The Exiles Return (14 page)

Resi scarcely glanced at him. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Franzi,’ she said to her aunt in German, ‘I was at the other end of the house and didn’t hear the car.’

‘Oh good!’ said Franz, ‘she speaks German, that will make things much easier. My English is sketchy!’

‘So is my German,’ she said, turning to him. Of the two young men, it was Franz she immediately liked, because he was so like Hanni. Georg, she felt, was intimidating. He, too, stiffened, feeling slightly annoyed at being denied the opportunity of showing off his linguistic accomplishments. But he very politely complimented her, in German, on hers. ‘Mama used to speak it to me when I was little,’ she explained, ‘and I had nearly forgotten it all, but it has come back to me since I’ve been here and have had some practice.’ And that, to Hanni’s infinite relief, was all that passed between Resi and Corvinus, nor, during the days that followed, did they take more than the most superficial notice of each other. That Georg was too completely infatuated with her to look elsewhere Hanni found most comforting and satisfactory, but she would have liked to have heard some spontaneous remark of appreciation – possibly slightly tinged with envy – from Resi about the incomparable perfection of her lover. No such remark was forthcoming and when at last Hanni could not forbear from asking for her opinion, all Resi could find to say was that she thought Georg ‘very nice’ which, to judge from the flat tone of voice in which she said it, really meant ‘quite ordinary’.

But her cousin Franz she really did find ‘very nice’ and genuinely meant all that those words implied. He was, she felt, so much like Hanni, jolly, cheerful and light-hearted, friendly and companionable – like a big brother she would have said, if she had thought of putting their relationship into words. She was completely at ease with him, probably because Franz felt exactly the same towards her. He was surprised by this, for as a rule he was not slow to make up to any young female who, as he used to put it, ‘had all the right curves’. But though he thought his new cousin pretty – in fact, more than pretty, quite beautiful – he felt not the slightest temptation to fall in love with her. Perhaps Resi was too slim and straight, mentally as well as physically, for his taste. ‘Too classical,’ was what he told his mother, to her great amusement – ‘too, too – untouchable.’

Now, for the first time since she had come to Wald, Resi felt the freedom she had so much enjoyed becoming a little oppressive, in that she felt at a loose end. Hanni had no time for her – she spent the whole day with Georg, and when they went swimming, even if she was asked to ‘come along’, Resi was reluctant to intrude, or pretended to prefer to stay at home. She would have liked to spend more time with Franz, but he seemed totally absorbed in his shooting. He was out every day before sunrise, sometimes accompanied in those early hours by Georg, and again in the late afternoons he went alone, while for the rest of the day he was immersed in interminable discussions with his father or the gamekeeper about the minutiae of his sport.

Count Lensveldt had been forced by straitened circumstances to sell a large part of the forest to the State, but he still possessed a substantial acreage and derived his income from its yield in timber. As for the shooting rights, he had retained all of them. There was thus a large area in which Franz and his friends could go stalking. The game was chiefly fallow deer, but also sometimes a stag, and – high up in the mountains, after an arduous ascent which meant spending the night in a log cabin – chamois. There were also capercaillie, blackcock and, in the right season, snipe.

Game was Franz’s overriding passion, the only thing in life he took really seriously. He not only went out with a gun every day he was at Wald, he also talked about it constantly. Georg was just sufficiently experienced and interested to be able to participate, which was fortunate, as he would have felt disqualified in the eyes of his future father-in-law if he had not been able to comment knowledgeably on the trophies adorning the hall walls, and also to describe the excellent buck he himself had shot at his brother-in-law’s place in Styria.

One morning, coming along the passage from her room, Resi caught sight of an open door that she had not noticed before, assuming it was a broom cupboard. When she looked in she saw Franz in his shirtsleeves, with several guns on a large table and an array of cleaning materials, brushes, oily rags, leathers and polish scattered around.

‘What are you doing, Franzl?’

‘Hello, Winter Sunshine! Come in and keep me company at my labours. I want someone to talk to. As you see, I’m cleaning the guns.’

Resi went in and glanced over the table.

‘Why do you call me Winter Sunshine?’

‘It seems such a good name for you. Do you mind? I called you that the first moment I set eyes on you. It describes you, you know. You’re not offended, I hope.’

Resi laughed. ‘No, I rather like it. I mean, because it is
you
who said it, Franzl.’

‘That’s all right then. Now look at these guns, especially this pair. Aren’t they beautiful? My father bought them years ago, from Purdey’s in London. There’s nothing to touch them. He hardly ever goes out after roebuck now, which is a pity as he’s becoming overweight. But he lets me use his guns, which is good luck for me. And the least I can do is to look after them, for he doesn’t, and our gamekeeper doesn’t have time.’ Resi stood watching him as he drew a rag through the long gleaming steel barrels and polished the shapely stock. Then he opened and closed the breech, carefully oiling the hinge and the trigger. Resi pointed to another gun on the table.

‘Why has that one got two barrels?’

‘The double-barrelled one is for shot, little pellets of lead in a cartridge like this.’ He showed her one. ‘You shoot birds with it – game birds, I mean, capercaillie, snipe, pheasants or hares and rabbits – the shot spreads like spray. These hunting rifles are for bullets. Look, there’s a telescope fitted along the top of this barrel, to allow you to shoot with complete precision at the right spot on a big animal, a buck or stag, in order to kill instantly if possible, rather than wounding or disabling. A clean death is not cruel, if that’s what you’re thinking, but an inept, wounding shot is a disgrace. And it’s far more cruel to allow a wild animal to die of hunger or old age, which would happen if they were not controlled. Do you see what I mean?’

‘Yes, Franz, I do.’ He was still handling the rifles. ‘Will you show me how they work?’

‘Like this’ – he was as keen to initiate a new and eager listener into the intricacies of his obsessional passion and its instruments as Hanni had been when talking about her love affairs. He showed her the cartridges and where they were placed, but removed them again immediately. ‘You must never load a gun in the house,’ he said, ‘and never before you are actually going to use it. Never carry it loaded, except with the breech open. Then it cannot go off accidentally. Now, unloaded, I’ll show you how one shoots. You close the breech, draw back the spring called the cock, and when you pull the trigger it releases the sharp point that hits the charge of the cartridge and sets the shot or the bullet flying.’ Lovingly, with his fingertips, he caressed each part of his treasured weapon, delighting in the precision of its workmanship, its smooth soundless action, the barely audible click as the barrel closed on the stock. He rubbed his cheek against its satiny surface.

‘May I hold the gun?’ Resi asked.

‘You can try. The shape of the shaft fits your shoulder, your right hand close to the trigger, left arm extended to hold the barrel steady – look through the telescope at your target. You will see crossed lines on the lens. You will be aiming at the exact spot where they meet.’

‘Goodness! How heavy it is!’ She let the gun sink as Franz withdrew his supporting hand. He wiped his hands on a rag. There seemed no more to say, but he was debating within himself and suddenly he came to a decision. ‘Resi,’ he asked, ‘would you like to come stalking with me this evening? Have you got strong shoes? Mama can lend you a dark cloak. You would have to make no sound, walk very softly: ask no questions. I mean that.’

‘Oh, Franzl! I’d love to. I’ll promise everything you’ve said.’

‘Just before sunset, then. Ask Mama about a cloak.’

The Countess watched them set out together with astonishment. She had never known Franz to take anyone with him when he went stalking. It was a solitary pursuit. But Resi will share his solitude without disturbing his concentration, she thought, and she was right. She felt the same when Resi was with her.

They drove in the old Volkswagen a little way beyond the village and then turned up a side road which, after a short while, became a stony track along which the sturdy car jolted its way at a snail’s pace. At another turning, the track widened and a little stream of clear water came tumbling over mossy stones. Here there was a flat space, just large enough to park the car, and they got out. With his gun under his arm, barrel pointing downwards, Franz led the way into the forest up a barely discernible footpath. Resi followed without a word. The trees stood tall and silent and so close that it was almost dark. On a carpet of pine needles, moss and dead beech leaves they walked without a sound. The breath of the forest was cool and fragrant.

In quarter of an hour they reached a clearing where trees had been felled and grass grew between the stumps. A roughly-built platform of logs on tall stilt-like legs stood half-concealed on the edge of the clearing. Franz climbed the ladder leading up to it and motioned Resi to follow. He scanned the landscape with his field glasses. Resi wrapped herself more closely in the dark-green rough woollen cloak her aunt had lent her and looked around. It was lighter out here in the open, the sky pearly-grey with a hint of rose, the edge of the forest in darkness.

Franz touched her arm, pointed, and produced a second, smaller pair of field glasses for her to look through. On the edge of the wood, on a strip of grassland opposite the platform, was a dappled doe and a tiny fawn by her side, grazing and lifting her head between whiles. Then there was another, with little spiky antlers and, emerging from a different direction, several more. It was getting dark. Silently, Franz lifted his gun. Resi felt her heart beating and, looking with her glasses for his target, she saw, just above some tall grasses, a pair of spreading antlers rising and disappearing. Franz waited a moment and then put his gun down again. ‘He’s too far away and it’s too dark now,’ he said. They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d left the house. ‘I never shoot unless I am quite, quite sure,’ he added. They climbed down the ladder and began to make their way back to the car. Franz was talking now. ‘He was a capital fellow. Never mind, I’ll get him another time. One has to be patient. Did you enjoy yourself?’

‘Very much. I’m glad, though, that you didn’t shoot.’

‘I knew you’d say that. You were very good, very quiet. If you like, you can come again. But another time I might shoot, at least I hope so.’

As they drove home the moon, a thin silver sickle, rose over the black tips of the fir trees and cast faint ripples of light onto the lake. Franz, driving carefully over the loose stones, shot quick glances at the girl beside him. She seemed lost in thought. When the rough track evened out onto the smooth road, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and felt for hers. But there was no responding movement. She was gazing at the lake and the sky. Franz smiled to himself, gave his whole attention to the road and pressed the accelerator.

Twelve

Again the rhythm of life at Wald changed. Franz left to return to his office in Vienna, saying that he hoped to be back for another week at the end of September. Resi had gone out with him several times more to different places in the woods, and he had shot three bucks. The ‘capital fellow’ they had seen on their first evening, who had been spared because the light had been failing, had been shot the following morning at sunrise when Franz had gone out with the gamekeeper while the rest of the household was still asleep. He was brought in at breakfast time in the boot of the car and laid on the flagstones in the courtyard, a beautiful honey-coloured animal crowned with upright, sixfold branching antlers. The Count and Corvinus came down to inspect him and the men stood around for a long time, discussing, measuring, reminiscing, and comparing his various points. Resi joined them later unnoticed and stooped to stroke the soft woollen coat. It astonished her to find the body still warm, but there was no visible blood. The shot was at the base of the neck and had killed instantaneously: any haemorrhage had been internal. Then, as she straightened up, Franz had looked at her inquiringly.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘You must be very proud of him,’ she answered.

‘I am,’ and he patted her shoulder approvingly. She had not been squeamish and had instinctively said the right words. Had she reacted differently, there would have been no more of those silent and enthralling expeditions at sundown into the depths of the forest.

But now Franz was gone. Hanni and Georg were understood to be engaged, although no announcement was to be made until Georg had passed one more important examination which he still needed to launch him on his career as a diplomat. At dinner they had all drunk a special bottle of wine which the Count had himself brought up from the cellar on the evening before Franz’s departure, and the Countess had kissed her future son-in-law on both cheeks. That was all.

The following week Georg and Hanni were to go and stay with Georg’s sister and her husband in Styria. But before they went two other visitors arrived in Wald who were both to have a considerable influence on Resi’s life and destiny. The first to come was a friend of Helen’s, who drove to the mainline railway station, where Resi herself had arrived, in order to fetch her. She was a quiet girl, short, dark and somewhat foreign-looking among the tall, fair-skinned Lensveldts. Resi did not think of her as a girl at all but as a middle-aged woman. This was her youthful bias and did not do justice to Nina’s quick, nervously-controlled movements and the intense fire of her eyes. Her figure was stocky, but she had small hands and feet with finely-shaped wrists and ankles. Her eyebrows were thick and she wore her black hair twisted into a voluminous knot at the nape of her neck. Her strong features would have been imposing on a tall girl, but even so, without the advantage of height, her presence was that of a personality, but one that made no impression on Resi, except, as soon became apparent, in a negative way, in that she absorbed the special attention of her uncle and aunt. The Count treated her with a kind of courtesy that was almost deference and the Countess with affectionate solicitude. Resi saw her uncle put his hand under Nina’s elbow to lead her into the dining room and draw out a chair for her at his right hand. He not only rose when she came into the room, but would see to it that she was comfortable before he sat down again, and asked her leave before he lit his cigar. He also gave up his little demonstrative embrace and good night kiss of an evening, contenting himself with a wave of the hand and a nod of dismissal, while accompanying Nina to the door and wishing her a peaceful night’s rest.