“What do you mean?” Darby asked.
“Here I am in my thirties and finally starting to see what life is supposed to be about. Not just work or myself, but well, the big picture.”
Darby weighed her next words. “You mean the big, big picture. As in, God?”
She saw him hesitate, then plow forward.
“I guess I am. Here we walk with the religion of Christianity influencing most everything in this city. But to get past religion and history and look at it for yourself, the real meaning of God, Christ even, and then accept it for yourself . . . Well, I guess you didn’t need to hear this.”
Darby almost didn’t want to admit that she understood what he meant. “Actually, I know exactly what you mean. Kind of scary, isn’t it?”
Brant stopped. “You too?”
Darby could only nod. She was just discovering God on her own and couldn’t quite explain without referring to the influences of Tatianna and Celia in her life. She and Brant would start talking about God and end up arguing about who her grandmother was or wasn’t. But Darby did wonder, as they continued a thoughtful pace, how two people who had such obstacles between them also had reached the same place in their lives, and they seemed to be moving in the same direction.
They passed through Mozartplatz with its tall statue of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, then turned toward the river.
“I’m this way,” she said, motioning straight ahead.
“No Cozy Hotel?”
Darby caught the raised eyebrow and small grin. “I’m at the Zur Goldenen Ente on Goldgasse.”
Brant smiled. “Staying a bit more Austrian, I see.”
“I try not to be too gullible,” she said, lifting her head a bit.
He laughed softly as they stepped toward Residenzplatz beside a string of shops and restaurants. The streets were busier with window shoppers and strollers crowding the sidewalks. They walked until the block of buildings opened to Goldgasse, with its gold sign fluttering above. The breeze was calm in the street that seemed more like a mysterious passageway. A single car could squeeze down the first third of the street, then it narrowed more tightly and only pedestrians could fit all the way through.
“Here I am,” Darby announced when they reached the yellow Hotel Zur Goldenen Ente. A wreath of decorations lined the doorway and windows. Tables were folded against one side of the building since it was too cold even for the outdoors-loving Austrians to eat on the street.
“So here you are.” Brant shuffled his feet, as if he wanted to say something. He glanced at the five-story hotel connected as one with the other buildings on the block. “I was wondering. . . . I thought I’d ask though it’s kind of late notice.”
Surprised to see that calm, cool, collected Brant Collins was acting nervous, Darby queried, “You thought you’d ask what?”
“An elderly couple in my last workshop gave me tickets to a dinner concert.” His eyes roamed the ground, the opposite building, her shoulder, but didn’t look directly at her. Suddenly, she thought she knew. Could Brant Collins be asking her for a date?
“I guess the couple bought the tickets but have to leave the city tonight. It’s at the St. Peter Stiftkeller, a nice restaurant. You might find it interesting if you like Mozart. It’s very Austrian.”
“I like Mozart,” she said, confused about his intentions again. “Are you giving me the tickets, or are you . . .”
“Well, yes, I could give you the tickets,” he said, stumbling over his words. “They’re here in my pocket.” He fumbled in his black coat, pulled out the two tickets, and handed them to her.
“Or were you asking me to go with you?” she interrupted. Brant shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. You take them and enjoy.”
Darby smiled. Seeing him squirm for once was quite nice. “Why don’t you take one, and we’ll both go? I can meet you in front, or we don’t even have to sit together, unless it’s reserved seating.”
Brant seemed to relax. “No, it’s not. But since it’s easier for me to go on foot than try to find parking, I could come by and walk with you. . . . If you want me to.”
“Sure,” she said, trying to sound casual and unaffected by the thought of an evening together.
“I’ll be by at seven-fifteen. It starts at eight, but I’d like to get there early.”
“I’ll see you then.” Darby’s mind ran in a million directions—what should she wear, what was she doing?
Brant left so quickly that she wondered if he had similar misgivings, similar butterflies. She hurried upstairs after checking her watch. What would they talk about? How could they possibly go somewhere together without bringing up the obstacle that kept them apart?
Darby heard the elevator doors open but waited the appropriate five seconds before opening the door to Brant’s knock.
“Hello,” she said, uncomfortable with her clothes and hair and shoes and everything she’d tried on and tossed and done in the last two hours. She wondered why she’d chosen the long, black skirt. Would she be able to walk in her black dress shoes? The black shirt with burgundy-and-black scarf suddenly seemed tight, and her face felt hot. She’d curled her straight hair with hot rollers and sprayed them till they barely moved. Did it look too fluffy and unlike her?
“Ready?” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her blush.
“You look really great,” Brant said with a smile.
That’s when she noticed how good he looked, also dressed in black with turtleneck, jacket, and slacks. Her grandmother would say, “Dashing!”
“You do too—look great, I mean.” Darby hurried to get her key and purse before he noticed the pile of clothing stuffed on the other side of the bed.
Salzburg was cold and the sky dark as they walked, but as usual, the city had yet to fall asleep. Beacons of light shone on the fortress above and on cathedral towers, around fountains, and from street lamps. Patches of snow glowed on Mönchsberg, but she’d been told that the city hadn’t had snow in weeks. Through archways and plazas, they arrived at St. Peter Stiftkeller, nestled against Mönchsberg’s sheer rock. As they entered an open-air courtyard in the center, Darby noticed the netting above that hopefully stopped any loose rocks from hitting the building. High above and beyond view, Hohensalzburg kept a watchful eye over the Old City. Dried vines hung from the sides of the netting, probably lush and beautiful in the spring and a wonderful place to eat with the open sky above for those seeking love. Darby liked the dark, wooded restaurant, but it wasn’t what she’d anticipated for a Mozart dinner concert. She followed Brant’s lead up a stairway and down a long hall. They put their coats in a small room, then entered a beautiful hall. Darby paused in the doorway. This was more than she’d hoped for. The baroque decor, chandeliers, wood floors, and tables laden with flowers and china gave the effect of stepping back into the eighteenth century. The waiters wore red jackets with white ruffled shirts, and waitresses moved around tables in full skirts and aprons.
Brant stood beside her in the doorway. “The St. Peter Stiftkeller was first mentioned by Alkuin, a court scribe, during a visit by Emperor Charlemagne in the first century. It’s considered the oldest restaurant in Central Europe.” He extended his arm. “Shall, we, my lady?”
Darby put her arm through his. “Yes, we shall.”
The tables were already filling, and they found two seats at a round table near the front of a small stage. Darby sat and scooted herself up just as she noticed that Brant had tried to push her in.
“I’ve obviously not dated in a while, especially someone with manners,” Darby said apologetically, then laughed.
“You speak English—you sound American?” a young woman beside her asked.
“Yes, and you’re an American too?”
“We’re all Americans on this side of the table.” Three other women about Darby’s age said hello. “We also ha
ve a couple from Brazil.” The man and woman nodded. The American woman continued, “Our other couple is from Hungary, but they don’t speak English very well. So what about your guy?”
“He’s not really my guy, I mean, not my guy at all—,” Darby said, stuttering.
“I’m Austrian and American,” Brant replied. He smiled at Darby, seeming to enjoy her very red face. “Are you ladies here together?”
“Oh, yes. We are four married women on the loose.”
“That sounds dangerous. So how did you pick Salzburg?” Brant asked.
“Well, Lucee and I have always dreamed of coming to Europe.” She nudged a brunette beside her who was looking at a mural on the ceiling. “Oh, my name is Cate,” she said, extending her hand to them both. “Anyway, Lorna loves classical music and plays the violin—and of course, this is Mozartland. Bailey didn’t care where we went; she’ll travel anywhere. After a bit of research, pulling places out of a hat, finding babysitters for the mass of kids we have between us, and getting the guys to agree—well, here we are.”
Lorna, the musician, joined the conversation. “We decided that if you get the chance, sometimes you just have to go for it.”
“I agree,” Brant said, eyeing Darby. “Why else would I invite you here tonight?”
“Really?” Darby returned wryly. “You didn’t exactly invite me—at least not very well.”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Brant put in with a grin.
Darby shook her head at him in mock chagrin and turned back toward Cate. The woman with pale skin and green eyes studied Brant, then Darby, evidently trying to figure out their relationship.
“So this is the trip of a lifetime?” Darby asked quickly.
“Or the first of many over our lifetimes,” Cate said, then leaned closer. “My friends are a bit strange at times, but I’m glad to be stuck with them.”
“We heard that,” Bailey said from a few seats over. She pointed a long, manicured finger toward Cate. “You’re stuck with us, so get used to it.”
Lorna added, playfully, “We need Cate for our journeys. This girl can strike up a conversation with anyone, whether they speak English or not.”
At that the four women laughed as only close friends can, as if behind a simple glance were jokes and memories no one but each other could understand. This evening felt right—with a man at one side and other women who understood friendship surrounding Darby. And all this in the magical setting of Mozart’s day.
A waiter arrived to take drink orders and Bailey announced, “Champagne for our entire table. This is a night to remember.”
“This is the best butter I’ve ever had,” Lucee said, taking a bite of her roll.
“And the bread and cheese,” Lorna added with a bright smile. “Except Bailey and I would pay fifty dollars for a Coke with ice.”
“I’ve been loving the ham—oh, the ham in Austria,” Cate said with a sigh.
Darby bent close. “Breakfasts here are the best. I love those rolls they serve at every hotel and bakery. And the jams.”
All five women noticed Brant’s humored expression, and they burst into laughter.
The champagne arrived and everyone toasted together. Suddenly, as if the clink of glasses was the cue, the doors in back burst open and the musicians entered the hall. All eyes were on their entrance as they carried their instruments to the small stage in front—several violins, a cello, and a bass. They sat, adjusted music in front of them and then, like a long-awaited exhale, the first violin began to play. A second later, the other strings joined, dipping and swaying in their individual steps that combined into a perfectly choreographed dance. From the entrance, a rich voice bellowed.
In dashed a dark-haired man in a red Mozart coat, wearing a black hat with white plumage. He moved toward the front of the stage with posture straight, arms out wide, and a slight smile upon his lips. His voice boomed above the strings in an Italian song.
The American women oohed and aahed enough for all of them, though Darby too felt the exuberance of such a night. The program continued with music and opera between dinner courses: cream of lemon soup with chicken slices, braised fillet of pork on applewine-horseradish sauce served with potatoes, and dessert, Wespenneste, a sweet surprise with a cocoa profile of Mozart’s face. Darby took in the stained-glass windows and the mural on the carved, coffered ceiling. The sophisticated ambiance was like nothing she’d experienced previously. Brant smiled at her when she looked his way. With their chairs turned during the music, Darby sometimes felt too strongly Brant’s presence so near her one side. Once, when he dropped his program, his warm breath brushed the side of her neck as he bent beside her. For one night she wanted to forget their differences. It seemed they both knew without speaking a word that they disagreed greatly, but were willing to put it aside for one evening together.
The musicians returned after the last course and were joined by a couple who pranced and sang around the tables. The man would reach for the woman, and she would teasingly run away. Around and around the tables they sang and chased until at last he captured the woman, drawing her into an irresistible embrace. The room roared with applause as the song ended. The couple skipped to the front and bowed, then turned and motioned toward the musicians, who stood and bowed. The applause thundered through the room. Darby’s hands hurt from clapping, but she continued to applaud as the entire entourage exited the hall.
Darby’s face felt flushed as they entered the night’s chill. She said good-bye to the American foursome, who laughed and chattered as they strolled away. Suddenly she was alone with Brant after one of the most remarkable evenings of her life. She who loved the song of the mountains had found love in Mozart’s strings. Better yet, she could tell that Brant understood how awed she was by this night.
“Do you go to these events often?” she asked as he slid her coat around her.
“I’ve lived in Salzburg for years, but that’s the first time I’ve gone there.” They made their way across the small square where taxis picked up patrons.
Darby stopped after they stepped through an archway. “Thank you for taking me. I feel like a child on her first trip to Disneyland.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, looking down at her. Brant glanced behind them and pulled her away from the street and close to him.
“A bike was coming,” was all he said before the familiar jingle of chain and metal passed by. Darby drank in his closeness, getting a quick scent of aftershave. Just as she was about to move away after the bike passed, Brant’s fingers encircled hers.
They walked the cobblestoned street without speaking a word. Their hands spoke in turns, tracing palms and fingers. Their fingers folded together, then slid apart, and together again. Darby’s breath was stolen, and her eyes closed at her pounding insides.
Then he stopped and drew her toward him. Darby’s back touched the stucco wall, her hands fell to her side. Brant took a step toward her, their eyes locked together in the darkened corner. He lifted a hand and touched her hair, then ran a finger along her cheek and onto her lips.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then instead bent to kiss her. He hesitated a moment before their lips gently touched. His hands rested on the wall beside her face, his body came closer until every inch of her felt his closeness and wanted him even closer. Brant kissed her softly, then longer and deeper. She felt herself melting away. Then a nagging voice spoke inside her head.
“Wait,” she whispered. “Wait. Or I-I don’t know what will happen to me.”
Brant took a shaky breath and stepped back. He gazed at Darby tenderly, then turned away, running a hand through his hair. Neither spoke as he took her hand, and they began to walk again.
This time Darby stopped. She took both his hands.
“If you could only believe?” Darby pleaded with her eyes. He had to have some faith in her or
she could not do this, or allow herself to feel this.
“I do believe—I believe you.” His eyes became sad.
“But you don’t believe my grandmother.” Darby shook her head as he looked away.
“It’s not as simple as you think,” he said. “Next week I testify in a trial because I trusted without being sure. And I’m already sure about your grandmother. I don’t know why you can’t face the truth.”
“Truth? I know the truth. Professor Voss and Katrine believe it also, so why don’t you talk to them? I don’t understand why you aren’t willing to try—to be open to the possibility. Otherwise, everything I seek is fighting against you.”
“There’s so much I want to tell you, but—”
“Brant, thank you for giving me the best night of my life,” she said, then fled, leaving him standing in the shadows.
Brant counted the floors and saw a light turn on in Darby’s room. She was right up there so close, yet so far from his reach. He stood in a darkened shop entrance across from her hotel and sagged against the doorway. He cared for Darby Evans, could even fall in love with her. But he ached for he knew she was the one person he could not have—at least, not now. Perhaps not ever.
She wanted him to believe in something he could never believe. Was he doomed to the fate of Gunther—to never have love that would last?
Brant saw a shadow pass the window. He wasn’t giving up without a fight. He’d find out who Darby’s grandmother really was. Once she accepted the fact, perhaps they’d have a chance. Or would she resent the truth coming from him? First he’d get the answers. She was too close to let go of now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Darby knew her motives weren’t completely clear, but her determination was renewed after a night of very little sleep. The time had come to pull out the stops and begin digging. She needed proof of her grandmother’s identity, and Darby hoped Bruno Weiler would be that proof. She had met other dead ends and the SS guard might be another, but Darby was ready to find out. If it went badly, she’d try something new.
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