Amor vincit omnia

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Sorry for the delay! My beta-reader and I were very busy in real life.

Chapter 26: Pater semper incertas

December 1945

Maria sometimes said that Georg had a "weird sense of humour." And Max Detweiler, as Georg's closest friend and certainly someone who knew him very well, had now and then even called this humour "morbid."

Indeed, sitting in the waiting room of the urology department of the American military hospital in Vienna and watching his son-in-law pace around made Georg almost chuckle. Of course, he was aware how dire the situation was – though he, in contrast to Christopher, was sure of its outcome – and he felt an almost fatherly affection for the tortured soul who was his eldest daughter's husband. Nevertheless he couldn't help but see the comical elements in what had happened in the last three hours.

It had been he who had offered to Christopher to get him an appointment at the American hospital – there they could be sure o the competence and the discretion of the doctors - yet he wouldn't have thought that Christopher would want to be accompanied there. However, he had asked: "Will you come with me?"

Georg had nodded. "Of course. If you need me to hold your hand …"

"Actually I'll need both of my hands for what I have to do there!" Christopher had said, looked at Georg – and then they had both started to laugh, first awkwardly and then so loudly that other people had looked at them. In the end Christopher had needed to wipe a tear away and, shaking his head, he had said: "If someone would have once prophesied to me that I …"

"Oh, if someone had told me that I would offer to hold your hand while …" Georg had added and promptly both had started to laugh again.

This time Georg had stopped first and, taking the wine bottle that stood between them on the table and looking at Christopher's empty glass, he had offered it to him. Yet Christopher had shaken his head: "I'd like to get drunk," he had admitted. "Only alcohol and my sensitive equipment have never agreed. But afterwards I'll go get boozed!"

"So will I!" Georg had grinned. "I'll ply myself with champagne until you need to hold my hand!"

"Too bad we're rather far away from Salzburg. I'd actually like to see your wife's face if I brought you home drunk," Christopher had replied.

They had sat at dinner in a secluded corner of a little Hungarian restaurant near the Hofburg and Georg, washing the very spicy goulash down with Tokayer, had smiled. "I'm sure Maria would understand it – and be glad she got me home at all."

"After three days she's probably already missing you." Christopher had become serious. "Perhaps you should have gone home already. I mean, I promised you to see the doctor and I can also promise you that I won't shoot myself whatever the test result says. You really mustn't stay anymore – though I'm grateful that you were there last night," he had admitted, blushing.

It had been then that Georg had become aware that he wasn't only with Christopher for Liesl's sake anymore. Although Christopher was only a few years his junior, Georg had developed fatherly feelings for him. As he had told Georg the story about his coming back from India, Georg had thought of Friedrich, who was still out in the war. He was just as old as Christopher had been when he had been injured. And Georg had seen his son in his mind's eye, blond, blue-eyed, tall and lanky. Christopher Fenswick had once been such a blond, blue-eyed boy too, and in the contrast to Friedrich he hadn't even had a family to support him. Georg knew from Liesl that Christopher's father had left him while he was still a boy and that he had lost his mother at a very young age too.

How had he gone through an experience as horrible and traumatizing as his? Georg was a man too and although he had always ruled over the needs of his body with iron will-power, he couldn't deny how important sexuality was in his life. He remembered only too well how much he had missed their sweet hours after Agathe's death, how often he had awakened at night with a raging, aching erection and how he had suffered through the time of his engagement to Maria. He had hardly spent one evening with her without needing a long, cold shower before he could go to bed and he had often enough needed all his self-discipline to keep him from ravishing her. During this time he had often cursed his body, making it responsible for the need and longing. But then in Malta, after he had come back from the Adriatic Sea, he had learned something. Maria had wanted him and he had longed to be with her. Only his body had failed him and he had finally understood that it wasn't his member which made for the craving and need, but his head. Even when his body had been too battered and exhausted to react to his wife's touches and kisses, his head had wanted her and longed for the unique connection and the pleasure which could only be received by sleeping with Maria, by burying himself deeply in her warm, willing body.

To think of that and then of Christopher and what he had gone through, used, left and even mocked by the girls he had loved, without a family to provide at least a little comfort and warmth, had filled him with sympathy for the younger man. How had he born with his handsome, careless younger brother and his flirts? How had it felt to him to see his friends getting married and having children while he was still alone with no chance of ever having a family himself? Christopher had gone through hell and back – and nevertheless he had built up a career, written a book, taught, and served his country again. Despite all the disappointment and pain he was still able to be caring father to his brother's child, he was still able to love and to hope.

On the first night Georg had spent in Christopher's house – he really hadn't dared to leave him alone after what he had heard from the prostitute – he had developed respect for his son-in-law. Yet there had been something else too: Christopher had allowed Georg to see his vulnerability – and in so doing, he had awoken Georg's protectiveness. Christopher was a member of the von Trapp clan. And as head of the von Trapp family Georg couldn't stand by when one of them was in trouble. Once it had been Christopher who had rescued Liesl and saved the family from a scandal. Now Georg felt obliged to help Christopher.

Therefore he was, now, still at his side. The day before he had called Maria and asked her to cancel all his appointments on Monday and Tuesday. Nothing, not even his beloved Salzburg, could now be as important to him his family. And although he hadn't given Maria any details – Christopher's story certainly wasn't something to talk about on phone – she had understood and as always supported him, saying: "Of course you must stay, Georg. Don't worry about us! Liesl is unhappy, but we're all with her and together we'll make it through."

Only Georg wasn't sure that Christopher would make it through. He had sat down now, head bowed, shoulders sagging, his hands trembling in his lap. "Why is it taking so long?" he asked, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. And then he looked up, his eyes still bloodshot and tired. "I can't stand it any longer. Georg. I don't want to know anymore. It doesn't matter! The child is Elisabeth's and Allegra's sibling and who cares about the genetics? You know the Romans said 'Pater semper incertas' (1). It's not important. It's pure biology and we both know that biology doesn't make a father. Just think of my progenitor. Or think of your Stephan. Do you love him less than your biological children? Do you care less about him than about Friedrich, Kurt, Johannes and Phillip? To me it never mattered that Allegra isn't my biological child. I love her and I love Elisabeth …"

Georg laid his hand on Christopher's arm and interrupted his rambling, his voice gentle, but firm: "You love Elisabeth – and therefore you'll bear with the waiting as long as it takes. Do it for her, Christopher! You owe it to her to go through that, as hard as it certainly is for you."

For a moment Christopher was silent, looking at Georg's hand on his arm. "I shouldn't have let it come this far! I should have trusted her. She'll probably never forgive me that I didn't. I hurt her – I hurt her so badly! I said horrible things; I lashed out at her with the intent to hurt her …"

"You were hurt yourself," Georg tried to console him, but to no avail.

Christopher didn't even seem to hear him. "I'd understand if she never wanted to see me again. After what I said and did – I brought a whore into our house and into our bed!"

For a moment Georg fought with himself. He had always believed in honesty as the foundation of a happy marriage. Yet in this case – Liesl was so young and despite being a married woman and a mother she was quite inexperienced. Did she really need to know about the prostitute? Georg wasn't sure, and for a moment he wished he could talk with Maria about it. She wasn't much older than Liesl, but she had always possessed wisdom far beyond her years. But she wasn't there whereas Christopher was, torturing himself.

Georg cleared his throat. "I wouldn't tell her about that, Christopher. You were drunk and besides – nothing happened."

"You know why nothing happened!" Christopher closed his eyes and swallowed. "It certainly wasn't because I didn't want it! Besides our definition of 'nothing' seems to differ! Would you call a woman performing oral sex on you 'nothing' only because you couldn't get it up? No, Georg. If I'm to have a new chance with Elisabeth, I can't start with a lie! She will ask me what I did after she left – and what am I to answer then? And what will you tell Maria if she asks you how you found me?"

Georg straightened his shoulders. "I wouldn't tell Maria a lie, but I'd tell her that this is between you and me. She would accept that."

"Yes, but what about my wife? After what I've done to her she deserves to make a clear choice. She deserves to know what kind of man I really am and then decide if she wants to give me another chance."

"Christopher!" Georg shook his head. "Give her some credit! She knows what kind of a man you are! Even I've figured out by now that you're a brave, honourable man."

"Oh?" Christopher laughed bitterly. "I should have gotten myself a whore earlier if that finally made me win your approval."

Georg once again shook his head. "You shouldn't try sarcasm with me. I've done that myself too often and so I know what's behind it."

Christopher got up and started to pace again. With his back to Georg he asked: "Did you ever think about shooting yourself? It's the coward's way out, isn't it? And so certainly it's nothing Austria's great naval hero Georg von Trapp ever thought about …"

Slowly Georg stood up too and went over to the window where Christopher stood. "You're wrong, Christopher. In the first weeks after my first wife's death I didn't know how to live without her. I wished I could follow her to wherever she was. Only there were seven children who needed me …"

"I didn't think of Allegra!" Christopher almost yelled. "I even didn't think of Elisabeth. I only wanted this miserable existence of mine to end, to blow my brains out and to be done."

"But you didn't blow your brains out, Christopher!" Georg said firmly. "You're still here and still fighting – and that's not how a coward acts!"

"You should have become a priest, Georg!" Christopher snorted, walked back to the chair and fell down on it. "You're good at dealing with confessions."

Georg laughed tiredly. "I think I'd fail in a lot of other necessary requirements."

"Like chastity?"

"For example!" Georg nodded.

At just that moment the door opened. A young man in the white uniform of an orderly entered. "Mr. Fenswick?"

Christopher was immediately on his feet, even more colour draining from his face. "Yes?"

"Dr. Miller would like to talk to you. If you'd please follow me?" Seeing Georg now, the orderly stood at attention. "Admiral!"

"At ease!" Georg laid his hand on Christopher's shoulder. "Go ahead. I'll wait here."

"No! Please …" Christopher searched for words. "Could you … I mean, I'd like to have you with me."

"Of course. If you want me to." Georg felt as if he were comforting a terrified child.

The older doctor who awaited Christopher in his office was obviously amazed to see the legendary Admiral von Trapp enter too. His eyes clearly showed contempt for what he probably thought was an overbearing father-in-law and for a moment it looked as if he wanted to ignore military protocol. Yet Georg's staring at him made him rise reluctantly out of the chair and stand at attention. "Admiral."

"Colonel." Georg saluted back. "As you were."

With a wave of his hand the doctor offered the two men a seat in the chairs in front of his desk, and then he turned to Christopher. "Lord Fenswick, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you." Christopher sat down, looking like a delinquent waiting for the death sequence. His hands gripped the wings of the chair so firmly that his knuckles were white. "What is the result?" he asked, his voice shaking.

The doctor started to rummage through his papers and placed his spectacles on his nose. Georg, who had sat down on the chair next to Christopher, felt like throttling him. What the devil did the man need so long for? Couldn't he see how difficult the waiting was for his patient?

Now the doctor looked up and sighed. "Christopher – I may call you Christopher, may I not? I'm afraid the results aren't good. We repeated the test twice, but it didn't change its outcome: Your chances to father a child are practically nil. Let me explain it to you …"

Georg couldn't help it. He saw that Christopher was close to a breakdown and so he interrupted: "'Practically nil' doesn't mean there is no chance at all?"

The doctor obviously was irritated. Furrowing his brow, he looked at Georg and replied testily: "If you would simply let me explain, Admiral?"

Georg breathed deeply. He had never suffered windbags gladly and this one was certainly trying his patience. "Can't you answer a simple question, Colonel?" he asked sharply.

"First: The answer isn't so simple. Second: I don't know how it is any business of yours, Admiral! Your military authority doesn't reach so far it could break the confidence between a doctor and his patient, especially not in a matter so private. Besides I doubt that Lord Fenswick is under your command."

Georg felt like giving the man a severe dressing down, but Christopher was quicker. "I want the Admiral here. Besides I'd really like to know: Am I able to sire a child or not?"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "As I said: It isn't as simple as that. There's always a big difference between theory and practise and in this case, it matters."

"Doesn't it always?" Georg couldn't resist snorting. The man was really getting on his nerves and if he hadn't been worried about distressing Christopher, he would have liked to tell him off.

The doctor scowled at him, leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. "The problem in this case is," he started once again, "that in theory you're able to father a child, Christopher. Only in practise your chances are – as I've said before – very bad."

Christopher didn't look too well. He had braced his head on his hand, hiding his eyes behind his palm, obviously trying to regain his composure. Slowly he said: "Very bad isn't impossible, doctor."

"Indeed. Nevertheless you shouldn't get your hopes up. I'll give you a few facts to make it more understandable to you: A healthy young man's semen normally has around 40 million sperm with around half of them mobile – and them being mobile is the precondition for arriving at the egg to fertilize it. From this number we can count down to say that a healthy man has around ten million sperm in one millilitre of semen with around five million of them mobile. However, it doesn't require that many of them to impregnate a woman – from experience we know that 30 percent of the average mobile sperm should do without any problems whereas with 20 percent the chancesalready aren't good anymore – in such a case we would advise the couple to concentrate on her fertile days. With 10 percent of the average, the chances are even worse, and with less you need a very fertile wife and a lot of luck." He once again rummaged in his papers, held a sheet up and looked at Christopher. "In your case, Christopher, it's around three percent of mobile sperm. That makes it theoretically possible for you to father a child, but in reality I really wouldn't count on it. If you want to try, I'd advise you: Don't drink, don't smoke and spare yourself three or four days before your wife's fertile days. We suppose that only one your testicles is functional, so you should give it a bit of time to store some sperm before you try anything. And even then, you shouldn't go out and buy a crib yet – as I've said: Your chances are pretty low."

Stepping out of the hospital into the crisp air of the winter day, Georg looked at Christopher, who hadn't said a word since they had left the doctor's office. "How do you feel now, Christopher?"

The younger man slipped on his gloves and pulled his scarf closer around his neck. "Honestly, Georg? I should probably jump for joy, but I only feel drained, exhausted and terribly ashamed. I don't know how I shall face Elisabeth."

Georg stepped to his car and opened the door on the passenger's side. "How about buying the biggest bunch of roses you can find and coming with me to Salzburg? The sooner you tell her, the better for both of you."

Christopher entered the car and waited until Georg had gotten in too. "Do you really believe she'll take me back?"

"I'm sure she will," Georg smiled at Christopher. "You are the father of her children – and by the way: Congratulations on the second one! So what about the roses? Any idea where to get some?"

For the first time in three days Christopher displayed a real, but still very small smile: "I didn't know you were a romantic, Admiral. However, it's December. I don't think we'll find any roses. Besides your daughter's favourite flowers aren't roses, but hyacinths – at least in winter. Where to get some of them, I do know – we have a hothouse at the embassy."

"Well, then," Georg started the car's engine, "let's go to the embassy. You'll get the flowers, tell your secretary you'll be away for a few days, pack a clean shirt and your toothbrush, and then we'll be off for Salzburg!"

The snow falling down from the grey sky was wet and heavy, melting as soon as it hit the roofs and streets. It didn't cover the damage the bombs had done and it didn't hide the black wounds left behind by the fires. The water dripping down only made the ruins look as if they were crying. And where once the streets had been crowded with tourists, a bony chestnut, its head hanging and its ribs clearly visible beneath its shaggy coat, pulled a carriage filled with debris. A woman dressed in a worn, grey coat that once had been a soldier's uniform walked tiredly beside the horse, now and then patting its neck in a gesture that looked resigned and sad.

On the opposite site of the street in front of the destroyed Cathedral a few children came along, obviously on their way to school. They stopped to watch a jeep with the American flag on its doors drive down the road. It stopped in front of them and the children gathered around, looking hopefully at a chubby, blond sergeant who grinned at them. Reaching behind him, he took a few bananas and oranges out of a bag and gave them to the children.

Christopher watched the scene from his window in the Hotel "Goldener Hirsch" and smiled when he saw how a little girl with blond braids carefully put one of the bananas in her bag and thanked the giver with a curtsy and a big, toothless smile before she ran after her friends. Although she was a few years older and blond, she reminded Christopher of Allegra. Yet the thought of her made him sigh, and stepping away from the window he sat down at the table where the breakfast waited which a friendly older woman had brought just half an hour earlier. Christopher had already drunken a cup of coffee, but he couldn't get himself to eat anything. He wasn't hungry, and the longer he thought about it, the more he doubted that coming to Salzburg had been a good idea.

Liesl certainly wouldn't want to see him. Even if she was willing to forgive him what he had done to her she would need time to overcome the pain his harsh, unjust words had caused her. Georg had meant well when he had persuaded Christopher to come with him, but he always tended to be rash. The famous von Trapp temper, combined with impatience, had made Georg hope that he would be able to solve the Fenswick marriage troubles as quickly as possible, but Christopher was pretty sure that a rift like the one he had caused would need time to heal. For now it would probably have been better to send Liesl the hyacinths and a written apology.

Georg would tell her what had happened – at the moment he was probably the only one Liesl would listen to. But she would need time to think about it. No one, not even her father, could expect her to overcome her disappointment and fury in only a few hours.

No, it had been a mistake coming to Salzburg. Christopher was sure he would feel better in Vienna. There he would have buried himself in work, writing all the reports he should have done over the weekend, reading all the papers piled on his desk, and probably even doing the budget planning. Work had always been his saviour. While working, he didn't need to think about his misery, he didn't need to face how greatly he had once again messed up and how bad he was at managing his private life. In his work he felt secure, in his office he knew that he was doing well and, there, no one ever doubted his authority or competence.

However, he wasn't in Vienna. He was in Salzburg, pacing through a lonely hotel room without anything to do. Georg had deposited him there the night before, telling him to lay low until further notice. At first Christopher had been glad about his father-in-law taking over. He had been so terribly exhausted, he had hardly managed to stand upright. After they had arrived at the hotel, Christopher had only slipped out of his coat, jacket and shoes, had opened his tie and then had fallen onto the bed, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Only he hadn't been able to sleep for long. Around four o'clock his bladder had awakened him and from then on he had tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep again.

He had thought of the morning in the hospital and the memory had made his cheeks burn with shame. They had given him a glass, a bottle of lotion and a towel and then had sent him into a room with a bed, a chair, a table and a washstand. On the table he had found a few worn magazines with pictures of sparsely clothed woman, obviously put there to get him in the right mood to do what he was expected to. Only he had never, not even as a hormone-driven 17 year old at school, found such pictures arousing. Of course, he was a man, and in the last few years even once again a "functional" one, so in general he wasn't unfamiliar with pleasing himself. Yet doing it on command and in the knowledge that people were waiting – and perhaps even looking at their watches to see how long he was taking! – he found terribly unnerving.

Nevertheless he tried. Christopher closed his eyes and ordered himself for once not to think of England – he was pretty sure his superiors would find the situation he had gotten himself into highly inappropriate for his Majesty's ambassador – but to concentrate on the concrete task at hand (literally). And because it had worked a few times ago he tried to get himself into his favourite fantasy, the one where he was riding down to the secluded cove at Hollbridge to swim with his horse – something he had loved to do as a boy.

In his fantasy he wore only Jodhpur trousers and a shirt and the horse wasn't saddled, so he could feel its warmth on his legs. Cantering over the sand and around the rock that sheltered the cove from the wind he saw her: A beautiful woman who came out of the water, naked and looking like Botticelli's Venus at the famous painting. Long tresses of blonde hair clung wetly to her delicate, white skin; the pink nipples of her breasts were standing erect and proud. The woman smiled at him and opened her arms while he glided down from his horse and embraced her, his mouth tasting the salt on her skin as his lips searched for her mouth. They kissed passionately and sank down onto the sand, warmed by the sun, and she helped him out of his clothes before he started to kiss and to nibble at her breast and finally went down between her legs …

As Christopher arrived there in his mind, the fantasy had begun to have some effect. But his mind was straying and he couldn't help thinking of what the horse would do while he was with the woman. He was a rider and as such he wouldn't let his four-legged mate loose with its reins hanging down, especially not when the horse would perhaps go swimming and could entangle a foreleg in the reins.

However, thinking of the horse wasn't to his member's liking. It became limp again.

Christopher cursed and reminded himself of what Georg had said before he had left him: "Don't forget, my boy: You're going through that for Elisabeth."

Elisabeth – sometimes he had dreamed of taking her to the cove. She would sit behind him on his horse and he would ride with her into the foaming surge. In his dreams she laughed as the waves hit her naked legs and he got down from the horse and opened his arms to catch her. She clung to him, her long legs around his hips, her arms around his neck and they kissed, her lips soft and salty from the air, her tongue suckling at his and her core hot against his body.

Without breaking the kiss he carried her to the strand and tenderly laid her down. She slipped out of her light summer dress while he undid his shirt and trousers. As she lay in front of him, presenting him her petite body with the firm breasts and the dark triangle covering her mound, he kissed her and went down and she welcomed his mouth with spreading her legs and raising her hips towards him. He worshipped her with his tongue, enjoying that she tasted like the sea, and as she came, she cried his name and then she pulled him up, turned him around on his back and mounted him. Sweat glittered on her body and her breasts swayed as she rode him, her small hands braced against his chest and her eyes green-blue like the sea, beaming down at him. Her climax pulled him with her and whispering her name he felt the familiar, sweet, little ache at the base of his penis and then a hot rush of pleasure shooting through him.

Only a minute later, still panting, he became aware of the sticky, warm liquid on his hand and belly. Cursing, he reached for the glass and tried to get as much as possible into it before he cleaned himself with the towel, stood up and stalked over to the wash basin.

Later then, as he was tying his tie in front of the washbasin – this time dark red silk to reflect his mood – he looked at the mirror which showed him once again the familiar picture of an impeccably dressed English gentleman, only the dark shadows under his eyes betraying how desperate and lonely he had felt.

Now, in Salzburg, he was wearing a grey suit and a dark-blue tie. In front of his closet he had for a moment considered a tweed jacket with a sweater under it – the day was cold and he wasn't on duty – but then he had decided that he would feel better in a three-piece-suit. Ever since he had, as a young professor at Oxford, ordered his tailor to make his first one – after years of wearing either a uniform or tweed – these suits had become something like his armour. A proper suit made for proper countenance, and he wasn't only the Ambassador of his Majesty, but the eleventh Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge, offspring of a noble family who had – with the exception of the tenth Lord – always done its duty in dignity.

"Thank you, Father!" Liesl rose on her tiptoes and kissed Georg's cheek.

"Are you sure you'll manage on your own?" he asked anxiously, looking up at the façade of the hotel.

"Yes, Father – from here on I can do this on my own," Liesl assured him, feeling very touched by the concern and love she saw in his eyes. She felt very close to him at the moment and very grateful. When he had come into her room the night before – after she had wondered and worried for three days what he was doing in Vienna for so long – she hadn't known what to expect. And she had been amazed about seeing him so casual with a blue sweater over his blue uniform trousers. Yet what had amazed her even more was how he had sat down on the side of her bed, slipped out of his shoes, swung his stocking feet onto her bed, and offered his shoulder. "Come here, Liesl – it's a long story I have to tell you."

Then he had spoken about how he had found Christopher, drunk and desperate and how the prostitute had given him the pistol – and no, Liesl had been neither shocked nor appalled about the woman being in her house and even in her bed, but glad that she had saved Christopher's life. After three days of thinking, her fury toward Christopher had ceased and had been replaced by deep worry. Somehow she had known that there was more behind Christopher's reaction than stupid, petty jealousy. She had often enough seen the sadness in his eyes, and from his reluctance about becoming close to someone, she had already guessed that it hadn't only been caused by his parents but had come from hurt and pain he had experienced at the hands of a woman too.

As Georg had told her the entire story, Liesl had cried – not only in sympathy for the man she loved, but with rage about the women who had abused him so badly. And as Georg finally had asked her, "Do you think you'll be able to forgive him?" she had cried even more.

"Of course, Father! I love him – I did all the time and I don't think I'll ever stop. I want him to finally be happy!"

"Good," Georg had nodded and kissed her forehead. "I think he deserves some happiness – and so do you, my dearest Liesl."

Now her father was squeezing her shoulders gently. "Good luck, Liesl. If you need me, I'll be in my office all day. And don't you worry about Allegra: Maria adores having her to herself for once!" He gave her a playful slap on her backside. "Run and relieve that husband of yours! He's probably climbing the walls by now."

"Yes, Father." Liesl turned and entered the hotel's lobby where a rather bored-looking porter behind a counter was sorting the mail.

Hearing Liesl's steps he turned around, bowed and asked with a professional smile: "Guten Morgen, gnädiges Fräulein. What can I do for you?"

"I am Lady Fenswick, and I've come to see my husband."

"Of course. I'll call him." He reached for the phone.

Liesl stopped him. "Please – I don't think it's necessary to announce me. Lord Fenswick is expecting me. Just tell me where I might find him."

"Oh …" For a moment the porter was taken aback, but then it dawned on him. "I know you!" he exclaimed. "You're the singer and our admiral's daughter! Elisabeth von Trapp – that's your name, isn't it? I was in the Felsenreitschule when you sang there last summer. You were wonderful!"

"Thank you!" Liesl smiled at him though she was a bit impatient.

"Sorry, I shouldn't keep you. His lordship is in room 523. I'll ask the boy to lead you up." Turning he called for a page in a red uniform. "Sepp, accompany Lady Fenswick up to 523."

Once again Liesl thanked him and followed the boy to the lift, up to the fifth floor, and through a long hallway until he stopped in front of a door, pointing to the golden number 523. "Here, my lady." He bowed. "Have a pleasant stay at the Goldener Hirsch."

Liesl put a coin in his hand and then breathed deeply. Her heart was beating like mad and her knees were like pudding as she knocked at the door.

"Come in!"

Another deep breath, then Liesl opened the door and entered.

Christopher was sitting on the table, drinking a cup of coffee. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet, looking at her almost scared. "Elisabeth!" His voice wasn't more than a hoarse whisper and his eyes were so infinitely sad and hopeless that Liesl couldn't bear looking at them.

All morning she had worked on what she would say, but now she hadn't any words left. Running across the room she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising on her tiptoes to search for his mouth – and, heavens, why was he so tall and she so petite and why didn't he bend towards her? He stood as if frozen, motionless and his arms hanging down at his sides. Yet for once Liesl didn't let her insecurity get to her. Combing through his hair – and in spite of her anxiousness she once again registered that it felt like silk – she kissed his jaw and whispered: "Christopher – my Christopher!"

And then he reacted, bending down, his arms finally embracing her, his lips, dry and raw, searching for hers and they found each other in an almost desperate kiss.

"Li!" He was the first to speak, his mouth still almost on hers. "I'm so terribly sorry. I behaved like the worst of rascals and I hurt you horribly. Please, forgive …"

"Hush!" Liesl stopped him with another kiss. "Ich liebe dich, Christopher." Without thinking about it, she had spoken German, but now she repeated it in his language: "I love you." And because it felt so glorious to be able to express it at last, she repeated: "I love you, love you, love you."

"Elisabeth!" Once again a deep kiss and then he sat down and pulled her into his lap, drawing her as close as possible. "I thought I had lost you!"

She had tasted salt on his lips and looking at him, she saw that his eyes were glimmering with tears. Pulling his head to her chest, she said: "You'll never lose me as long as you love me. And you do, don't you?"

For a few moments he was silent, only stroking her hand. "I thought I'd never say it again," he whispered then. "Yes, Elisabeth, I love you. Ich liebe dich." His accent was heavy and he spoke the words slowly, but they touched Liesl so much she almost started to cry. "I think I started loving you the first moment I set eyes on you. I'll never forget how you stood there, so lovely, so young, so vulnerable and so strong. Yes, Elisabeth," he repeated, "I do love you – and if I weren't already married to you, I'd fall on my knees now and would beg you to become my wife and to never leave me. You're all I ever dreamed of in a woman. You are the one I waited half of my life for. And to think that you," he laid his hand against her stomach, "are bearing our child – it's a miracle, Elisabeth. So much of a miracle I still can't really believe it. That I shall have you and Allegra and …"

"… our baby," Liesl finished for him, putting her hand on his. Had she ever been so happy in her life? She was in Christopher's arms and he loved her! The thought of it made her almost dizzy and she started to giggle.

"What's so funny, darling?" he asked softly.

Liesl snuggled closer to him. "I've just become aware again how big you are. And considering that, you know, in a few months I'll look like a whale! With your baby …"

"You were breathtakingly beautiful when you were pregnant with Allegra!" he replied.

"And you were so handsome while you held her for the first time!" Liesl kissed the tip of his nose. "And you know, the one night when I was at the rehearsal for the 'Messiah' – oh, Christopher! You had my hormones in an uproar."

"Me?" He obviously didn't understand.

Liesl chuckled again. "It was rather hot and when I came home you were in bed, wearing only boxer shorts. Allegra was asleep on your chest – and I envied her for that place! I felt like jumping on you!"

"I certainly wouldn't have minded!" Christopher took her face between his hands and pulled her down for another kiss.

His strong body close to hers, the memory of that night, his gentle kiss – it suddenly wasn't enough for Liesl anymore. She wanted more, she needed more. The separation, the thought that she had lost him had been so painful, and she still felt the aftershock of it. Only he could heal it, only his closeness could make her heart whole again and so she deepened the kiss and let her hand slip under his jacket, unbuttoning his vest.

"Christopher?" she whispered in his mouth.

"Hmm?" He was occupied with nibbling at her neck, his hands roaming her sides.

"You're heavily overdressed – once again!"

His answer was laughter. "You're one to talk!" He playfully tugged at her coat, then reached under it and cupped her left breast. "I think there's far too much fabric between me and your lovely skin."

"You're right, my lord!" Liesl rose up and walked to the door. On its inside hung a sign that stated "Bitte nicht stören!"(2). Liesl took it, opened the door, hung it on the knob outside, closed the door again and went to the middle of the room, slipping out of her coat and shoes. Turning around, she looked at Christopher who watched her. "Would you help me with the buttons?"

"Of course." He came over and undid the tiny buttons which closed her dress in the back. Bending down he shoved the fabric away and kissed her shoulders. "Are you sure, my love?" he whispered, sounding a bit insecure.

If Liesl hadn't already wanted him, the vulnerability in his voice would have done it for her. That this man, once so aloof and reserved, once all pride and even arrogance, was now showing her so much trust, that he whom she had thought could have any woman still sounded as if he couldn't believe that she truly loved him, touched her deeply. Once she had felt inferior to him and intimated by his urbaneness and experience. But now she understood that in matters of love, in the most intimate area of their marriage, she was his equal if not even the stronger, more experienced one. She had gone through hurt and disappointment too, but she had also received love and care from her family.

Once again she turned and kissed him. "Yes, Christopher, I am sure," she simply answered and added with a mischievous smile: "I only hope you don't expect me to pull you out of all these clothes. It would be like peeling an onion."

"With every layer you cry more?" Christopher raised one eyebrow.

"No, I don't think so. Quite the contrary. If memory doesn't fail me, it gets better with every layer that's removed!" Liesl was out of her dress and her chemise. Sitting down on the bedside, she rolled her silken stockings down, slipped out of her underwear and threw them on the pile of clothes on the chair before she looked at her husband again.

Christopher was out of his suit and just unbuttoning his shirt, revealing white, silken boxer shorts already strained by an impressive erection. Liesl licked her lips seeing it – she knew so well how it felt when it stretched her and the memory of it caused a bolt of arousal to warm her entire body. She wanted him so badly she almost couldn't wait for him anymore. Yet there was something she had to do first. In her mind she heard her father's voice again: "There's a scar. His second fiancée told him she was too repulsed by it …"

Liesl closed her eyes, breathed deeply and steeled herself. However ghastly the scar was – she would show Christopher that there was nothing about him that could repulse her. She loved him, all of him with all that a hard and sad life had done to him, and she wouldn't shy away from a scar, however ugly it might look.

"Christopher," she said, her voice firm, but gentle. "Would you please come here to me?"

"Yes, my darling." He walked towards her until he stood in front of her, stopped by Liesl putting her hands on his hips.

Looking up at him she whispered: "There's nothing you need to hide from me, my love."

But as she reached for the waistband of his shorts, he laid his hands over hers and she felt how his fingers trembled. "Elisabeth, it's a rather ugly sight," he warned her. "You mustn't …"

"Let me be the judge of that!" she interrupted him and pulled his boxers down. For a second she feared she had made a mistake by insisting because his erection started to lose strength. But then she saw the scar, leading from his hipbone down to his testicles, and stared at it. This was what another woman had been repulsed by? The ugliest thing about the scar was the thought of how much pain it had caused Christopher. Beyond that, it was a pale, finger-thick line with the signs of stitches at the left and right – no more, no less and certainly nothing to be appalled by.

Examining it, Liesl swore that if she ever met the woman who had called the scar "repulsive" she would kick her from wherever they were to Yokohama and back. And pulling her husband closer, Liesl bent down and kissed the scar, letting her mouth linger on it until she heard Christopher moan and felt on her cheek how his penis hardened again. For good measure she put a quick kiss on its tip too and then looked up at her pale husband, swearing to herself that soon she would go all the way, pleasing him the same way he had so often given her fulfilment. She would show him that she loved his body too, in its entity and without any hesitation. But not now – now she needed him in her arms – and rolling in the bed, she whispered: "Come to me, my love. Make love to me – I need you!"

To be continued

(1) The father is always arguable

(2) Please, don't disturb!