Heimat, German feminine noun, Heimaten, plural: homeland, home, native country

Ever since he can remember, Georg has always been the early riser in the family; an inevitable holdover from his navy days. The surprise he feels, therefore, when he wakes one morning to find Maria already out of bed is disorientating. Throwing on his dressing gown, he searches for her. It doesn't take him long, for all he needs to do is follow the sound of her voice.

She isn't far. Leaning on the balcony, she's humming and gazing wistfully across the vast expanse that is Paris. Georg rests against the doorframe, marvelling, until the pull of her proves too irresistible.

'The view is quite breathtaking.' His voice is half-rumble, half-chuckle.

She starts, looking over her shoulder. 'Oh, yes, isn't it?'

As he wraps her up in his arms, Maria realises that her husband of two weeks might not only be referring to the city. She's still learning, it seems.

'For someone who is almost chronically late, I wonder what you're doing at this ungodly hour,' he murmurs into her hair.

She gives him a gentle nudge in the ribs. 'You're not the only one who's an early riser, Georg. I'd like to see you try keeping Nonnberg Abbey hours!'

He shivers melodramatically and they both laugh.

'Anyway, I just wanted to see the sunrise. It's my favourite time of day, when night gives way to day, and you feel like the whole world is waking up with you. Everywhere I go I can't seem to help it. At the abbey, at Aigen...'

'Yes.' He glances at her meaningfully. 'And the whole world does certainly feel wide awake when the children are, too. My God, the noise they make every morning! Can you believe it's already been two weeks since we last heard them?'

Maria shakes her head, recognising the look on his face. 'I miss them, too, darling.'

He holds her closer. 'And Salzburg?'

'A little,' she admits slowly. There is something else in her voice, unspoken, but he hears it nonetheless for the same thing has been crossing his mind for a while now. Did they really have to stay here for another two weeks?

He's written to Max to keep himself abreast of the situation at home, but his old friend's correspondence had been terribly spotty. If he didn't know him better, he's sure Max is preoccupied with something else. A telegram or two would no doubt do the trick, but Georg couldn't take the chance of that wretched messenger boy intercepting them.

Not long after their engagement, Georg had promised to himself that his and Maria's honeymoon would be something to remember and his enthusiasm hadn't dampened. He wanted to treat her to everything Paris had to offer and while he still could. For he has no illusions about what the Germans would demand from him if Austria fell…

'Georg?' The sound of his name stirs him from his dark reverie.

'Yes?'

'You're brooding again.' Her eyes meet his, pooled with concern. 'Penny for your thoughts?'

Now it's his turn to shake his head. Damn it, he should be focusing on the here and now, and most importantly, the dear woman in his arms.

He presses a soft kiss to her temple. 'Come inside, my love, you'll catch a chill out here. Let's go down and get some breakfast.'

Maria lingers a few moments longer, her hair like burnished gold in the sun. Smiling to himself, he waits for her, with thoughts of a more joyful kind already brewing in his head.

After breakfast and before returning to their room, Georg pays a quick visit to the hotel reception. The concierge appears visibly bemused by his guest's request.

'Is something wrong?'

'Not really, well…' The Frenchman's voice drops into what Georg thinks is almost an unnecessary stage whisper. 'You see, Monsieur le Capitaine, most people would like to see the sights within Paris.'

Georg can't help grinning – or returning the stage whisper. 'Ah, but my wife isn't "most people".'

The concierge smiles weakly. 'Bien sûr, monsieur. In that case, I would recommend Provins which is here on your map. As you can see, it is merely an hour's drive from Paris...'

It's only the following morning when they're speeding away in a rented car through the Parisian environs that Georg reveals his surprise.

'A picnic? Here? In Paris?' Her delight at the thought thrills them both.

'Well, in Provins, to be precise. I thought you'd like a change of scene away from the endless boutiques and salons…'

'Oh, I didn't want to give you the impression that I disliked Paris…'

'Oh, I know you don't. I don't dislike the place, either.'

Maria smiles in relief. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

'To be honest, I've been itching to get away myself. Paris is wonderful, but like Vienna… well, its charms grate upon you after a while.' He tears his gaze away from the road ahead to look at her in mock seriousness. 'Remind me never to take us somewhere like Paris again.'

She laughs and hugs his arm even closer. 'Is that an invitation for a second honeymoon?'

'Perhaps. You won't hear this old sea captain complain at any rate.'

'Now, I am curious,' she declares, taking in the views from their car with renewed interest. 'What did you bring for our picnic?'

He pushes his hat a little higher up his head. 'Let's have a look, shall we? The basket's right behind you.'

She eagerly leans over her seat and he can't help thinking she's as bad as the children when they're excited. It's a miracle that her own hat doesn't come flying off in this crosswind.

Basket safely stowed over her arm, Maria sinks back into her seat and opens the lid.

'Captain, this isn't at all how you pack a basket! Who on earth taught you?'

Georg chuckles. 'Our children.' He had sought their advice the day before the wedding and they had proudly taken turns to show off their knowledge. Hearing the noise they made in their excitement, it was a wonder Maria hadn't found him out.

'Hmm,' she says, looking over the surface expertly. 'It would appear you all have to work on your technique.'

'Funny, they told me they learned it all from you,' he teases and she can't help admitting it.

'But goodness, what's this?' She gazes open-mouthed as she sifts through the contents. 'Caviar, champagne… this isn't a picnic, it's a feast!'

'Something special just for you, Maria.'

'Oh, Georg,' she sighs, but her eyes are bright and warm. 'You're spoiling me rotten.'

'Well, yes… but then I figured there's no better time than the present. We are on our honeymoon, after all.'

'It's certainly going to be unlike any picnic I've had before. I don't think I even know what half these things are.' She realises something. 'Georg, there are two bottles of champagne here. I hope you aren't intending to drive us back after all this.'

'Of course not.' He pauses for effect as Maria eyes him warily. 'You are, my love.'

She raises a hand to her head in alarm. 'Oh, you are really incorrigible! I see now where Friedrich gets it from.'

'Don't worry,' he assures her, laughing. 'I'll content myself with a small sip until we get back to the hotel.' He takes one hand off the steering wheel and holds hers comfortingly. 'I promise.'

To his surprise, she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. It takes all of his self-control to keep his mind on the road.

'Thank you, Georg.'

'Whatever for?'

She smiles warmly, knowingly. 'For everything.'