“My husband wrote a book before he died. It’s one a number of people would prefer never to see make it to print. As a precaution, Igor left chapters scattered across Europe with various people. He asked me to collect them and see the book gets published.”
“Various people?” Ilse asked.
Max intervened. “Igor’s left chapters of the document with his old girlfriends.”
“The man had a sense of humor.” Ilse laughed. “I think I should have liked to know him.”
Max laughed with her. “Oma, you must be one of the few beautiful women in Europe Igor didn’t seduce.” Then he became serious again. “The fact is Lacy has been pursued across Germany and Austria. She won’t be safe until this whole business is finished, one way or another. And I’m not going to let her out of my sight again until it is.”
Lacy suddenly remembered Richard. “Max, Richard Delancy has traced me here to Vienna. He showed up at the Pension Suzanne last night. He told me Inga Graff gave him Riana Rolfe’s name.”
“That seems extremely unlikely. Did you call Frau Graff to verify it?”
“Not yet. But I did call Jean-Paul…” Lacy shook her head. “Richard lied. Why would he do such a thing? He was never at the Auberge in Quebec. He never spoke to Jean-Paul or Claudette. How did he find out about Inga Graff or Riana Rolfe?”
The clock chimed five.
“Oh, my God. I completely forgot. I invited Richard to go to the opera with me this evening. We’re supposed to meet in the Café Mozart at five thirty. What shall I do? He’ll be suspicious if I fail to show up.” Lacy stood to leave.
“Wait just a bloody moment!” Max sounded angry. “Call Inga now.”
Lacy took out her cell phone and dialed Inga’s number. “There’s no answer. And if we don’t want to arouse Richard’s suspicions, I have to go now. He’s expecting me, and I still have to change. The performance is at seven-thirty.”
Max frowned. “My gut instinct is to take you right now and run.”
“I don’t want to do that, Max. I’m tired of running. Let me meet Richard as arranged. Perhaps he’ll let something slip tonight. Whatever he’s up to, it will be better if he doesn’t realize we’re on to him. Meanwhile you can try to reach Inga.”
Max sighed. His voice reflected his reluctance. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight again. Go meet Richard. But I’ll be in that café. Go to the opera with him, but at the first interval, make an excuse. Say you’re going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be at the foot of the stairs closest to the washrooms. Pause when you pass me. Meanwhile I’ll keep trying to contact Inga Graff. Give me her telephone number.”
“Of course, Max.” Lacy shook her head. “It seems so unbelievable. Richard. I’ve known him for years. Igor trusted him.”
“Did he? I wonder.” He took both her hands in his and kissed her briefly. “You said you’re staying at the Suzanne? I’ll meet you there after the performance. Go straight back to your rooms, please.”
“I will. Stop worrying, Max. I’ll be fine.”
“Well.” Max’s grandmother looked from one to the other of them. “I’m glad that’s all settled then. You will keep me informed, won’t you?”
“Of course,” they answered in unison.
****
By the time Lacy got back to the Suzanne she was already running late. Hurriedly she slipped into her new midnight blue satin sheath with the spaghetti straps, and wrapped the soft pashmina in the same shade around her shoulders. The clinging knee-length dress left no room for her money pouch and passports, but she was loathe to leave them behind. She opted instead to carry a large purse so she could keep these essentials with her. It was a bit off with the dress and stole and strappy high-heeled sandals, but it couldn’t be helped. If Queen Elizabeth could carry a huge purse with evening clothes, so could she.
It was six o’clock when she walked into the Café Mozart. She glanced around and saw Max seated at a corner table, ostensibly reading one of the rack newspapers the café kept for its customers.
Richard rose from his table and seated her. “I was beginning to worry,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I was shopping and the time just slipped away from me,” Lacy apologized.
“If that dress is the result of your shopping expedition, the wait was well worth it,” Richard answered, looking her up and down appreciatively.
Lacy laughed. “Thank you.”
The waiter hovered.
“We’d better order. Curtain’s at seven-thirty. I hear the roast chicken is good here.”
At Lacy’s assent, Richard nodded to the waiter. “And two glasses of the Veltliner, please.”
There was no time for the questions filling Lacy’s mind. They made the opera house just as the lights were dimming. Their complimentary seats were in a box on the first tier.
Richard Strauss’s glorious music filled the hall and Lacy leaned forward, entranced, as the curtain opened on the opulent eighteenth-century setting of the Marschallin’s bed chamber. Riana Rolfe was in bed with a much younger man.
The act progressed as the young man left and a host of other characters arrived. A scene of organized chaos unfolded. Riana’s voice soared, unique, always identifiable, blending with the orchestra and the ensemble. Lacy sat, spellbound. No wonder Igor had loved her. She was incredible.
She was sorry when the first act ended. But she had to find Max now.
She and Richard went to the bar, and Richard took his place at the end of a long line to order glasses of champagne for them.
“Excuse me, Richard. I’ll be right back,” Lacy said, heading in the direction of the ladies’ room.
Richard nodded.
****
Max was wearing formal clothes. Lacy’s first thought was how well they suited him. But then Max looked good in everything he wore, or in nothing, for that matter.
He took her arm. “We’re leaving.”
“I can’t leave now. The opera isn’t over. Richard’s waiting for me in the bar.”
“The opera’s over for you, and Richard can continue to wait until doomsday as far as I’m concerned. Come on.”
Max appeared worried. Lacy didn’t argue further.
Outside the opera house he led her into a nearby parking garage and to Hans’ little Smart Car.
“Where’d you get this?” Lacy asked.
“It isn’t my first preference of vehicle,” Max said, “but you left me with no choice. Just what did you do with my Mercedes, by the way?”
Lacy had a sudden attack of guilt. “It’s in a parking garage out in Perscholdsdorf. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I’ll probably owe a king’s ransom in parking fees when I’m finally able to retrieve it, but it will be safe enough there. We don’t have time to go get it now.”
“We do have to stop at the Suzanne to pick up my things.”
“Nope.”
“What do you mean, nope? I have eight hundred dollars’ worth of new clothes in a closet there. If you think I’m going anyplace without them you’re crazy.”
Max was suddenly very serious. “Lacy, Inga Graff is in the hospital. She was attacked in her studio, and she’s been in the hospital for a week. Richard can’t have spoken with her. Not when he said he did. No one could. She was in a coma. She’s come out of it now, but she’s still in intensive care.”
“Oh, my God. Is she going to be all right?”
“It’s too soon to tell. They think her chances are pretty good. She’s young and strong.”
Lacy hated to ask the next question. “Do you think Richard had something to do with the attack?”
“I can’t say. But I do know he lied to you about how he located you in Vienna. And he lied to you about how he found you in Rothenburg, as well. We both know he never went to the Auberge du Lac. He never spoke to Jean-Paul or Claudette.”
Lacy was numb with shock. “Richard? It seems so impossible. Why?”
“I don’t know what his game is, but he’s in this up t
o his eyeballs. He’s lied to you at every turn.”
Lacy sat back. “What do we do now?”
“We get out of Vienna. Immediately.”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the one who spoke with Riana Rolfe.”
“Budapest. The next contact is in Budapest.” Lacy said.
“You have the chapters from Riana?
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see them when we stop for the night.”
****
Richard stood in the shadows, across the street from the stage door to the Staatsoper. The singer should be coming out soon now. The performance of Der Rosenkavalier was over an hour ago. How much time did it take to get out of a costume and make-up?
He took a drag from his cigarette and threw it down, crushing it under his heel. That’s what he’d like to do to the elusive Mrs. Telchev. Crush her. She’d caused him no end of trouble. How’d he managed to lose her in the crowd at the opera? He’d been so sure he had her in his sights. No matter. He’d catch up with her again. With any luck the opera singer would still have what Igor had left with her. If not, she’d know where the troublesome young woman who had it was headed next. He’d just have to persuade the singer to tell him. He’d get all the missing pieces at some point. He had to. His life wasn’t worth a damn if he didn’t.
Chapter Eleven
It was after midnight when they pulled over at a hotel in Tatabanya. “This will have to do,” Max said. “I haven’t had any sleep in more than twenty-four hours. I was searching for you in Vienna. Where’d you stay that first night?”
“In Melk.”
He shook his head. “No wonder I couldn’t find you.”
Their room was basic but clean. Max fell onto the bed and was asleep before Lacy was undressed.
She looked down at him, asleep in his evening clothes, hair tousled, the beginnings of a beard on his face, his arms flung out and one leg half off the bed, and her heart jumped. How could she ever have distrusted Max? She loved him. She loved his wild, unpredictable behavior. She loved his strength and his gentleness, his truly weird sense of humor. She loved him. Why had it been so difficult to admit that to herself?
She pushed him over and made room on the bed, pulling the cover up over them both.
Some hours later she roused, feeling his hand sliding down her hip. He was clearly feeling more rested. He had divested himself of his clothing and was about to make up for lost time.
****
In the light of day, even Max agreed they needed to find something to wear. They couldn’t very well go anyplace dressed in evening clothes at eight in the morning.
“Hungarian wouldn’t be one of the languages you speak, would it?” Max asked. “It’s not one of mine.”
“As a matter of fact, it is. It’s a bitch of a language, but I happen to have a Hungarian grandmother, and she never spoke to me in any other language. I spent several summers with her here in Hungary. So I’m really pretty good with it.”
“That’s handy. When the maid comes with our breakfast, I want you to give her three hundred euros and ask her to go buy us some clothes. Simple work clothes, everything from the skin out. And you’ll need shoes as well.”
“Why can’t we just go shopping?”
“This is a working town, a mining town. We’d be pretty conspicuous in what we’re wearing, and while I hope none of the various people following us know where we are or where we’re heading, I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Lacy shook her head. “We’ll lose valuable time if we have to wait for someone else to shop for clothes.”
“I don’t really think anyone’s looking for us in Tatabanya. And we’ll think of something to do to fill the time.” He smiled.
****
By mid-afternoon they were in Budapest. Rather than checking in to one of the opulent hotels near the Duna, Lacy chose a smaller hotel, the Radio Inn, a short distance from the touristic center. Their room was old-fashioned, spacious, high-ceilinged and comfortable, with tall windows overlooking a tree-lined street. Lacy was traveling on her third passport. She was Janine Dubois, from Paris, her hair now a smooth cap, straight and black, thanks to a beauty salon in the Tatabanya hotel.
She unpacked their meager belongings and put them in the wardrobe. “At least these new clothes aren’t ridiculous,” she said, looking in the mirror at her simple navy blue skirt and jacket. “They may not be the height of style, but they fit reasonably well and they’re not designed by Disney.”
“You worry entirely too much about your clothes. You look gorgeous no matter what you have on,” Max said with a laugh. “And truth be told, you look best with nothing on.”
“You’re a sex-crazed Philistine.”
Max turned serious. “Sex is always an appealing idea, but I think I’d like to read the next chapters now, if I may.”
“I haven’t seen them either. Did you bring your laptop?”
“Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to grab it when I left St. Wolfgang.”
Together they read the second installment of Igor’s book. When they finished the last page, they were both silent.
Max walked over to the window and looked out. When he turned back to Lacy, his demeanor was deadly serious. “He’s implicated a Supreme Court Justice and a high ranking official in the office of the British Prime Minister. You do understand there are people who will stop at nothing to prevent this from becoming public knowledge?”
Lacy nodded. “I know.” It no longer seemed quite the game it had a month ago.
“Who is your contact in Budapest?” Max asked.
“A woman named Zsusanna Szilard.”
“Do you know anything about her?”
“Nothing but her name and telephone number,” Lacy replied.
“Well, we may as well get started. And I hope this is the last one.”
Lacy took out her cell phone and dialed the number she had memorized.
“Doctor Szilard’s office.”
Momentarily confused, Lacy asked, “Is this the residence of Szilard Zsusanna?”
“No. This is her office. Did you wish to make an appointment?”
“Yes. No. That is, could I please speak with her?”
“She’s at the hospital this morning.”
“What hospital?”
“Heim Pál Gyermekkórház.”
Lacy looked at Max. “She’s at a childrens’ hospital.”
The voice on the other end of the phone said, “Would you care to leave a message? Is there a number where Dr. Szilard can call you back?”
Max shook his head. “No number,” he whispered.
“No, thank you. I’ll call back.” Lacy broke the connection.
Max looked puzzled. “She’s a doctor?”
“So it would seem.”
“I thought you said her name was Zsusanna Szilard. Why’d you ask for Szilard Zsusanna?”
“In Hungarian the last name always comes first,” Lacy explained.
“That sounds confusing.”
“Not to Hungarians,” Lacy said. Then, “Why’d you tell me not to leave my number?”
“The fewer ways to trace us the better. She gave you the hospital name?”
“Yes. It’s a children’s hospital not far from here.”
“I suggest we go there and try to catch her in person.”
“It can’t be ‘we,’ Max. You can come with me as far as the hospital, but I’ll have to talk with Dr. Szilard alone.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight. Bad things happen when I do.”
In the end they compromised. Max would stay with her until she met Dr. Szilard. Then he would give them the privacy Lacy required, while remaining close by.
****
The hospital occupied more than a city block, and appeared to consist of several buildings. It fronted a park with benches and tree-lined walkways. The main entrance was in a large building painted a rich dark yellow.
�
�I’ve always wondered what it is about that color,” Lacy said. “It’s everywhere.”
“It’s called ‘Maria Theresa Yellow,’ ” Max answered. “After the Empress who reigned during the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It was her favorite color. It’s all over Austria and Hungary, on churches and public buildings. It’s the color of her palace at Schönbrunn.”
Lacy laughed. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a font of useless information?”
“Can I help it if I find trivia interesting?”
Once inside the hospital, Lacy asked for Dr. Szilard at the reception desk.
“She’s on rounds just now, but if you care to wait, there are some chairs just outside her office…”
“Thank you.”
It was a half hour before Dr. Szilard arrived at her office to find Lacy and Max waiting for her.
“And who might you be?” Her manner was abrupt and businesslike as she moved behind a large desk cluttered with papers.
Lacy studied her. She was much older than Lacy had expected, probably in her mid-fifties. The doctor’s steel grey hair was pulled back into an unflattering bun at the back of her head. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles and was now peering at Lacy over the tops of them. Her baggy grey dress was covered by a white lab coat with a stethoscope dangling out of the pocket.
However, nothing could disguise the fact Zsusanna Szilard had once been a beautiful woman. Her smooth skin and high cheekbones and the intelligence shining from her eyes belied the effect of her mannish clothes and her severe hairdo and glasses.
“I’m Lacy Telchev. I believe my husband left something with you for safe keeping.”
The woman pushed her chair back and stared into space for a few moments saying nothing. Then she sighed. “So he’s dead then.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. He died in March.”
“We can’t talk here. I’m busy. I’m already behind schedule. Come to my house this evening at nine. And come alone,” she said, looking pointedly at Max.
Romantic Road Page 16
