“How’s Mom?”
“Fine. She’s been working at the store regularly to help on the busy days. The girls say she’s an angel and a fantastic help. I think even after you’re home she’ll want to be a regular.”
“That’s an incredible idea. It’ll be great to have her there with me. I really hate to cut this short, Steph, but I better go. I’ll call you back later.”
She hung up and joined Stephen, who was now flipping through a magazine he’d picked up from the coffee table.
“Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem. I have to run. Thanks for the tea and conversation.”
“Well, there wasn’t too much conversation, but you’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow night at Bohème.”
He was standing in the open doorway, keys in hand and his computer case handle slung over his shoulder. “Looking forward to it. See ya then.”
She shut the door and took the paper from her pocket that had Günther’s cell phone number. Returning to the kitchen, she sat where Stephen had been and dialed the number.
“Günther Christove,” his message began.
The instant she recognized it was his recorded phone message, a jolt of disappointment made her sag. She waited until it finished and left him a message about Sasha and what Helene had told her. Of course, he’d still be in class. It was only one o’clock.
Camille folded her arms on the countertop and rested her forehead. She closed her eyes. A light smattering of rain pitter-pattered on the dormered roof in the living room. As she relaxed, Camille thought about her heart attack, recovery, and what it meant in the big picture of her life. How far she was from home. Kristin and a boyfriend. Were they all anxiously awaiting her return—or learning to get along fine without her? What was happening at Chocolate Blossoms? She’d had very little news, making a conscious effort not to think about it, worry, or call the girls to ask about things. She’d been tempted a few times to look up the website online, but decided not to, giving it a clean break for the time she was here.
Slowly her thoughts turned to Günther in class, giving a lecture or relating some amusing anecdote. Günther laughing and smiling into her eyes. Father Florian, little Johann, troubled Sasha, Stephen Turner, and even Branwell. All the people and things that had made her first week in Vienna noteworthy. In such a short time, she had morphed from the woman who had boarded that plane almost one week ago to someone very different.
A clap of thunder sat her bolt upright, all mental musings now forgotten. She dashed up the stairs quickly to shut her window. She closed it and locked the latch.
Camille sat on her bed as darkness slowly enveloped her room. It felt unfamiliar and a bit unnerving. Outside, the normally busy neighborhood looked deserted and quiet. She clicked on her bedside lamp and turned on the radio, dispelling the quietness of the house. The rain started coming down in force.
Her light winked and went out.
Chapter Fifteen
Florian and Günther stood when Frau Blutel, the rectory secretary, showed Elizabeth Roth, the head of the Child Protection Büro, into his office. Florian steeled his resolve. He’d had many dealings with this woman and was not looking forward to today.
The stern-looking, middle-aged Englishwoman crossed her legs and smoothed her black skirt as she sat in the chair opposite his desk. Günther took the chair against the wall.
From the doorway, Frau Blutel asked if anyone would like anything, tea or coffee? Ms. Roth shook her head as she pulled a packet of papers from her briefcase.
“Nein, danke, Frau Blutel,” Florian responded. His secretary nodded politely and quietly closed the door.
“I have meticulously reviewed Johann’s file, Herr Pfarrer Christove. Until Johann’s uncle, Bernhard Wernfried, is found, and agrees to waive his guardianship for Johann to another responsible party as you think he should do, the boy must be moved to the group facility immediately.”
Florian knew Johann would founder in the overcrowded boarding school located in Augsburg, the small German city just north of Munich. Florian had been there on several occasions. It was cold and drafty. Scant rations were routine and it was woefully understaffed. No. It was no place for Johann, even for a short time.
She homed in on him with her hawk-like stare. “The family from your parish that is caring for him now is not in the foster care system. He cannot remain there.”
The woman was only doing what she must, following the law. Actually, he’d expected to see Ms. Roth yesterday, the same day that he’d made the call to her office. He’d worked with her on several occasions and knew that she followed the book to the letter.
But they needed time to locate Bernhard. If Johann fell back into the endless cycle of temporary homes, moving every few months as he had done before coming to live in Vienna with his uncle, it would break his spirit. And more than that, Florian was certain that this time it would also break his heart.
It would be worse still if the agency left him with Bernhard. It was only a matter of time until something terrible happened. Disappointingly, not a trace of Bernhard Wernfried had been seen since his disappearance two days ago. He had called Günther demanding Johann back but hadn’t left any information on where he was living or where he could be reached by phone. And now Wolfgang, who was handling the case personally, was gone for a few days and had had to turn the case over to one of his captains.
“A little time is all we’re asking for, Ms. Roth,” Florian said. He leaned forward in his chair so he looked straight into her eyes. “Johann is happy with the Weissmans. They’re a loving family with a mother and father present in the home. He shares a room with two other boys. He’s able to stay in his class, with the same teacher he’s had for the past year. His grades have made a dramatic improvement since coming to Vienna and working with Günther. His life is stable, so to speak.”
“I understand, Herr Pfarrer Christove. I’ve been by the Weissmans’ this morning.”
Ms. Roth looked unmoved.
“Packing him up and relocating him now could be very damaging. One more week. That is all that we ask,” Günther added. His tone was flat. Temper controlled.
“Herr Pfarrer Christove,” Ms. Roth began again, totally ignoring Günther’s comment. The two had a strained relationship, at best.
“Can you give us that?” Günther pressed.
Florian flashed Günther a pointed glance. He’d given him explicit orders to let him do the talking. Elizabeth Roth didn’t like Günther. They’d had two disagreements regarding Johann, and Günther, pushed to his limit, had not handled the situations well.
“Herr Pfarrer Christove—” Breaking off her sentence, she sat looking at him for several long moments. Her expression hardened. “Herr Pfarrer Christove,” she began again. “I suppose you are only trying to help Johann. But haven’t we been through situations similar to this before? Several times, as I recall. I understand that you think what you are doing is best, but we have procedures. Rules are to be followed and not broken.”
Günther made a sound in his throat.
“One week?” Florian asked.
“And in that week, if something happens to Johann, you will be responsible. Are you able to accept that liability?”
He nodded.
“Your bishop, he would approve?”
That was a good question. One he would rather not think about right at this moment.
She didn’t wait for him to answer her question. She looked at her watch and stood. He and Günther followed. She gathered her papers and put them back into her briefcase.
“I don’t like you, Herr Pfarrer Christove,” she said looking down her nose at him, “or your sanctimonious brother. Your kind always believe they know more than a trained professional, one who works with cases like this one, day in and day out.”
Without looking, Florian could feel Günther bristle, imagine his face flushing.
“These cases have names, Ms. Roth,” Günther said, his voice low.
“Since I do not have a place to put Johann at the moment, I will give you until Monday to locate his uncle, Herr Wernfried. Until then, I will leave Johann where he is with the Weissmans. When Herr Wernfried is located, it will be best if you remember that he has every right to take Johann wherever he wants. He is the boy’s legal guardian. Do not plan any more dramatic rescues.”
“That man is a menace and danger to Johann. How you close your eyes to his drinking and drug abuse is criminal,” Günther challenged.
“Prescription drugs. I’ve told you that before, Herr Christove.” Her tone fairly sizzled.
Florian came around the desk to stand between them.
“Thank you for the extra time, Ms. Roth.” Actually, Florian was stunned at this turn of events. At least they had a few extra days. He had not expected it. They walked together into the reception area.
“You’re welcome. Be assured, it is not because of your bleeding Catholic hearts,” she said sarcastically, her mouth pulling down at the corners. “Just don’t make me regret my decision.”
“No. No. Of course not,” he quickly said. “We will watch Johann very closely.”
Florian and Günther watched her go.
When she was gone, Frau Blutel looked up from her work, a pained expression marring her normally pleasant face.
Florian smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. At least they had the weekend to find Bernhard. It wasn’t much time, but it was far better than nothing.
Florian turned and drilled his brother with an ice-cold stare, ready to reprimand him for challenging Ms. Roth, but Günther ignored him and snatched up his jacket. “I have to get back to class. I’ll talk to you later.”
Günther gazed through the classroom window at the dark clouds surrounding the city like a sodden black blanket. The streets below were relatively empty, save for a few brave souls running for the restaurant across the street before the clouds let loose.
The affairs of late had him down. First it was Camille’s troubling news about Sasha, and now Johann.
It was crucial that they locate the boy’s uncle before the coming week. That may prove to be impossible given the man’s seedy connections and his ability to disappear into the inner workings of the city’s heart.
“Herr Christove, is something troubling you?” Stena von Linné asked, her brow furrowed in worry. She looked over his shoulder and through the window to see what he was looking at. Her hair hung freely around her shoulders.
“Nein, Stena. Just watching the goings-on outside. It’ll rain soon.” She wrinkled her nose, presumably, he thought, over the possibility of getting drenched on her way home.
“Tell me, how are you getting along this term? You are staying at the Pension Pertschy, are you not?”
“Yes.” She seemed pleased that he knew this fact about her. He made it his business to see to all his students’ comfort.
“How do you like it?”
“Very much. My room and board there is a gift from my Uncle Fran. He wanted me to enjoy myself to the fullest while here in Vienna. My room has a wonderful view of the courtyard.”
“I know it well.”
She raised her brows.
Their tête-à-tête was drawing the attention of the other students, who were supposed to be working on a writing assignment. Konrad Larroux and Mark Marslino watched them with interest.
“And The Graben. Are you discovering the social diversity and cultural richness of the famous street?” he asked.
If it was possible, her face brightened even more. “It’s marvelous. The shopping is splendid and the restaurants are to die for. It’s impossible not to love the car-free street with all its treasures. I’m having so much fun.”
She stopped suddenly as if an idea had crossed her mind. “Herr Christove,” she began, her expression beseeching. “My uncle is coming for a visit to Vienna next week. I want very much for the two of you to meet. Can you make the time to have dinner with us one evening?”
When Günther didn’t answer immediately she continued, “Do you remember? He’s the head of the United Nations Monitoring Verification and Inspection Commission.”
“We’ll see, Stena. It’ll depend which night and what I have on my schedule.” Günther lowered his voice and said, “You should take your seat now. If you remain here much longer, you will cause an uprising from all the young men in this class. They can only stand so much.”
She laughed lightly, then made her way back to her desk, much to Mark and Konrad’s relief. And his too.
Camille stepped carefully from the tiny shower stall, chastising herself for being so skittish. Ever since the lights had gone out and stayed off for ten minutes, her nerves were on edge. She grabbed a fluffy white towel from one of the recessed nooks and wrapped it around her wet body.
As she dried one leg and then the other, she smiled, thinking about Günther and the fact that he’d helped build this area. The bathroom was steamy. With her washcloth, Camille wiped off the hand-painted oval mirror.
A shriek ripped from her throat.
A woman’s face reflected in the mirror as if she stood behind Camille. It was gone in one fleeting moment, but not before Camille lunged in fright, knocking her hairbrush and blow-dryer from the pedestal sink, clattering to the floor.
Still shaking, she knew if she didn’t confront her fears now, she’d never make it through the night. She turned around slowly. Only the picture of a chalet perched on a flowering mountainside hung on the wall. It had black and white cows and was actually very charming. The windows did resemble eyes. If she stretched her imagination, perhaps the tail of the tiger-striped cat looked a bit like curving lips. She paused and listened to the rain on the roof, willing her pulse to slow down. The storm was getting the best of her.
For goodness’ sake. Stop acting like a ninny. She finished with her toiletries and slipped into her pajamas and robe. All done, she closed the door to the bathroom and sank down into the chair in the corner. She clicked on the reading light.
The house was so quiet.
So empty.
Without Wolfgang, Helene, and the children it felt strange. For the first time since arriving in Vienna, I’m lonely. She sipped her lukewarm tea and tossed around the idea of reheating it downstairs.
Keeping busy all day had been a test. She’d updated her journal. Reviewed vocabulary words so she wouldn’t be behind in class. She’d searched the house for candles, just in case the power went out again later on. She wouldn’t get caught unprepared this time. Around three, she had bundled up, took Helene’s umbrella, and went out for a walk. She’d made her way through the driving rain to a small corner store and picked up a few things for supper.
She glanced at the phone, wishing that Helene would call and update her on Sasha. What on earth was wrong with the child? She wished Stephanie were here now for support and help. She read stacks of medical journals and was excellent at diagnosis. Maybe she would have some ideas.
It was only nine o’clock, but Camille’s eyelids sagged. She clicked off the reading lamp by the chair, leaving on the tulip-shaped light on her nightstand.
Discarding her robe and slippers, she climbed into her blankets, leaving the light on. She felt odd. She searched for the root of the feeling but couldn’t put her finger on it. She was forty-four years old. The thought was shocking. Where had the years gone? More importantly, where had her life gone?
A small, unfamiliar ache made her face warm. She almost sat up, surprised. She realized she was longing for something. A man? Someone warm and alive, lying with her in this small bed. Someone to show her she mattered. Someone to prove that yes, she was indeed alive.
She’d never done that before. Not even once in the eight years since Bret had been dead. Why now?
The image of Bret chased away the glow of the warm feelings she’d been experiencing, replacing them with hot, vivid bitterness. Bret Ashland, her husband, had robbed her of so many years of her life. And Kristin’s life.
For what? Living for
the world, for things, for adventure. What did any of that matter in the big scheme of things? Nevertheless, responsibility lay at her doorstep too, she admitted. She had willingly followed his lead. First by ignorance, and then by apathy and pain. A million images flitted through her mind. Life was meant to be so much more.
A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by a powerful crack of thunder. The sound jolted her from her thoughts. Rising to her elbow, she made sure the candle and matches were still where she’d arranged them and within easy reach on the nightstand. She took up her pulse-monitoring watch and fastened it around her wrist. Excruciating slow moments ticked by. The number on her radio clock flipped over to nine fifteen.
The phone rang.
Chapter Sixteen
Camille jumped at the sound. For a moment, she stared at the phone in disbelief, then realized it must be Helene calling to report on Sasha.
She hurried to catch it on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Camille, it’s Günther. I apologize for calling you so late. I’ve been tied up all evening and this was my very first opportunity to return your call.”
A warm glow slid through Camille and the lonesome feeling vanished.
“Thank you for calling me to let me know about Sasha,” he continued.
“You’re welcome. And it’s not late at all. I was just lying here with the light on…thinking.”
“Oh, you’ve already retired. I’ll let you—”
“No, no,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re not disturbing me at all. I’m the one sorry to report I haven’t heard another thing all night. I’m worried sick about Sasha. I was hoping Helene would get another chance to call, but she hasn’t. I have her cell phone number but I’m reluctant to disturb them. I think she’s just busy with the whole sad situation, and I know she’ll call when she can.”
“You’re right,” Günther agreed. “We’ll just have to be patient.”
Three and a Half Minutes Page 12