” Georgina cut in hopefully.

  Yet Herr Renner shook his head. “And then Finnian looked at Weidel with something akin to surprise and muttered, ‘Did I? Well, then I’ll go and stack them differently, shall I?’ And off he went, swaggered, really. I swear I have no idea where the boy learnt to swagger like that! We had to give poor Weidel a schnapps after this particular repartee.”

  “Oh dear.” This time, the dismay won. Georgina sighed. “What has got into the boy?”

  “He is still addled from the hot Italian sun?” her companion offered drolly, which dispelled her somber mood, as must have been his intent.

  She laughed. “I daresay you might be right. He has certainly never been embroiled in a brawl before either!”

  “Well, our apprentices claim the other party started the brawl and they only defended the honor of the name von Allesina.” Once more, his lips twitched suspiciously.

  In admonishment, Georgina poked her elbow into his side. “You are enjoying this!”

  He only shrugged and laughed. “Boys will be boys.”

  Abruptly, she sobered. It was true: Finn had been much too serious for his age.

  They stopped walking.

  “Mrs. Crawley.” Martin Renner’s hand closed over hers as he leaned forward to peer into her face. “Do not worry so about your son. Finnian is a good boy, but didn’t you think the return into the everyday restrictions would run less than smoothly after he had been granted a glimpse of the world?”

  A wave of such piercing regret rolled over Georgina that she had to close her eyes for a moment. If fate had been kinder, her son would have had so much more than a mere glimpse. Why, the whole world would have been open to him.

  She sighed deeply and opened her eyes. The magic of the afternoon had passed; the brilliancy of the day had dimmed. “I am sorry.”

  “Shhh.” His gloved finger touched her lips. “It is all right,” he said softly. “I understand.”

  And perhaps he did, for even though had spent the rest of the walk home in silence, there had been no awkwardness. And when they had arrived at the gates to the villa, he had made a bow over her hand. “Thank you for today,” he had said, his brown eyes warm on her face. “Your company gave me much pleasure.” He had left her at the gatekeeper’s house, where she and Finnian had their rooms. She had looked after the secretary, while he had been walking up the drive, strangely small underneath the tall chestnut trees.

  “Georgina, dear, do fill up our cups, will you?”

  Frau Else’s gentle request jolted Georgina back to the present. She blinked. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, reaching for the coffee pot to pour another round of Prussian coffee, which Frau Else swore was so much healthier than the variety made of ground coffee beans. However, Georgina considered Prussian coffee a vast improvement to the acorn brew her employer had so liked when Georgina had joined the household seventeen years ago.

  Satisfied that her business was running as smoothly as anybody could wish for, Frau Else finally leaned back in her chair. “Splendid,” she said. “Do take another biscuit, Martin, will you?”

  Georgina hid a smile as she watched him picking a sugar biscuit as obediently as a small boy.

  “And now...” Frau Else beamed at him. “Tell me about young Finn. Is dear Weidel giving him so much work that he doesn’t find time to come to the villa and play the fortepiano for me?”

  “Well...”

  Georgina caught the quick glance Martin Renner shot at her while he cleared his throat, and wondered what it could mean. Her son couldn’t have possibly become involved in yet another brawl, could he? Or had he enraged Herrn Weidel once more with yet another outrageous repartée?

  “Well,” Martin Renner said, “it seems our Finnian has taken a fancy to the fine arts.”

  Relief washed over Georgina. No brawl and no confrontation with Weidel after all.

  Frau Else’s brows rose. “The fine arts?”

  He grimaced. “Drawing, to be exact.”

  “Drawing!” Georgina exclaimed while Frau Else’s brows rose even higher.

  “I daresay!” the old woman said. “How extraordinary! Have you heard this, my dear?” She turned to Georgina. “Your son has developed artistic tendencies!”

  But Georgina was as surprised as her employer. “There must be a misunderstanding, I am sure.” She shook her head. “The last time Finn drew a picture he was still a small boy.”

  Martin Renner gave her a rueful smile. “That’s where you are wrong, I am afraid. The last time Finnian drew a picture was this morning.”

  Both women looked at him expectantly.

  Obviously embarrassed, he cleared his throat once more. At the sound Georgina’s stomach knotted with apprehension. What exactly had her unruly son done now?

  Frau Else leaned forward. “Martin Renner, I swear you are the most aggravating man! Will you please stop making us feel like the Spanish Inquisition and start talking! What did young Finnian do?” Her eyes sparkled with what Georgina thought inappropriate mischief. “Did he draw a nude, perhaps?”

  Oh heavens! Georgina clasped a hand over her mouth, causing her employer to threw her an amused look.

  The old woman chuckled. “Don’t look so horrified, my dear. Boys will be boys, and drawing nudes is exactly what one expects them to do.” She cocked her head to the side. “If they can draw, that is,” she added thoughtfully. “Well, was it a nude?”

  During Frau Else’s remarks, Martin Renner’s ears had acquired a reddish tinge. Now he stared intently into his cup with dandelion coffee. “Worse,” he muttered.

  Heavens! Georgina thought. What could possibly be worse than a nude? A second later she knew.

  “He drew a caricature of Weidel.”

  She groaned, yet Frau Else burst out laughing. “Ooooh, poor Weidel! Was it a good caricature?”

  “A very good one.”

  Mortification made Georgina’s face burn. What had happened to her sweet, introverted son?

  “But Weidel threw it into the fire as soon as he got wind of it,” Martin Renner continued, clearly knowing his employer well enough to predict what her next question would have been.

 
“Such a pity.” Frau Else chuckled. “But I daresay he was rather... cross, wasn’t he? What happened to young Finnian?”

  “He set him to shrubbing the warehouse.”

  “Splendid.” Smiling broadly, Frau Else patted Georgina’s hand. “You see, my dear, there is no reason for such horrified looks. Your son will be paying for his prank with sore knees and raw hands. Quite appropriate, is it not?” She peeked into her secretary’s cup. “All finished, are you? Then off you go. I want you to dash over to Höchst and ask the goldsmith what’s with the ring I sent to him last week.”

  “Of course.” He stood, which earned him a disapproving glance.

  “Not so fast.” Frau Else fumbled with her dress and then drew out her cards. With one wrinkled finger, she slid the stack over the table. “Shuffle those for me, will you.” Her lips twitched. “No dark looks and mutterings, Georgina dear. I am an old woman and you have to indulge me.”

  After he had obediently shuffled the cards, Martin Renner handed them back to the old lady.

  “Splendid.” She beamed at him, then turned to Georgina. “Do bring our Martin to the door, will you?—Shush, go, go!”

  With an inward sigh, Georgina rose and walked with Herrn Renner out of the room. As the door closed behind them, Frau Else started to lay the cards, happily humming to herself.

  She is going to determine whether I will marry her secretary or not, Georgina thought glumly. She’s incorrigible! Leaving the past behind was all nice and fine, but as far as Georgina was concerned, it did not necessitate a headlong dash into the future.

  In silence she and Herr Renner walked down the stairs and to the front door. Here he stopped and turned to her. “Why the serious face?” he asked, his voice warm and soft.

  It wound around her, charmed her like the finest caramel. She bit her lip. But when she would have looked away, too embarrassed to tell him of her suspicions about their employer’s matchmaking ambitions, he touched her chin and lifted her head. At the contact of skin on skin, a tingling sensation shot down Georgina’s spine, all the way to her toes. Surprise rounded her lips.

  Dazed, she watched how his gaze dipped to her mouth. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and his own lips curved into a smile as his gaze met hers. “Are you still worried about your son’s escapades?”

  Warmth suffused her cheeks. She could hardly tell him. “Well...”

  His smile broadened. “Then perhaps I should distract your thoughts.” With that, he reached for her hand and raised it, and all the while his eyes never left hers. Only at the last possible moment he looked down, lowered his head. Warm, moist breath whispered over her palm.

  Georgina’s eyes widened. Surely her heart had just stopped beating!

  He gazed up at her. A flame leapt up in his eyes, making her shudder in recognition.

  Heat. Passion.

  Martin Renner’s lips touched her skin, pressed against her palm, and a blast of long-forgotten lust rocked Georgina’s world.

  ~*~

  Upstairs in the drawing room, Frau Else pondered over her cards. She smiled as she laid out the pattern for her secretary.

  A good, strong heart. The Valet de bâton for loyalty and steadfastness. “Oh yes,” she murmured as she turned around L’Amoureux, the Lovers, as his goal for the future. Things looked good for him; Cupid was already aiming his arrow at the still-bashful maiden. Soon, she would fall in love with him, too. For that he was already in love with her was perfectly clear; Frau Else wouldn’t have needed the cards to tell her that. The Ten of Coupes whispered to her of joy and happiness; the Four of Batons spelt romance and harmony.

  But as with Georgina’s reading all these weeks past, it was the last card that made Frau Else’s smile vanish.

  La Maison de Dieu, the Lightningstruck Tower: loss and upheaval lay ahead for Martin Renner—and it appeared all her careful plans and schemes had been for naught, after all.

  ~*~

  That evening Georgina sat at the window in her room up under the roof of the gatekeeper’s house, her sewing on her lap. While the needle glided through the material her thoughts flew back to what Martin Renner had told them this afternoon about her son’s further exploits. The trip to Italy had certainly changed her quiet, serious child. What had the hot Italian sun awakened in him?

  She frowned as she remembered how she had gone to his room after her return from the villa and how she had found a porto folio with sketches underneath his bed. For a moment, she had hesitated, but then she had sat down on his bed and had opened it.

  Her own face had looked back at her. There were half a dozen sketches of her, catching her in different moods. Pensive with her eyes all sad; happy and joyful, with a smile playing around her lips; a sketch of her sewing at the window of her room as she was doing right now. One where she stood on the terrace of the villa, looking after a few birds that flew away over the river just as if she were yearning to join them. There were also sketches of Frau Else, of Martin Renner, the stablemaster, the gatekeeper and his wife, of men Finn must have met at work; sketches of the villa and the river, of the town of Höchst. And then there were the sketches of Italy—Italian landscapes, Italian towns and villages, the cathedral in Florence, a detailed study of Michelangelo’s David and of Ammannati’s Neptune amidst the nymphs. More sights of towns whose names she did not know and—

  —the Rialto Bridge over the Canal Grande in Venice.

  Venice.

  When had they gone to Venice?

  And more shocking still, the sketch after that: a young woman with dark hair and sultry eyes lounging on a chaise longue, her body as bare as on the day she had been born. Here, finally, was the nude Frau Else had been talking about. Dear heavens! I hope he didn’t draw her from life!

  A most disconcerting thought.

  Steps on the stairs interrupted her reverie. A few moments later, the door to her room was opened. She turned—and her son’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Mama!” His eyes sparkled.

  It nearly disarmed her.

  But she told herself she needed to be firm and her son needed a dressing-down. Badly.

  So she called forth her sternest expression. “I have heard there was trouble today at the warehouse.”

  He stopped, surprise registering on his face. “You’ve heard...” Yet Finnian was bright, she had to give him that. A scowl replaced the surprise. “Martin Renner,” he muttered darkly. He ran a hand through his hair, winced.

  Georgina raised her brows. “Well?”

  He stared at her while his scowl deepened. Stubborn, boisterous, and belligerent? One of the Roman goddesses must have bewitched her son!

  Perhaps the pretty nude? a small voice whispered in her head. Georgina winced. Gracious!

  “You drew a caricature of poor Weidel?” she asked.

  Finnian’s gaze skittered away. He shrugged. “Why do you ask when Renner has already told you?”

  Add “defiant” to the list of unexpected character traits. “Because I would like to hear from you why you did it,” she said evenly.

  He shrugged again, looked at his feet. “It seemed like fun.”

  “Fun?”

  “Yes,” he growled—like a moody bear, really.

  “Then I guess scrubbing the warehouse afterwards was just as much fun?”

  His head jerked up. Dull colour stained his cheeks while he chewed on his lower lip.

  “Well?” she repeated mildly.

  His brows drew together.

  “Finnian?”

  He gazed at her a moment longer before he threw his head back and gave a laugh. “Yes. It was just as much fun!” Grinning, he strolled over to her and bussed her on the cheek. “Don’t be cross, Mama,” he whispered.

  “Hmph.” But how could she resist him? “I didn’t even know you could draw!”

  Surprisingly, this remark produced another wave of heat surging up under his skin. He cleared his throat and sat down on the floor at her feet. “Well...” With forced nonchalance, he lifted his shoulder, but stud
iously evaded her gaze. “I met somebody in Florence who showed it to me.”

  “A painter?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just... a boy.”

  “And you like it?” From what she had seen, he was also very good at it. Surprisingly good at it.

  This time, he nodded. With a sigh, he leaned his head against her knee. “Are you very cross with me?” When she remained silent, he craned his head to look at her. “I paid for it, you know?” He waved one of his red, raw hands at her. “Dearly,” he added in a tragic voice.

  “Oh you!” She thumped his shoulder, but couldn’t help laughing, which made the malefactor grin. “You know full well it serves you right for drawing disrespectful caricatures of your betters! Don’t do it again.”

  His grin broadened. “Och, don’t worry, I won’t. Scrubbing the warehouse isn’t something I want to repeat anytime soon!”

  She gave him another clap on the shoulder, but he only chuckled and settled back with his head against her knee. And as she looked down on his unruly dark hair, a most curious sensation came over her. The years fell away, and it was another young man sitting at her feet, another dark head leaning against her knee. And as that time when she had stood among Dr Neuburg’s collection of dead birds, the memories rose and whirled around her in a mad dance. Past and present melted into one.

  That other young man had poured out his innermost thoughts, had let her into the closely guarded bastion of his heart. Glowing with ardent love, he had read poems to her, out in the gardens, where the wind had ruffled his dark hair.

  “Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

  And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

  O I will luve thee still, my dear,

  While the sands o’ life shall run.”

  Empty fancies of youth.

  How quickly his ardour had passed.