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Margot went down the stairs to the main room, where Roger and Winifred would be waiting for her.
Roger was standing, as if he knew exactly when she would appear. For a moment, he was speechless, eyes wide.
Margot smiled, then looked at Winifred, who wore a gown in that shade exactly where green turns to blue, of silk, which made it look almost liquid. The two women could not have been more of a contrast. Margot wondered if that had been simply an accident of natural coloring, or if perhaps they were equally different in nature.
Today, Winifred had handed over her only child to the care—or lack thereof—of an immature young man already destined for high office in Hitler’s army. But whatever happened, whether Cecily remained close to her or not, she would still have Roger. Margot had no one on whom to lavish her emotional care. Except, of course, Elena, but that was no substitute.
“You look wonderful,” she said to Winifred.
“Autumn and winter,” Cordell said, and then, as if he thought better of it, quickly added, “The fulfillment of the year.”
Margot smiled widely and caught his eye. “Well rescued, sir,” she said very softly.
His mouth tightened in an instant’s amusement and acknowledgment. “The season when you reap what you have sowed,” he said under his breath.
They went out to the waiting car and were driven through the dusk of the early evening streets, as the lights came on, and stopped at the hotel where the reception and dinner had already begun. This was hosted by Hans’s parents, as the wedding itself had been by Roger and Winifred.
Their arrival caused a slight stir, even in so distinguished a crowd, full of women wearing the latest fashion. Margot guessed that many of the gowns were imported from Paris.
Margot understood that it took more than money to carry off style. One needed a figure, grace, and above all, flair. It would be false modesty to pretend she did not have all of them. This was reinforced when she felt everyone’s eyes on her as she moved forward to meet people, to be charming, to remember that this evening, of all evenings in her life, belonged to Cecily.
Cecily stood beside Hans and waited for Margot to join them. He was in full dress uniform. Whatever Margot thought of Hitler’s soldiers or police, their uniforms were splendid. Hans would never look better. And he was smiling. Cecily wore a shade of rich apricot, which only someone of her vivid coloring could carry off. Margot decided she must try it herself sometime.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Cecily said softly, when she kissed Margot on the cheek. “You made the day for me. The best of the past, with the best of the future.” She touched Hans lightly with her other hand, without turning to look at him.
For a second, there was a shadow in her eyes, then gone again. Had Margot imagined it?
They were greeted by his father, his fair coloring faded, almost nondescript. His mother stood like a wedge of ice in ivory-colored lace, which was no doubt expensive, as were the diamonds at her throat.
“So nice of you to have come, Mrs. Driscoll,” she said with a faint smile. “We have several of your countrymen here. You might know them. Or…perhaps not. Lord Wolstenholm? Lady Wolstenholm is quite charming. Her father was, I believe, something to do with the Foreign Office.”
“Then my father might know him,” Margot replied, wondering if her smile looked as artificial as it felt. “He was ambassador in Berlin for several years.”
Frau Beckendorff’s fair eyebrows rose. “Lord Wolstenholm? Really? How modest of him not to have mentioned it.”
“I’m referring to my father,” Margot corrected her. “But he probably wouldn’t have mentioned it, either.” She deliberately left her expression blank this time.
That seemed to kill the conversation, which prompted Margot to walk away, not needing to pretend interest. She kept smiling as she walked toward Hans. He had moved on and was speaking animatedly with a group of young men in uniforms like his own. They were joined by an older man, far more highly decorated. They treated him with obvious deference. Naturally enough, considering the occasion, most of this man’s remarks were directed at Hans. He nodded and smiled, then continued his conversation with some intensity.
Margot listened, but she caught only snatches, as she was obliged to speak to others. She made a few flattering remarks, expressed interest, and sipped her wine.
“…and a fine future ahead of you,” the man in the senior uniform was saying to Hans.
“I shall do everything I can to serve the Führer, sir, and the Fatherland,” Hans replied.
It was an ordinary enough response, but it was the underlying emotion in his voice that caught Margot’s ear. It was more than a polite reply, more like the fierce reiteration of a vow, an oath of dedication. On his wedding day, it struck a jarring note in Margot’s mind.
The older man was saying something enthusiastic. The others joined in with earnestness.
What did it bother Margot if Hans was speaking to a senior officer in his own chain of command? Of course he would use all the enthusiasm he could. Today, of all days, he must feel as if his whole life were before him and all things were possible.
She moved on again and caught sight of Winifred, who beckoned her over. There were more introductions and polite, optimistic conversations. One of the other women, about Winifred’s age, had a son in the diplomatic service. They spoke of recent postings to Vienna. There were comments on the quality of music, the rich culture he was experiencing.
“Well, after all, the Austrians are our natural cousins,” someone replied.
“More than that. They are Germans, really,” another put in quickly. “They should lose Hungary and come back into a greater Germany. They’d be far better off.”
There was a brief exchange of opinions about that, which Margot was careful not to join. It was an idea she had not heard before. But then, in England she would not have.
