Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  “How did you meet?” Lacy asked, unable to restrain her curiosity about the man she had married.

  “It was in 1996. I was twenty-seven years old, and I was singing in one of those concerts they put together here for tourists. You know, all Johann Strauss, with dancers whirling about on the stage as I sang. Terrible stuff really, but it paid the bills.”

  She took a sip of her wine. “Igor told me later he’d been pressed into coming by friends. It was hardly his kind of thing. After the performance, he made excuses to his friends and waited for me at the stage door.”

  Riana smiled. “When I emerged, he took my arm and said, ‘You will have dinner with me.’ It wasn’t an invitation, you understand. It was more in the nature of a command. And I looked up at him and never even thought of saying no.”

  “He had a way about him,” Lacy agreed. “I wonder if any woman ever said ‘no.’ ”

  The two women laughed together.

  “He was quite a man,” Riana said. “I fell hopelessly in love with him. He was affectionate, caring, and generous. But he was never in love with me. Not the way I was with him. I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.” Riana sighed.

  “What happened?”

  “He left me, of course. After a year. I gather the next in line was a ballerina.”

  “But in spite of that, you stayed friends? How could you?”

  “Without Igor I’d never have had the career I presently enjoy. I’d still be doing secondary roles in secondary opera houses and singing Strauss waltzes to tourists just to put bread on the table. I’d done some good roles at provincial opera houses, but I’d never sung more than the most minor roles at the Staatsoper.”

  “But how…?”

  “Igor made me study the major operatic roles. He believed in my voice. He forced me to work on Violetta and Floria and Mimi. He was an unrelenting taskmaster. Then one night my chance came. The soprano lost her voice during the first act of Tosca. Bronchitis. I was there. I knew the role, and I was a known quantity because I had sung so many secondary roles. I was thrown in without ever having even rehearsed the role on stage. When I sang “Visi d’arte,” I brought the house to its feet. I was a star overnight. Igor did that for me.”

  “But you married later?”

  “Yes. My husband is a gifted conductor, and he adores me. It’s much easier to be adored than to be the one doing the adoring, don’t you think?”

  Lacy was unsure of how to answer.

  Riana continued, “But perhaps you don’t know. With you it was different. Igor fell in love with you. He told me about it. At fifty, he fell in love for the first time, and he had no idea how to handle it. He was quite desperate when he came to see me. He was so insecure after his heart attack. His self-image was more damaged than his heart, I think. He said he was failing you as a man. I had no idea how to advise him except to tell him he should confide his fears to you. But, knowing him as I do, I imagine he could never bring himself to do that, could he?”

  Lacy was stunned into silence. Igor had felt insecure with her? She had somehow made him feel less than a man? How could she have missed that? Had she contributed to the dissolution of their marriage by her very love, her need for him?

  “I didn’t know,” she answered simply. “I had no idea what was bothering him. And then he simply shut himself off from me. He was working night and day on the book contained on these memory sticks.”

  “Easier than confronting the truth, I imagine.”

  They were silent for a few moments, each with their memories.

  Riana stood. “I’m sorry, but I really must ask you to leave now. I have an early rehearsal tomorrow morning. I’ll call a cab. Oh, there’s one other thing. I have a name and address for you.” She left the room and returned with a small card. Dr. Zsusanna Szilard, 27 Szephegyi utca, Budapest. A telephone number was below the name.

  Lacy studied the card, committing the name, address, and telephone number to memory. “I hope you won’t think me paranoid, but please burn this card,” she said. “I don’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Of course.” At the door, Riana placed two tickets into Lacy’s hand. “For tomorrow night, if you’re still in Vienna. I’m singing the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier.”

  “I hope I can come,” Lacy said. She went down to the waiting cab.

  When she descended from the cab at the Suzanne, her mind was still full of her conversation with Riana Rolfe. What an incredible woman. If they’d met under different circumstances they’d surely have been friends. Somehow she felt no jealousy toward either of the women who’d been in Igor’s life before her. She felt instead a strange kinship with them.

  She didn’t see the man standing in the shadows until she had her key in her hand.

  “Here. Let me.” Richard took the key from her and inserted it into the lock. Then he stood back to let her enter.

  “How did you find me?” she asked, stunned.

  “It wasn’t easy. I almost missed you just now. I didn’t immediately recognize you with brown hair. Do you have any idea how many hotels and pensions there are in Vienna?”

  “But how did you know I’d be in Vienna?”

  “Inga Graff was worried about you. She had a nasty encounter with someone a couple of weeks ago. She was afraid your life might be in danger. I’d left her my New York telephone number with her when I was in Rothenburg, and I’d given her several contacts where she could check my identity. When she had a serious scare she called me and told me about Riana Rolfe. I flew in last night.”

  Lacy was confused. Inga had given Riana’s name to Richard? And Richard had made a second trip to Europe, just to protect her? “You may as well come in, since you’re here,” she said, leading Richard into her apartment. He dropped his bag in the foyer to her rooms.

  Once they were seated in the little parlor with cups of tea before them, Lacy tried to find out more. “I’m not registered under my own name. Surely you didn’t just locate me by accident?”

  “It wasn’t all that hard. Rolfe is a famous singer. I figured you’d be staying near the opera house. I tried the big hotels first, the Sacher and the Bristol. When you weren’t in either of those, I started looking for pensions. I hit this one on the third try. I told the nice young woman at the desk I was your brother.”

  “But I’m registered under the name of Alice Ames. How did you know who to ask for?”

  “Jean-Paul and Claudette gave me the names you were traveling under. They wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

  Lacy frowned. Why would Jean-Paul have insisted on such secrecy and then given away her aliases to Richard? But perhaps he had reason to worry. And Richard was a long-time friend.

  “I still don’t understand why you’re here. If you thought I was in danger, why didn’t you call the Viennese police? I thought we had this out in Rothenburg.”

  “Aren’t you in the least little bit glad to see me?”

  Lacy laughed and put her hand on his arm. “Of course I’m glad to see you. You’ve just caught me at a low point. I’m actually very glad to see you, Richard. But I don’t believe I’m in any danger at the moment. Whoever has been chasing me isn’t going to do anything more until I have all the pieces of the puzzle. I’m pretty sure of that. I think my abduction in Salzburg was a mistake on someone’s part. After all, they let me go unharmed.”

  “Your abduction in Salzburg! Lacy, what have you gotten yourself into? You’re going to have to tell me what this is all about. And I’m not going to leave you alone again.”

  Lacy was somehow relieved not to be on her own at this point. Later she’d send Richard on his way, but for the moment, his presence was comforting.

  “As it happens, I have two tickets to the opera for tomorrow night. Would you like to come with me?” she offered.

  “I’d love to. Now are you going to let me stay here tonight? It’s late to be looking for a hotel room. I can sleep on the sofa.”

  “Of course.” Lacy went into t
he bedroom and returned with a pillow and duvet. “We’ll talk again in the morning.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning over breakfast in the salon of the Suzanne, Richard and Lacy made their plans for the day.

  “I’ll check into a hotel this morning.” Richard laughed. “I’m still a bit jet lagged, and I can’t say that little antique sofa was the best bed I’ve ever slept on. Why don’t we meet for a light supper before the opera?”

  “Fine. I intend to spend at least a part of the day shopping. I have nothing but the clothes I’m wearing, and they’re hardly suitable for the opera. Shall we meet at the Café Mozart?”

  “That’s the place just around the corner from the Sacher, isn’t it? Sure. I’ll see you there at five thirty, then.”

  With that, Richard was gone.

  Lacy sat over the remains of her breakfast thinking about their encounter. The last time Richard had been with her he had pushed, hard. This time he seemed relaxed, almost casual. He offered his support, but he wasn’t trying to get her into bed. He’d been a perfect gentleman last night. And far from being intrusive this morning, he’d seemed content to let her go her way, shopping.

  And yet he said he was concerned for her safety? Something didn’t quite add up.

  Hesitantly, Lacy pulled out her phone. Should she call Jean-Paul and Claudette? What time would it be in Quebec now? The middle of the night. She’d try later.

  Shaking her head, Lacy went back to her room to prepare for a day of shopping in Vienna, a city renowned for its stylish women.

  In the early afternoon, Lacy returned to the Suzanne, laden down with boxes and bags. She’d had a good time shopping, but she hadn’t been able to shake off her feeling that something wasn’t quite right about Richard’s sudden reappearance on the scene. She took out her cell phone and called the number of the Auberge. Miraculously, Jean-Paul answered on the second ring.

  “Lacy! What’s wrong? Max said you took his car and disappeared with it!”

  “Max called you?” Lacy gasped and nearly dropped the phone.

  There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. “I asked him to look after you. I was afraid for you, Lacy. I thought if he could just keep an eye on you…”

  “You set Max on me! He was working for you? This was just a job to him?” Lacy’s was furious. She’d been sleeping with a man to whom…“I was some kind of assignment to Max?”

  “No. No,” Jean-Paul hastened to correct her. “It wasn’t like that at all. Max had a month’s holiday and was on his way to the Salzkammergut. I asked him to keep an eye on you. I was worried. It was a very informal arrangement. I had no idea you’d end up actually traveling together.”

  Lacy smiled ruefully. Traveling together was the least of it. “So what about Richard? Why did you think it necessary to give him my whereabouts too?”

  “Richard?”

  “Richard Delancy, Igor’s lawyer. Why did you tell him about Inga Graff? And lead him straight to me here?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. Then, “Lacy, I’ve never spoken to Richard Delancy in my life. I’ve never even met the man. Do you mean to say he’s there, in Vienna now? With you?”

  Lacy felt slightly sick in her stomach. Richard had lied to her? Why in heaven’s name? And Max had been trying to protect her?

  “What am I to do, Jean-Paul?”

  “Find Max. And call me back when you do.” Static interfered with Jean-Paul’s next words as the line went dead.

  Lacy stared at the phone. “Find Max.” How exactly was she to do that? And what was she to do about Richard? He was clearly not to be trusted.

  As she put her phone back into the pocket of her borrowed tweed jacket she felt the little silver card case. Max’s grandmother’s name and address. Her apartment was quite close by. She might know where Max was.

  ****

  Ilse Petersen lived just on the other side of the Danube Canal, in a beautifully proportioned building dating from the Biedermeier period.

  Lacy pushed the button under the Petersen name. A voice came through the speaker. “Wer ist da?”

  “It’s Lacy Telchev, Frau Petersen. You don’t know me, but…”

  “I may not know you, but I certainly know quite a bit about you. Come along up.” The buzzer sounded.

  At the top of the first landing a door opened and a tall slender woman with an unlined face surrounded by a halo of beautiful white hair stepped forward. She was dressed casually in soft blue pants and a color coordinated silk shirt. Her lively blue eyes studied Lacy.

  “So you’re the girl who has my grandson in such a tizzy. I’m delighted to meet you. Please come in.”

  Lacy followed her into an apartment that at first glance was a shock. It was so un-Viennese. There was no gilt; there was no delicate antique furniture. The rooms were a monument to modernity and simplicity, with unadorned windows and a floor carpeted entirely in white. The inviting, comfortable-looking furniture had clean, somewhat Scandinavian lines. Even the fireplace was modern in design, a glass-fronted, black framed square flush in the wall.

  “You may call me Ilse. Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink? I was about to have my afternoon gin and tonic. It’s a vice I acquired on holiday in Barbados a few years ago. There are so few vices left to one at my age.”

  Lacy was stunned almost into silence. This attractive, vibrant woman was Max’s grandmother?

  “Yes. I’m Max’s grandmother,” the woman answered Lacy’s unasked question. “Please close your mouth, my dear. I’m seventy-five, but I know I look years younger. I’d like to tell you it’s from clean living, but the truth is it’s from interesting living.”

  Lacy burst out laughing. “I see now where Max gets his insane sense of humor.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now what brings you here today? The last I heard, you disappeared from Max’s life, leaving him brokenhearted and without a car. He probably deserved both, but perhaps you’d care to tell me your side of the affair.”

  Lacy’s head was swimming. Brokenhearted? He’d said that to his grandmother? “I’ll take that gin and tonic if it’s still on offer,” she said.

  An hour and two gin and tonics later Lacy had unburdened herself of at least some of the saga. Something about this no-nonsense woman inspired confidence.

  “I’m afraid my grandson has behaved a bit like an idiot. His only excuse must be it’s the first time he’s been in love. Clearly a case of retarded development. I’m sure there must be a reasonable explanation for what you heard him say on the telephone. I don’t know what it might be, but I think you owe him a chance to tell you. He’s a good boy.”

  Lacy laughed until she was nearly in tears. Retarded development? A good boy? Max would die if he could hear his grandmother.

  The buzzer sounded.

  “Were you expecting someone?” Lacy asked.

  “No.” Ilse went over to the speaker. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Max. Let me in, Oma.”

  Lacy looked around frantically, grabbing her purse and jacket. She wasn’t sure she wanted to face Max in front of his grandmother.

  Ilse pushed the buzzer. “Go into my bedroom,” she instructed Lacy.

  Lacy did as instructed, leaving the door ajar.

  Max came into the apartment, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t find her, Oma. I’ve spoken to Riana Rolfe. I’ve wandered the streets of Vienna; I’ve haunted the cafes and restaurants in the center. I’ve checked the hotels…”

  He sat down and put his head in his hands. “I was just trying to keep her safe. I should have leveled with her, but I was trying to keep her safe, and now I’ve lost her. What am I going to do?”

  “Do you care so much?” his grandmother asked.

  “I love her, Oma.” He said it simply, starkly, as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

  Lacy came out of the bedroom. “Then you’d better start telling me the truth. All of it. Beg
in with who you were talking to when you said you had me.”

  “Lacy!” His voice broke. He was up and across the room, his arms tight around her, his face buried in her hair. “Lacy.”

  Lacy stood stiffly in his arms. Everything in her wanted to melt, to sink into his embrace, but she had been lied to at every turn. She pushed him gently away and went to sit down in a chair across the room from him. She needed to put distance between them until she understood more. She looked into his eyes. “I’m listening. And it better be good.”

  Max sighed. “It was Jean-Paul on the phone that day. He was worried about you.”

  “Jean-Paul?”

  “He’d asked me to keep an eye on you. I was in Toronto, and he knew I was headed for St. Wolfgang. He didn’t tell me why, he didn’t even tell me who you were. He just said he thought you might be in danger. I wanted to level with you right from the start, but Jean-Paul and Claudette thought I could protect you better if I stayed in the background.”

  Max sighed. “Then you ran straight into my arms in Frankfurt Airport. What was I supposed to do? Things just got away from me.”

  Lacy was still suspicious. It confirmed what Jean-Paul had told her, but it didn’t sound like the whole picture. “Just how did you come to know Jean-Paul?”

  Max looked uncomfortable. “I’d stayed at the Auberge from time to time. We became friends.”

  Somehow Lacy thought that was far from the whole story. But she’d get the rest out of him when they were alone.

  Max continued. “Jean-Paul suggested it might be a good idea if I kept tabs on you, sort of unnoticed.”

  “You were hardly unnoticed. You were very soon in my bed if I remember correctly.” Lacy glanced at Max’s grandmother, but the older woman simply smiled and nodded her approval.

  Max rallied. “As I recall, that was your idea.”

  “You certainly didn’t put up much resistance.”

  “Children, children!” Ilse Petersen intervened. “We seem to be getting a bit off topic here.” She turned to Lacy. “We’ve established that my grandson is in love with you. I presume from what I just heard that, to some extent at least, his feelings are reciprocated. Now could we move on to the next issue, your safety? What are you doing that requires such precautions?”