At the Ecole Internationale in Vienna the pupils bent their heads over watercolours. James William Fraser bent his head over the essays he had set them the day before. Marie Corbière looked at him from under her lashes. His thick black hair, inclined to escape all too easily from the frictional prison imposed by the brush, hung over his forehead. She would bet a sou, even a franc, that he was asleep. It was warm in the classroom. She put out a hand to nudge her neighbour.
‘Marie?’ It was a cautionary murmur from her teacher.
He had not lifted his head, his hair was still in his eyes, but he was not asleep. Eleven-year-old Marie blushed. That Monsieur Fraser, he was a martinet by instinct. He could see even when he wasn’t looking. However, he was a quite nice martinet on the whole, a change from Fräulein Coutts who was so fussy with one.
James was a temporary replacement for Fräulein Coutts who, in fright at a persistent cough, was spending some months in a Swiss sanatorium. The principal of the school was Maude Harrison, widow of a British diplomat who had been drowned when his yacht capsized in the Adriatic. Maude, an active and resourceful person, did not want to become a distressed gentlewoman. Using what money she had been left she bought a suitable house in Vienna and turned it into a school for the children of foreigners, particularly the children of diplomats.
She had met James in the middle of nowhere, in a wild valley at the foot of the Austrian Alps last September. She liked to tramp around the mountain valleys, and was inclined to laugh at friends who thought it inadvisable. In her fifties, Maude considered she was long past the stage where she might meet a fate worse than death.
James, an Anglo-Scot, shared sandwiches and fruit with her that day. And conversation. He was an automobile engineer and designer. So was his father, Sir William Fraser, who had been knighted for his services to industry. James had some of his father’s talents and some of his own. He painted moderately in colour, expressively in black and white, he took honours at Edinburgh in French and scraped home with his German. His father thought German would be useful, for as engineers the Germans were as good as any nation and one ought to be able to talk with them.
James accepted the job his father wanted him to have in the Midland works. He told Maude he felt he owed the old boy the gesture of going into the family business. But after a couple of years he decided that although they had their fascination, internal combustion machines constituted the most antisocial device man had ever inflicted on his fellows. He spoke frankly to his father, confessing his growing aversion to the motor car and voicing his doubt about whether it would prove to be the blessing people expected.
‘And to cap it all,’ he finished, ‘I can’t stand the racket.’
‘Good God, Jamie, what are you saying?’ Sir William Fraser, a vigorous and leonine Scot, was warm-hearted but single-minded. He lived and breathed automobiles. ‘That racket,’ he pointed out, listening to the vibrations of a new engine in its test bed, ‘is the most beautiful sound man in his puniness has ever created.’
‘I must be honest, guv’nor,’ said James, ‘it’s just a noise to me.’ He was as tall as his father, but sparer and darker. He lived with a five o’clock shadow.
‘With the greatest of respect to her,’ said Sir William, ‘that comes from your Sassenach mother. She puts her fingers in her ears if a teacup rattles.’
‘Not quite,’ said James, ‘but God bless her for her sensitivity.’
‘Praise the Lord,’ said Sir William fervently. ‘Jamie, are you going to be a disappointment to me?’
‘Knowing you,’ said James, ‘I’m sure you’d rather I was a disappointment to you than to myself. The fact is, guv’nor, you’re a modern and progressive person, and I’m afraid I’m an old-fashioned one.’
‘Oh, aye,’ said Sir William with mild sarcasm. ‘Man, will you throw the Lord’s gifts away? Your eye for design is almost as good as mine. You earn your salary. How can that be a disappointment to you? What is the principle of life? You put something into God’s world, you take something out. That’s more than a principle, that’s as near to happiness as any man or woman can get.’
‘I agree,’ said James, ‘but all the same I thought I’d take the Lord’s other gifts around Europe for a while. My paints and my sketchbook and my eyes.’
‘It doesn’t make too much sense to me,’ said Sir William, ‘and I’m not sure whether it will to your mother, either. I think she’d prefer you to show up with an estimable young lady rather than with ideas about going off to paint the Eiffel Tower. It’s a small point, no doubt, but what d’you expect to live on?’
‘I’ve some money of my own, but if I do run short I thought I could benefit from a generous arrangement with you,’ said James affably. ‘I’m not proud and you’ve never been parsimonious.’
‘D’you know what I was doing at your age?’ said Sir William.
‘Yes, building infernal machines,’ said James, ‘and bringing it all into the house.’
Sir William, in grey waistcoat, black trousers, stiff wing collar and grey tie, looked, as he always did when he was down to his shirtsleeves, as if he were ready for industrial battle on a high but practical plane.
‘Jamie,’ he said crisply, ‘I don’t believe in forcing any young man, especially my own son, to work at something that’s gone sour on him. But I’ll bargain. You take a year off and I’ll no’ argue. I’ll give you that, a year. But if you don’t come back after a year I’ll sue you.’
‘Sue me?’
‘You’re under contract,’ said Sir William.
‘Am I, by God.’
‘You are, by God.’
‘Damn me,’ said James, mildly thunderstruck by the uncompromising nature of parental astuteness.
Maude liked the young man with the dark, almost gypsy look. The Alps soared above them, freezing the sky. Birds floated on still wings and the grandeur of space was beyond imagination. When she told him about her school and that she was starting the forthcoming winter term short of a teacher, James gave it only a second’s thought before offering himself as a temporary replacement. Maude, happy about his French, the language of the school, and his Edinburgh University background, never dilly-dallied herself.
‘I’ll call your bluff,’ she said, ‘I’ll accept you.’
‘No bluff,’ said James, ‘I want to see Vienna, live it, not wander through it.’
He proved a find. He exercised a firm but benevolent masculine authority and the more impressionable girls sometimes brought him flowers and a blush. His salary was not very much. But he lived in a room at the top of the house and enjoyed free and very good board. He explored Vienna during his spare time and carried his sketchbook about.
‘Marie?’
Marie Corbière pinked again. James smiled and beckoned her. She went to his desk. He had her essay in front of him. He had asked them to write three hundred words on a day in their life.
‘M’sieu?’
‘I like your essay, Marie. It’s very natural. A day in your life is a day with your family, yes?’
‘Yes, m’sieu.’ His dark eyes made her shy.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘why did you end with this line?’ He turned the work towards her and pointed. She bent to look and blushed again.
The last line of her essay read, ‘A good archduke is a dead one.’
It intrigued James. It had no connection with the essay proper, which was all about her family and her home. It had made its climactic arrival like a thunderclap at the end of a sunny day. He had felt astonishment. Its inclusion must have a meaning. To Marie at least. But Marie, having observed it and blushed, straightened up and blushed yet again. Perhaps she was aware of other girls watching her reactions to the enquiring smile of the darkly masculine Monsieur Fraser. At any rate, she said nothing.
‘Marie?’ said James questioningly.
‘Yes, m’sieu?’
‘It makes a rather irrelevant ending to a nice day, doesn’t it?’ he smiled.
Marie had rather liked the impressive sound of it herself. She felt Monsieur Fraser did not. He was smiling, yes, but grown-ups often smiled just before they pounced. And some of the older girls confessed that at times his smile quite made them shiver. Marie, who had reached the age of reason, but not the age of discovery, was unacquainted in her mind with the shiver delicious.
She was nervous, therefore, as she said, ‘It’s wrong, m’sieu?’
‘I don’t know. Is it?’ James was aware of her nervousness. It was creating a mental blockage. ‘Well, it’s nothing to worry about, but if you can remember why you put it in you can come and tell me.’
‘Yes, m’sieu,’ she said and gratefully escaped.
He was on the steps when the pupils streamed out at midday. It was Saturday, when there were only morning lessons. Several maidservants and governesses were waiting to collect their respective charges. A girl was at the gate, a girl in the grey cape and black skirt of a nursemaid, a young man with her. Marie emerged on to the steps and smiled shyly at James.
‘Au ’voir, Marie,’ he said.
‘M’sieu,’ she dimpled, and then, ‘Oh, there’s Rosa.’
‘Rosa?’
‘She looks after my small brother and sometimes comes to meet me. And that is Boris.’ She dimpled again. ‘He is walking out with Rosa.’ She skipped away to join the grey-caped nursemaid and the young man, who wore the wide-brimmed black hat and floppy bow tie of the bohemian or musician. The three went off hand in hand.
James buttonholed Maude a few minutes later and showed her the last line of Marie’s essay. Maude read it, then cast a quick eye over the essay itself. She returned to the last line.
‘How very odd,’ she said.
‘I think it was an American politician who was quoted as saying that the only good Red Indians were dead ones. Could Marie have seen that in some book, do you think, and used it in this way? But if so, why? It makes no sense when you try to relate it to the rest of the essay. And she’s French. Archdukes mean nothing to her.’
‘They mean something here,’ said Maude.
‘None of her family would have made such a remark?’
‘Never,’ said Maude. ‘Her father holds an important secretarial position on the staff of the French Embassy. Neither he nor his wife would commit such a blunder, even within the privacy of their own household. A diplomat is as much one by instinct as by training. James, whatever Marie’s reasons for using such a phrase, we mustn’t make a song and dance about it.’
‘I’m intrigued,’ said James, ‘but it’s tightly under my hat, Maude, and will stay there.’
After lunch he borrowed Maude’s deep blue two-wheeler and drove out of the city with his sketchbook. The afternoon was fine, the sky a delicate blue, the Danube a gunmetal glitter. Compact villages nestled in the hills like red-roofed clusters of colour. Several miles out of Vienna he turned off the road to take a winding lane that offered a gentle descent to the bank of the river.
‘Ludwig,’ said Sophie, ‘I think you’d better stop.’
‘Oh, no,’ protested Anne, ‘drive on, Ludwig, this is whizzing adventure.’
The young baronesses were perched in breeze-blown, sun-caught elevation on the high rear seat of Ludwig’s spanking new Bugatti as it ate up the road taking them back to Vienna. Their afternoon of motoring had been exhilarating and carefree up to now, both sisters impressed by the power Ludwig had at his command. But now, for some reason, steam was escaping, issuing in hissing little puffs from under the nobly wrought radiator cap. Sophie, always more sensitive to an atmosphere of approaching crisis than Anne, who would never worry about a leaning wall until it fell down, was sure the spasmodic puffs represented vaporous birds of ill omen. She had a presentiment. Ludwig, apparently, did not. Ludwig, in fact, was whistling cheerfully. But then Ludwig, a pleasant and easy-going young man, had the same tendency as Anne to let life happen and worry not.
‘I’m sure something is wrong,’ said Sophie.
‘What can be wrong with a little steam?’ said Anne. ‘Train engines are always doing it.’
‘Dearest ignoramus,’ said Sophie, ‘this isn’t a train engine. I’m as much for progress as anyone, but I do feel there’s no need for us to roar up every hill as if we were charging into battle. I’m sure we’re overdoing it and that’s why it’s steaming.’ She waited for a moment for Ludwig to make a reassuring comment. He did so.
‘Nothing to worry about, dear girl,’ he said, ‘and we’ve not far to go.’
‘Yes, dear man,’ said Sophie, ‘but I’d still prefer it if we stopped and you investigated the machinery.’
The Bugatti was new. Ludwig had been its proud owner for only two days. He had a manual he could investigate, he had only a vague idea of what was entailed in an investigation of the machinery. Better, with only a few miles to go, to let well alone.
‘I’ll look at it when we get back,’ he said. The wind tugged at his words and tossed them away.
‘Ludwig?’ said Sophie as clearly as she could through her gauzy motoring veil.
‘Don’t worry, dear girl,’ said Ludwig.
‘Whizz on, Ludwig,’ said Anne. She was in stimulated rapture and Ludwig in careless bliss. He sat capped, coated and goggled and upright, dedicated to the marvel of motion. His gloved hands gripped the wheel firmly, his attitude towards the emissions of steam one of cheerful resolution. He refused to be intimidated. Powerful and beautiful though the Bugatti was, it had been built by man to be controlled by man, not to get the better of him. Of course, when they reached Vienna he might perhaps look at the manual. It was not worth stopping now. The road was their guide and companion, the vista delightful and the Danube a broad shining flow through the valley on their right.
The steam hissed more menacingly as they began to climb another gradient.
‘Ludwig, why is it doing that?’ asked Sophie.
‘Doing what?’ called Ludwig.
‘Steaming,’ said Sophie, the ends of her veil fluttering.
‘Ah, that’s it, why?’ said Ludwig cheerfully.
‘Yes, why?’
‘It’s the proud spirit of internal combustion,’ said Ludwig, and the sound of that was a pleasure to his ear. He climbed on maximum revolutions.
‘That sounds like something to do with anarchy,’ said Sophie.
Anne laughed, enjoying the thrill of it as Ludwig took them roaring up the hill. He reached the top with a smile of triumph. The low gear whined and he changed up. He gave the surging engine more throttle and the shining monster of black steel and brilliant brass careered towards a bend.
‘Oh, glorious,’ exclaimed the exhilarated Anne.
‘I do hope so,’ said Sophie.
‘Control, dear girls, that’s the secret,’ said Ludwig.
And he was in perfect control until they rounded the bend and saw a two-wheel carriage beginning to emerge on to the road from a leafy turning on the right.
‘Ludwig!’ Anne put her hands over her veil, hid her eyes and prayed. Admirably but disastrously Ludwig swung the wheel and roared across the road, missing the carriage horse by a whisker and running into a half-submerged boulder in the long grass of the verge. There was a sickening crunch of fender and wheel buffeting stone, a shriek from Anne, a cry from Sophie, and both of them were thrown forward in a heap. Ludwig’s chest hit the steering wheel, robbing him of breath, and the engine died of outrage and shock.
Escaping steam hissed. Ludwig hung his mouth open to suck in air. Anne, on her knees, felt sweet relief at only being shaken and not dead. Sophie, wondering why she was on the floor of the car instead of the seat, had a vague feeling that her support of progress had taken a grievous knock and her presentiment of disaster had been justified. While Ludwig sucked in air the shocked baronesses edged shakily back on to the seat and set their hats straight. The driver of the two-wheeler, having pulled safely on to the verge and soothed his horse, climbed down. Sophie and Anne, a little pale, saw him approach. He was as dark and ferocious as the devil himself, his cursory survey of the immobilized Bugatti anything but sympathetic. His black trousers were tucked into old calf-length boots, his leather belt fastened by a battered brass buckle and his dark green shirt marked by smears of old, dried paint. He was hatless, his black hair unruly and his expression a scowl. Sophie could not conceive him to be other than an unprincipled desperado quite capable of massacring them. Ludwig was helpless, leaning over the wheel, a hand to his chest as he hoarsely tried to recover his wind. Sophie groped for the only weapon to hand, her parasol.
The man, however, did not attack them. He bowed with what Sophie construed as sarcastic deliberation.
‘I trust you are not too gravely injured,’ he said in English.
Ah, thought Sophie, an abominable Englishman. She took a firm grip of her parasol. She said with proud aloofness, ‘Würden Sie das bitte noch einmal sagen?’ Would you say that again, please?
‘Ah,’ said James almost evilly. His temper was a simmering furnace. ‘Sprechen Sie Englisch?’
‘We prefer German,’ said Sophie.
‘Very well,’ said James. He posed his question concerning their well-being in German. Grammatically it was execrable, but it was a necessary courtesy.
‘I really don’t know whether we are injured or not,’ said Sophie, ‘we are still too shocked to search for broken bones at the moment.’
‘I see,’ said James. He turned his attention on the car again and in a mixture of French, German and English damned it for a machine infernal and destructive. Anne blushed and Sophie broke into indignation.
‘How dare you, sir!’ she said in English.
‘How dare I, how dare I? I’ll have you know,’ said James severely, ‘that never have I seen a more baleful attempt to send four people and a horse to perdition.’
‘Oh, goodness, you are cross,’ said Anne.
‘I disagree with you, sir,’ said Sophie defiantly, ‘it was simply the consequence of unavoidable circumstances, and I thought we did very well considering.’
‘Well? Well?’ James regarded the veiled young ladies darkly and launched into heavy sarcasm. ‘You failed miserably, let me tell you. You had every advantage of weight, impetus, fire and fury, yet you killed nobody, not even yourselves. If you could move this miserable mountain of iron, perhaps you’d like to reverse far enough back and try again?’
‘Oh!’ Sophie’s indignation was reborn on a speechless note. Anne, however, grateful that no fatality had occurred, refused to take James seriously.
‘There’s no need to be as cross as that,’ she said from behind her pink veil, ‘you’ll feel sorry later on when you realize you concerned yourself more with our faults than our health. Fortunately, my sister and I are only shaken, but I think you might look at poor Ludwig.’ Ludwig managed to wheeze that he was in fine fettle. ‘There,’ went on Anne sweetly, ‘we are all quite well, but thank you for asking.’
‘Oh, let us count our blessings, by all means,’ said James. He walked around the car, inspecting it. Sophie quivered. The man was outrageous. She raised her folded parasol and bravely pointed it at him.
‘Stand back, sir,’ she said.
Ludwig sat up, breathing hard. James muttered. His acquired suspicion that automobiles were not a benefactory invention was not a total condemnation. But he was intolerant of people who drove them badly. The escaping steam told him the new engine was overheated. The driver had been carelessly exceeding the recommended revolutions.
‘Look at this thing,’ he said, ‘an offence to civilization, an affront to peace and quiet. Is mechanical obscenity all we can offer future generations?’
Anne stifled a giggle. He was an uncompromising brute but he did know a great many German words in keeping with his temper, however deplorable his grammar and funny his accent.
‘I’m not responsible for its invention,’ she said very reasonably.
‘I wish my conscience was as clear as that,’ said James, knowing that while he may not have invented anything he had worked in the industry. He took a look at Ludwig. Ludwig was recovered enough to take his man’s measure.
‘Ah, the driver, I presume?’ said James, sarcastic again.
Sophie saw dark little devil glints in his eyes. He might not be a brigand but he could very well be first cousin to one. Ludwig, suspecting that the damage to his beautiful machine was calamitous, knew he would have to get down and endure the ordeal of finding out. He composed himself for it. He pushed back his goggles, his pleasant countenance a little sorrowful.
‘I am the driver and the owner, sir,’ he said, ‘and I must say this is all very unfortunate. And most distressing to the ladies.’
‘We are quite recovered, thank you, Ludwig,’ said Sophie.
James regarded the ladies. Anne lifted her veil and smiled sweetly, roguishly. Sophie remained gauzily camouflaged. James softened under Anne’s smile.
‘I had no idea anyone would spring their two-wheeler on to the road,’ said Ludwig. ‘I hope you’ll allow that was a little unexpected, sir.’
James was inclined to meet that reasonable argument halfway.
‘I suppose I must take my share of the blame,’ he conceded.
‘There, now we all feel better,’ smiled Anne.
‘For the moment,’ said Sophie, ‘I wish to remain a little aloof.’
‘And the car, I’m afraid,’ said James, ‘is going to remain wounded.’
‘Is it bad?’ sighed Ludwig.
‘You’d better see,’ said James.
‘Courage,’ murmured Ludwig to himself. He alighted. They all alighted. With James they inspected the damage. Ludwig shuddered. The fender was a mess, crushed back against the rim of the wheel, which was sadly buckled.
‘What can be done?’ asked Sophie.
‘I should leave it, if I were you,’ said James, ‘and perhaps in the night it will go away and disappear. Quite the best thing, you know.’
He has the coolest cheek, the ruffian, thought Sophie. She tossed up her chin and pointedly said to Ludwig, ‘What do you think can be done, Ludwig?’
‘I shall consult the manual,’ said Ludwig.
‘If you’ll pardon me for saying so,’ said James, ‘you might as well consult a railway timetable.’
‘One must attempt something,’ said Ludwig.
‘Such as changing the wheel?’ said James.
‘The very thing,’ said Ludwig, bearing no animosity.
‘If we can ease that fender back,’ said James. He resigned himself and added, ‘Would you like some help?’
‘What a good fellow you are,’ said Ludwig.
‘It is only fair, of course,’ said Sophie. She lifted her veil back over her white hat. James looked into very fine but very cool brown eyes.
‘Of course,’ he said.
Ludwig took off his motoring coat, tightened his gloves, bent low, grasped the fender and pulled. It creaked but scarcely moved. He reddened with further effort. James went down on one knee and applied his own muscles. Together he and Ludwig wrenched at the fender. It cracked along the line of worst damage and hung clear of the wheel. Ludwig found the manual and began to leaf through it. James extracted jack and tools from the long box on the running board and set about practical matters. Ludwig recited instructions for jacking the car. James paid no attention. He did what was necessary briskly and efficiently. He loosened the wheel nuts, jacked the car, took off the damaged wheel and fitted the spare. His paint-soiled shirt became car-soiled, his hands turned black. Anne watched in admiration, Sophie with her coolness evaporating. She thought of something. The steam, which was still wispily escaping. She asked James if he could help with that too.
James, sweating, looked up. The young baronesses were colourful and picturesque in the summer light.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘that’s either a fault in the cooling system or a fault in the driver. A new car must be nursed like a baby. It must purr and hum, which it won’t do if it’s driven like a fire engine. When it’s growling and roaring the permitted revolutions are being exceeded.’
‘Oh, you are very knowledgeable,’ said Anne.
‘My relationship with these monsters is a love-hate one,’ said James. ‘I’ve crawled over them, into them, under them, and all for love. Realizing, however, that they’re only going to make the world a noisier place, I’m currently engaged in a hate crusade against them. Would either of you care to join?’
‘Although I’m fascinated,’ said Sophie, ‘I really don’t think I could take it seriously enough.’
‘In forty years time you’ll regret that,’ said James.
‘I think you are joking, aren’t you?’ smiled Anne, her green eyes swimming with the high tide of life and adventure.
James was impressed by both of them. Neither had swooned nor had hysterics. They were both remarkably self-possessed and, it had to be said, engagingly attractive. She of the pink hat, with its cloudy halo of upturned veil perched enchantingly on hair the colour of golden corn, was gloriously young. She of the fine brown eyes, not quite so cool now, was undeniably striking.
‘In my present mood,’ he said, ‘I’m far from joking.’
‘I am not so cheerful myself,’ said Ludwig.
James jacked down. He put the tools away, wiped his hands on a cloth from the box and said, ‘If you’ll switch on, I’ll turn her. If your axle is damaged you’ll have to leave her. If it isn’t you may be able to roll her into Vienna.’
‘Let us see,’ said Ludwig. He climbed in, switched on and James cranked. The engine fired. Ludwig reversed the Bugatti off the verge and straightened up on the road. Then he moved slowly forward. James detected the slightest of wheel wobbles.
‘You’d better follow me into Vienna,’ he said, ‘and if you get there drive straight to your engineers and leave it with them. If you wish, I’ll take the ladies up with me.’
‘It may be safer,’ agreed Ludwig. ‘I’m Lundt-Hausen, the ladies are the Baronesses von Korvacs. Do you care to exchange cards, Herr –?’
‘Fraser,’ said James, ‘James Fraser. I carry no cards, I’m afraid.’ He was not surprised the young ladies were titled. They had the look, the air. He was aware that his old, well-worn clothes must make him seem more of a tramp than a gentleman. That, however, had not made the baronesses turn their noses up at him. Which, considering his initial reactions of anger and disgust, represented a triumph for their well-bred social qualities.
‘Unfortunate, the accident,’ said Ludwig, ‘but you’re a helpful chap, Herr Fraser. You – ah – you are visiting Vienna?’
James smiled and said, ‘You can find me at the Ecole Internationale. I teach there.’
‘You’re a teacher?’ Sophie was agreeably surprised. He looked anything but academic. ‘I wish sometimes I might be as useful as that. To teach is to make a real contribution to life.’
‘Do you think so?’ James seemed amused. ‘You should tell that to the pupils. I feel they consider teachers, teaching and learning all rather boring.’
‘Herr Fraser,’ said Anne, ‘you have really been very kind and I shall be pleased to ride back to Vienna with you.’
‘In that case,’ said Sophie, ‘I shall naturally accompany my sister.’
‘Of course,’ said James.
‘Of course,’ said Ludwig.
‘Dear me,’ said Anne.
They drove to Vienna, Anne and Sophie up with James, Ludwig following with his front offside wheel running very slightly out of true. Anne was natural, friendly. Sophie was curious. She asked James about the school and how he came to be teaching there. He explained that he had left England to travel around Europe for a year, doing a little sketching and painting, and had met Maude Harrison, the principal of the school, in the Tyrol. Sophie and Anne thought his decision to take on the temporary post highly commendable.
‘Oh, I’m doing very well out of it,’ said James, ‘I’m enjoying Vienna.’
When they reached the city, Ludwig left them to drive to the automobile engineers, while Anne gave James instructions on how to reach their house in the Salesianergasse. He handled the two-wheeler skilfully in the traffic. As they turned in through the open gates of the forecourt Sophie saw a motor car standing before the house. Around it were her parents, her brother Carl and a sleek gentleman. Two interested servants hovered in the background.
‘Herr Fraser,’ said Sophie, ‘please will you tell no one we had an accident? It will put my parents against progress for ever.’
‘Baroness,’ said James, ‘allow me to put you both down and to go on my way. I too am against some progress.’ He brought the two-wheeler to a halt on one side of the forecourt. The people around the car looked up.
‘Anne,’ said Sophie, ‘can we allow him to make us look ungrateful?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Anne, ‘the least he can let us do is offer him some refreshment. I’m sure he will not really say anything to Mama.’
James regarded with interest the great, square-fronted house. Carl arrived, a slim tall young man with dark hair and blue eyes. He gave a hand to his sisters as they alighted and looked up at James in some curiosity.
‘I thought you two girls were out with Ludwig,’ he said, ‘but never mind, come and look at the motor car and help me persuade Father we must have it. If you back down I’ll skin you.’
Anne called up to James.
‘Herr Fraser, please get down. I wish to introduce you to my family and to have you take some refreshment.’
‘You must excuse me,’ said James, ‘but I’m really not presentable.’
‘Ridiculous,’ murmured Sophie, getting a little of her own back. It made James smile.
‘Carl,’ said Anne, ‘this is Herr James Fraser. He has been indispensable to us this afternoon and knows absolutely everything about motor cars.’
‘Then he’s just the fellow,’ said Carl. ‘Will you come and tell us what you think of this one, old chap?’
‘I warn you,’ said James, climbing down, ‘I’m much more likely to be frank than helpful.’
‘I can’t deny that,’ said Sophie, ‘Herr Fraser can be very frank. His opinion is that motor cars are monsters.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Carl disbelievingly, then laughed and added, ‘you’ll get on famously with my mother, then.’
The baron and his wife were far too civilized to show the astonishment they felt at the layer of paint, oil and grime anointing James’s garments. Anne took their minds off the worst of it by emphasizing the sterling qualities of his character. She declared him to be the most invaluable of men in the way he had stopped on the road to change a wheel for Ludwig. This might have induced the baroness to ask why a wheel change was necessary, but with so much interest focused on the motor car the salesman had brought for inspection, the moment passed without comment from her.
The model was a Benz of dark green. Ludwig’s Bugatti was new enough, but the Benz was pristine bright and immaculately beautiful. Carl was more than keen for the family to acquire it. At twenty-four he might have made his own decision, but he would rather hear the family express united favour. Also, if the family acquired it his father would pay for it and bear the running costs, which would suit Carl admirably. A fellow had so many other expenses to meet.
Anne was enthusiastic. Sophie was impressed, and although Ludwig’s mishap was still a little black spot in her mind, she hoped, for Carl’s sake, that Herr Fraser would not begin to abuse this gleaming machine of power if his opinion were asked. His expression was just a little threatening, she thought.
Anne’s enthusiasm made the suave salesman feel the day could be a winning one.
‘Papa,’ she said, ‘you simply must let Carl have it. It would set him up as the most popular dasher in Vienna, and he’ll attract all the most eligible girls, which would please Mama no end.’
‘However dashing Carl would look,’ said the baroness, ‘I should hope no young lady would consider that more important than so many other things.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised at what sweeps some of us off our feet these days,’ said Sophie. ‘But I must agree, Mama, it would do very well for Carl. Don’t you think so, Herr Fraser?’
She knew he did not really want to be drawn in, but a little spark of feminine capriciousness, even of curiosity as to his reaction, compelled the question from her.
‘Ah, well,’ said James and coughed politely and got out of it in that way.
But Sophie, her eyes meeting his in sweet challenge, was too intrigued to yield. She wondered if he really would metaphorically strip the proud Benz of its beauty and leave it looking monstrous. She said to her parents, ‘Herr Fraser is simply the most impressive man I’ve ever heard on motor cars, and I’m sure he could tell you Carl could not do better than have this one.’
Carl put an arm around his sister and squeezed her.
‘What is your opinion, then, Herr Fraser?’ asked the baron politely. He knew nothing of automobiles himself.
‘That it’s better for a family to make the decision between them,’ said James, ‘and for outsiders to stay very much on the outside.’
‘Oh, you are funking it,’ murmured Sophie.
‘For myself,’ said the baroness, hoping that if she remained on the scene long enough the thing would go away, ‘I don’t really need to know how marvellous it is, I’m convinced it would always be more of a noise than a miracle.’
‘I’m not going to contradict that,’ said James.
On his left side Anne whispered, ‘But you must, think of Carl.’
Carl, aware of murmurs and counter-murmurs, was inclined to let things take their course. Obviously, his sisters found something rather intriguing about the disreputable-looking stranger. He knew them well enough, however, to be sure that they had not brought home a man who would blow the house up, even if he looked as if he might. The point was, the gathering was wholly about motor cars, and more especially about this Benz. Carl was willing to bet that the gleaming splendour of the model, together with the fact that his sisters were on his side, would win his parents over. They only needed a little push.
‘Excellency,’ said the salesman to the baron, ‘I venture to suggest that if you and your family would care to let me take you for a short excursion, I could demonstrate and explain all the virtues of the model in the most practical way.’
‘But you’d be biased in its favour,’ said Sophie, smiling to let him know she did not hold that against him, ‘and you’d never be as illuminating as Herr Fraser. He is a marvel of candour and expertise.’
‘Are you?’ Carl asked James.
‘I’ve been close to design and development,’ said James modestly. He was not sure whether he should involve himself. An enthusiast like Carl would only want to have his enthusiasm justified. But he was very aware of Anne, her eyes warm with appeal on behalf of Carl, and of Sophie with that mischievous challenge in her smile. They could not have thought much of his bad temper. He did not usually give way to it like that, but he had been violently shocked – as much for them as for himself – by the closeness of the mishap to real disaster. However, it was not a man’s temper people like these considered important, it was his background. They thought him an impecunious, wandering artist temporarily turned teacher, no doubt. He had made various friends in Vienna. He had not entered any aristocratic circles. Nor had he met any young women as striking as these young baronesses. This was a time to sacrifice one’s anonymity. ‘My father,’ he said, ‘is Sir William Fraser of Edinburgh. I expect,’ he added casually, ‘that you may have heard of him.’
Carl had. His blue eyes lit up and saw James in a new light.
‘Sir William Fraser? Of course I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t?’
‘Me,’ said Anne winsomely.
‘I,’ said Sophie, but with a smile for James.
‘Darlings, much as I love you,’ said Carl, ‘you’re not expected to be anything else but ignorant of him. You live in a different world. Sir William Fraser is one of the most respected and inventive designers in the world. My dear man, if I may?’ He reached across the Benz and shook James vigorously by the hand. ‘I congratulate you on your auspicious parentage—’
‘I’m really quite proud of ours,’ said Sophie.
‘Thank you, darling,’ said her mother.
‘That’s not to say we aren’t impressed by yours,’ said Anne to James.
‘I’m more than impressed,’ said Carl. ‘What luck that my sisters found you. Usually they find only the most ghastly people.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Anne.
‘I take it, old chap,’ said Carl, ‘that you know more than a thing or two about roadsters like these?’ He put his hand on the Benz.
‘Herr Fraser,’ said Sophie before James could answer, ‘are you a teacher or not?’
‘I am, temporarily,’ said James, ‘at the Ecole Internationale.’
‘A teacher?’ said the baroness. It was becoming confusing. And more confusing than anything were Herr Fraser’s clothes. They looked as if he had borrowed them from a ruffian.
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘The principal is Maude Harrison, I met her in the Tyrol. She was short of a teacher, so I offered to help out for a while.’
‘Maude Harrison?’ said the baron. ‘I know Frau Harrison, I knew her husband. Very unfortunate. But a remarkably resourceful woman, she runs a most useful establishment. Excellent is the word, I believe.’
‘Papa,’ smiled Anne, ‘now that we know what an exceptionally versatile gentleman Herr Fraser is, I’m sure we can be guided by his opinion on the Benz.’
She too knew that her father only needed a little push, and he was a man who knew when a push came from the right quarter. The salesman only knew he had to be patient as he stood first on one foot, then the other. This would go on for hours, they would all talk their heads off and then suddenly someone would toss a categorical yes or no into the melting pot and that would be it.
‘Do please give us your opinion, Herr Fraser,’ said the baroness, hoping he would be sensitive enough to take hers into account.
‘Let me see,’ said James and decided he might as well show off a little. He began to talk in highly technical terms of the Benz and its motive power. The baron excused himself for a moment. He went into the house and telephoned Maude Harrison. She was touched to hear from him, he had been kind and helpful during her late husband’s tour of duty in Vienna. She told him now all he felt he wanted to know. He returned to the forecourt. James, with the salesman gawping, was expounding in his own mixture of French, English and German on transmission, intake valves, pistons, cylinders, carburation and manifolds. When he emphasized that the ideal manifold should, among other properties, have a low resistance in order to maintain high volumetric efficiency, the salesman quivered and the family looked numbed. Except Carl. Keenly he followed as much of it as he could, although he was left behind on some points. Nobody else understood a word. Only Sophie had the courage to catch James’s eye and to beg for mercy with an expressively rueful look. James, answering her silent appeal, said, ‘That, I feel, is as much as I need say about the technical merits of a motor car such as this.’
The baron, no wiser than before, decided to shift the responsibility of comment on to his wife.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said, ‘now what do you think?’
The baroness was not completely unequal to it.
‘Quite frankly, Ernst,’ she said, ‘I think if any motor car were only half as complicated as Herr Fraser describes, then we should all be mad to even sit in one, let alone ride in it.’
‘No, no,’ said Carl, who had enjoyed every moment of dialogue and discussion, ‘that isn’t quite the way to look at it, my sweet. Our friend James, in describing the essential desirabilities of a sound engine, was relating these to the virtues of the Benz engine.’
Our friend James? Oh, thought Sophie, has that devilish-looking brigand suddenly become a family friend? She laughed to herself, she glanced at James. He was looking very innocent.
Anne said, ‘I must say, Mama, it all sounded terribly impressive.’
‘And nothing like anything he said about Ludwig’s Bugatti,’ observed Sophie. With her veil tipped back over the brim of her hat, her chestnut hair swept upwards, her creamy skin accepted the warm touch of the afternoon sun. Anne’s complexion was fair, the light liquidly reflected in her eyes. Amusement glimmered in Sophie’s eyes, her glance another challenge to James.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but you must remember that when I came up against—’
‘Don’t you dare,’ whispered Sophie.
‘Herr Fraser,’ said the baron, ‘we should like to be guided by you, since you’re the son of the redoubtable Sir William. Will you help us to conclude this matter? Would you tell us whether the Benz is a perfectly safe and reliable automobile?’
‘Safe?’ said James. Anne sensed a compulsive urge for candour quivering on his tongue. ‘Will you please excuse me for a moment?’ he said and went and sat on the step of the two-wheeler.
‘Intriguing chap,’ said Carl.
‘Oh, indeed,’ said Sophie. She looked at Anne. Together they walked across the forecourt to confront James.
‘Herr Fraser,’ said Sophie, ‘I don’t feel we are quite strangers to each other now. Therefore, may I presume on our short but illuminating acquaintanceship to beg that for the moment you abandon your crusade?’
‘We should both like to presume, for Carl’s sake,’ smiled Anne.
‘I’m composing myself,’ said James.
‘We are all quite in love with the Benz,’ said Sophie.
‘Except Mama,’ said Anne. ‘It’s for her that my father asked the question.’
‘And he only asked if the car would be safe,’ said Sophie.
‘Having composed myself,’ said James, rising, ‘let me say that if I were offered the best car there is I’d lock it away to keep it very safe and very quiet. But as far as your brother is concerned, the Benz is a masterpiece of engineering perfection and as reliable as you could wish. If it’s driven with due respect. If I were Carl and not myself, I’d have it, drive it and take great care of it.’
‘Then if you’d care to tell my father that,’ smiled Sophie, ‘you’ll be Carl’s friend for life.’
‘Very well,’ said James.
‘Oh, you are really most agreeable,’ said Anne warmly.
James delivered his opinion. That settled the matter. The salesman looked sleekly happy and the baroness looked resigned. The baron began to discuss details of the purchase.
‘I must be on my way,’ said James.
‘Indeed you must not,’ said Anne, ‘we should not dream of letting you go without giving you the promised refreshment. Should we, Mama?’
‘Of course not,’ said the baroness, conceding defeat with a gracious smile.
James plucked at his shirt to indicate his sartorial unsuitability.
‘Goodness,’ said Anne, ‘we aren’t as stuffy as that.’
‘You’ll find,’ said Sophie, ‘that we are all very nice and ordinary. At least, I am.’
‘Come inside,’ said Carl, delighted by the outcome, and he linked arms with James and took him into the house.
‘When I first saw him,’ murmured Sophie to Anne as they followed on, ‘I thought he was going to murder us all.’
‘It’s all that poetry you write,’ said Anne, ‘it makes you imaginative.’