Free The Silver Castle by Nancy Buckingham Page B

unpleasantness behind him, to face a problem when he had to, and not before. Perhaps, for a few hours, I would try to do the same.
    * * * *
    I visited the cathedral while Raimund attended to the business which had brought him to St. Gallen. It didn’t take him long. When he came back to join me again, I was gazing up at the tall twin towers, wishing we had more of this fabulous baroque architecture in England. The hands of the matching clocks indicated five past one.
    “Time for lunch,” said Raimund. “And then we will move on somewhere else.”
    “But there’s lots more to see here in St. Gallen,” I pointed out, holding the pamphlets I’d acquired.
    “Very well, but I want to show you further afield than this, Gail.”
    After a few miles we took a zigzag track which led up into a valley of secret Alpine pastures, guarded by a mountain peak that rose sheer and stark and awesome. When we stopped to get out there was only the soft sighing of wind through the pine trees to break the silence, and the hollow sound of a cowbell from somewhere far off. Raimund leant against the wall of a deserted cowherd’s hut, watching as I trod carefully among the wild spring flowers that were already blooming in sheltered hollows, stooping to cup each new find in my hand.
    “I feel so ignorant,” I said. “I only recognise crocuses and gentians. What’s the name of this one?”
    “Eine Primel?” he suggested. “In English you say primrose.”
    It’s nothing like a primrose.”
    He shrugged. “All the yellow ones are primroses to me.”
    I plucked a single flower of the creamy gold balls and slipped it into my pocket to identify later.
    “You are so serious sometimes,” Raimund remarked, coming over to join me.
    “And you’re not serious enough.”
    “Better take care—to be serious is only a step away from being dull.”
    “Who said that?” I asked. ‘It sounds like a quotation.”
    “I expect it is. I am not clever enough to have made it up.” As I rose to my feet he caught my hand and said lightheartedly, “I think I’m going to kiss you, Gail.”
    “No, Raimund, I don’t want you to.”
    “Please.”
    I shook my head and turned away. He grasped me by the shoulders and pulled me around to face him again. I thought he was still fooling, then realised suddenly that he wasn’t. Raimund, unsmiling, was even more like his half-brother, and I felt a wave of bitterness against Anton for intruding even here. If I had allowed Raimund to kiss me then, it would only have been from a feeling of defiance.
    But I didn’t let it happen.
    “Look, I mean nothing to you,” I protested. “I expect you’ve got at least a dozen girlfriends.”
    He gave a wry, reluctant smile, not really amused. “That’s a gross exaggeration. And you are more beautiful than any of them.”
    “Oh, come on,” I said tiredly. “Let’s drop the subject.”
    Raimund took me to a hotel for dinner at a place called The Golden Hind. We ate in a plushy room adorned with stags’ heads, and I found it depressing to be surrounded by these gruesome trophies staring down at me from the walls with sad eyes.
    Raimund seemed in a low mood, too. I doubted that it had any link with my refusing to flirt with him. More likely he was funking the inevitable confrontation with Anton, which couldn’t be put off for much longer.
    The local red wine was potent stuff and after the first glass I was cautious of it. Raimund, though, quickly finished off the first bottle, and started on a second.
    “Haven’t you had enough?” I asked uneasily. “Don’t forget that you have a long drive back. And in any case you’d better not arrive home half cut. You’ll only make matters worse with your brother.”
    With a show of bravado he picked up his glass again, twirling it between his fingers. Some of the wine slopped over and a creeping stain marred the crisp whiteness of the tablecloth.
    “Poor old Anton,” he muttered, his voice slurred. “You cannot really