Until Vienna (Romance on the Orient Express)

by Heather B. Moore

  Irene hadn’t noticed since her attention was still on Mr. Becker, and she hadn’t looked back once.

  Professor Haskins’s hand was warm, comforting, reassuring, and although the knot of worry over her aunt still remained, she didn’t feel alone in her worry.

  The cool night air was fragrant as they reached a street with vibrant cafés. Light spilled from the doorways and windows. Music came and went. Sometimes faint, sometimes closer. And still the professor kept his hand over hers.

  “Don’t you think so?” Irene’s voice floated back to them.

  “What’s that?” Professor Haskins asked.

  Apparently he hadn’t been paying attention to Irene and Mr. Becker’s conversation either.

  “Don’t you think Vienna is the most romantic city?” Irene said, turning her smile upon them.

  The professor slipped his hand away from Gigi’s. “I believe it is,” he rumbled.

  Gigi understood why he’d moved his hand, but she wished he hadn’t. It was for the best though. If Irene saw them hold hands, she’d take the news straight to Aunt Rowena.

  “It is beautiful,” Gigi added, hoping the emotion in her voice didn’t show through. Worry about her aunt, combined with the sweet gesture of the professor, was making her heart soar and dip alternately.

  “If only I were thirty years younger and I had my Benedict with me,” Irene said, her tone wistful. “We spent all our years raising children and never taking time for ourselves. By the time our youngest had up and married, Benedict’s health had declined too greatly. We never got to fulfill our dreams.”

  Gigi glanced at the professor at the same time he looked at her. Their gazes met, and Gigi wished she could know what was going through his mind right now.

  “You are still young, madame,” Mr. Becker said in stilted English. “And you have many years of beauty left.”

  Irene laughed. “You are a kind man, sir.”

  He said something in German that sounded like an endearment, and Irene laughed again.

  “Our Mr. Becker seems quite besotted with Irene,” the professor whispered.

  “What is he saying to her?”

  “Eine Frau wird erst mit zunehmendem Alter schöner. A woman only grows more beautiful with age.”

  Gigi smiled. “That is nice. German sounds more romantic than I expected.”

  The professor nodded. “I suppose. Of course, a place like this makes it easy.”

  He was right. The velvety darkness, the quiet stream, the glowing lights, the soft music, the man beside her . . .

  She exhaled. She was bewitched. Soon they’d return to the hotel and reality would set in as she asked her aunt about her health.

  Gigi soaked in the sights and listened to the sounds of the evening around her. She tried to understand why her aunt hadn’t told her of her illness, and she tried to make sense of the feelings battling inside her about the man walking with her. He’d become a friend, a confidante, and beyond that . . . no, she couldn’t presume anything.

  “When we get back to the hotel, do you want me to come with you to speak to your aunt?”

  She met the professor’s gaze. Darkness had fallen, and lights glittered all around, but his eyes were as dark as the night. The offer was so kind, and she wished that their relationship wouldn’t be at an end when this tour was over.

  “I must do this alone,” she said. “But thank you for your offer. She might not be too happy that I’ve found out.”

  The professor nodded, then he reached for her hand again. This time, he drew it toward him and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. He didn’t release her right away, and charging horses couldn’t have enticed her to pull her hand away from his touch.

  “Send word if you change your mind,” he said.

  “I will. Thank you.” Her voice was only a whisper because her throat had tightened. She would miss this man. Dearly.

  They’d neared their hotel again, and the four of them paused outside the entrance. Mr. Becker was dishing out the compliments to Irene, and she was laughing and blushing—something Gigi might have laughed over herself if she hadn’t been worried about her aunt.

  After bidding farewell to Mr. Becker, the three of them walked into the hotel and paused in the lobby.

  “It has been a lovely evening, ladies,” the professor said, shaking both of their hands once again.

  Gigi thought Professor Haskins might have lingered over shaking her hand, and his gaze held hers for a moment longer—seeming to say that he wanted her to send for him if needed.

  As she and Irene headed out of the lobby, Gigi didn’t waste a moment. “You must tell me about my aunt’s condition.”

  “It’s not for me to tell,” Irene said, the smiles of the night gone now. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Gigi linked her arm with Irene’s. “Is it awful? My imagination has been spinning all night.”

  Regret crossed Irene’s face. “I am sorry for that. I do apologize.”

  “Don’t you see?” Gigi said. “I don’t care about a ruined night. I’m worried about my aunt.”

  Irene squeezed her hand. “Let me confess to Rowena first, and then she can tell you.”

  So when they arrived at Gigi’s hotel room, Irene went inside first, and Gigi stayed in the sitting area. From the murmured voices that she couldn’t quite distinguish, it sounded like Irene was getting a set down. Moments later, both Irene and Blanche came out, their faces drawn and pale.

  “I’m sorry,” Irene said once again.

  Blanche only offered a grim nod, then both of the women were gone, leaving Gigi in the hotel room with only Aunt Rowena.

  She walked toward her aunt’s bedroom, both determined and reluctant.

  Aunt Rowena sat propped in bed, already wearing her nightdress. She held her favorite book of poems in her lap as if she’d been reading when Irene had arrived. Or perhaps she’d been reading aloud to Blanche.

  “Aunt—” Gigi began.

  “Sit down, dear,” Aunt Rowena said.

  Gigi obeyed and sat in the wingback chair across from the bed. She clasped her hands together tightly, her stomach churning in knots.

  “I have a mass in my upper stomach,” Aunt Rowena said without preamble. “The doctor won’t know if it’s cancerous until they perform surgery to remove it.”

  Gigi stared at her aunt. Cancer? Surgery? She couldn’t process all of this at once. “When? How? And why . . . why are we here? You need surgery.”

  Aunt Rowena raised a hand. “Listen to me, dear. The mass has been there for probably months. What’s another month? Yes, the doctor recommended immediate surgery, but if it’s cancer . . . then there is the possibility it has already spread throughout my body.”

  Gigi covered her mouth, holding back a gasp. Aunt Rowena had been living with this knowledge this entire trip? How . . . ?

  “Because of that risk, I knew that once I had the surgery, my life would change.” She smoothed back a part of her hair with a trembling hand. “I might never get a chance to travel again.”

  The depth of Aunt Rowena’s blue eyes told Gigi what her aunt feared the most.

  “Are the doctors saying . . . ?” She couldn’t finish. Aunt Rowena held out her hand, and Gigi rushed over to grasp it. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Whatever happens,” Aunt Rowena said in a steady voice, “we will enjoy this trip and make the best memories we can.”

  ChapteR TwelvE

  Dear Lillian,

  Last night I went on a romantic evening stroll through Vienna. No, I wasn’t kissed or proposed to, but romance doesn’t always need to be with one’s true love. Vienna is beautiful and romantic. Irene Martin and Professor Haskins were with me, along with our tour guide, the charming Mr. Becker. You should have heard Irene practicing her German. It all sounded Gre
ek to me. And the professor speaks fair German too . . .

  Gigi decided not to tell Lillian about Aunt Rowena’s illness. The thought of her aunt in need of urgent surgery made her feel sick. What if . . . what if they were wasting precious time and the delay in surgery would be followed by a more serious outcome?

  Gigi concluded her letter, then left the hotel room to post it with the concierge. It was still early in the morning, and Aunt Rowena wouldn’t rise for at least two more hours. But Gigi had slept fitfully at best. She walked through the nearly silent hotel and handed the letter over to the concierge.

  Outside, the sun was just rising, the pale yellow of the breaking dawn softening the deeper violet sky. Gigi walked outside and headed toward the nearby bridge that led across a quaint stream. It was too early for shoppers to be out, but there were a few people about, opening bakeries and such.

  Gigi walked to the center of the bridge and rested her hands on the cool stone of the railing. The peaceful stream below should have brought her some calmness, but her thoughts and mind were still racing. Her aunt was one stubborn woman. Gigi wondered what her mother and sister would think when they found out. Life was too precious to go against a doctor’s orders. Before long, Gigi’s eyes were burning with threatening tears.

  Despite all of her aunt’s faux pas, Gigi didn’t want harm to come to the woman, and she hated to think that she’d been suffering for any amount of time. If only her father were alive, he’d know what to do. His decisive personality was sorely needed right now. Gigi closed her eyes as the cool breeze lifted from the water.

  Could she continue the rest of the tour without turning every moment into frustrating worry that was out of her control? Could she put faith in her aunt’s decision? Could Gigi be cheerful and focus on the here and now and not dwell upon what the future might bring?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered to herself.

  “Miss Ballard?”

  She startled and turned, opening her eyes. At the base of the bridge, Professor Haskins was gazing up at her. He wore no hat or jacket, only his shirtsleeves, as if he hadn’t quite prepared himself for the day.

  “I saw you from my hotel room window,” he said, walking up the bridge to stand before her. “I was worried . . .”

  His voice trailed off because she hadn’t been able to hide her tears.

  “Are you all right?”

  She wanted to say, Yes, I’m all right, but that’s not what came out of her mouth. “It’s all worse than I feared. I don’t know what to do.” Then it seemed as if a great tidal wave of emotion crashed into her, and her breath hitched as a sob escaped. “I–I’m sorry.” She turned from him, burying her face in her hands because she wasn’t about to cry in front of him.

  He had every right to express his condolences, then leave her to her tears.

  But he didn’t leave. He pulled her into his arms, right there on the bridge. They didn’t know anyone in Vienna, but Gigi hesitated nonetheless. Then she gave in. She no longer cared about propriety or what her acquaintances might say. She wrapped her arms about Professor Haskins and buried her face against his shirt. The cotton fabric was thin enough that she could feel the warmth of his chest through it and smell the soap on his skin.

  His hands moved up her back, and he whispered, “Can you tell me, or is it a great secret?”

  She almost smiled despite her tears. “It’s a great secret.”

  “Ah.”

  His arms seemed to fit about her perfectly, and his chest seemed to be crafted as the best place to lay her head. These thoughts should not be intruding at a time like this. Professor Haskins was her friend. She cared about him, and he cared about her . . . as friends. This was a rare jewel among relationships, and she didn’t want him to think she was acting on theatrics to get him to hold her in his arms.

  So she straightened her spine and drew away from him. With steely resolve, she wiped at her cheeks and swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I am sorry about my outburst. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m overly tired. I have got to get a better handle on this before I return to my aunt this morning.”

  Professor Haskins grasped both of her hands. “Miss Ballard, don’t apologize. You’re upset. You don’t have to confess anything to me, but know that I’d love to help in any way that I can. Whatever it might be.”

  The sincerity in his tone nearly brought on another round of tears. But she bit her lip, holding them at bay. She breathed in, then out, then in. Lifting her chin, she met the professor’s gaze. In the changing light of dawn, his hazel eyes were more green than brown. His warm hands enfolded her cold ones, and she wanted to never let go.

  “I don’t know if I can tell you,” she said in a halting tone. “She didn’t even tell me and wouldn’t have on this trip if it weren’t for Irene.”

  The professor lightly squeezed her hands. “What if I guess?”

  She hesitated, then said, “All right.”

  So he guessed and guessed until he hit upon the word cancer, and she nodded.

  He paused, his brows pulled together. “Truly?”

  “Suspected,” she said. “They can’t know for sure until . . .”

  “Until she has surgery?” he finished for her.

  “Correct.” She bit her lip again, but this time, it wasn’t enough to stop the tears.

  Professor Haskins produced a handkerchief. She hadn’t yet returned the last one he’d given her. Slowly, carefully, he pressed the soft cloth against her cheeks.

  She closed her eyes as he administered to her. The world around them had lightened enough that anyone who knew them could easily recognize them. But still, she didn’t move, didn’t pull away, and instead soaked in his strong, steady presence and was grateful she had such a friend—one who could bring her companionship and comfort at a time like this.

  “Can I assume that your aunt did not follow her doctor’s orders but instead booked this trip?”

  Gigi’s eyes fluttered open. “She didn’t want me to miss out on the opportunity of meeting you, and she said that after the surgery she might never travel again.”

  “Ah.” The professor tucked the handkerchief into her hand. “She is certainly a woman of determination.”

  Gigi smiled, but she felt like crying at the same moment. “Determination is a gentle way of saying how stubborn she is.”

  Professor Haskins returned her smile. “Yes, but you love her anyway.”

  Her voice fell a notch. “Yes. She has been a glue to our family ever since our father—her brother—passed away. I don’t know how my mother would have pulled through without Aunt Rowena.”

  The air was warming quickly, and the morning had brightened. But the professor didn’t step back, didn’t release the hand he was still holding. In fact, he leaned closer and spoke quietly. “I am at your service, Miss Ballard.”

  Only then did he release her hand and step away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, gazing into his hazel eyes that had lightened and taken on some gold with the rising sun. Looking at him standing in front of the backdrop of Vienna was like looking at a painting, but even a renowned painter couldn’t have captured what her eyes were seeing. For the first time, she understood the struggle an artist had of trying to convey both form and emotion in an image on canvas.

  “I’ll have a meal sent to your room so that you can rest,” the professor said.

  Gigi hesitated. Her exhaustion was catching up to her, but she didn’t want to be a burden on anyone.

  “Georgina,” the professor said softly. “I insist that you rest.”

  She gazed at him across the few feet that separated them. The breeze had ruffled his hair, and he hadn’t shaved yet this morning. His eyes were kind, compassionate, and warm. She could easily get lost in those eyes if she stood here much longer.

  “All right,” she said. “But I’ll be up for
our tour this afternoon.”

  His mouth curved. “Very well.”

  She walked past him then, although he joined her side by the time she reached the bottom of the bridge. They said nothing as they walked the short distance to the hotel. When Professor Haskins reached for the hotel door to open it, Gigi said, “You can call me Gigi.”

  His gaze shifted to hers, and she saw both surprise and warmth there.

  “My aunt is the only one who calls me Georgina,” she continued, “because I am named after her. Rowena Georgina Ballard II.”

  “The second?”

  “Yes, the second. All very formal, you know.”

  “Duly noted.” The professor smiled, and it was as if all the heat of the sun hit her at that exact moment. “Gigi it is. After you, my friend.”

  She stepped past him into the hotel lobby. My friend. They were sweet words, to be sure. Words she hoped to always deserve.

  Once inside her hotel room, Gigi found her aunt in the sitting area. She was still in her nightdress, but she had her notebook with her and was writing in it.

  “You’re awake early,” Gigi said, crossing to her aunt.

  Aunt Rowena looked up and gave her a faint smile, not her usual cheerful one. And her skin seemed pale, although she’d dabbed some rouge on her cheekbones.

  “Are you all right?” Gigi sat on the settee closest to her aunt’s chair.

  “I’m fine, dear,” Aunt Rowena said. “I’m planning out the next two days. I want to make sure the professor doesn’t miss anything at the Belvedere Museum today.”

  Gigi told herself to relax. Her aunt might look a bit pale, but she was talking like nothing was amiss. “I’m sure he’s well prepared.”

  Aunt Rowena nodded, looked down at her notebook, then peered up at Gigi again. “Where have you been so early, Georgina?”

  “I posted a letter to Lillian.”

  Aunt Rowena’s brows lifted.

  “And I spoke to the professor,” she said. “Apparently, he was an early bird too this morning.”

  At this, Aunt Rowena gave a genuine smile, and some color returned to her face. “How lovely. You are becoming such good friends. Do you think there will ever be a possibility—”