Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

  “That’s nice…” She drifted off again.

  The next time she opened her eyes, Max was still there. He appeared to have shaved and had combed his hair, but he was dressed in the same rumpled clothing. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked ragged, exhausted.

  Her head hurt. “Hungry,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Very good. I’ll go see what they’ll let you have.”

  He returned accompanied by white-coated middle-aged man wearing old-fashioned wire-rimmed spectacles.

  “Welcome back.” He gave her a warm smile. “I’m Dr. Vardos. I’m the one who extracted all those splinters of glass you managed to pick up. You’re going to be fine. There may be some initial scarring, but you’re young and it’ll disappear with time. You were unconscious when you were brought in. Concussion. But you’ve come out of that nicely. And I think we can start you on soft foods now. It’s a good sign you’re ready to eat something.”

  “Thank you,” Lacy murmured, dazed. “How long will I have to stay in the hospital?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll have to get you up and moving before we can discuss that.”

  “But why am I here? What happened?”

  The doctor raised his eyebrows. “How much do you remember?”

  “I was in a vineyard. There was some kind of party…” Lacy frowned. It was just beyond reach. What had happened? How did she get here?

  “You’ve had a shock,” the doctor commented. “It’s not uncommon for the mind to block out details in such a situation. Your memory will return. Or not.”

  Zsuzsa walked in. She was smiling, and she had a huge bouquet in her hands. “Hospital rooms are so drab,” she said, placing the flowers on Lacy’s tray. She turned to the doctor. “Good evening, Istvan. How’s our patient?”

  “Better than I could have hoped for. She’s conscious and asking for food.” He spoke to Lacy again. “I’ll stop by in the morning, and we’ll see if you’re up to getting out of bed.”

  After the doctor had left, Lacy, her voice hoarse with suppressed emotion, said, “Please tell me what happened.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Zsuzsa said. “Maybe we should let your memory return naturally.”

  “No! I have to know now.” Lacy started sobbing. “Something terrible happened. I need to know what it was.”

  Zsuzsa took Lacy’s hands in her own. “Please calm yourself. It isn’t good for you to be upset.” She turned to Max, “I suppose it might be better to tell her some of it than to have her worrying all night about it.”

  Max sighed. “It was Richard. We know now that Richard was the one who hurt Inga and Riana. Who was responsible for your abduction in Salzburg.”

  “Richard?” Lacy shook her head and winced at the stab of pain. “But that’s crazy. Why would he…?”

  “We can’t be sure, but I think fear. There’s pretty strong evidence he was working hand in hand with one of the most powerful Mafia families in North America. The ones we read about in Igor’s first six chapters. Richard wasn’t named there, but Igor must have identified him by name later. I think he fingered Richard as the link between corrupt government officials and the Mafia. Nothing else makes sense. To protect himself from both sides, he had to destroy Igor’s manuscript. Foolish. They’d have done anything to suppress the information in that book. They’d have killed him for it. And in the end they did kill him.”

  “Dead? Richard is dead?” Lacy lay back and closed her eyes. Richard. Her friend. Igor’s friend. Best man at her wedding. In the pay of the Mafia? Tears seeped out of her eyes and traced their way down her cheeks. It was too much to absorb. “But how was I hurt?”

  Max sighed. “Richard took the three memory sticks and tried to get away in our car. There was an explosion. Richard was killed instantly, and you were knocked unconscious by the blast. You were injured by flying glass and metal.”

  Lacy looked at Max in confusion.

  Max brushed her hair back and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “There was a bomb rigged up in the car. Set to go off when the key was turned in the ignition.”

  Lacy struggled for understanding. “But why did Richard take our car? And how did they know he’d do that?”

  “Whoever was responsible didn’t know Richard would be in our car.” Max took her hands in his. “The bomb was intended for us. We were the ones with the manuscript. The car was ours. Up to that point no one knew Richard was involved, that he’d have the complete book in his hands, or that he’d be the one in the car. Richard was the wild card in the deck.”

  As Lacy absorbed the horror of it her head began pounding again. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Take your pick. The secret services of any of the three countries Igor talks about in his book? My bet would be the Mafia. But I doubt we’ll ever know who was responsible. The police are investigating. They’ve questioned us all. They’ll question you when you’re sufficiently recovered. They’ll probably involve Interpol. But I don’t think we’ll ever know who actually set the bomb.”

  “Irenke,” Lacy cried trying to sit up. “I remember there was something about Irenke…”

  “Don’t worry,” Zsuzsa said, pushing her gently back on her pillow. “Irenke’s fine.”

  “But there was something…”

  “Richard Delancy took her,” Zsuzsa said.

  “Took?”

  “He kidnapped her, so you’d turn Igor’s book over to him,” Zsuzsa answered. “It worked.”

  “But Irenke?” Lacy frowned, struggling to remember. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Zsuzsa assured Lacy. “Richard told Irenke he was a friend of her father’s. He took her to the zoo and bought her ice cream and then took her back to her own house. The worst that happened to her was she was left alone in the house until I got back in the early hours of the morning. I found her curled up on the sofa, asleep.” She shook her head. “What kind of kidnapper takes a child to the zoo?”

  Max answered, “One who cares enough to want that child not to have nightmares about the experience. He was a strange man, Richard. I believe he really loved Lacy. I think in some twisted way, he thought if he got rid of Igor and Igor’s book, she’d come to him.”

  “I’m so tired,” Lacy said. “So…” Her head nodded, and her eyes closed.

  “It’s the medication in her drip,” Zsuzsa said. “She’ll sleep now. And she’ll feel better in the morning. Although I wonder how much of what we’ve told her she’ll remember. Her mind may reject it. Go back to your hotel, Max. You haven’t slept in two days. She’ll need your support tomorrow when all of this hits her. Get some sleep. I won’t leave her. I’ll be here.”

  ****

  The next morning when Lacy awoke, her head hurt less. For the first time, she was able to examine herself without stabbing pain. There were bandages on her right arm and on both legs. Her right leg felt tight and drawn. Stitches, she thought. They’d had to stitch some of her wounds. Still, she felt better. And she was hungry again. She hoped breakfast would be coming soon. She wished she had a mirror. How bad was the damage to her face? To her hair? She smiled. She must be getting better. She was worried about what she looked like.

  She tried to push herself up in the bed, and realized Zsuzsa was asleep in the chair beside her. Had she been here all night?

  Zsuzsa woke with a start. “I must have dozed off. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Stiff and sore, but I think I’ll live.” Lacy tried to smile. It didn’t hurt as much today. “Have you been here all night?”

  “I promised Max. He wouldn’t have left otherwise, and he was dead on his feet. You know he never left your side, not for forty-eight hours. Not until he knew you were out of danger.”

  Lacy was touched. “I didn’t know.”

  Dr. Vardos strode in. “How’s our patient this morning?”

  “Much better,” Lacy responded. “I’m hungry. And I’d like to try to get up.”r />
  “Breakfast should be coming shortly. And after that you can try walking down the hall. But for now, I think Dr. Szilard should go home and get some sleep, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Lacy was consumed with guilt. “I’m fine, Zsuzsa. Thank you for staying with me.”

  “I wanted to,” Zsuzsa answered gruffly as she gathered up her things. “Tell me, do you remember any of it?”

  Lacy frowned. “Not really. Only what you and Max told me. It’s unreal to me. As if it all happened to somebody else. I can’t absorb it.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Dr. Vardos said. “Memory loss often accompanies a head injury such as yours. Don’t try to remember. It will probably come back, a little at a time. And if it doesn’t, does it really matter? Sometimes our minds protect us from our worst memories.”

  “It just feels strange. As if a chunk has gone missing from my life.”

  The rattle of a cart announced the arrival of breakfast. The aroma of fresh rolls and coffee reached Lacy even before the tray was placed before her.

  “Eat,” the doctor said. “And after your breakfast, one of the nurses will be here to help you get out of bed and walk a little. I must go. I have to complete my rounds.”

  Lacy had demolished the rolls and cheese and kolbaszt on her tray and was finishing her coffee when Max arrived, freshly shaven and dressed in clean clothes. He had a dozen red roses in one arm and a large shopping bag emblazoned with the name of one of Budapest’s most exclusive shops, La Nerella, in the other.

  “I thought you just might want something other than a hospital gown to walk down the hall in,” he said. “The clothes you were wearing were in shreds and had to be cut off you when you were brought in.”

  “Clothes? You brought me clothes?” Lacy laughed. “Your track record hasn’t been very good in that respect in the past.”

  “Of course if you’d prefer to walk down the hall in that green hospital gown you’re wearing, open at the back with your tush showing, that’s okay with me. You have a lovely tush.” Max moved to take the bag away.

  “Give me that bag!” Lacy said grabbing for it. She dumped it upside down on the bed. A wrap-around skirt in cranberry red. It would be fine. More comfortable than pants over her bandaged legs. A loose, oversized sweater in the same shade. Soft, silk underwear. And for the nights, a beautiful pale blue silk gown and matching robe.

  “Max!” She threw her arms around him, wincing a bit at the soreness and stiffness in her body. “These are beautiful. Who knew you had such good taste.”

  “I had a lot of help from a nice sales lady who was about your size. You like them?”

  “I love them. Help me get dressed, Max. It’s hard to do anything with these bandages on my hands.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  As he dressed her his hands slid over her breasts and down her hips.

  “Watch it, Max. I don’t think the hospital staff would be too pleased to find the two of us in my bed.”

  “I’ve missed you, Lacy. I want you back.”

  “All in good time. Let’s just see if I can walk down this hospital corridor first.” She looked at her feet. “Shoes. I haven’t any shoes I can wear over these bandages.”

  “Check the bottom of the bag.”

  Lacy pulled out a pair of large pink plush slippers with a rabbit face and ears on the top. She burst out laughing. “Now that’s the taste of the Max I know!” She slid her feet into the slippers, and with Max’s help walked down the long hallway.

  ****

  It was the next evening that the two men came to see her. Visiting hours were over, and she had been half dozing.

  “Mrs. Telchev?”

  The voice penetrated her consciousness. The Berkshires, Wurtzburg, two men…

  She sat up abruptly, now fully awake. She opened her mouth to scream. A hand covered her mouth. “Please, Mrs. Telchev. We mean you no harm. We’ve never intended you any harm. Just listen to us. Help us out here.”

  The taller man opened his wallet briefly to show her his U.S. government identification. As before he closed it before Lacy could read what it said.

  Slowly the other man removed his hand from her mouth.

  Lacy stared into the shorter man’s familiar dead grey eyes and then up to his tall companion. Surreptitiously, she reached down for the call button at her side and pressed the button.

  “Mrs. Telchev, we simply need to know one thing. Was your husband’s complete book contained on those memory sticks you handed to Richard Delancy before the explosion? Or are there further chapters still out there somewhere?”

  Lacy frowned. It had never occurred to her there might be more. Zsuzsa had given her no other name. The memory stick Max retrieved from the cave contained the last chapters. It must have.

  She frowned, trying to recall anything of those last moments before the blast. “As far as I know, the complete book was destroyed in the blast. I can’t remember what happened, but Dr. Szilard and Mr. Petersen are quite sure Richard had the complete book in his hands. I do know I’ve been given no further contacts.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good.” Lacy saw the man with the grey eyes actually smile. “Thank you. We won’t be bothering you again.”

  They were at the door when Lacy said, “Wait!”

  “Yes?” the tall man responded.

  “If you had gotten your hands on Igor’s manuscript, what would you have done with it? Would you have used it to cut out the cancer in government, or would you simply have simply suppressed it?”

  The nurse bustled in and glared at the men. “What are you doing here? Visiting hours ended long ago!”

  “Sorry, ma’am. We were just leaving.”

  ****

  A week later the doctor pronounced Lacy sufficiently recovered to be discharged. Max was there to take her home.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to Zsuzsa’s for starters. I have to go back to Canada to arrange for a leave of absence from my job. I want to be with you during your convalescence. I’ll return as soon as I can. When you feel up to the trip, we’ll go to Vienna, to stay with my grandmother for a couple of days. And after that, I’d like to take you back to St. Wolfgang with me. The doctor thinks you may need two or three months to recuperate fully, to get your strength back.”

  “Whatever you think,” she replied. “I’ll miss you.” She said the words automatically, but in truth she was numb, incapable of making decisions, of reacting.

  Lacy had the nagging feeling she should be considering the future, but she didn’t seem to be able to do so. It was as if anything beyond the present moment was beyond her grasp. Her mind was full of cotton-wool, her memory still had huge gaps, and her world felt strangely unreal. It was easier just to drift, to let other people tell her what to do.

  ****

  After Max left Budapest, Zsuzsa and Lacy fell into a comfortable routine whereby Zsuzsa went to the hospital every day, and Lacy prepared a simple evening meal for them to enjoy together when she returned

  As the days went by, Zsuzsa’s pragmatic approach was a blessing to Lacy. Max had treated her with kid gloves after the accident and fussed over her endlessly, while Zsuzsa was matter-of-fact and unemotional.

  “You’ve had a bad shock,” Zsuzsa told her over their supper one night. “If you want to recover fully, mentally and physically, you’ll have to work at it. For the health of your body you need to walk and swim. That’s easy. But you need to exercise your mind as well. Unlike my friend, Istvan, I don’t believe it’s of no importance if you don’t recover your memory of that night. I think you must face what happened, or there could be serious consequences for your future.”

  “But I’ve tried. I just can’t bring it into focus. It always seems just beyond reach.”

  With regard to exercising, Lacy did as Zsuzsa suggested. She went to the Szécsenyi Baths and swam every day. She took Irenke with her on long walks on the paths of Margit Szigert. The child was a source
of endless joy. The melancholy that was Lacy’s constant companion dissipated a bit when she was with Irenke. Gradually her physical strength and suppleness returned. The scars on her face and hands and legs faded. But the scars on her mind did not.

  Lacy recognized the source of her deep unhappiness. It was her marriage to Igor. She had loved and trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust. Could she ever trust again? How could she reconcile what had happened with her feelings for Max? Max always seemed open and honest with her, and yet she wasn’t sure. What did she really know about him? Could she trust him?

  Then there were practical matters to resolve.

  “I don’t even know how to begin to set it right,” she confided to Zsuzsa. “I wasn’t married, not legally. But I was married, and the state of New York has a record of that marriage. I have credit cards and a driver’s license and charge accounts in the name of Lacy Telchev. I own a Manhattan condo and a cabin in the Berkshires as Lacy Telchev. What do I do about all that? It’s overwhelming.”

  “Do a few words mumbled by an official of the state of New York matter so much to you?” Zsuzsa asked. “You lived with an interesting and complicated man. A man we both loved. He loved you. He’s dead now, so the legality or non-legality of your union is immaterial.”

  “But I inherited his estate as his wife, a position that’s rightfully yours.”

  “Nonsense. Igor and I hadn’t lived together in thirty years. He left Irenke a generous settlement, one we’re more than satisfied with. And he left you what he wanted you to have.”

  Lacy chewed on what Zsuzsa had said, but she wasn’t completely convinced.

  Another evening, Lacy confided in Zsuzsa, “I don’t know what to do about Max.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of anything.”

  “When you’re sure, you’ll know what to do.”

  It was strange. Talking to Zsuzsa was like talking to her mother, who’d been gone for a dozen years now—reassuring and thought-provoking at the same time.

  ****

  Max returned to Budapest on the day the doctor pronounced Lacy fit for travel.