Blood Ties Read online

  "I'll remember that."

  "And for God sakes don't send me back to Estonia. Not to that cemetery. Just burn me and sprinkle me over horseshit."

  He had raised his voice. At the sound of "horse," Heather had turned.

  "From one of your horses, darling," he said. She looked puzzled.

  Rudi was approaching, ambling clumsily. A thin film of moisture lent a shine to his red face. Albert grimaced briefly, then forced a smile at his approaching brother.

  Rudi tucked a hand under Albert's arm, as if the touching might symbolize a bond to the eyes of the family observers.

  "A dramatic change for the worse, don't you think?" Rudi said shaking his head. Albert looked at him. Siegfried noted a brief flash of anger. A tiny nerve palpitated in Albert's jaw.

  "Since you saw him last?" Albert asked. Rudi flushed, the blood filling his face. He removed his arm.

  "So he told you," Rudi said.

  "Of course."

  "It had to be said." Rudi seemed unusually cocky. "We have a basic conflict. The matter must be resolved."

  "It will be," Albert said. "One way or another."

  Siegfried watched the brief encounter, puzzled. He searched for common ground.

  "Odd that she should show up after all these years," Siegfried said, returning to the subject of the Russian woman. "But the son is an authentic von Kassel. In the end old Uncle Wolfgang did his duty. Blood is blood." He looked at Heather, who turned away in embarrassment. When they had married, she had no knowledge of what he had done to himself. She had never forgiven him for that.

  "And money is money," Rudi snapped. "I can't see how the old man could be taken in. Her motives are obvious. Uncle Wolfgang had been content to disown us. All those years of being a good comrade while the Baron sweated to rebuild the family interests. Where was he when he was needed? Now she thinks that all she has to do is present herself. It is insulting to the rest of the family."

  His voice sputtered to a halt. Adolph waddled toward them.

  "It's so wonderful, all of us together again," he said. Siegfried watched his eyes wash over the body of the young waiter who passed drinks. Siegfried reached for another martini, hesitated, then with a glance at Heather replaced it on the tray. Adolph's chubby fingers plucked a glass of champagne off the tray.

  "How wonderful. Positively marvelous champagne. I'd say '66. Am I correct about that, waiter?" He winked. The young waiter's eyelids fluttered. "Yes, I believe it is." Adolph lifted a ringed forefinger, waving it in front of him. "You see. It is one of my specialities." He paused, holding his eyes steady, peering into those of the waiter, "...among others."

  "Really, Adolph," Siegfried said, chuckling.

  "A darling boy. Don't you think?"

  "Smashing," said Siegfried.

  The others had ignored the interchange. Albert looked at his wristwatch, turning anxiously toward the entrance. Siegfried moved a few steps from his brothers, as if the physical separation was somehow symbolic. He reveled in such inference. Thankfully, Heather went off to the ladies' room. Anything to avoid the others.

  When she had gone, he felt free to take another martini from one of the passed trays. Another hand reached out beside his.

  "May I?" The voice was soft, the flesh fragrant. Dawn lifted the glass from the tray, stirring the toothpicked olive, then darting it between full pink lips.

  "It's a martini night," she whispered. He was the only von Kassel that she had met on another occasion. That night in New York, she had held hands with Albert all evening, as if any space between them was unbearable. He noted the difference now, a subtlety to be sure, but he did have this benefit of comparison. He smiled at her, more than a simple social mask of ingratiation.

  "One must survive it somehow," Siegfried said, lifting his chin to expel the smoke from his cigarette. "For me it's obligatory. One assumes you had a choice." He was searching her face for signs. Her eyes were deep and moist, hazel specks on a green field.

  "I thought it would amuse me." She sipped her martini, but the fingers shook lightly, betraying the anxiety. She was frightened.

  "Think of it all as an eccentricity, all the genetic posturing, as if there was something special about all those von Kassel cells swimming in these." He lifted a wrist and showed her the ridged veins. "Our ancestors were actually quite beastly. Acquisitive. Cruel. They earned nothing, stole everything. When they wanted land, they took it. When then wanted labor, they enslaved." She was engaged now. "And when they wanted women..." Her eyes turned away. He lifted his hand upward in a sweeping arc. "They merely plucked them off the tree, like ripe fruit."

  "And are they still doing these things?" she asked, offering a clear message of irony.

  "We are worse than ever," he replied cautiously, feeling a change in the din's rhythm as all eyes in the room turned toward the arched entrance.

  A tall woman stood framed there. Beside her, his small hand locked in hers, stood a small boy. To Siegfried, the idea of them standing there suggested courage, determination. Behind high Slavic cheekbones, the woman's gaze washed over the room. Taller than the empty armor that guarded the entrance, she wore little makeup, perhaps none, since her color might have been heightened by some inner excitement making her cheeks seem rouged. The hesitation might have been longer, but Rudi had broken the silence.

  "My God, the old boy has robbed the cradle," he whispered, the articulation clear above the hiss. Her youth clearly had startled everyone in the room. Also her looks.

  "We were all expecting some frumpy fat-assed Russian," Siegfried whispered, exchanging glances with Rudi. But it was Albert who moved first, as if the protocol demanded it. Siegfried, propelled by curiosity, followed him.

  "Olga?" Albert asked tentatively, although the identity was obvious. The woman did not smile. Up close, her skin was smooth and tight. The boy gripped her hand tighter and moved closer to his mother's flank.

  "Yes," she answered, looking at him directly, openly. Siegfried detected a slight tinge of belligerency. She was obviously being cautious, protective of herself and her son. Her armor seemed as visible as those of the mute Knights beside her.

  "I am Albert." His hand moved outward. After a brief hesitation, Olga's hand reached out to his. Siegfried observed the strong long fingers, the tight grip, as Albert pumped it. He looked downward at the little boy.

  "And this is Aleksandr," Olga said.

  The boy blushed and bowed his head.

  "And this is your nephew, Siegfried," Albert added, not without a touch of humor.

  "Aunt Olga," Siegfried replied. Still, the woman did not smile, as if humor was in a totally foreign frame of reference. Her eyes darted among the group, watching them.

  Gently touching her upper arm, Albert guided her through the gauntlet of curious von Kassels. Siegfried watched them as they made the circle, observing the waiting Dawn, who seemed more aloof and vulnerable than she had appeared earlier. Albert introduced each of them, then passed on, lifting a drink from a tray and handing it to his tall aunt. Siegfried watched them, noting the sudden animation in Albert, his morose mood dramatically altered.

  "She's lovely," Dawn said when he returned. But it was perfunctory, a grudging response.

  "A knockout," Siegfried said, watching her reaction. He noted the telltale signs of jealousy.

  "How old was your uncle?" Dawn asked.

  "He was the eldest."

  "She must have been a teenager when they married," Dawn said. The reference was blatantly malicious. She was obviously containing the beginnings of a smoldering rage.

  "He is only being polite," Siegfried said gently. He handed Dawn another martini from a tray and took one for himself. "A family matter."

  But she was not easily placated. He felt her vulnerability.

  "The precious family," she said with contempt, tipping the glass for a deep swallow. She had obviously banked on her beauty carrying her through the night. But the other woman had drawn their attention, especially Albert's.
r />   "There are many advantages to being a von Kassel," Siegfried said, believing that his perception had reached its most sensitive level. He was certain he could predict the effect of his insight, especially on Dawn. Should he agitate her now, churn her up? "To begin with, there is money." He watched her search for control, her eyes darting in Albert's direction. But Albert was otherwise engaged, animated in conversation with Olga. "...Endless supplies of money." The point was worth emphasizing. It was after all the lynchpin of his own marriage. "And privileged position. Von Kassels have social status. And titles. All the males are Barons. There is a mystique about this silly title. That would make Heather a Baroness. And Olga as well. My cousins revel in it like pigs in swill."

  "And now she will claim the rewards of her marriage bed," Dawn said, the focus of her thoughts clear.

  "She is, of course, a von Kassel by injection." He began to giggle at his own humor. Dawn turned, moving away. There was the hint of misty eyes. He watched her toss off the martini and gain speed as she walked, with an air of deliberation, in the direction of the arched entrance. The ladies' room, he thought, the obvious refuge.

  "You have that smirking insufferable glassy look." It was Heather, returned now, being waspish.

  "Really, Siegfried. You are about to make a screaming ass of yourself," she said, jerking the glass from his hand in a swift, expert gesture. Sulking, he moved past her, then wandered into the lobby. Standing in the forest of empty Knights, his ear caught a sudden stir.

  The hotel manager, Hans, his face twisted into a grimace, was trying to avoid a spectacle involving himself and a woman. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat and a heavy, much abused fur coat, an eccentric outfit considering the season. Under the wide brim, her features were blurred and the skin was painted dead white with thick powder. A blotch of scarlet crossed her face above her chin. She was chunky. Thin legs, visible above thick-soled shoelaced shoes, indicated that she was not as young as she wanted to suggest.

  Watching the interchange was amusing, certainly a better alternative than being harassed by Heather. He moved to get a clearer view without being seen. Hans had managed to ease the woman toward a less visible position, preventing a greater disturbance.

  "I will simply not allow the Baron to be bothered tonight. Not under any circumstances. I would suggest you come back tomorrow. Naturally, you will call first. Now what will it be? Shall I call the police? Or call you a taxi?"

  Siegfried drifted within earshot, pretending to view one of the armor exhibits.

  "I will see him tonight," the woman said. Her voice had no edge of anger. She was matter of fact, determined. "And you will give me a room."

  Hans, in exasperation, looked upward to the ceiling as if relief were to be found there. His voice pitched higher. The fawning disappeared, revealing his contempt. He was disdainful of people who did not count and the woman provided excellent fodder for such a reaction.

  "That is impossible," Hans reiterated. He snapped his fingers and a boy appeared. "You will put this woman's baggage outside of this hotel. Immediately." Without a murmur, the young man lifted the baggage and went outside.

  "I have no intention of leaving," the woman said firmly. "I will see the Baron now. You will get me a room."

  Siegfried moved closer, his curiosity piqued. He slipped quickly into a high-backed wing chair that hid him from view.

  "I told you I would inquire tomorrow. No one is allowed to interfere with the Baron, especially tonight."

  "You will do this."

  "You are insufferable."

  He heard the sound of a telephone dialing, the agitation emphasized by the grating sound of the dial's return thrust.

  "A woman," Hans hissed into the mouthpiece. He caught only pieces of the conversation. "Here ... in the lobby ... really ... she will not give her name ... all right ... I'll tell her, Countess." The telephone banged in its cradle.

  "Countess von Berghoff will be right down," Hans said, the voice tight as he tried to cap his anger.

  "I did not ask to see her," the woman protested.

  "You'd prefer the police?"

  There was no further conversation. Continuing to sit in the chair, he heard the sound of an elevator descending, then the clank of the heavy metal elevator door. His aunt's familiar footsteps moved slowly across the stone floor, stopping finally near him.

  "You?" It was Aunt Karla's voice, strong, domineering and arrogant.

  "I want to see him." It was the voice of the other woman, equally strong and assured.

  "You have no right. Not now. That matter was disposed of years ago." The voices were clear. The women were standing directly behind his chair.

  "I will not leave here without seeing him." The woman's voice was firm, intense, each word articulated with equal emphasis. She means business, Siegfried thought, searching his memory. An old mistress perhaps, he decided. What a bore for the old man.

  There was a long silence. Then his aunt's voice began again.

  "What do you want? He is sick. He is dying."

  Knowing the truth of the observation, Siegfried was oddly disturbed by the reference to death. He was suddenly on his aunt's side now, annoyed that the idea of his father's death would occupy strangers.

  "All the more reason."

  "I think you're making a mistake. I could be far more generous...."

  "Generous..." For the first time, the woman's voice rose. She emitted a hoarse low laugh.

  "Whatever it is you want, I can provide. Only, you must not see him. He is not to be upset. Dealing with me would be far more fruitful."

  "Him," the woman said. "And him alone."

  There was another long silence.

  "All right..." his aunt said, an uncommon retreat. He had always thought of her as "The Iron Duke," unbending, without any sense of compromise. It was totally out of character. "...but it must be tomorrow. I will arrange a meeting for tomorrow. As you can see, it is the first night of the reunion."

  "I saw."

  "You went in?"

  "I stood by the door."

  "Tomorrow then?"

  "Early."

  "He barely sleeps..." Karla began. It seemed the beginning of further entreaty. But she interrupted herself, waiting.

  "And you will provide a room for the night," the strange woman said.

  "That too," his aunt sighed, her surrender complete. He had never, ever seen his aunt bested. She wore her arrogance like a heavy corset. Never soft or loving, always an imperial presence, she engendered fear in all of them. And her influence on their father was total as long as he could remember.

  "Are you certain that we cannot solve this matter between us?" his aunt asked.

  "Him only," the woman's voice said.

  "Tomorrow then. Not tonight. You have agreed. Not tonight."

  "You distrust me?" There was an air of sarcasm.

  "Your presence is a violation," his aunt said, recovering her arrogance.

  The woman apparently ignored the remark. He heard the familiar snap of Hans' fingers, assuming that his aunt had signaled him.

  "Tomorrow..." There was an edge of anxiety in his aunt's tone. Then the woman was visible to him as she followed the boy across the stone floor to the opposite end of the lobby, and disappeared.

  His head had cleared, the exaggerated sense of perception gone, leaving only uncertainty and confusion. But there was no time to linger in the pursuit of unanswered questions. Hans' clear fawning tone reverberated in the lobby.

  "My dear Baron. How wonderful we look!"

  Then he heard the old man's faltering footsteps, the rhythmical tap of a cane on stone, as the Baron moved to assess the state of the von Kassels.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Baron's cheeks were rouged, like spilled wine on white parchment. Leaning on his cane, he moved slowly through the group, nodding briefly toward every face, his lips tight, unsmiling. The Countess walked behind him, the intimidating dowager's carriage untouched by age. Heavy diamond earrings hung from her
ears, under what seemed like an elaborately curled gray wig. On her crenelated neck hung an expanse of red and green teardrops, rubies and emeralds. She was heavily powdered, giving her face a ghostlike look.

  All conversation had ceased. Heads bowed silently in awesome respect. No hands moved outward in the traditional symbol of welcome. No flesh was touched. Even the twins were sufficiently affected to cease their perpetual movement. It was, Albert knew, watching Olga's high cheeked face, searching for confirmation of his own knowledge, "the Moment." In his father's bearing was the living consciousness of the historical imperative. Observe me, not as a man, but as the embodiment of every von Kassel since the dawn of their beginning, his presence urged. Every fiber in his being expressed this fact. It was the transmitted essence of their reason for surviving.

  The old people proceeded, pausing before Albert and Olga, to whom his father nodded with the barest flicker of a smile, the Baron's eyes deep in their chicken-skin pouches. The Countess caressed Aleksandr's head, then the old couple moved to their place at the head of the table.

  Albert heard Dawn's voice behind him.

  "You didn't introduce me," she whined. He pitied her. She had, he observed from her tone, already had too much to drink. But he was determined to appease her.

  "Later. I promise." He felt ashamed, wondering if the oversight had been deliberate. He wished she would go away.

  "Really, Albert," she began, but his stern look silenced her.

  "In a moment," he whispered gently, putting a finger to his lips.

  "It wouldn't be the same." Dawn's large eyes became moist, her lids flickering in a gesture of self-pity.

  "Please, Dawn." He hoped she would respond to the appeal. This was hardly the time for a scene. The Baron stood behind his chair at the base of the "T," while Aunt Karla took a chair to his right, aided by Rudi, who moved her chair as she settled. Heather, as the wife of the eldest, sat on the Baron's left, while Siegfried moved to take his seat next to his aunt. It was all carefully structured, the sons and their wives arranged according to their age. Albert was thankful that Dawn was placed in the proper order, beside Rudi and their cousin Adolph, who should provide her with some amusing diversions during the ponderous dinner ahead. It was more ritual than enjoyment. At all first-night reunion dinners there was only one toast with no response, his father's. He watched as Olga found her place at the head of the "T" next to her son. Beside him were the twins, restlessly eyeing the boy with contempt and their own sense of usurpation.