“Shay…”
The single utterance felt like a cold finger through the wound in Shay’s shoulder, and a part of him feared, or resented what Vera was about to say. He didn’t want to forgive her, to hear her build that bridge that would set things back where they were. He wanted to be cold and resentful, to hold onto the sense that she made her opinions of him clear when she cast him aside with all the others in a fit of rage, something that could happen again and again, only to be lost in a haze of opium to forget why she was upset to begin with. It was volatile, it was toxic, and Shay hated it.
When her hand touched his, he wanted to recoil, to pull away, but his resolve was weakening. It was the first sign that the Vera he’d fallen for was still there, and no just a convenient lie. And then the dreaded words came, the one that may change everything.
“I still love you.”
Shay pulled his hand away, folding it into his other hand as he stared straight ahead, his expression tired. He did not have the resolve to change things, not now. Not on this day. He did not speak for several moments, breathing in and out in equally measured increments, much like when he was behind a rifle and about to take a mark. “If you say so, Miss Vera.” Was all he said, thinking, Your actions were the second shot that found my soul.
His gaze turned back to the snowy fields that rushed past, homesteads and farms with pristine and untouched fields of while that begot a sense of serenity that Shay simply did not feel. He was cold, and he did not wish to be playing pretend with a rich couple of Jerry sods that probably found a way to profit from the deaths of their countrymen. Shay found a resolve inside himself then, at least. What he’d take from them was reparation for them missing out on the war on account of entirely too much money that so many others desperately needed. What they’d lose would fetch a fair price, and be a minor inconvenience to their sort. The world was an unfair place, and not for the first time, Shay wondered if God actually gave a single shit about any of them.
~ ~ ~
Eventually, the house came into view, a mansion of such scale it might have been mistaken for a high end hotel or apartment complex that could house a couple dozen families, easily.
Sam spoke up, bringing their minds on the task at hand, going over their identities and areas of expertise, as if he weren’t the one who spent days preparing for this. Shay had gone over numerous books he’d afforded on Monet, as well as van Gogh and Paul Rubens, just so he’d have some other artists to fall back on to disguise the fact he tried to digest as much as he could on a single painter to seem knowledgeable enough to pass some sort of exam. Likewise, he’d found what he could on Egyptian relics and curiosities, and found that apparently Britain had quite a fetish for Egyptian artifacts; it was not hard at all.
And say, Shay simply replied, “We’d gone over this enough times that we can convince anyone we’re Conway and Abigale. We’ll get the job done, Mr. Rivers.” He said with sarcastic emphasis.
The Peugeot rolled up to the estate, and Sam managed to get them through with a ridiculous Cockney accent that got them through the gate. Following the gatekeeper’s directions, Sam pulled them up to the steps, and the scale of the building was becoming more and more evident; it felt monolithic to consider it was only the von Goethes who lived here, and their servants. Once parked, Sam first departed the vehicle to open the door for Shay, who then in turn walked around with Sam to take Vera’s hand as Sam held the door to help her from the vehicle. The pavement and subsequent steps were cleared of snow, evidence of the hard working labours of the landscaping staff. Bidding a quiet farewell to Sam, Shay and Vera walked up the steps where the doors were opened by another attendant as they approached, evidentally tipped off at their arrival.
Crossing the portal, an offer to take their coats was extended by the attendant, who disappeared after informing them that Herr von Goethe and the lady would be arriving shortly to greet them. The momentary quiet was the first time Shay and Vera had alone in several days, and Shay took in the grand opulence of the place. It was hard to imagine someone living here, instead of this being Buckingham Palace or some museum. Several paintings and artifacts were on display here and there, likely the less expensive decorative pieces that they would not miss should some ill-intended character break in and take some target of opportunity. The real treasures were deeper within, Shay decided.
There was still a gulf between Vera and himself, which he knew he had to mend somehow. He sighed, deciding to break the ice. “I appreciate to know that you still feel that way, Vera, I truly do. I’m not sure what I should feel now, but let’s put on a good show for our hosts, aye?” he said quietly, taking his eyes off of the exquisite decorum to look at Vera. “But I don’t regret taking that shot for you. I’d do it again, if I had to. I just think you should know that lumping me in with the other lads when Sam riled you up tarnished my heart.” He caught sight of the German aristocrat and his wife rounding the corner at this time, dressed splendidly in a tuxedo with a bow tie while Frau Goethe wore a striking black dress with a minx fur cowl about her shoulders.
“Well talk about it later. Show time.” He said quietly to Vera as Herr Goethe approached, hand extended. Shay shook his hand warmly, cupping his left hand over the older gentleman’s in a familiar gesture.
“Conway, Abigale, welcome to our home.” Herr von Goethe said with a warm smile, before taking ‘Abigale’s’ hand and kissing her knuckles. “A pleasure, please, come in, may I offer a refreshment?” he asked them both.
“Pleasure is ours, Herr Goethe.” ‘Conway’ smiled. “And far be it from me to turn down such a generous offer. I’ll defer to your judgement. He said, waiting until Vera had her say.
“Ah, splendid. And please, you’re in my home, call me Albert.” Von Goethe said.
“Frau Goethe is acceptable to me,” the lady interjected, her voice cold enough to belong to a reptile. Shay simply smiled in acknowledgement before Albert returned them on track, “Come now, let’s have a seat in our great hall. I’m sure both of you could use a bit of relaxation after such a long drive in this taxing weather.” He said, leading them down a hallway to the left, where a few paintings were illuminated from beneath by mounted brass floor lamps. One such painting Shay recognized caught his eye.
“The Starry Night over the Rhone,” Shay said, stopping to admire the piece. “Is this an original?” he asked, pleased he was able to pick it up so quickly.
Luckily, Albert was good natured. “I’m afraid not, a very convincing replication I had purchased for a fraction of the real price by an artist in Amsterdam that studied Van Gogh’s stylings. It’s quite lovely, even if it isn’t authentic, but even that doesn’t detract from the quality, I think. It just allows me to purchase other quality pieces to add to the decorum.” He said with a good natured chuckle.
Soon, they were led to the great hall, where it was open three stories to the ceiling and the room was dominated by a substantial 8 foot fireplace and two fine leather couches and a tiger skin rug on the floor. Several trophies lined the mantle, along with a pair of small taxidermy animals, a cheetah and a wolf, along with the heads of a moose, an elk, a male lion, and a black bear along the walls, along with an ornately decorated Mauser 98 rifle hanging on the cobble work, along with two other rifles and a pair of shotguns Shay didn’t readily recognize. Vera and him were invited to sit on one of the couches facing the von Goethes, and Albert requested his attendant bring them a pair of glasses of Brandenburg brandy, as well as what the women requested.
“Your home is beautiful,” Shay said, admiring the animals and the firearms on display. “I was not aware you were a hunter.”
“Quite so, I used to go on expeditions to Africa and Canada when I was able, they’re thrilling ventures, and I do love the outdoors. Sometimes, one must reconnect with nature to appreciate life, I’ve found.” Albert said. Shay nodded in response.
“My son is a Hauptman in the German army, one of the few who managed to keep his posting after the end of the war. He is a medical officer, he ran an ambulance service and field hospital behind the front lines. He told me that on a few occasions that he operated on French and English soldiers, and on one notable instance, a very foul-mouthed American who was not at all happy to have his war cut short after his first battle without even firing his weapon.” The aristocrat chuckled, thanking his attendant when he returned with a tray containing the beverages. “You served in the Great War, did you not?” he asked Shay.
“Aye, I did. Dublin Rifles. I met Abigale after the war when I was on leave in London before being deployed back home, and things just took off from there.” He replied, smiling as he took Vera’s hand in his own. “I’m rather relieved your son and I never crossed paths, it’s a shame so many didn’t make it home.”
Albert nodded solemnly. “Very much the truth. My son in law, Herman, was one such casualty. Artillery shell in his trench, as I understand it. I apologize for the macabre turn of conversation, but I felt it necessary to clear the air if you were indeed a veteran that regardless of what side of the war one fought on, I find it all a terrible tragedy and my prayers were and still are for the men who went off to fight, regardless of nationality. My wife and I love England, and as you may assume, the climate here for us has been considerably less cordial than before the war. It’s part of why we regularly attend fundraisers for charitable events, we wish to be seen as citizens of this nation, regardless of our ties to the Fatherland. Abigale,” he said, turning to face Vera, “I must apologize for taking so much of Conway’s time while not giving you enough. I understand it that you are in a considerably prestigious line of work? I think it’s splendid that women were able to take such important tasks in the workforce and society with the men at war, I always found it rather absurd that people as bright and ambitious as Clara and yourself never were given the same opportunity as your male peers.”
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