The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
Once the blessings were finished, his father lifted the napkin, made a little ceremony of breaking the bread, and passed it around to everyone at the table. And at last Marta was allowed to serve the food, which Frau Müller had been cooking all afternoon in the big kitchen. Marta always served the dinner on Friday because it was Walter’s night off, when he went to see his daughter and her children. He knew a lot about the butler’s grandchildren. Walter told him many things when he sneaked into the kitchen on baking days. Walter would sit him at Frau Müller’s baking table and give him a Berliner Pfannkuchen, oozing jelly, and a glass of milk, and talk to him, and slip him another jelly doughnut when no one was looking. Except that Frau Müller always noticed. ‘You spoil that child,’ she would tell Walter, who fortunately never paid any attention to her. Walter and he were very good friends.
Maxim settled back in the chair, waiting.
Everything always happened the way he knew it would, and as it had for as long as he could remember. ‘The rituals of the sabbath are important to us all, and should be properly observed,’ his mother had often told him. He liked rituals and looked forward to them. They were special, somehow.
Friday was his most favourite night of the week, and for lots of reasons. For one thing, he and Teddy were permitted to have dinner with his mother and father in the grand dining room, instead of eating alone together in the nursery as they generally did, except on Teddy’s day off. For another, he was with Mutti, Papa, Teddy and Grandmama, the four people he loved the most in the whole wide world; also, he got to stay up late; and finally the things he enjoyed the most were served. Piping-hot chicken soup, then a roasted chicken, all golden and crisp on the outside and juicy on the inside, or beef flanken or perhaps steamed carp, and there would be little potato pancakes and apple sauce, or sweet shredded carrots and potato dumplings. And at the end of the meal there was always something wonderful, such as apple strudel which melted in his mouth.
Yes, Friday was the best night of the week. It was like the beginning of a holiday. His father did not go to The Bank on Saturday and Sunday, and so they did many things and had such a lot of fun together. Friday night was … was … festive. Yes, that was it exactly. Except that tonight no one seemed very festive. His mother was quiet, so very still. She had been like this for ages, and he kept wondering why. He had asked Teddy, just the other day, and she had not really given him an answer. All she had said was that his mother had things on her mind, and even though he had pestered her a lot she had not told him anything else.
Mutti did not laugh very much any more, and her beautiful face was sad, like when Grandfather Neuman died. He thought she was cross with him, but Teddy said this wasn’t so, and he believed Teddy. She always told him the truth. Besides, he hadn’t been a bad boy. In fact, he had been an angel lately, so Teddy said.
The tantalising aroma of chicken soup floated delicately on the air, and Maxim’s nose twitched when Marta placed one of the steaming porcelain bowls in front of him.
‘Danke schön, Marta,’ he said, and picked up his silver spoon. He dipped it in the clear golden liquid, scooped up a sliver of carrot and a curly bit of noodle, and took his first mouthful. It tasted delicious. This was definitely the soup he liked the best. He wished they had it every day.
His father and his grandmother talked non-stop about this and that, and occasionally his mother joined in, but he and Teddy were as quiet as mice, as they always were, not speaking unless they were spoken to, when they had to reply.
After they had all finished the soup, Gerda, the other downstairs maid, took the bowls away and Marta came gliding in from the kitchen carrying a silver platter on which there lay a huge steamed carp.
Maxim could see the fish if he sat up really straight in the chair and craned his neck. Marta showed the fish to his mother, who nodded and said, ‘It looks wonderful, Marta. My compliments to Frau Müller. Please be kind enough to serve it.’
‘It seems to me that it would be a nice change for you if you went to stay with Renata at the Schloss for a few days,’ Sigmund said, looking down the long stretch of table at Ursula as the dessert was being served. ‘And I’m sure Maxim and Teddy would enjoy it too.’
At the mention of his name, Maxim sat up in the chair and looked from his father to his mother alertly. His dark eyes gleamed, and before he could stop himself, he exclaimed, ‘Oh yes, Mutti, please let’s go!’
Ursula glanced at him. A faint smile touched her mouth. ‘Would you really like to do that, Mein Schatz?’
‘I would, Mutti, and so would Teddy. Wouldn’t you, Teddy?’ He turned to Theodora, gave her a pleading look.
Teddy said, ‘I think Maxim would benefit from a change of air, a few days in the country.’
Sigmund smiled. He was delighted to have his son and Teddy as his allies. He had been quite certain that Ursula would object, that she would not wish to go away, although in his opinion she truly needed a break from Berlin and its tensions. Maxim’s enthusiasm would undoubtedly sway her, he now believed.
Just as Sigmund had thought, Ursula nodded her assent. ‘All right, Maxim, we’ll go in the middle of next week, let’s say on Wednesday.’ She focused her gaze on Sigmund, and added, ‘But only if you promise to join us on Friday, Sigi.’
‘I do promise,’ Sigmund said at once. ‘I understand from Reinhard that Renata is going to invite Arabella and the children if you accept, so it will be nice for Maxim to be with them.’
‘Yes, it will,’ Ursula agreed. The thought of the trip to the Mark Brandenburg and being with her two best women friends cheered Ursula, and she suddenly felt lighter in spirit. Turning to Maxim, she said with a loving smile, ‘It’s been snowing in the Mark so we’ll be able to play outside with the other children. We’ll go toboganning and perhaps we can even skate on the lake.’
Maxim nodded excitedly. The prospect of this trip thrilled him and it showed on his animated little face. Laughing gaily, he cried, ‘And I will build you a beautiful snowman, Mutti, and one for you too, Teddy.’ He looked from one to the other, and his mother smiled at him as Teddy murmured her thanks, and this made him glow inside.
As he picked up his fork and cut into his apple strudel, he thought he was going to burst with happiness. Friday night had been extra special this week. They were going to stay at the big old castle where he always had fun with Gretchen, Diana and Christian, and his mother was smiling again, which was the most important thing of all.
The forests of the Mark Brandenburg, once the domain of the conquering Teutonic knights, stretch for miles in the marshy region of Prussia where they are located. Drained by three rivers, the Havel, the Spree and the Oder, this area has many lakes and is also crisscrossed by countless canals and little waterways which connect its quaint villages.
At the edge of one such old and charming village stands the great Schloss of Graf Reinhard von Tiegal. The back facade of this ancient and picturesque castle faces sloping lawns and formal gardens, and beyond these are the pine forests which are part of the immense von Tiegal estates, owned by the family since the sixteenth century.
On this Sunday morning, early in January of 1939, these forests looked quite magical, completely garbed in white. Snow and dripping icicles covered the trees, weighted their branches down in places, and underfoot the narrow, winding paths were obscured by new layers of snow which had fallen during the night and then frozen. In the brilliant, golden sunlight streaming in through the trees everything glistened as if it had been dusted with silver.
The only sound in this vast and silent white wonderland was the crunch of heavy boots sinking into the crisp snow as Sigmund and Kurt ploughed forward through the forest on their morning walk. Both men had come to the Schloss to join their wives for the weekend, Sigmund driving down to the Mark from Berlin on Friday evening, Kurt on Saturday afternoon.
Heavily bundled up though they were, in thick