Barbara Taylor Bradford’s 4-Book Collection. Barbara Taylor Bradford

passed the glasses around and sat down. Victor joined her on the sofa, and they all raised their glasses as Christian said, ‘Prosit.’

      ‘Prosit!’ Victor and Francesca reiterated in unison.

      ‘I’m sorry Diana is delayed. Some problem with her boutique in Munich,’ Christian remarked, resorting to a white lie in order to avoid a long explanation about his mother. He took a sip of champagne, smiled broadly and continued, ‘But she’s pretty good at sorting things out, and I don’t suppose she’ll be very long. You must be hungry after your trip. Bertha made some Swedish meatballs. They’re delicious. Please, do help yourself.’

      ‘I think I will.’ Victor half rose.

      ‘I’ll serve you,’ Francesca said, and was across the room in a flash. ‘Can I get some for you too, Christian?’ she asked as she spooned meatballs onto a glass plate.

      ‘Not at the moment, thank you.’ He pushed his chair closer to the coffee table, bent forward and took a cigarette from the silver box. After lighting it, he said to Victor, ‘It’s simply marvellous for us to have guests at this time of year. It’s generally very quiet. After the onslaught at Christmas, we don’t have many friends visiting us again until the summer. They like to come for the Salzburg Festival. The music’s the attraction, of course.’

      ‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Victor. ‘And I understand the festival’s the whole enchilada.’

      Christian looked at Victor in puzzlement. ‘The whole enchilada?’

      Francesca, returning with the plate of food, grinned and said, ‘That’s Victor’s favourite expression. It’s very Californian, and it means the whole works, Christian.’ She put the plate in front of Victor, glanced at him under her lashes, and remarked, ‘You promised to explain its derivation, and you never did.’

      ‘Sorry. An enchilada’s a corn tortilla, a Mexican flat bread, something like a pancake. It’s filled with a variety of things, chopped beef, cheese, vegetables, then rolled and served with any one of a number of sauces. It’s sort of …’

      He stopped, grinned back at her, and finished, ‘Well, it’s the whole works.’

      ‘Also rather colourful,’ Christian pronounced, obviously amused. ‘I think I might adopt it myself.’

      ‘Adopt what?’ Diana asked from the doorway.

      Christian swung his head, and repeated everything Victor had said whilst she poured herself a glass of champagne. Munching on a meatball, Victor scrutinized them, very much intrigued by this brother and sister. Not unnaturally he was riddled with curiosity, and it was a curiosity that ran on a variety of levels. Innumerable questions about the von Wittingens, those both present and absent, floated around in his head. Perhaps Francesca would enlighten him later. Apparently she had been on the verge of explaining Christian’s disability when Manfred had arrived with the champagne, cutting her short. He glanced at the young prince surreptitiously. Christian looked extremely healthy, despite his confinement to the chair, and there was a certain vitality about him. Victor recognized immediately that this was not so much physical as mental, had more to do with his state of mind and his personality than his bodily well being. Victor detected a forcefulness in him, just below the level of the gentleness.

      Diana joined them, seated herself on the hearth, looked across at Victor and said, ‘Can one use that expression, the whole enchilada, to describe people, or houses, for instance? I mean could one say that Wittingenhof was the whole enchilada?’

      There was a hint of laughter in her voice and a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Victor was not sure if she was teasing him or not, but he decided to treat her question seriously. ‘Surely you could. And incidentally, it is, at least what I’ve seen of it so far.’

      ‘Why thank you, Victor. That’s nice of you. We love it. We’ve been very happy here, haven’t we, Christian?’

      ‘Yes, we have, darling.’

      ‘Francesca told me the house wasn’t used for many years. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to close this place up. Not permanently. Didn’t your parents even bring you here when you were children?’ Victor asked Diana.

      She did not respond. Like Christian, she was reluctant to open up areas of conversation that were complex, often painful, and which also required long explanations. She had learned it was far better to avoid them when she could, without appearing rude.

      Always attuned to others, Victor instantly sensed an awkwardness, and he wondered why his innocent remarks had caused this strange silence. He looked at Diana sharply, saw a faint flicker of distress cross her face, and then quite suddenly she smiled and shook her head.

      Lighting a cigarette, she remarked, ‘No, they didn’t bring us here. Ever. In fact, they never came themselves. My father wasn’t very keen on Bavaria.’ There was a slight hesitation in Diana. She had surprised herself by saying as much as she had. It was Victor of course. There was something in him that made her feel relaxed, a trait in his personality that encouraged confidences. His eyes held hers, and she saw the questions, the bafflement on his face. Almost against her own volition, she found herself volunteering, ‘Bavaria was a hotbed of politics in the twenties and thirties. The wrong politics as far as my father was concerned –’ She halted when Christian coughed, not sure she ought to continue, looking at him uncertainly, wondering if he disapproved.

      Apparently he did not, for he spoke up himself. ‘Our father was an anti-Fascist, Victor, and he had many adversaries here. Hitler’s nasty little band of gangsters was pretty well entrenched in Munich, you know.’ Christian leaned forward, his face quickening, his dark eyes darkening to coal black and becoming intent. ‘Then again, lots of other Right Wing organizations had made their headquarters here, fanatics incensed about the Versailles Treaty, and God knows what else. There were also the Bavarian monarchists champing at the bit, wanting to have an independent state and their own king back, if you can believe that one! In any event, the whole area was dangerous for a man like my father. You see, he did not merely pay lip service to his beliefs, but was an active opponent of all those who were determined to destroy the Republic. He wanted democracy for Germany, not dictatorship, and he committed his energy, his time and his fortune to fight the destructive forces tearing the country apart.’

      Christian shifted slightly in the wheelchair, and proceeded: ‘Naturally, it was better if he stayed away from here, safer for him in Berlin, or at our other Schloss, just outside Berlin. That’s why Wittingenhof remained closed, you see, was unoccupied for years, except for the caretakers.’

      ‘Very valid reasons, too,’ Victor said. He had not been mistaken about that remarkable face in the dated photograph. What he had spotted in those burning eyes was the fervour of the dedicated idealist. He could not help adding, ‘And what does a house mean, when your life is at stake. You father sounds like an extraordinary man, Christian, a man of great integrity and honour. I hope I get the opportunity to meet him one –’ Francesca caught Victor’s eye and the look now washing over her face prevented him from saying another word. Instinctively he knew he was on dangerous ground, that he had somehow blundered. There was an uncomfortable hush.

      It was broken by Christian, who said calmly, ‘There are few men in this world like my father, Victor, men who recognize evil where others do not, who fight it all their lives and with every fibre of their being.’ He smiled gently. ‘But perhaps now is the wrong time to get involved in this particular kind of discussion.’ The smile became dismissive, but it was also friendly. ‘To continue the story of the house. After the war, we decided to move back to Bavaria, mainly because we had nowhere else to go. Our house in Berlin was flattened to the ground, and the area outside the city, where the Schloss was located, had suddenly become part of the East Zone controlled by the Russians. Our grandmother had inherited a house in Munich from her brother, and she knew the only solution to the family’s predicament was to open it up. We lived with her for several years or so, and then Diana came to the conclusion that Wittingenhof would be wonderful for my health – the mountain air and all that.’ He gave Victor a sly grin, chuckled. ‘We also wanted to escape Grandmama,