Felix led Julian and Charlotte across the grounds of the Von Bredow estate toward the stables, stopping briefly at the newly erected monument under which Hans had been buried. It was a bronze sculpture of a headless horseman, his muscular torso riding a raging stallion as if into battle. The horse’s saddle was draped with the Von Bredow coat of arms, representing Hans the Great Warrior, defender of the schloss.
Felix gauged Julian’s reaction. “Well, what do you think?”
Julian cleared his throat. “Where is the damn head?”
“I asked myself the same thing, but then remembered that Hans— may he rest in peace—never had a brain. So why bother with a head.”
Julian could not help but laugh with Felix. The release felt surprisingly good and nostalgic. For a moment he forgot where he was and why he was there and that he and Felix were no longer friends. As they walked toward the stables, even Felix’s confident strut, a light, loose swagger that Julian had seen countless times on their way to Café de Flore, was reminiscent of the old Felix.
“Since neither of you ride,” Felix said, turning to Julian, “Charlotte will ride with me and you will try out our beginner’s horse.” Before Julian could respond, Felix took Charlotte’s hand and pulled her toward him. He tickled her playfully along her forearm. It was a silly gesture, but she looked at him and blushed. At that moment, Julian remembered exactly why he was there.
Unlocking the first stall, Felix gestured toward Julian’s horse. She was camel colored with a creamy mane. Beautiful, but probably a killer, Julian thought, like the rest of the Von Bredows.
Felix helped Charlotte mount his horse and then mounted himself. The stable boy assisted Julian, who was still distracted by Charlotte’s blush. It had seemed a little too genuine.
“We are having a picnic, and then I have a surprise!” Felix shouted excitedly as he galloped past Julian with Charlotte clinging to his waist. Her long blonde hair flowed with the horse’s mane. The pair looked like a fairy tale gone awry: the princess taking off with the rogue while the prince rotted in jail.
The trio rode for about twenty minutes around the estate. Once Julian got the rhythm down, he found himself enjoying the ride. Felix stopped under a large lemon tree and dismounted with the kind of pedigreed flair that Julian knew, no matter how long he practiced, he himself would never have.
Felix lifted Charlotte off the saddle, and she slid against him as he gently set her down. She arched her back and pressed her breasts into his chest. Felix seized the picnic basket attached to his saddle and opened it. Five corks peeked out from the top, as well as a blanket. There was no food inside. He winked at Julian. “My kind of picnic.”
“So, what’s the big surprise?” Julian asked after he had dismounted.
“It has been a long, hard week. Why not indulge in the moment?” Felix opened two bottles.
Julian stood in front of Felix with crossed arms, letting the nostalgia fall away. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Felix. I don’t quite feel like indulging after Ernst Engel’s death and René’s disappearance. And I cannot imagine that Charlotte is feeling festive.”
Felix glanced at Charlotte, but she turned her head, pretending to be busy straightening the edges of the picnic blanket.
“Drink with me.” Felix gestured Julian to the blanket with a wave of the bottle. “Sit, relax, then we’ll talk.”
“I don’t feel like sitting,” Julian said, digging his foot into the grass, “especially when I am told to.”
“Have it your way.” Felix sat down, stretching out his long legs in front of him.
Julian hovered over him. “Where is René, damn it?”
Felix looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “You meant to ask, what has René done? I presume Charlotte has informed you that the authorities are investigating René, who has been accused of murdering Engel.”
“Murdering Engel?” Julian spat in the grass. “What happened to calling it a suicide? Your people can’t seem to get it straight. What a joke.”
Charlotte cast Julian a scolding look that urged him to be quiet and let Felix talk. They both knew what happened to Felix’s inhibitions when he drank.
“I’m no monster, Julian,” Felix said. “I am doing everything I can to help René.”
Like hell you are.
Felix sounded almost believably troubled. “But this murder charge has made any kind of release extremely difficult.”
Julian wanted to strangle him. He couldn’t play this game anymore. “Where is he, damn it?”
Felix drank his wine, staring up at Julian over the rim of the bottle. “First things first. We want you to go to Paris and bring Jacob Levi back here.”
Charlotte and Julian looked at each other in alarm. Julian leaned forward. His body felt elastic, as if he were losing control, but he managed to sound firm. “We, Felix? Why do we need me to go to Paris, and why do we need Jacob Levi to be brought to Germany?”
Felix glanced down at his hands, at his immaculate nails. Julian recalled when they had once been stained with paint. “It’s simple, actually. They want Jacob to select from thousands of paintings—the best of Germany’s modern art—for a series of upcoming exhibitions,” Felix said, as if he were an art curator and not a murderer of art.
Julian glared at him. “Don’t patronize me, Felix. Surely there are enough experts here. You certainly don’t need Jacob for that. You expect him to come here and decide which art is worthy of Nazi appreciation while his son’s life is in jeopardy?”
Felix took off his shirt, lay back, and bunched it under his head. His manner was disturbingly relaxed as he stared up at the sky. His voice was cold and steady. “You need to tell Jacob that if he wants to see René alive, he had better come to Germany without alerting anyone. People here are willing to cut a deal—his son for his expertise. I volunteered you.”
“Your volunteered me?” Julian laughed. Did Felix really think he was falling for this? “Is this another one of your tests, Felix?”
Felix sat up on his elbows, his legs still crossed comfortably, as if they were discussing where they were going for drinks later. “Look, Julian, this will buy us time. It will keep René alive.”
You are lying to my face.
Julian knew he had to be careful. One wrong move could mean René’s life, but he couldn’t hold back. “So, what’s the catch, Felix? Are you and your father’s friends trying to put us all away in one shot, and throwing in Jacob Levi for a bonus?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They want Jacob Levi to choose the artwork. Everyone here knows he is the best,” Felix said slowly, the words tumbling effortlessly out of his mouth. “I volunteered you to bring him here, because Jacob knows you are René’s friend. He will trust you.”
“He also thinks you are René’s friend,” Julian countered. “Why don’t you go?”
Felix gnawed his bottom lip and shook his head. “That would be impossible right now. I am not asking you to lie. I want you to tell Jacob the truth—that René is being held for murder, and that his expertise is in demand. If Jacob does what the authorities want, then René has a good chance of being set free. But if Jacob alerts the French government or his influential friends, it could mean René’s life. The situation is fragile. He will understand. You will tell him exactly that.” Felix leaned back on the blanket with his hands folded behind his head. “And, of course, you will return with Jacob.”
Julian could barely look at Felix lounging without a care in the world, like those mothers strolling along the Tiergarten with their children. All of this was a charade. Felix wanted to keep him at close range, but why? He searched Felix’s face for answers and found nothing. This was surely another trap.
“This is what I have been told they want,” Felix continued, as if reading Julian’s mind. “I’m just the messenger.”
Julian wished he could shoot the messenger. “Tell me, Felix,” Julian asked, barely able to control himself. “How can you be René’s best friend one day, then want him dead the next? Why? Because he lied to you about Charlotte?”
“You lied too, damn it.” Felix clenched his fists. “But that doesn’t mean I want René dead.”
“You’ve gone too far. And it doesn’t look like you are suffering with René out of the picture.” Julian gestured toward Charlotte. “Was that the plan all along?”
“Don’t talk about me like I am not here,” Charlotte shot back. Julian was not sure if she was acting or was truly hurt.
Felix pointed the wine bottle at Julian. “You double-cross me every chance you get. Once again, you have chosen René over me.”
“What are you, a child? ‘Chosen René over me,’” Julian mimicked. “Damn you, Felix. René’s life is hanging here by a thread. I was there, Felix. So was Charlotte. Don’t act like we all didn’t see what happened at Johann Finch’s gallery. My question is why? Because René won Charlotte? And Adrienne? Because Dubois, that bastard, admired his work, not yours? Because Engel thought René was a genius?” Julian knew there was no holding back now. He was shouting. “Is that what’s consuming you? Playing second to René? Is René rotting in jail because of your goddamn jealousy?”
Felix stood, throwing down his bottle. “Shut the fuck up! I’m warning you, Julian.”
Felix was drunk now. Julian could tell by the way his saliva rolled out the corner of his mouth.
“Warning me?” Julian exploded. “You don’t think I see what’s going on here? By the way, I can paint too. Engel apparently admired my work. Why don’t you put me in jail and frame me for murder while you’re at it?”
“You will regret this,” Felix shot back unsteadily.
Keep going, Julian told himself. You are breaking him. “But it is not too late, Felix. You don’t have to do this. Free René, and free yourself. You can paint again. You don’t have to be this monster, like your father. It’s not you. It never was you.”
Felix’s face dropped. He was having trouble hiding his emotions. There were tears in his eyes, and Julian thought he had finally gotten to him.
“It is beyond my control, Julian. Can’t you see that?”
Julian eyed him squarely. “Felix, it is all in your control.”
“I wish it was that simple.” He wiped his lips with his shirtsleeve. “Charlotte, pass over that last bottle. I have had enough of this.”
Julian took a deep breath. “Get René out of jail, Felix, and you will never have to see any of us again.”
“Go to Paris, Julian.” Felix’s voice had resumed its coolness, and his eyes had dried up. “My father and his colleagues want Jacob’s expertise for René’s freedom—that’s the deal, goddamn it. Take it or leave it.”
Julian stared at him. He knew how Felix and his father’s men operated. If he went to Paris and dragged Jacob back, the odds that they would cut a fair deal—or any deal—were slim to none. But if, in fact, there was some truth in all of this, he had to give Jacob the choice. He could not make that decision for René’s father.
Felix cleared his throat. “I have already taken the liberty of making arrangements.”
Julian said nothing, weighing his options, the possible outcomes. Everything seemed bleak. Bring Jacob, or don’t bring Jacob. Return to Germany, or escape to another country. René was a dead man either way, but could he live with himself if he didn’t do everything possible to try to save his friend’s life?
Felix turned to Charlotte, who was sitting quietly watching both of them. “I apologize,” he said to her. “We have virtually ignored you.”
She pouted. “You have.”
“Well, maybe you will forgive me when I tell you about my surprise. Joseph Goebbels has commissioned Friedrich Fricke to paint a portrait of a woman. Not just any woman, but someone whose beauty is perfect. Her image will hang in the Reichstag foyer.” Felix’s navy gaze became milky. The change in him was sudden. “I suggested you, Charlotte. Fricke saw you at the funeral. And he was all for it. It has been approved. You have been chosen as the model.”
Charlotte sat up on her knees. “I can’t believe it. That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.
She would be with Friedrich Fricke day and night—the ideal insider’s pose, Julian thought. Yet another man Charlotte could use to extract information from between the sheets—her expertise. He looked away. After the afternoon’s all-too-genuine performance, he did not know who or what to believe. He thought of the blush, and the way Charlotte had pressed her body against Felix. It was real. He decided she was not to be trusted after all, as he’d suspected the first time she’d entered Dubois’s studio. He eyed her, then Felix, and knew that René’s survival was entirely up to him.