A/N: I'm afraid I'm not good at writing mature themes so I haven't tried to write M here. Hope you enjoy this honeymoon chapter anyway.
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Chapter 29: Come let me love you
You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses, come fill me again
Come let me love you, let me give my life to you
Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms
Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you
Come let me love you, come love me again
(Annie's Song, John Denver)
On the morning after their wedding night Maria awoke to a feeling of bliss, locked in the tight embrace of her beloved Georg. In the early dawn light she felt as if she were floating in a sea of tranquility. She wanted to capture this moment forever in her mind.
Every one of her senses seemed heightened by her journey of discovery the night before. It was as if she were seeing the world with fresh eyes, almost like a newly sighted person. Georg was sleeping peacefully next to her. An arm, heavy and possessive, anchored her to him, their breath mingling. Her cheek lay against the smooth skin of his shoulder, while her hand was splayed over the scattered, silky hair on his chest above the steady beat of his heart. The enthrallingly unique scent of him filled her nostrils.
Under the blanket their limbs were entangled in delicious confusion, and she delighted in the abrasive feel of his hair-roughened legs, and the hard planes of his torso against her softer, more pliant body. The melding of skin against skin felt intoxicatingly intimate.
Although the room was chilly because the fire had died down to glowing embers, she discovered that two people nestled together could kindle a luxurious warmth. Her husband, she realized, radiated heat like a furnace. How could she have ever thought he was cold, frozen, emotionless? At the ball, which seemed so long ago now, she had thought his eyes were like chips of Arctic ice, but those same eyes had seemed to blaze hotter than the sun in the heat of their passion.
Maria's wedding night had been a revelation. Her nerves and awkward inhibitions had melted away with Georg's ardent, unashamed need for her. He had coaxed her along with him, with long languorous kisses and caressing fingers. The worship of his mouth as it explored her body had led her deeper into the world of sensory pleasure until she gave herself over to his mastery. There had been something so profoundly moving about yielding to his blatant masculine vitality, yet she had been touched by his gentleness at the same time. Especially because it came from a man for whom strength, command and authority were the norm.
But he had harnessed that instinctive masculine power, and leashed his ferocious hunger, though she had seen the strain of it in the clenching of his jaw and his jagged, harsh breaths. With an infinite control that had restrained his own driving needs, he had minimized the discomfort of her first journey into the bewitching world of passion.
She remembered how her heart had melted at the apology in his eyes in those first moments of burning possession. The sharp pain had made her gasp with shock. But then it had been extinguished and she had smiled at him with eyes full of adoration, as she reached up to draw his head down for the sweetest kiss, glorying in the weight of him pressing down on her. What had seemed so hazily complicated and confusing in her untutored worries before she married, in the end had been miraculously simple in all its primordial luscious beauty. How skillfully he had guided her into the mysteries of her own body and his, into the world of sensations that she had never known had existed.
Now, in the early morning light, feeling cozily warm and lethargic, joy wrapped itself around her like a silken cloak. Her thoughts dissolved as she drifted back to sleep, but her mind snatched at one last coherent reflection before she succumbed to the drowsiness; and that was that the mere words husband and wife in themselves seemed to generate a starburst of elation inside her. She was smiling as sleep claimed her.
When she awoke next she could hear the sounds of Georg rummaging in the small kitchen and wondered what he was doing. To her astonishment he appeared, dressed just in his trousers, with his shirt open, holding a tray with a little vase of wildflowers and a golden omelette.
"Voila!" He put on a tone of shameless bragging to ease her self-consciousness after their night of passion.
Maria giggled, aware he was trying to imitate his temperamental French chef, Claude, who was a superb cook, but inclined to melodrama and theatrics.
"Where on earth did you get this?" she asked in surprise, almost as if she expected that Claude had rushed up the mountain this morning with breakfast.
Georg contrived to look offended. "I made it," he declared loftily. "You have no idea of my many hidden talents." He wiggled his eyebrows in comic exaggeration and accompanied the words with a lecherous look that made Maria burst into laughter.
"I didn't know you could cook."
"Well actually the only thing I know how to make is omelettes," he admitted reluctantly. "When I was a U-boat commander we all had to take turns cooking because having a chef onboard was a luxury we couldn't have in such a small space. None of the crew seemed to mind that all I could turn my hand to was omelettes, but then I was their captain, so they could hardly complain."
Maria was captivated by his talk of his U-boat days and was eager to find out more. She imagined he must have been a magnificent commander, undoubtedly inspiring fierce loyalty from his crew. He had the effortless authority and strength of character that marked him as a leader. That bone-deep confidence, the inbuilt dominance, and the formidable courage woven into his very being, drew automatic respect from other men. But, she thought with guilty amusement, not so much from cheeky governesses!
She longed to ask about his U-boat days but that topic would draw them perilously close to the thing neither of them wanted to think about at the moment – his military duties.
In any case she was distracted as he sat on the bed and fed her forkfuls of the fluffy omelette.
"Mmm delicious," she sighed, savouring every mouthful.
"How are you feeling?" Georg asked, his eye full of love.
Maria blushed as a cascade of thrilling images from their night flooded through her mind. Without the dream-like, velvety cloak of the night, what they had done together seemed shocking in the clear light of day.
"Fine," she mumbled, cheeks rosy.
At his sceptically raised eyebrows, she admitted, "A little sore." But strangely, the stinging ache felt somehow precious, perhaps because it was symbolic of the consummation of their love.
Georg put the fork down and reached out to cup her cheek tenderly. "Maria, I'm not a man given to romantic phrases, but for me, last night was like touching heaven. It was more, much more, than I had ever imagined or dreamed of with you."
"For you too?" Maria couldn't believe that a man of his sophistication and experience could have felt the same ravishment of senses that she had felt, the same soaring joy.
"Oh-ho yes my darling, you have no idea what you do to me, do you? It's probably just as well that you don't realise how much I need you desperately. I hardly want you to know how enslaved I am to our love and passion."
The intense emotions in his eyes gave her the courage to reach out, first to cradle his cheek and then run a caressing hand down the strong column of his throat to stroke through the fine hair on his chest. She was completely enraptured by his masculine beauty. It made the primitive yearning surge through her in a tide as old time.
Astonished, she watched the instant flare of desire in his eyes at her touch. Breakfast was abandoned as Georg looked at her with sudden fierce hunger, the beautiful sensual slant to his mouth revealing the depth of his desire.
"Maria, my love, we should wait until you are less sore," he muttered, struggling for restraint.
But Maria leaned forward and pressed an open mouthed kiss to his shoulder, revelling in the delectable taste of his skin. With a groan of capitulation, he was pulled under the tidal wave engulfing them, and they were both lost in the fierce maelstrom of passion. She was left in no doubt that he was just as much in thrall to the whirlpool of desire, as she was. They were left exhausted and replete after the thunderous waves crashed over them.
Outside the rain lashed at the windows but neither noticed nor cared as they dozed, then awoke lazily to spend long hours exploring in wonder and delight, the beauty of the other's body. The world had narrowed to each other and the confines of their bed in their sparsely furnished little chalet. For the moment at least, nothing else existed.
Much later, Georg ran a bath for her in the tin tub he found which he placed near the fireplace. To Maria's surprise he didn't seem to mind the hard physical work of hauling and heating cauldrons of water over the fire and on the stove. For a man who usually had an army of staff to cater to his every whim, it was astonishing how much enjoyment he seemed to derive from doing it himself.
For Maria's part she couldn't take her eyes off the magnificence of his bare chest, transfixed by the virile symphony of sleek muscle, golden skin and the enticing wedge of chest hair that arrowed down his midriff to his trousers.
Dreamily she sank into the water, a soothing balm to the unfamiliar throb of her body, while Georg organized a simple lunch of ripe tomatoes, cheese, ham, and bread, with juicy peaches afterwards. She smiled at the way he was pampering her, making her feel cherished.
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"You have no idea how hard it's been trying to think of a wedding present for you." Maria reached into a bag and drew out her gifts, then came back over to Georg. She sat on his lap at the table. Because he was a man who had everything, she had wracked her mind to think of something he would treasure. Georg opened the package and a small medallion fell out.
"It's Saint Ignatius. He's the patron saint of the military. Sister Margaretta said the medallion has been blessed by the Vatican. It will help to keep you safe until you come back to me," she whispered, a small catch of emotion in her voice.
Georg fingered it solemnly then lowered his head so she could slip the small medallion around his neck, where it joined the metal Navy identity tags that were already there. He had put them back on months ago when it was clear he would need to defend Austria from the Third Reich.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I am sure it will protect me until I return."
Reluctant to let the heavy thoughts of the Anschluss intrude on their little slice of heaven, she gave him the next gift. "I have something else." She produced a thick book of musical scores by his favourite Austrian composer, Schubert.
Georg leafed through it, smiling, but a bit bemused. "Thank you, Maria. I do love Schubert. But I'm afraid I don't think I will ever manage to be a soprano."
Maria laughed. "No, silly. It's for me to learn all the songs to sing for you as gifts. There are over 300 in this book."
"Ahhh." Georg had the smug satisfied look of an addict who realizes that he now has an endless supply of his very own type of opiate. "What a truly marvellous gift. I can't think of anything I could love more. I can't wait for my own private concerts."
He rubbed his chin ruefully. "Though as Max tells me regularly, I am utterly selfish keeping your gorgeous gift to myself. Do you mind not having a glorious career on stage?"
"Heavens no. Performing at the Festival was terrifying. I would much rather sing just for you." Distracted by the thought of Max she murmured, "I wonder how Max is faring with the children."
"No doubt he's letting them stay up late and have ice-cream for breakfast. Anyway, I really don't want to think about Max on our honeymoon. I also have a gift for you. There's a package in my satchel, can you get it for me please?" Maria got it and returned to perch on his lap again.
"You really didn't need to give me anything when you've already given me seven priceless gifts," she said as she unwrapped a small package curiously.
Georg shrugged wryly. "I thought about giving you diamonds or furs but I suspected you would scold me, so instead I thought of this."
A little toy chapel lay in Maria's palm. "Oh it's so sweet," she said, guessing it was symbolic of life she had thought she would lead. "I'll treasure it always. Thank you." Perhaps she would allow Gretl and Marta to play with it sometimes when they played with their dolls-houses. It was a charming little thing.
"Erhm, it's not a toy, Maria," Georg clarified. "It's a model of the real thing I am going to have built for you in the grounds of our villa. The architect made the model. He designed it to blend well with our house."
"What?" Maria gaped at him, as he looked endearingly self-conscious, tugging at one of his ears.
He shrugged awkwardly. "It's quite common for some of the larger houses to have their own private little chapels. I thought it might be somewhere to go when you need peace and quiet, with seven children pulling at you all the time, eight including Max!"
"Oh my" Maria felt unbearably touched." You really don't need to do that," she whispered.
"I want to. You've given me so much Maria. I don't have adequate words for my gratitude. I never want you to regret choosing us instead of a life in the Church." He kissed her gently. "At the far end of the garden there's a lovely spot near a grove of cherry trees that I think would be perfect. I've already spoken to Father Wassner about consecrating the ground for a small chapel. The construction can start immediately or after I return."
Maria wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, a shimmer of tears in her eyes at the lovely gesture. She sniffed. "Thank you darling."
Both of them refused to think about whether it was hubris, or tempting fate to plan far ahead when the immediate future was so uncertain and filled with danger. Surely God would not mind if they created lovely dreams for the life they desperately hoped they would have. Such visions would enable them to endure the next period ahead.
Maria remembered the last song she had sung at the Festival. A dream that will need all the love you can give, every day of your life, for as long as you live.
Just like in the lyrics, they would need to climb seemingly insurmountable hurdles, but she had to have faith that they would reach their dreams in the end. The thought filled her with serenity. Hope was stronger than fear.
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Foraging through the well-stocked pantry, after refusing Georg's laughing offer of another omelette for dinner, she found the ingredients to make a hearty Austrian stew, Weiner saftgulasch. She nearly sliced her fingers when his arms came around her from behind her, his mouth finding the delicate pulse point in her neck as she chopped vegetables and meat. It made her tremble with delight but she had to shoo him into a seat otherwise she would never be able to get it done.
He seemed to find it fascinating to watch her cook, and she relished being able to look after him in this way. Claude, his chef, was quite territorial about his kitchen and took offence if she tried to make anything herself.
Before long the chalet was filled with the delicious aroma of the stew as it bubbled merrily on the stove while she rolled the little spaetzle dumplings to accompany it.
Afterwards Georg sighed with deep satisfaction. "That was the best meal I have ever had," he declared patting his stomach contentedly. "But I won't tell Claude that! He would storm out in outrage, but not before aiming a barrage of French curses at my head."
Maria laughed. "I don't think he's in any danger from me. I'm sure that everything just tastes like ambrosia because we are so happy."
"And are you happy Maria?"
"Oh yes, blissfully so. I could never have imagined such joy could be possible."
"You're not wishing that you had married a better, easier man? I'm not the easiest man to love."
"There is no better man for me, and loving you is easiest thing in the world."
"Hmm, I don't think you felt that way when we first met. But you were very patient with me. I have another one for you. Who was it who said that "Those who are hardest to love, are the ones who need it the most.""
Maria smiled. "That was Socrates again."
"You know, one day I am going to find one you don't know." He tapped her nose playfully, then changed the subject. "How do you feel about being a Baroness?"
"Well to tell the truth, I don't think I'll make a very good one. Even though Max and the children worked so hard to turn me into a lady fit to go to a ball. I'm bound to make a mistake with all those rules and protocols," she sighed. "It would much easier if you were a simple farmer. Then we could live like this all the time."
Georg chuckled. "My darling you would make a terrible farmer's wife."
When Maria looked indignant, he clarified. "You adore animals so much, all our stock would die of old age as pampered pets, instead of being sent off to the slaughterhouse. We'd go bankrupt."
Maria had to concede he had a point. "Well we could grow crops instead," she compromised, enjoying weaving fantasies with him about the different types of future they could have. She didn't care what it was, as long as he was safe.
Georg led her to the fireplace where he placed rugs and cushions, and they lay together pleasurably, talking about everything and anything, mesmerized by the leaping flames.
Later she learned just why he had asked her to bring her opera cape on their honeymoon. She lay by the fireplace, draped in the soft velvet folds of the cape, completely bare beneath it, feeling like the most beautiful woman in the world from the way he looked at her. With the fire giving off cozy heat, and the soft amber light giving their skin a golden glow, Georg slowly unwrapped her, adoring every part of her with his mouth and hands. His murmurs of love and need sounded like incantations against her skin. "Oh my love, my dearest love."
Once again they journeyed into the mysterious, magical world of voluptuous sensuality.
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The second day of their honeymoon was much like the first, except they did venture out after breakfast. Their hike took them along the mountain paths that were so familiar to Maria, past tumbling, splashing waterfalls, through meadows overrun with wildflowers, and groves of silver birch trees. A herd of cows were cropping the lush grass, and gazed at them with a bovine suspiciousness that made Maria laugh. They were lowing mournfully and indignantly at the intrusion into their pasture, their cowbells adding a deep resonance to the music of the mountains.
Far below they could see the Salzach river as it meandered its way through Salzburg like a glistening green ribbon. The town itself looked tiny and quaint with its ancient spires, terracotta-tiled rooftops, and elegant architecture.
Further on, they stopped at a small stream where the water was dazzlingly clear and pure from melted snow. Fish darted everywhere, occasionally leaping above the water in a flash of silver. With the rod that he had found in the chalet Georg taught Maria how to fish.
Sitting on a rock, Maria placidly held the rod with Georg behind her, wrapped in his embrace. That was until she felt the tug on the line. She had never imagined she might actually catch anything, and she shrieked with dismay to see the trout flopping helplessly out of the water. Georg laughed himself breathless as he freed the fish at Maria's insistence and tossed it back into the water.
Lunch consisted of bread and cheese again since fried fish was clearly off the menu. They found an idyllic spot that was carpeted in flowers to lay the picnic blanket. Stunning blue cornflowers, sweet yellow buttercups and splashes of bright red poppies were everywhere, a feast to the eyes. With the drowsy hum of bees searching for nectar, and the soft sigh of the breeze bringing the fragrance of crushed grass, Georg stretched out and laid his head in Maria's lap.
She tenderly caressed the silky thickness of his hair. Surely Adam and Eve could not have been happier in their garden paradise, she thought, filled with tranquillity. She looked down at the starkly handsome face of her husband. It always gave her heart a little lurch whenever she observed him. With his eyes closed, his lashes lay on his cheek in dark crescents, above the patrician nose and the firm mouth that she had once thought so stern.
He looked utterly relaxed as she ran her fingers gently along his scalp. Remembering the poem about 'soothing the savage beast,' she thought fancifully, that this must be what it would be like to stroke a magnificent predatory beast like a panther or wolf; all that fierce elemental power calmed under her caressing fingers.
Time drifted by in their haze of golden contentment. But then Georg opened his eyes a slit, and piercing blue eyes glinted at her wickedly. She could read the passion lurking there. He didn't hide the hungry need that prowled and snarled through him, and she felt her whole being shiver in response.
He moved suddenly and she found herself laughing up at him as she lay on her back, the sky so blue beyond his shoulders. The laughter faded as he teased her head back so that the creamy skin of her neck was bared for his mouth to graze over, making her quiver and gasp with pleasure. As Georg's intent became clear with the increasingly heated caresses, Maria held back. She was too inhibited to give in to their passion out in the open air with the sun shining down on them.
"What if someone comes?" she whispered, torn between aching desire and modesty.
"Maria, there's no-one around for miles, and we are well hidden," Georg murmured persuasively, his voice husky with suppressed desire.
But with a rueful laugh he gave in to her anxieties and they merely held each other lovingly, exchanging lingering kisses, the passion held in check for the moment. However, he promised they would return in the night.
And so they did. Under an inky-black velvety sky, by the light of a million bright stars sparkling like gems, Georg took her to heaven again.
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Their third day blended into the previous one. Maria decided that time took on a new dimension when every moment was precious and filled with joy. It was if time had concertinaed in order to compress as much as possible into every minute and hour. Each moment was filled with so much enchantment it felt as if a day were a whole week.
Yet they could both feel the heavy weight as they knew they would have to return to the real world soon. She prayed fervently that night, that these few days of bliss were only the beginning of their life together.
But that night the fears had grown to gigantic proportions. The terror came to her in her dreams, when she was helpless and defenseless as it attacked her mercilessly. Fractured images came to her in a nightmare, of the two of them standing together as a crack appeared beneath their feet, separating them. With anguish she watched the crack grow into a fissure and then an unbridgeable, yawning chasm, tearing them apart. Her feet slipped on the crumbling edge and she felt herself falling, flailing helplessly.
The sensation of plummeting jerked her awake, her heart thudding in agony. It was a very long while before she calmed down enough to shake off the oppressive weight of the dream. She was alone in the bed. She put on a robe and found Georg outside, brooding, unaware of the chill of the night.
Being so fully attuned to him now, she knew he was being crushed by the same type of thoughts. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and he held her close. He was staring at the moonlit mountains. They were breathtaking in their splendour. But on the other side of the mountain lay Bavaria, and Hitler's southern German lair, Berghof. The Third Reich was menacingly close both geographically, and imminently with the Anschluss.
After some time she murmured, "Come back to bed darling."
Georg nodded, kissing her hair. "Let me love you again." She could hear the edge of despair that he tried to hide in his voice.
Back inside, they loved each other slowly, cherishing each kiss and caress as if it really would have to last them an eternity.
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A/N: Thank you for reading and I would love to know your thoughts.
Hope you are all keeping safe. xx
PS. If you type: Annie's Song Chris and Julie, on Youtube, you will find a beautiful montage of pictures of the friendship of CP and JA through the years. Some lovely soul has put that together.