Barely one minute after Gray’s entrance, the door opens again. Naturally, everybody looks to see who the next guest is, but it’s pretty clear these aren’t guests: the first man, in a simple grey business suit, carries with him a certain sense of knowing-what’s-going-on, and the second is, at a glance, clearly a chauffeur, with an immaculate but impersonal black suit, peaked cap and white gloves to boot.
“Good, you’re all here. Good afternoon everybody,” says the first man. His (British) English accent is excellent, but one can tell he isn’t a native speaker. He smiles and shakes each of the guests’ hands, but, despite his natural authority and business-like manner, does come across as a little irate, as though this is a mild inconvenience to his busy day. Perhaps it is.
“I am Michael Aust, personal secretary to Herr Sol Wolf, and, on behalf of the Wolf family, allow me to welcome you to Germany. I hope you enjoyed your flights, and it is good to see that you have arrived safely and on time. Unfortunately, there is one final stretch of the journey to go before you reach Wolf Manor, and I am sure you are eager to get a chance to rest properly and enjoy your holiday.
“Félix,” Without turning round, he addresses the chauffeur behind him, who steps forward, and for the first time actually meets the guests’ eyes. He carries a distinct feel of the London guards that tourists try to make laugh: one suspects there is a warm human behind the black tie and standing in the keenly polished black shoes, but it’s certainly not visible to the naked eye, “This is Félix Dubois, the Wolfs’ personal attendant, and for the duration of your stay, is also yours. There is a limousine outside waiting for you. Since I myself have business to attend to before I can join you at the Manor, I leave you in Félix’s capable hands. I will see you all shortly I am sure. ”
Without waiting for response (though there could be none: he didn’t give the guests an opportunity), he turns tail and leaves the waiting room.
“If you would follow me, ladies and gentlemen,” says Félix, in accent that, perhaps surprisingly, turns out to be French, as he leads the way to the limousine, while Michael gets into the driver’s seat of a Volkswagen. Before driving off, he gives a quick hoot of the horn as a goodbye.
The limousine is the proper black stretched model, gleaming from polish, “It is not a long journey, but please help yourselves to refreshments. If you require my assistance, there is a button on the ceiling to lower the screen,” For what earthly reason they might need his assistance goes unspecified as he opens the door and stands behind it respectfully as the guests climb in and tips his cap at each in turn. With the last inside, he closes the door and, presumably, climbs in the front, though, since the limo is completely soundproof, and the black screen between the cab and the passengers is impenetrable, there isn’t really any way to be sure.
The limousine is incredibly roomy: there is one, long, comfortable leather seat on the side opposite the door and an impressive minibar opposite, with one or two cans of most soft drinks and miniatures of most alcohols. The engine purrs almost inaudibly to life and the airfield passes out of sight. Well, just about. The windows are completely darkened from the outside, with the natural consequence that they’re rather dark looking out, despite the lovely bright weather. It’s just possible to make out the limousine’s journey along a winding country road, but there is little point trying to admire what is probably breath-taking scenery outside.
“We’re nearly here,” says Félix, via a small, subtle speaker on the passenger side of the screen.
In addition to the darkened windows, the guests can only see the final stretch from one horizontal angle. They can just about make out the limousine begin to turn at a roundabout before parking on its far side.
Félix opens the doors, and, as the guests get out, they get their first proper glimpse of Wolf Manor. It’s simply astonishing. It towers over the scenery, which is itself a feast for the eyes with rolling valleys, thick woodlands and just the glimpse of a lake, all basking in sunshine and blue skies. It is made of white stone with three storeys, though each storey is almost twice the height of most houses the guests have ever seen. Triumphant arches guard the entrance way and frame the ground floor in a sort of semi-cloister.
The only thing between the guests and the Manor are a sloping flight of stone steps, at the top of which stand five people. There is no question that they are the Wolfs. The only man, standing at the head of the pack, beams down at the new arrivals.
“Aha! You arrive! Welcome, welcome!” His English is good, but not a patch on Aust’s or Felix’s neutral-sounding accents. It sounds as though he is channelling a Californian surfer dude through his naturally thick German accent, which jars and sounds fundamentally comical. He scurries down the steps on light feet; without the advantage of the higher ground, he’s surprisingly short, on par with the women in the group and a good way shorter than the men. He is not wearing a suit, but complementing light jacket and trousers, that, while formal, give him a breezy, comfortable air.
“My name is Sol Wolf, lord of the manor. It’s a stupid name, but my father always liked the sun,” He chuckles with a wide grin between violently shaking the men’s hands and kissing the women’s cheeks, positively bouncing on the balls of his feet, “Come, come!”
He chivvies the guests up the steps to the others.
“These are my baby sisters, Lena and Maria – Lena’s in the black, Maria’s in the white,” Lena and Maria are clearly twins, but “Don’t worry: I struggle to tell them apart as well!”
Lena punches him playfully on the shoulder and shoves him aside as she sweeps in for a full round of European kisses, followed immediately by Maria, “Lovely to meet you all,” Says one of them, rather more demurely than their brother.
“... and this is my mother, Gertrud. Her English isn’t the best, so do excuse her. It’s not that she’s unfriendly! Well into her eighties and she’ll outlive us all!”
Gertrud clearly doesn’t understand her introduction beyond recognising her own name, so blankly smiles as she slowly comes in for yet another round of European kisses without saying a word. Behind her back, Maria taps her finger against her own head and rolls her eyes in the universal sign language for ‘my mother is completely gaga’.
“... and last not least is Klara. Klara isn’t a Wolf by blood – our loss – but is an honorary member of the family. I know I’m supposed to be the boss, but she’s the one that runs the show here!”
Klara is perhaps a little older than Sol, and apparently much more grounded. For one, she completely ignores his introduction, shaking each of the guest’s hands firmly, “Klara Beck. Pleased to meet you.”
The Wolf siblings in particular share a common youthful charm, impeccable style, and shining eyes although the girls’ reddish, wavy hair and Sol’s light brown side-parting don’t mark them as siblings at the first glance. While Gertrud’s looks have obviously faded somewhat, she is remarkably intact for her age, standing with both feet firmly on the ground, resting only gently on a cane. Klara, meanwhile, is handsome rather than beautiful, with an air of unflappable confidence and wry smile.
“Oopsie, last not least is actually Félix, whom you’ve already met, of course,” Félix has retrieved Jonas and Kimberley’s luggage from the limousine, but is forced to put it down as Sol skips through the group in order to manually steer him to the front and present him. His cheeks begin to go a little pink.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” says Félix, cheeks going a little pink and almost cracking a smile, “Again.”
“This man,” says Sol, literally chubbing Felix’s cheek (who immediately squirms out of the way), “Is an angel. He drives us, he attends to our every need, and he mixes the best drinks. You must try some at your earliest opportunity. Eigentlich, Félix, wenn du Zeit hast, könntest du-“
“Sol, wart mal! Er ist schon beschäftigt,” this was Lena, quickly interrupting with a mock-despairing look before Sol could hassle the attendant any further.
“Of course. But, seriously, if you want anything, and I mean anything,” He made a strange snorting sound and rubbed a hand against one nostril, winking profusely, “You tell Félix. He’ll sort you out. Sorry Félix. Off you go.”
“Thank you, Herr Wolf,” With another shy almost-smile, Félix picks up the luggage and carries it past the group into the house.
“Sol gets very excited,” says Maria.
“I do, I do. Now, the most exciting part right now is that tonight, we’re going to have a great party in the ballroom to welcome you properly. All the biggest faces from all over the world will be there – it’s going to be fantastic! There’ll be-”
“Sol!” Lena again.
“Sorry, sorry! I can’t wait to meet you all properly, but you of course first need a moment to settle in. Klara will give you a quick tour of the house – she knows it better than anybody else – and fill you in on tonight’s entertainment.”
Klara leads the guests into the house, as the Wolfs peel off in pairs, with Lena presumably scolding Sol in German and Maria talking to Gertrud, translating the past five minutes for her.
“You get used to Herr Wolf,” she said, smiling knowingly, “Right, ground floor: entrance hall, obviously: we’re in it. That’s the bar through there, this is the lounge, the library, study, the conservatory, the ballroom, second lounge, dining room. You should feel completely free to use these rooms as you see fit, apart from the study, which is our private office. The kitchen’s just behind this door downstairs, but you shouldn’t need to go there: we’ve hired private cooks while you’re here so do just ask Félix if you want anything and he’ll make it happen.”
The mansion is no less exquisite on the inside. Though the doors to all of the listed rooms are all shut, it’s obvious from the entrance hall they’re all massive on the other side. The doors are all about twice the size of those in a normal house, of course, and the Entrance Hall is three stories tall. At either side of the grand ballroom doors at the far end of the hall is a rounded staircase. Everything is pristine, and tastefully decorated, if a little minimalist. The only ornamental feature is a fairly ubiquitous golden emblem of a stylised sun, with curved rays around itself. The emblem can be seen as knockers on most of the doors, strafing the bannisters, and anywhere else that decoration can reasonably be expected to be. Sol wasn’t joking, apparently, when he said his father liked the sun.
“No lift, I’m afraid,” says Klara, heading up the right staircase, very loudly making no reference to Maria assisting Gertrud up the staircase on the left, “This floor is where each of you will be staying. Since the third floor houses the Wolfs’ private rooms, I won’t show you round there.
“As Herr Wolf said, there is something of a soirée taking place this evening. The doors to the ballroom will officially open at nine o’ clock sharp, but we will be greeting guests from eight in the entrance hall. The bar is open around the clock; Herr Wolf forgot to mention that he will be in the bar downstairs from seven, so if you would like a drink beforehand – though of course you can order one to your room – you are most welcome to join him.
“Oh, finally, I should warn you that the staff this evening, apart from Félix, Michael and I, have been hired specially for tonight, and so we cannot guarantee that their English will be proficient. If you have any problems, please do tell me or Félix, and we will accommodate you personally. You can even try asking Michael, but...”
She interrupts her own train of thought as they reach the top of the flight of stairs and she begins to hand the guests their keys, "Anyway, I have preparations to attend to and I’m sure you all are tired, so please settle in while Félix brings your belongings.”
