He could not spare the time for a proper honeymoon, so the weekend was a compromise. They had been married quite early in the morning, without fuss of any kind, and afterward in the cream car they had slid away from Oberlaken and made for the mountains.Caro enjoyed every moment of the drive. They stopped for lunch at a little hotel overlooking a wide flower-filled valley, which in the wintertime, Lucien told her, was so filled with snow that she wouldn’t recognize it. Just now it was full of the lazy music of cowbells, the chirping of crickets, and the scent of blossom blown on the wind.By evening they arrived at their hotel, picturesque with flower-draped balconies and a smiling hostess wearing thick woollen stockings waiting to receive them at the head of a flight of wooden steps. She obviously knew Lucien well. She welcomed Caro with a flood of Swiss German.It had been a perfect day, almost like high summer, and the sugarloaf peaks were flushed with rose, like pink icing on a birthday cake.
