Tempting Fate (36 page)

“My brother sends his apologies, but he was already engaged for this evening, and did not recall it until yesterday,” she said in a somewhat stifled voice.

“What you mean, my dear, is that he did not want to come and found an excuse to stay away,” the Baron corrected her with a wink. “He would rather spend his time building the new Deutschland than reminiscing about the old Empire. One look at these archaic clothes of mine, and he would have bolted.” He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. “You know, your father often said he was concerned for that boy, and I’ve only recently begun to appreciate what he meant. A capable lad, without doubt, but with very little understanding in him.” He signaled a waiter, and said to Gudrun, “Champagne? Or would you prefer something less heady?”

Rather recklessly, Gudrun said, “Champagne, Baron, bitte.”

“Excellent.” He took two glasses from the tray which the waiter proffered, and offered one to Gudrun. “A good year, this. Whatever else you may say about the French, their wines are superb.” He lifted his glass in a toast and tossed it off at once. “That’s my fifth glass this evening. Don’t tell my physician.”

Gudrun sipped once at the sparkling wine, then looked up at the Baron. “You did not say in your invitation what this evening is supposed to celebrate.”

“Why, the extinction of the House of Tiborkraj, of course. Now that my holdings are part of Czechoslovakia, there is no barony nor any other elevated state for Tiborkraj, no title, no rights of birth. We are all quite common now.” He said it lightly enough, but his tired eyes glinted like old steel. “This, Gnädige Frau, is a reception for the dead, and I hope that you will enjoy yourself in tribute to that which is gone.”

“But, Baron…” She had no idea what response her host wanted from her, and her confusion brought a becoming flush to her cheeks and throat.

“There, I have upset you, and that was not in the least my intention. Or was it the champagne?” He pulled at the waxed end of his mustache and regarded her with an arch look that once had been considered dangerous by court ladies.

“Probably the champagne. I have so little oppor … inclination to have it when my husband cannot enjoy it.” Her color deepened and she took another sip of the wine, wanting to hide her embarrassment with this acceptable excuse.

“For all your husband can be to you, you might as well be a widow,” Baron Tiborkraj muttered, then became more expansive. “It’s not my place, but when I recall what it was like, when you had your first pony and I taught you to ride like the devil himself, well, then I thought you would find yourself a Graf or Herzog to woo you and be captivated by your charm and daring. But then, there are no more Grafs or Herzogs left for you.” As a waiter passed with a tray of canapés the Baron reached out and grabbed two of them. “Good. Shrimp. I like shrimp.” He disposed of the canapés quickly.

“I don’t wish to discuss Jürgen, Baron. It is so hopeless and there is nothing to be gained by saying so.” She finished the glass of champagne in a rush. Something of the underlying frenetic air of the gala was reaching her, and she felt a little wild.

“Quite right. It was an imposition to speak of it.” The band had begun to play a medley of popular tunes from Berlin, and more of the guests were dancing. The Baron had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise. “Would you like me to find you a partner? I would offer myself, but I don’t know any of these new steps.”

“That’s all right,” she said gratefully. “I don’t want to dance just now myself.” She hated to admit that most of the new dances were unknown to her. She was confident that there would be waltzes later on, and although her skirt was not really of the best design for the fast waltzes she loved, it would be a joy to spin around the room to the light melodies of Strauss.

“In my day, it was cotillions and the czardas,” the Baron said quietly. “I learned the mazurka, as well, but it hasn’t been very popular for a long time.”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it? The mazurka?” She took a second glass of champagne from one of the waiters and handed him the first glass. She was unaccustomed to wine now, and already could feel its glow touch her.

“Complicated, and took a great deal of grace and style, which was one of the reasons it was so popular at court. We—my family—were most important there, once,” he went on with a bitter smile. “My grandmother was a Teleki, and they say that Janos Hunyadi himself bestowed our motto on us: ‘Strength beyond death’. How appropriate that seems tonight.” By this time they had reached the far side of the dance floor where a number of guests were seated at round marble-topped tables. A few had plates before them with the remnants of pastry on them.

One of the gentlemen rose as the Baron approached, showing proper courtesy to the old man. “A magnificent evening, Tiborkraj. You do your name proud.”

“That was my intention,” the Baron replied. “It pleases me that you appreciate my efforts.”

There were fragments of conversation broken off to extend the socially correct amount of gratitude for the lavish gala.

“That’s kind of you. I think that some of you do not know my charming companion,” he added, looking down at Gudrun. “This is Frau Ostneige, of Wolkighügel at Hausham. Her father was Felix Altbrunnen, who was an aide to the Kaiser for several years. One or two of you may remember him.”

Two women at the nearer table had been giving Gudrun’s clothes and jewels careful scrutiny, and now smiled with calculating goodwill. “Tell me,” one of them said, moving her brightly roughed lips with exaggerated care, “is your husband with you this evening, Frau Ostneige?”

Gudrun bridled slightly, but felt the Baron’s fingers tighten on her arm in warning. “Alas, no. My husband is an invalid. He was very grievously injured in the war, and has not left his bed for three years.”

“Oh,” said another one of the women with a sideways glance at the gentleman to her left, “how unfortunate.”

“He has borne it with great fortitude,” Gudrun said with more force than she had intended. “Other men have fared as badly.” She wanted to say that at least Jürgen’s mind was fairly intact, unlike so many others, but she stopped the words. This was not the time or the place for such reminders.

“Well, Finster, I will leave Frau Ostneige with you and your friends. I’m sure she’d rather be with you youngsters than with me. This is Klaus Finster, Gudrun, and he will certainly tell you the names of his party. I’m afraid that between champagne and age, my memory is not what it was.” He released Gudrun and strolled away, oblivious of the pleading expression in Gudrun’s eyes.

“Frau Ostneige?” Klaus Finster said, being certain he had heard correctly. “Won’t you sit down? Ulrich, there’s a seat beside you. Frau Ostneige can sit there. Frau Ostneige, my brother Ulrich. He’s been studying law, so that he can get the better of the French, but I’ve told him it’s a waste of time. The Chancellor’s office, that’s where a lawyer can do some good.” As he spoke, he escorted Gudrun to the chair and pulled it out for her.

Ulrich Finster was slightly flushed, and the look of his eyes indicated that he had had more to drink than was wise. The smile he directed at Gudrun was more of a smirk, and he took her hand and kissed it in such a way that she was grateful to be wearing gloves. “A great pleasure, Frau Ostneige.” His fingers brushed her arm as he released her hand.

“And this is Siegfried Reiz,” Klaus went on. “And our ladies, yes. The brunette with the green eyes is Hildegard, and the beauty in striped silk is Ilse.” He sat down again as Gudrun sank into her chair. His eyes flicked over Gudrun once before he leaned toward Hildegard. “Do you want to dance, my sweeting?”

Hildegard turned her languid, bored countenance on Ulrich as she answered his brother. “Not yet,” she said in a seductive voice. “I’m not ready yet.” She looked around the room once, explaining to the others at the table, “They say that Conrad Veidt is here tonight, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Conrad Veidt?” Gudrun repeated, baffled at the increased excitement of the party. “I’ve … heard the name, but I don’t know…”

“My dear Frau Ostneige, you must be living in Outer Mongolia not to have heard of Conrad Veidt,” Ulrich said, resting his arm on the back of her chair. “No one would admit to not knowing him. It would be like not knowing Bismarck. Haven’t you seen
Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari?
Everyone is talking about it. A remarkable film, Frau Ostneige, full of hidden meanings.”

“It’s much more interesting than those Communists in Saxony and Hamburg,” Ilse said, winking slowly at Siegfried. “Let me have one of your cigarettes, Sieg.”

Gudrun was astonished to see Siegfried comply, offering a silver engraved cigarette case to Ilse with a smile. “They’re very strong.” His tone was teasing, implying more than the words indicated.

“I like them strong,” she said, taking one of the cigarettes and placing it between her red, red lips, waiting for Siegfried to light it for her. When it was done, she exhaled slowly, her eyes half-closed.

“Do you smoke, Frau Ostneige?” Siegfried Reiz asked, offering her the case.

“No. No, thank you, I don’t.” She wanted to leave the table, feeling as if she had been transported to another, sinister world she had never known.

“They say,” Ulrich was telling her, bending his head down close to hers, “that there will be talking films next year. They’re already making plans to try the process out. Think what it will be like then.”

Hildegard shrugged her shoulders. “It’s better this way, with only the film and the music. You can ignore the titles and make up for yourself what is taking place.” Her sudden laugh was low and without joy. “I went once with a … friend who can read lips and he said that the things the actors say to each other are … interesting.”

The band suddenly grew louder, playing a brassy tune that Gudrun did not know. Klaus hit the table with the flat of his hand in approval. “They’ll offend the old Baron, but what does it matter?”

“What song is that?” Gudrun asked, wishing she could sink through the floor.

“‘Swanee.’ It’s American. Very decadent.” Klaus stood up. “Come, Hildegard, dance with me. We’ll show them how things have changed.” He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet.

“Shall we join them?” Ulrich murmured near her ear.

“No … thank you. My husband … I shouldn’t dance.” She clutched her bag in her lap. “I … it’s very hot in here. I think I must get some fresh air.”

Ulrich gave her a knowing smile. “The terrace is right through that door. There’s a wind off the snow. You’ll be cold.”

“That’s all right,” Gudrun said rather distractedly as she pushed in the chair. The dance band was noisy and those who danced to the music were adding to the din. At the moment there was a headache at the back of her eyes and Gudrun could only think to keep to herself for the moment.

The night was startlingly chilly after the heated atmosphere of the ballroom. As she passed through the French doors, she was shocked by the wind and the cold that went through the thin soles of her dancing shoes and up her legs. Satin and lace proved to give little protection, and gooseflesh quickly rose on her arms. For a moment she hesitated, then crossed the terrace toward the balustrade between the terrace and the garden that at the moment was bare and sere. Now that she was away from the ballroom and the door was closed, the band was only a distant sound, like music played on toy instruments. She sighed as the frigid wind flicked past her. She was glad to have privacy, even if it meant standing in the frosty night. Gradually she became aware of another sound, more suited to her ears: in one of the other grand rooms of the hotel, someone was playing the piano. She went toward the music, trying to place it. As she had little knowledge of Italian opera, she did not at first recognize the piece, but thought that perhaps it was a transcription of something by Donizetti or Bellini. There was a pause and then another variation began, filled with long arpeggios and dizzying runs. Gudrun smiled as she listened. This was so much more to her taste than the other, and there was real delight in listening to it here alone, as if it were being played for her and no one else. She thought that if only she might have another ten minutes or so of this unsuspecting serenade, then she could face the confusion in the ballroom.

A burst of music from the band, and the sound of strained laughter came from the far side of the terrace as the door opened. “Gudrun,” a voice called out.

Surprised and not entirely pleased, Gudrun turned. “Baron?”

“Baron, is it?” the voice laughed, and then she saw Ulrich Finster in the shadow of the wall. “Who would have thought the old man would still be at it?”

“What are you talking about? What are you doing here?” The questions came quickly and she tried to convince herself that it was the cold that caused her to shiver, and not the young man coming across the terrace toward her.

“Don’t worry, my little dove, I was discreet. No one saw me leave, and I doubt anyone saw you, either. They were all trying to dance. Our absence won’t be noticed and we can return by different doors.” His smile was cynically confident as he reached her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Herr Finster!” Gudrun said in an affronted voice. “Don’t…”

His look grew harder. “What is this? You knew I was coming.” His fingers tightened and he could feel her bare arms through the lace.

“Knew you were coming?” She stared at him. “You’re mistaken, Herr Finster. It is some sort of misunderstanding. If you don’t mind, I would prefer to be alone.” She had never had to take such a tone with a man before and it bothered her to do so now. Always in the past she had been treated with respect, but this young man with his cold eyes and brooding mouth was not within her experience. “Please take your hands off me at once.”

“You want to play that kind of game, do you?” He laughed once, his drunkenness making the outburst loud and unsteady. “I know your sort. I knew the moment the Baron brought you to the table. Poor wife. Disabled husband. I didn’t need written orders to tell me what you wanted me to do.”

With an effort, Gudrun suppressed an urge to laugh. To the sounds of a well-played piano and a dance band, she was having to repel an inebriated lecher. It was like something in a bad drama, she thought, and found it hard to believe it was indeed happening, that there would not come one decisive line, after which the curtain would fall and there would be applause, She gave Ulrich a steady look. “You’re not yourself, Herr Finster, and I won’t hold you accountable. If you will apologize and leave me alone, there will be no more said about it.” She dreaded what would happen if Maximillian or Jürgen should come to hear of this episode, and it gave her the impetus to turn suddenly and break away from him. “Now you may go in, Herr Finster.”