The Ring (3 page)

Walmar von Gotthard nodded and softly closed his door. Behind that door lay his private apartment, a large, stark bedroom furnished in German and English antiques in dark woods; a Persian carpet in deep wines and sea blues blanketed the rich wood floors. The walls of his bedroom were wood paneled, as were those of the study that was his private sanctum just beyond. There was also a large dressing room and his own bathroom. Kassandra's apartment was larger still.

And now, flying through her bedroom door, she tossed her hat onto the pink satin comforter on her bed. Her rooms were as much like her as Walmar's were like him. Everything was soft and smooth, ivory and pink, satin and silk, draped and gentle, and hidden from the world. The curtains were so lavish that they obscured her view of the garden, the room so draped and enclosed that, like her life with Walmar, it hid her from the world beyond. Her dressing room was nearly as large as her bedroom, a solid bank of closets filled with exquisite clothes, an entire wall of custom-made shoes faced by endless rows of pink satin boxes filled with hats. Behind a small French Impressionist painting hid the safe that held her jewels. And beyond the dressing room, a small sitting room with a view of the lake. There was a chaise longue that had been her mother's, and a tiny French lady's desk. There were books she no longer read now, a sketch pad she hadn't touched since March. It was as though she no longer lived here. She only came to life in the arms of Dolff.

Kicking off the ivory kid pumps and hastily unbuttoning the lavender dress, she pulled open the doors of two closets, mentally reviewing what hung inside. But as she stared into the closets' contents, she had to stop, barely able to catch her breath. What was she doing? What had she done? What kind of mad existence had she let herself in for? What hope did she have of ever having a real life with Dolff? She was Walmar's wife forever. She knew it, always had known it, since she had married him at nineteen. He had been forty-eight then, and the marriage had seemed so right. A close associate of her father's, head of her father's sister bank, it had been a merger as much as a marriage. For people like Kassandra and Walmar, that's what made the most sense. They shared a lifestyle, they knew all the same people. Their families had intermarried once or twice before. Everything about the marriage should have worked. It didn't matter if he was so much older, and it wasn't as if he were elderly or half dead. Walmar had always been a dazzling man, and ten years after their marriage he still was. What's more, he understood her. He understood the frail otherworldiness about her, he knew how carefully she had been cloistered and nurtured during her early life. He would protect her from life's coarser moments.

So Kassandra had her life cut out for her, from a pattern well worn by tradition and cut by hands more skilled than her own. All she had to do was what was expected of her and Walmar would cherish and protect her, guard and guide her, and continue to maintain the cocoon that had been spun for her at birth. Kassandra von Gotthard had nothing to fear from Walmar; in fact, she had nothing to fear at all, except perhaps herself. And she knew that now, better than she had ever known it before.

Having torn one tiny hole in the cocoon that protected her, she had fled now, if not in body, then in soul. Yet she still had to come home at night, to play the role, to be who she was meant to be, to be Walmar von Gotthard's wife.

Frau von Gotthard?

Kassandra wheeled nervously as she heard the voice behind her in her dressing room. Oh, Anna ' thank you. I don't need any help.

Fr+nulein Hedwig asked me to tell you Oh, God, it was coming; Kassandra turned away from her, feeling guilt pierce her once again to the core "the children would like to see you before they go to bed.

I'll come upstairs as soon as I'm dressed. Thank you. The tone of her voice told the young woman in the black lace uniform to go. Kassandra knew all the tones to use to perfection; the right intonations and right words were part of her blood. Never rude, never angry, seldom brusque, she was a lady. This was her world. But as the door closed softly behind the maid, Kassandra sank to a chair in her dressing room with tears brimming in her eyes. She felt helpless, broken, pulled. This was the world of her duties, the existence she had been bred to. And it was precisely what she ran away from each day when she went to meet Dolff.

Walmar was her family now. Walmar and the children. She had no one to turn to. Her father was dead now. And her mother, gone two years after her father, had she been this lonely too? There was no one to ask, and no one she knew who would have told her the truth.

From the start she and Walmar had maintained a respectful distance. Walmar had suggested separate bedrooms. There were little evenings in her boudoir, champagne chilled in silver coolers, which eventually led them to bed, though very seldom since the birth of their last child, when Kassandra had been twenty-four. The child had been born by Cesarean section and she had almost died. Walmar was concerned about what another pregnancy could do to her, as was she. The champagne had cooled less and less often after that. And since March there had been no evenings in her boudoir at all. Walmar asked no questions. It had taken little to make herself understood, the mention of several trips to the doctor, a mention of an ache, a pain, a headache; she retired early to her bedroom every night. It was all right, Walmar understood it. But in truth, when Kassandra came back to this house, to his house, to her bedroom, she knew that it wasn't all right at all. What would she do now? Was this what life had promised? Was she to go on Just like this, indefinitely? Probably. Until Dolff tired of the game. Because he would, he'd have to. Kassandra knew it already, even if Dolff did not And then what? Another? And another? Or no one at all? As she stood staring bleakly into her mirror, she wasn't sure anymore. The woman who had been certain in the house in Charlottenburg that afternoon was no longer quite as poised. She knew only that she was a woman who had betrayed her husband and her way of life.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and went back to her closet. It didn't matter what she felt now, she had to dress. The least she could do for him was look decent at his dinner. The guests were all fellow bankers and their wives. She was always the youngest at any gathering, but she carried herself well.

For an instant Kassandra wanted to slam the door to her closet and run upstairs, to be with the children the miracles hidden from her on the third floor. The children playing at the lake at Charlottenburg always reminded her of them, and it always pained her to realize that she knew her own children as little as she knew those tiny laughing strangers at the lake. Fr+nulein Hedwig was their mother now. She always had been and always would be. Kassandra felt like a stranger with the little boy and girl, who both looked so much like Walmar and so little like her' Don't be absurd, Kassandra. You can't take care of her yourself.

But I want to. She had looked at Walmar sadly the day after Ariana was born. She's mine.

She's not yours, she's ours. He had smiled at her gently as tears filled her eyes. What do you want to do, stay up all night and change diapers? You'd be exhausted in two days. It's unheard of, it's ' nonsense. For a moment he had looked annoyed. But it wasn't nonsense. It was what she wanted, and she knew also that it was what she would never be allowed to do.

The nurse had arrived on die day they left the hospital and whisked the baby Ariana to the third floor. That night, when Kassandra had walked upstairs to see her, she had been admonished by Fr+nulein for disturbing the baby. The infant was to be brought to her, Walmar insisted; there was no reason for Kassandra to go upstairs. But her little girl was brought to her only once in the morning, and when Kassandra appeared in the nursery later, she was always told it was too early or too late, the baby was sleeping, fussing, cranky, unhappy. And Kassandra would be sent away to languish in her room. Wait until the child is older, Walmar told her, then you can play with her anytime you want. But by then it was too late. Kassandra and the child were strangers. The nurse had won. And when the second child came three years later, Kassandra was too sick to put up a fight. Four weeks in the hospital, and another four weeks in bed at home. Four more months of an overwhelming sense of depression. And when it was over, she knew it was a battle she would never win. Her assistance wasn't needed, her help, or her love, or her time. She was a pretty lady who would come to visit, wearing pretty clothes and smelling of wonderful French perfume. She would sneak them cakes and candy, spend fortunes on exotic toys, but what they needed from her she was not allowed to give them, and what she wanted from them in return they had long since bestowed upon the nurse.

The tears having subsided, Kassandra pulled herself together, took her dress from the closet, and crossed the room to find a pair of black suede shoes. She had nine pairs of them for evening but she chose the ones she had acquired most recently, with pear-shaped openings over the toes, leaving her brightly polished nails visible. Her silk stockings made a whispering sound as she took them from their satin box and changed from the ivory-colored stockings she had worn earlier. She was grateful suddenly that she'd taken the time to bathe at Dolff's. Now as she stood there, sliding carefully into the black dress, it seemed incredible that she existed in Dolff's world at all. The house in Charlottenburg seemed like a distant dream. This was her reality. The world of Walmar von Gotthard. She was irretrievably and undeniably his wife.

She zipped herself into the dress, which was a long, narrow sheath of black wool crepe with long arms and high neck, stopping just short of the black suede shoes. It was striking and somber, and only when she turned around was its full beauty and her own revealed. A large oval opening, like a giant teardrop, revealed her back from neck to waist; her ivory skin glimmered in the opening, like moonlight reflected on a black ocean on a summer night.

Putting a short silk cape over her shoulders to protect the dress, she carefully combed her hair and swept it off her neck, piercing the neat twist she created with long black coral pins. Satisfied with the effect she had created, she wiped the mascara from beneath each eye and redid her face, took one last look in the mirror, and fastened a large pear-shaped diamond to each ear. On her hands were the large emerald she often wore in the evening and the diamond signet ring she always wore on her right hand. The ring had graced the hands of women in her family for four generations. It bore the initials of her great-grandmother in diamonds and glimmered as it caught the light.

With a last glance over her shoulder she knew that she looked as always, striking, lovely, tranquil. No one would have dreamed that underneath there was torment. No one would have guessed that she had spent the afternoon in the aims of Dolff.

In the long, quiet gray hallway, she paused for only an instant at the foot of the stairs leading up to the third floor. A clock in the corner somberly chimed the hour. She was actually on time. It was seven o'clock, and the guests were expected at seven thirty. She had half an hour to spend with Ariana and Gerhard before they went to bed. Thirty minutes of motherhood. She wondered, as she climbed the stairs to see them, how much that would add up to in their lifetimes. How many thirty minutes multiplied by how many days? But had she seen her own mother more often? She knew, as she reached the last step on the stairway, that she had not. And that what she had that was most vivid and tangible was the signet ring, which had always been on her mother's hand.

At the door to their large playroom she paused for a moment and knocked. There was no answer, but she could hear squeals and laughter beyond. They would have eaten hours before, and by now they would have had their baths. Fr+nulein Hedwig would have made them put their toys away, and the nursery maid would have assisted them in this monumental task. But at least they were back now for most of the summer they had been in the country, and Kassandra hadn't seen them at all. This year, for the first time, Kassandra had not wanted to leave Berlin, because of Dolff. A convenient charity had provided her with the desperately sought excuse.

She knocked again, and this time they heard her, Fr+nulein Hedwig bid her come in. As she entered, there was sudden silence, the children startled from their playing with a look of awe. Of all of it, it was that that Kassandra most hated. The look they gave her, always as though they had never seen her there before.

Hello, everybody. Kassandra smiled and held out her arms. For an instant no one moved, and then, at Fr+nulein Hedwig's prodding, Gerhard came first. He only needed a moment's urging, and then would fly unharnessed to her arms. But Fr+nulein Hedwig's voice was quick to stop him.

Gerhard, don't touch! Your mother is dressed for the party.

That's all right. Her open arms never wavered, but the child backed off to just beyond her grasp.

Hello, Mummy. His eyes were wide and blue like hers, but the face was Walmar's. He had lovely perfect features, a happy smile, blond hair, and still the chubby body of a baby, despite his now almost five years. I hurt my arm today. He showed her, still not having arrived in hers. She reached out to him gently.

Let me see it. And then, Oh, that looks awful. Did it hurt a lot? It was a small scrape and a smaller bruise, but to him it was important, as he looked from the injured arm to the woman in the black dress.

Yes. He nodded. But I didn't cry.

That was very brave of you.

I know. He looked pleased with himself and then bounded away from her to collect a toy he had forgotten in another room, which left Kassandra alone with Ariana, who was still smiling shyly at her from Fr+nulein Hedwig's side.

Don't I get a kiss today, Ariana? The child nodded and then approached, hesitant, elflike, with delicate looks that promised to outshine even her mother's. How are you?

Fine, thank you, Mummy.

No bruises, no cuts, nothing for me to kiss? She shook her head and they exchanged a smile. Gerhard made them both laugh sometimes. He was so much a little boy. But Ariana had always been different. Pensive, quiet, much shier than her brother. Kassandra often wondered if it would have been different if there had never been a nurse. What did you do today?