Aria in Ice

by Flo Fitzpatrick

The waiter looked startled. I shook my head.

  “Not you. You’re wonderful. You’ve let me camp here for an hour drinking boozy hot chocolate and eating kolaches and you will receive a marvelous tip. Sorry. I’m just ranting to myself.”

  The waiter smiled cheerfully at me, then set the Prague Castle representative ceramic mug down in front of me, turning the handle exactly where I could grab with ease. Soft wisps of steam swirled around the fresh whipped cream floating atop the hot chocolate and Kahlua—my third cup in an hour. I inhaled the cinnamon and cocoa scent and blessed Shay for sending me to Prague even as I cursed Johnny Gerard.

  My waiter nodded as he handed me a fresh linen napkin. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that furious drool had collected at the sides of my mouth. I’d start foaming soon. Johnny. Leaving me to fend for myself with Veronika Duskova after the meet in the graveyard. Sliding down trees on his way-too-sexy bottom. Being silent about us as ‘us’ and whatever strange doin’s were doin’ at the castle. Going off for three stinking months instead of staying in Manhattan ( albeit jobless since Endless Time would have fired him) and marrying me.

  Restoring a mural. Right. A mural that was not in the north wing. A mural that wasn’t ‘up to speed’ according to Mr. Gerard so no one could see the ancient wreck until it was done.

  I growled again, but was interrupted before any barking began.

  “I beg your pardon. Aren’t you Ms. Fouchet? The girl who’s finding the castle for the movie?”

  Two blue eyes were staring at me from under a delightfully curly and undeniably natural blond head of hair. I hurriedly wiped off the rest of the foam around my mouth, then gazed into the lovely eyes of the man who called my name. He looked familiar. It hit me. I’d seen his picture recently. He was the lead actor Shay had hired; the man who’d be playing the role of the mysterious Count Zilania. I knew he was from Vienna, but couldn’t remember his name.

  He was beautiful. I was dumbstruck. I did manage to nod and gesture to the empty chair across from me but had to swallow my bite of cheese kolache before I was able to speak. Aside from good manners, I had no desire to humiliate myself in front of the god from Austria by trying to talk with my mouth full. He politely did not start conversing until I finished. “I am sorry. I should not have interrupted you while you were eating.”

  I shook my hand. “Not a problem. I just wasn’t expecting any of the cast to show up before Shay made the announcement as to exactly where to show up.”

  “Ms. Martin is fast. She told me she’d hung up the phone with you within minutes of then calling me. I was already in Prague at the hotel and she was excited that I could get a head start on exploring Kastle Kouzlo Noc.”

  “Ah ha. I wondered. Did she call anyone else?”

  “She said she was contacting Lily Lowe, the actress playing the heroine. Apparently Lily is also in Prague, but she grew up here and she has family here still so Ms. Martin wanted to tell her to view the castle very soon.”

  I nodded. He smiled as he reached across the table to take my hand. Thankfully, it was clean of all remnants of goo, ricotta cheese, and whipped cream.

  “I have bad manners.” He inclined his head. “I am Franz Hart. Playing Count Zilania.”

  “I’m Abby Fouchet. Good to meet you.”

  We shook hands, then he leaned back in the chair and signaled the waiter to trot over for another order of hot chocolate and pastries. I couldn’t eat another bite, but decided it would be rude to leave him. And to gaze with admiration at that face? Heck, that was worth staying at the table another hour or so. To heck with you, disappearing, keeping-mum Johnny Gerard.

  He took a sip of cocoa, then asked, “How did you and Shay Martin get together for this film?”

  “We’re roommates. Met at a dance class in Manhattan several years ago. She needed a third for the apartment so I moved in. We have a very—interesting—other roommate named Cherry Ripe who was supposed to get married to Guido Marricino two months ago but postponed until the Marricino matriarch can make it to the wedding. She lives in Trequanda, which is some hill town in Tuscany. She doesn’t get out much. The matriarch, that is. Cherry gets out a lot. Which could be another reason for the postponement since Guido gets a little anxious that his bride-to-be might still prefer the single life.”

  I was rambling. His eyes were slightly glazed, somewhat like Madam Veronika Duskova’s had been back at Kouzlo Noc. But he smiled, then asked another question.

  “Shay said you were from Texas? I was in Amarillo when I was shooting a musical movie two years ago.”

  “Musical? Really? Um- country music?”

  Before Franz had a chance to respond, another voice chimed in over my head. “I personally love country music. Not as much as I love classic rock or classic classical, but hey—give me a steel guitar and a head full of big bleached blonde hair and I’m there.”

  I turned.

  Johnny. Before I had a chance to react—either to the man or the comment, he’d grabbed a chair from an empty table near-by and plopped his denimed butt down.

  “I’m Johnny Gerard. Ms. Fouchet and I met—earlier—at the castle.”

  That was true. Of course he’d left out that our first meeting had been in Manhattan not long after Shay and I had met and that apart from some angst and murder and jealousy over other women (I have trust issues) and solving crime, corruption and murder, then his contract with a soap opera sending him to foreign lands without me, we’d been together for the last two and a half years. I can keep a secret, although I’d preferred a good reason as to why I couldn’t reveal that Johnny and I were a couple.

  Johnny stared at Franz, obviously waiting for introductions. Neither male looked happy. I coughed, then did the politeness thing. “Joh-- uh, Mr. Gerard, this is Franz Hart, who’s playing the esteemed Count Zilania for the film. I did tell you we’re doing a film right? Anyway, Franz, this is the not-so-esteemed Johnny Gerard, who obviously is a bit out-of-date in his country music assessment since bleached blondes went the way of the dial-phone quite a few years ago. Mr. Gerard is in Prague…um, why are you in Prague exactly? Something to do with art?”

  Gerard casually leaned forward and used his finger to wipe a bit of whipped cream off my upper lip. I’d had no idea it was there. I turned redder than his hair. He settled back in his chair turned and looked directly at Franz.

  “I’m restoring a mural for the Duskovas. It was a mess to begin with.”

  An “Ah” was the only response from Franz.

  There was silence from all points of the table. There was also hostility between the two men that appeared to have no source.

  Franz quietly asked, “So you have an interest in Kouzlo Noc, Mr. Gerard?”

  “Johnny. Please, make it Johnny.”

  Franz mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Johnny. Yes? Kouzlo Noc?”

  He smiled. “I have an interest in the arts, Mr. Hart.”

  Silence again.

  I slugged down the last of my cocoa and tried to fill the quiet with chatter. “Well, since you have an interest in the arts, you’ll like this. The Slovak Opera Company is performing The Magic Flute starting next week at the Estates Theatre. I, for one, can’t wait to see it. Even in German the name is just thrilling. Die Zauberflote.”

  Johnny raised one brow. “Flutes on the brain, Miss Fouchet?”

  I echoed the tone he’d taken with Franz. “Abby. Please, make it Abby. And there’s nothing on my brain—or conscience—I just happen to love that particular opera.”

  I nodded at Franz. “Uh, Franz? You a fan of Mozart?”

  “Mozart? Of course. I am from Vienna, after all.”

  “Good point. Of course, that implies major Strauss waltzes above all else.”

  I smiled. Franz smiled. Johnny smiled. We were all so chummy here.

  Franz asked, “Why the question?”

  “Oh. Well, since The Magic Flute is playing at The Estates Theatre for the next few weeks, you’d probably want to see it in Prague. I do.�
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  “But of course!” Franz exclaimed. “The Estates is a beautiful theatre. Built in 1783 in the NeoClassical style.”

  Johnny wasn’t interested in talking architecture. Nope. He wanted to talk Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who, by a far too coincidental coincidence, had lived in the mid-18th century—the same time frame as the graves in the cemetery where Corbin Lerner had been exploring.

  Johnny leaned back in his chair. “Funny you mentioned Mozart, Abby. I’m actually gathering information about the first production of The Magic Flute when it was performed in Prague in the Seventeen-Nineties. Trying to learn about the various instruments used in that performance.”

  There was no reason for Franz to stiffen, but he did. So slightly that I wasn’t sure he’d even made a movement. I was lost. The two of them seemed to be playing a chess game and I wasn’t even the referee.

  This little café served sweet goodies, but also doubled as a bar. My waiter returned just when I was about to dive in and get nosy. I kept silent. Johnny ordered a bourbon and coke, and Franz went with white wine. I threw caution and calories to the wind and asked for my fourth Kahlua and chocolate, wishing the amount of Kahlua was more than just a taste. Then we all sat back in our chairs and played “avoid Mozart” for the next hour.

  Johnny started with “Franz? You’re playing the hero for this movie Abby’s involved in?”

  A nod.

  “So, how’d you land the role?”

  Franz relaxed. “I sent Miss Bohacek clips from the last two films I was in. Both leads. Both in German, but she saw in me the mysterious nobleman she wanted and sent her recommendation on to Miss Martin.” He added, “I also sing and dance, which is good for this movie.”

  Johnny took a sip of his drink. Franz let him swallow before asking, “And what exactly do you do, Mr. Gerard?”

  “In the off season, when you’re not breaking into castle turrets.” Oh lordy, had I said that out loud?

  Apparently not. Neither man looked at me with any change of expression.

  Gerard finished his entire drink, waved to the waiter for another, then smiled with absolute ease. “Many things. I’m an actor and singer.” Understatement. Johnny had both a Daytime Drama Emmy and a Best Actor Tony under his belt. “I’m also a musician. I’ve done studio recordings; sometimes I play down in Soho with a group.”

  This was news. When had this started?

  Franz and I spoke at once.

  Him: “What instrument do you play?”

  Me: “What’s the name of the band?”

  Johnny answered me first. “Band is called Noble Posse. We’re very eclectic in our choice of music. Classic rock, early garage punk, big band, C & W.” He shot me what I call his ‘Irish choirboy caught naked with two Irish milkmaids in the church vestry’ look. “I use a different name though in the group. Gregory Noble.”

  Typical. Another plot twist for the cop who does everything. I wondered when Johnny had filmed these musical episodes for Endless Time. Before, during or after his African safari? Why hadn’t I been invited to at least watch since my character of Vanessa had been cancelled?

  I smiled, a bit grimly. “I like it. Sounds fun. I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks. And it is fun.” He glanced at Franz. “I play guitar. Other stuff as well, but that’s my primary instrument.” He smiled. “ So, Franz? Tell us about Vienna, would you? I’ve never been there, but heard it’s gorgeous and the people are friendly—and the pastries? Wicked.”

  Franz complied with the request and began to regale Johnny and me with a guide through Olde Vienna, talking about the great sights such as the Spanish Riding School where the Lipizzaner horses are trained. I heard about St. Stephen’s Cathedral and the Baroque Schonbruan, aka the Hapsburg dynasty palace. My attention was wandering after the list of orchestras in the city, but I perked up at the mention of the Giant Ferris Wheel, which was portrayed in the classic movie, The Third Man. And I began to drool when he described the dream dessert of carboholic freaks the world over—Sachertorte, named for the restaurant that originally served the dish.

  Franz did not mention that Vienna had premiered The Magic Flute. He also did not mention that Vienna was the place where Mozart died; or whether that death had come by means of cup of poison administered by rival composer Salieri, by simple ill health, or perhaps by someone with motive even nastier than jealousy.

  When Franz finished his whirlwind tour through Vienna, we all simply sat in silence. Other than the Ferris wheel and the visions of torte running through my head, I had no idea what other bits of info Franz had given us. My mind was in the Czech Republic, not Austria.

  Suddenly my mind was also at Kouzlo Noc. An ‘Abby-vision’ was flashing before me. I could see the north turret of the castle—and I could see someone falling from it. It was a short vision but vivid. I shivered.

  I needed to vanquish that image. Mentioning Mozart again was bound stir things up a bit and center my focus outside of bodies tumbling from tall windows.

  “So, Franz? What’s your favorite part of The Magic Flute? Were you aware it was first performed in Vienna.” I turned to Johnny. “But of course, you, being the consummate musician, probably can sing the durn thing in German, too. And while I’m being nosy, Mr. Gerard; you said you were doing research on the opera’s first Prague performance. Why not the original from Vienna? For that matter, why the research?”

  Johnny’s response was a crock as far as his real reasons for studying the Prague version. He avoided any mention of why he was researching the bloody thing to begin with. “Because the Prague production contained a few elements in the orchestra that were not heard in Vienna. Especially for the flautist. Don’t you just love the flute?”

  I was now sorry I’d mentioned the stinkin’ thing and worried that Johnny would bring up my far-out theory about the ghost at Kouzlo Noc who could well be a flautist. I began to blather. “I love The Magic Flute. Of course, anyone who loves opera loves that one. I don’t get all the symbolism, and I wish Wolfgang Amadeus had thrown in a few more arias and less recitative, but the Papageno/Papagena duet is way too much fun, and you can’t do better than that aria by the Queen of the Night. So, aside from me, who’s planning to see this current production by the Czech Company? I’ve heard that this version will have modern costuming and more of a present-day approach, whatever the heck that means.”

  Johnny folded the napkin he hadn’t used, left it on the plate he hadn’t used, then stood. “I have tickets for the gala opening Friday night. Care to join me, Ms. Fouchet?”

  Franz also stood. “I plan to attend that myself. Perhaps I can escort Ms. Fouchet since we are staying at the hotel together.”

  He made it sound as though we were sharing a room and I had no desire to be labeled his sleep partner/lover when that label was absolutely false. Johnny wasn’t normally the jealous type (unlike me) but he did have a fine Irish temper and I could easily visualize him picking up Franz and toss him into the dessert tray. Of course, if Johnny would just own up to the girlfriend/boyfriend truth of our relationship then Franz wouldn’t be so quick to make insinuating comments about his and my current residences.

  I shoved my chair back and jumped to my feet. “Well, isn’t that a kick, Franz. I had no idea we were both at that hotel. Guess Shay arranged it?” I smiled so my comment didn’t sound harsh. “Tell you what, guys. Why don’t we all meet at the theatre Friday? I’m sure a few other cast members from the movie would like to join us. Shay said at least three of the leads, plus our composer for the movie, should be here by then. Are tickets hard to get?”

  Johnny replied, “I bought two tickets for you and me less than an hour ago. Sorry, Mr. Hart, but you’re on your own for yours. They should still have seats available for your other cast and staff.” He glared at Franz, who appeared clueless as to how he’d wronged Johnny Gerard.

  I quickly said, “Cool. Hey, look at the time! I’ve got stuff I need to do. Johnny, I guess I’ll see you Friday? And Franz, we can meet tomorr
ow if you’re coming out to get a look at the castle? I need to take some notes for Shay on what scenes should be shot where.”

  Franz brightened. “I very much will want to see the castle. So tomorrow perhaps you can guide me?”

  “Sure. It would be my distinct pleasure.”

  Johnny bowed, then growled. “Ms. Fouchet? Friday—or sooner.”

  He turned and stalked off.

  I reached under the table for my bag. Franz politely extended his hand. “May I carry that for you?

  I smiled at him, but shook my head. “No thanks. I’m wandering off to check out this old bookstore I saw in a guidebook. I love hunting through old stuff like maps and histories. And I’m hoping they’ll have some other Gothic tales that were written in countries other than just America in the Sixties and Seventies. I’d love to be able to bug Shay with strange ideas.” I paused. “Uh, I’m sorry that Johnny was a bit abrupt about tickets and stuff.”

  He eyed me with curiosity and some other emotion I couldn’t define. “Just how long did you say you and Mr. Gerard have been friends?”

  I did more spinning than an Olympic skater finishing a routine. “I ran into him a few hours ago at the Kastle. He was, uh, looking into some rare tree.”

  He was looking at that tree up close and personal with his backside and that tree was about as rare as a pine in East Texas, but it was almost the truth. I added, “I gather he is doing some restorative artwork for the owners there.”

  Franz quietly stated, “He’s quite the Renaissance man isn’t he? I should study him for future use as a character.”

  I held off from stating, ‘Honey, been done. Tune in tomorrow—or whenever Johnny Gerard is back in Manhattan filming—and watch the quintessential Mister Do-It-All, Gregory Noble, outwit villians while surving jumping out of planes with slashed parachutes then skiing down Alps promptly upon landing.’

  “Well, Ms. Fouchet. Oops, sorry. Abby. I’m going to attempt to purchase tickets for the opera. I shall see you tomorrow?”

  I nodded. “Sure. I’ll give the Duskovas a call and give them a heads up that our leading man would like a preview of the set—or at least what will be the set.”