Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  ****

  The next morning at breakfast, Max said, “How’d you like to take the cog railway up to Mount Schafsberg today?”

  “The cog railway?”

  “Yes, a cog railway with a bright red, coal-fired steam engine. Very old-fashioned. The Schafbergbahn’s been a popular destination for Viennese since the late eighteen hundreds. Would you like to try it? The station’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

  “It sounds like fun.”

  “There’s a hotel at the top of the mountain. We can have lunch there before taking the train back down. Dress warmly. It’s a lot colder at the top, and it can be windy. But the views are worth it.”

  A half hour later they were at the base of the mountain, waiting in a line to purchase their tickets. Lacy was warmly dressed in the Max’s grandmother’s tweed skirt, sweater, and jacket and had added her jaunty feather-trimmed hat to complete the picture. She had sturdy walking shoes on her feet.

  She laughed aloud when she saw their train. She remembered a story from her childhood, The Little Engine That Could.

  Max helped her up into the car and guided her to the left side of the train, “To get the best views,” he said. Then they were underway. The little train bumped its way over the cogs and up the mountainside with lots of smoke and steam, and frequent sounding of its whistle. Occasionally it stopped at a crossing to let passengers on or off.

  “It’s like being on a Christmas garden train,” Lacy commented.

  The views over the lake as they wound their snake-like way up the steep incline were magnificent.

  At the top, they left the train and strolled up to the hotel and restaurant at the summit. The whole of the Austrian Lake District was below them while the peaks of the neighboring mountains surrounded them at eye level.

  They lingered over their lunch, enjoying the setting and each other.

  Max sighed, sipping the last of his wine and motioning the waiter to bring the bill. “We’d better get the back to the station or we could miss the last train down the mountain.”

  “Does that ever happen?”

  “Rather frequently, I’ve been told.”

  “What happens then?”

  “People either stay up here in the hotel overnight or they hike down the mountain.”

  “It looks like a long way down.”

  “So let’s not miss the last train.”

  They were leaving the hotel when Lacy grabbed Max’s arm. “Stop!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a man waiting at the station.”

  Max looked at him. “The one in the raincoat?”

  “He’s one of the men who threatened me back in the Berkshires that night. And then again in Wurzburg.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What’s he doing here?” Lacy’s voice rose on a note of hysteria. “How did they find me? Why are they doing this to me?”

  As Max studied him, the man was joined by his partner.

  “You’re with me, Lacy. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You must believe me. These people have no authority here. Now, let’s just go take the train down the mountain. We’ll lose them when we get off, I promise you.”

  “Didn’t you say it was possible to hike down?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Please, Max. I don’t want to be anywhere near them. I don’t want them to see me.”

  ****

  It was fully dark by the time Max and Lacy made their way back to the station at the foot of the mountain. Lacy was chilled through.

  Max motioned her to remain at the corner of the little station house while he went to check out the situation.

  A moment later he was back. “They’ve been in my car. The papers in the compartment have been shuffled around. I keep nothing in the car that could give away my identity or my address, but they have to be close by. I think the time has come for us to move on.”

  He hurried her across to the waiting car and was off in a spray of gravel.

  Back at the house, Max threw the car keys down on the table in the entranceway and said, “Go pack. Take whatever clothes you think you’ll need in Vienna.”

  Lacy was packed in short order. She went back downstairs and was about to go into the main room when she heard Max speaking with some urgency on the telephone.

  “I tell you I have her! She’s with me. I’ve had her since Frankfurt…”

  ****

  Lacy almost stumbled with shock at the words. He “had her?” He’d “had her since Frankfurt?” He was in league with the men who were pursuing her?

  She saw the car keys on the table. Scooping them up, she moved quietly to the stairs and down to the front door. Then she ran to the car. As she accelerated down the drive she saw Max sprinting after her.

  “Lacy!”

  She pulled her eyes back to the road and sped toward the highway. Tears blinded her. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand and headed toward Vienna.

  ****

  Max stood in the driveway as his red sports car disappear in the dust. Shit. She must have overheard his phone call. Just what had he said? Something about having had her since Frankfurt.

  Furious with himself for his carelessness he called Hans. “I need your car. Yes. Immediately. No, I don’t have time to go into Salzburg and get a rental. Tell you what. Let me have yours for the next couple of weeks, and I’ll spring for a rental for you.”

  “Sure, an SUV. Anything you want. But I need wheels now.” Max slammed the phone down.

  Fifteen minutes later he was on his way, swearing as he tried to fit his large frame into Hans’ little Smart Car. He’d never catch up with Lacy. Fortunately, he knew where she was going. He’d find her. He had to find her.

  ****

  She’d been driving about three hours when fatigue overtook her. They’d been up early, she’d had nothing to eat since their lunch at the summit, and in the meantime, she’d had to hike down a mountain. On top of that, she’d had the shock of Max’s betrayal. She was sure he wouldn’t be far behind. Still she had to stop. She couldn’t go much farther. Nothing but adrenaline kept her awake.

  She saw a sign, “Melk,” pointing off to the right. She took the next exit. The winding road led her to a small town on the Danube. She checked into a hotel there without even noticing what its name was. There was a lot in back of the hotel where she could park the car out of sight.

  She fell into bed and into an exhausted slumber. Only the next morning, when she looked out of her window, did it dawn on her she was in the home of the world-famous Melk Abbey. Unfortunately she couldn’t stop to see it. She promised herself, someday, when this was all behind her, she’d come back.

  She had breakfast in her room and checked out early. As she hit the Salzburg-Vienna Autostrasse she thought, with any luck Max would be ahead of her rather than behind her. She didn’t have to worry about him spotting the red Mercedes on the highway. He’d probably have driven straight through to Vienna last night. He’d be busy now checking out the hotels, trying to locate her. He had the resources for doing that, she was sure.

  She laughed bitterly. And she had imagined herself to be in love with him. Clearly she was not a very good judge of character. First she fell in love with Igor, who was a…what? A serial lover? And then Max, who was much worse, an agent of some kind, conspiring behind her back.

  On the outskirts of Vienna, traffic crawled to a halt. It was rush hour. Oh well, she had to ditch the car anyway. Lacy pulled into a parking garage and got out of the car. Let Max find it if he could. She didn’t need it anymore. He’d very likely reported it stolen in any case.

  She grabbed her backpack. There was a u-bahn station at the end of the block. She braced herself against her aversion to subways and went down the stairs. There she found a clean, well-lit white tiled station with a detailed map of the system on the wall. She swallowed her dislike of underground transportation systems and studied the map, trying to locate the station in the center
of Vienna closest to where she needed to be, near the opera house. There it was. A direct train to the stop labeled “Stephansplaz.” That should do just fine.

  Fifteen minutes later, she came up a flight of steps and found herself staring in awe at Stefansdom, St. Stephen’s Cathedral. The majestic gothic wonder dominated a huge pedestrian-only square. She stopped for a moment, caught in admiration for its spires that seemed to reach to heaven. Then she realized she was gawking in plain sight, like any tourist, in a place where she could easily be found by anyone looking for her.

  Glancing uneasily around her, she walked down Kärntner Strasse, trying to stay unobtrusive, close to the buildings. She had gone only a few blocks when she saw the ornate, nineteenth-century building that was home to the Vienna Opera. Riana Rolfe would be there.

  Now all she had to do was find some place close by to stay. Directly across the street from the opera house, was a famous Viennese institution, the Hotel Sacher. It was very tempting. She could be surrounded with luxury, every whim attended to.

  But no. The Sacher would be the first place Max looked. She turned left into a small side street. There between two shops, she saw an inconspicuous sign. That was more like it.

  She pressed the doorbell and a woman’s voice answered, “Pension Suzanne.”

  “I’m looking for a room. Do you have anything available?”

  “Yes, we do. I’ll buzz you in. Come up to the first floor.”

  Up to the first floor? Then Lacy remembered. All though Europe the first floor was what everybody at home called the second floor. She went into a small dark hallway, entered a tiny elevator, and pushed the button for the first floor. In moments she was standing in a delightful warm salon, with beautiful drapes at the windows, oriental carpets on the floors, and pieces of antique furniture scattered about. An attractive young woman approached her.

  “Is it for just one person? I’m afraid I have no singles left. All I have is a small apartment, with a kitchen.”

  Lacy thought for a moment. An apartment would mean she wouldn’t have to eat in restaurants. She’d be harder to find. “That will be just fine.”

  She registered as Alice Ames, submitting her passport as identification, and was shown to her rooms. Dropping her backpack on the bed without bothering to unpack it, she went back down to the street to try to find some groceries to stock the kitchen. It wasn’t easy. She was inside the Ring, in the old town. One could buy beautiful clothes, shoes, hats. There were stores for fine china, souvenir shops featuring everything Mozart, coffee shops and restaurants, but nary a shop featuring simple grocery items on Kärtner Strasse or the Graben, the two main shopping streets in the district. A few frustrating blocks from her room, Lacy glanced apprehensively around her and turned down a narrow street away from the crowds of tourists.

  Soon after, she found a small shop that had fresh fruit and an assortment of teas and tins of biscuits and milk. In a small refrigerated compartment they had packaged cheeses. Lacy filled a basket. It would have to do.

  Back at the Suzanne, she fixed herself a light lunch, and tried to call Riana. The phone was answered on the third ring.

  “Kammersängerin Rolfe’s residence. May I help you?”

  Kammersängerin? Court singer? What did that mean? Lacy was confused. “Is this the residence of Riana Rolfe?”

  “Yes. This is the residence of Kammersängerin Riana Rolfe. Who is calling please?”

  So it some sort of title. “May I speak to Kammersängerin Rolfe, please? Tell her it’s Lacy Telchev. I believe she’s expecting my call.”

  “I’m sorry, but the Kammersängerin You +1'd this publicly. Undois in rehearsal at the opera house this afternoon. Would you care to leave a message?”

  “Yes. Please tell her I called. I’ll try again this evening. Lacy Telchev.”

  As she put her phone back in her pocket, the thought occurred to her that perhaps she should try to meet the singer at the opera house. She wasn’t sure she could get in, but it was worth a try.

  She walked the block and a half from the Pension Suzanne to the opera house. The Staatsoper occupied a full city block. She found the ticket office in a large foyer on the front, and she also located the opera shop and a place for signing up for tours of the house, but she couldn’t at first figure out where the stage entrance was. Walking around the building, she found it to be a rather inconspicuous door on the side of the edifice. It was unlocked. She opened it and went in, only to be confronted by a stern looking man sitting behind a high desk.

  With an assurance she didn’t feel, Lacy spoke very formally. “I should like to speak with Kammersängerin Riana Rolfe, please. She’s expecting me. My name is Lacy Telchev.”

  The man looked down at a sheaf of papers on his desk. “I have no authorization to allow anyone in for the Kammersängerin. In fact she rarely invites anyone into her dressing room. Without her prior approval, I’m afraid I can’t allow you admission.” The man looked at her with suspicion. “If you care to leave your name?”

  “Please. Tell her Lacy Telchev called. She’ll want to see me.”

  The man nodded curtly and made a notation on his pad.

  Lacy had no recourse but to leave.

  She wandered back around to the front of the building. A tour was forming. She bought a ticket and joined the group.

  Entering the hall, Lacy was struck by the ornate beauty of the setting. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Everything was decorated in white and gold, surmounted with huge crystal chandeliers. The whole house glittered. A massive staircase carpeted in rich red wound to the main level. Boxes, each with their own door, led off the hallway. The tour guide opened one so the group could see the interior of the theater. It was even more elaborately decorated than the lobbies. Row upon row of velvet upholstered seats filled the orchestra and, in a U-shape around them, tiers of elegant boxes climbed up to the galleries.

  The guide was talking about the history of the opera house when Lacy saw what appeared to be an entrance to the backstage area. She slipped away from the group.

  The rehearsal was over, and people were milling about backstage.

  “Bitte?” Lacy asked someone who looked like a stage hand. “Could you direct me to the Kammersängerin’s dressing room?”

  “Certainly, madam. It’s just over there. The third door.”

  Lacy went to the indicated door and knocked somewhat timidly.

  It was answered almost immediately by a large grey-haired woman in a grey dress. “Yes?”

  “Riana Rolf?”

  “The Kammersängerin does not receive anyone after rehearsals.” The woman moved to close the door. Lacy put her foot in the door and said in a loud voice, “Tell her it’s Lacy Telchev.”

  “Let her in.” The voice from inside the dressing room held sharp command. “That’s all for now, Emma. You may go home. I’ll finish up here myself.”

  The woman gave Lacy a suspicious look but put on her coat and left.

  Riana turned from her dressing table and indicated Lacy should come in and sit down.

  Lacy started to speak, but the singer held up her hand and said, “Wait.”

  Riana Rolfe sat in front of a three-way mirror, wearing a loose dressing gown As Lacy watched she took off a carefully coiffed, white eighteenth-century wig and placed it on a wig stand. Her own hair had been taped back and restrained under the wig. Without speaking to Lacy, she began methodically stripping her face of stage makeup.

  Lacy observed with interest as a young woman turned into a middle-aged woman before her eyes.

  After removing her makeup, Riana unbound her hair. It tumbled long, black, and curly around her shoulders.

  Only then did she turn to Lacy. “He’s gone, isn’t he? He said if you came it would mean he was dead.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. I loved him dearly at one time. And we remained friends. He was a good man.” She stood. “I want to take a shower before I dress. Wait here.”

 
The singer disappeared into the private bath adjoining her dressing room. When she re-emerged fifteen minutes later she was in street clothes. She still exuded a sense of presence, even dressed in a simple black sweater and pants and without makeup.

  “You’ll come home with me. We’ll talk there. My husband’s a conductor and he’s on tour, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. But first I must give you what Igor left with me. I deemed it safer to keep it here where there’s a good security system, day and night. Come.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the prop room. What could be safer?”

  Lacy laughed at the ingenuity. “What indeed?”

  A few minutes later, with the second memory stick in her pocket, Lacy followed Riana out to her car.

  Riana’s apartment was in the Heurigen district, far enough from the center to have a pleasant suburban atmosphere, with wide, tree-lined streets. Her place was spacious but not pretentious. A grand piano occupied most of the living room, scores were scattered on a table, and CDs were stacked beside an impressive sound system.

  Riana led Lacy to an alcove overlooking a small park. A table was set for one. Riana added another place setting.

  “Sit down. I’ll bring us something to eat. It will be just a cold supper. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Thank you. Can’t I help?”

  “No. It’s all prepared. All I have to do is put it out.”

  A few minutes later, they were seated across from one another with a basket of crusty rolls and a plate of cold cuts, cheeses, and grapes in front of them.

  Riana poured light white wine into traditional Austrian green-stemmed glasses and then placed the bottle of Riesling on the table between them.

  She took a sip. “Now tell me. How did he die?”

  Lacy sighed. “It was a second heart attack. At least that’s what I was told. I’m not sure I believe it anymore.”

  Riana nodded. “He told me he thought his life was in danger.”

  “When was he here?”

  “It was early in the season. Last November, I think. He came to hear my Tosca. He always loved Puccini. That was the first major role he ever heard me perform, some eighteen years ago.” She smiled in recollection.