Eternal Melody

by Anisa Claire West

  Graciously, she allowed Milton to pull her chair out. She sat down demurely, instantly burying her face inside a menu, not caring if she appeared rude. To her disgust, Milton snatched the menu from her hands and set it down on the table out of her reach.

  Arrogantly, he asserted, “You shan’t need to skim through that. I shall order the finest dishes money can buy.”

  Snapping his fingers, he indicated to the uniformed waiter that he was ready to order. Without another glance in her direction, Milton tersely told the waiter to bring the best bottle of red wine in the house along with two servings of filet mignon, cooked rare.

  Rebecca nearly gagged when Milton ordered the meat rare and thought how different it had been the first time she dined with Luke in Salzburg. Tapping her nails distractedly on the table, she tried to smile politely when the waiter dutifully returned with a ten-year old bottle of wine. Rebecca held out her goblet for him, as her hand accidentally knocked against the bottle, setting the waiter off kilter and causing him to spill the wine on her sleeve.

  Immediately, the waiter apologized in very remorseful sounding German, as Rebecca assured him that it was not his fault and not to worry. Milton, conversely, regarded the waiter as though he had just committed a heinous crime, giving him a look of such blatant reproach that Rebecca wanted to shut her eyes.

  When Milton spoke to reprimand the employee, it was even worse. “Are you some sort of raving imbecile? Look what you have done! You have positively ruined the lady’s dress!”

  “Milton, please, it’s fine. This is an old dress, and he certainly has not ruined it.”

  Sheepishly, the waiter walked away, leaving Milton staring after him with eyes that blazed irrational fury. In that moment, Rebecca decided that his accent was a clever disguise, masking an obtuse and inconsiderate cad, rather than a refined English gentleman. Shocked by his reaction and desperate to dismiss the episode, Rebecca took a long sip of her wine and brought up the subject of music.

  “So, tell me, besides The Magic Flute, what other operas do you enjoy?”

  With a look of boredom, Milton sipped his wine and replied vaguely, “I enjoy all operas.” Then, with a twinkle suddenly lighting up his dull eyes, he queried, “How much longer will you be in Vienna?”

  “Until early October. Then, I will be off to Venice. I’m so excited. Venice is another marvelous city for musicians. Did you know that Haydn spent his last days there?” Rebecca presented Milton with this bit of trivia, suddenly suspicious of his interest in music. Any connoisseur of German classical music would know that Haydn, the celebrated father of the symphony, had died in Venice seventeen years prior.

  “Did he? That’s interesting.” Milton remarked blandly, taking another sip of wine while Rebecca watched him with a combination of suspicion and distaste. Each time he daintily sipped the wine his thin lips would pucker as though he were drinking turpentine, and she rather wished he were.

  “If this is the best wine in the house, I would not want to taste the worst.” Milton commented with another grimace. “But, enough about the incompetence of this staff and the inadequacy of this establishment. Tell me, how long shall you be in Venice, then?”

  “The duration of my sojourn is undetermined as of the present.” Rebecca clipped formally, purposely shoving back a one-sentence answer to the insufferable man.

  Intrigued by her enigmatic reply, Milton raised a bushy eyebrow and said, “However long you are in Italy, I must see you there. You make such an unforgettable Pamina singing auf Deutsch, and I can only imagine how enchanting your voice would ring in Italian.”

  Rebecca was wholly unaffected by the man’s shallow flattery, but his comment did spark a thought in her that had not been fully registered before: she was going to perform in Italian! Triumphantly, she thought how the ruined state of her love life did not matter when placed alongside her flourishing career.

  Still, as she snuck another look at Milton from the shield of her wine goblet, she imagined with a lump in her throat how happy she would be if Luke were sitting across from her. Rebecca practically smashed the goblet onto the table, impatient with herself for fantasizing about Luke. Why was it that every time she tried to bask in the glory of her singing career the image of Luke Springwell came back to haunt her?

  “Please do be careful with that goblet, Rebecca. I wouldn’t want to cause another uproar after that wine spilling catastrophe.”

  Rebecca shot Milton a tight smile, amused that he considered a minor accident to be a catastrophe. Had the man any life experience at all? Or had he resided his entire life perched on an emperor’s diamond-studded throne that rendered him hypersensitive to the slightest inconvenience? Another comparison to Luke inevitably ensued, as Rebecca pictured him shirtless, laboring away on the farm in Wisconsin in the morning and sweating profusely while training for the Olympics in the afternoon. Stubborn as he could be, Luke was the epitome of a man in Rebecca’s eyes. If only Luke could see that he would make the best possible husband for Rebecca and an outstanding role model for Annabelle…

  Their dinners were served on silver platters garnished with intricately arranged parsley. Rebecca made a valiant effort to eat the quasi-raw meat. Conversation during the meal was sparse, as Rebecca pretended to be absorbed in her meal, chewing each bite as though she were deep in concentration.

  To Rebecca’s misery, Milton extended the evening by ordering peach schnapps as after- dinner drinks. When she sampled the sweet yet biting liquid, Rebecca thought how she could have enjoyed the drink under other circumstances, with other company. The clock crawled forward like a turtle.

  Just before midnight, Milton finally took out his smooth leather wallet to pay for the meal. Rebecca noticed that he did not leave a tip on the table, so while he excused himself to go to the men’s room, she swiftly emptied her purse of every coin she had and tossed them onto the table. It was unthinkable to leave without giving gratuity to the workers, especially when one was as wealthy (and rude!) as Milton Thornbrenner.

  Rebecca allowed Milton to lead her out into the night and escort her to Kirschstrasse. When they arrived at her apartment building, Rebecca stopped short at the ground floor entrance, adamant that Milton would not bring her upstairs.

  Hastily, she said, “Thank you for dinner. Do have a good night.”

  “When shall I see you again?” Milton prodded, looking at her intently.

  “Oh, I cannot say. My performance schedule permits very little socializing. Now, if you would excuse me, it is so very late and I must get some sleep.”

  Rebecca rushed her words, banking on the likelihood that Milton would not attempt to overstep his boundaries. Thankfully, she was right, and he retreated, favoring her with a gallant bow that might have fooled her before their dinner disaster, but not after.

  “Good night, Pamina. Until we meet again…” Milton bent to kiss her cheek, strode away, and disappeared into an alleyway like a sinister apparition, leaving Rebecca shuddering.

  The sound of her character’s name on his lips was disturbing, and she felt the urge to run upstairs and lock her bedroom door, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Knowing the walls of the building had poor insulation, Rebecca walked noiselessly up the staircase, eager to reach the fifth floor. On the fourth floor, she jerked upon finding Luke standing at the window. He whirled around to face her, his features obliterated in the darkness.

  “L-Luke,” She stammered, disconcerted by his hulking presence in the dusky hallway. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching that man kiss you.” He gritted.

  “He kissed me on the cheek, Luke! Besides, why do you suddenly care? You were the one who persuaded me that I should seek a man of a more affluent class.”

  Rebecca could not read his expression in the blackness, but when he spoke, Luke’s voice articulated a sneer, as he mocked, “I do not ‘suddenly care.’ You asked me what I was doing, and I merely gave you an answer.”

  “If you don’t care, then why were you watching?”
Rebecca countered, unconvinced that he would truly feel so nonchalant after seeing her with another man.

  “Do you really think I have nothing better to do than stand vigil by the window while you and your new lover prance around the city? I was struck with a case of insomnia and decided to take a walk around the building. When I reached the window, you happened to be there with your lover.”

  “Don’t you dare call him that! He is not my lover, nor will he ever be, not that it is any of your concern. If you have nothing respectful to say to me, then I will bid you good night, Mr. Springwell.”

  Rebecca turned on her heel and headed towards the next flight of stairs, disconcerted by Luke’s impersonal demeanor and his denial that he was spying on her and Milton. Why couldn’t the man just be straightforward?

  Fuming, Rebecca walked with deliberate slowness to the stairs, darting her eyes sideways, wondering if he would follow her. But he did not. When she reached her chamber, she swung the door open and slammed it shut like a madwoman, throwing herself onto the bed and pummeling the pillows. Quickly, she got hold of herself and pulled off her shoes followed by her ugly dress, which she crumpled into a ball and tossed to the corner of the room. How ironic, she thought, that just a day ago her options had seemed so plentiful as two men courted her, and now she was lonelier than she had ever been.

  *****

  In the days to follow, Luke and Rebecca ignored one another, save to mutter a civilized “hello” upon passing in the apartment building or at the theatre. To Rebecca’s chagrin, her performance suffered along with her emotions. Having never been in love before, Rebecca was struck by how consequential her heartbreak over Luke was in every other aspect of her life. She rarely visited her grandmother, spent less time with Annabelle, and even avoided Ryan. It was as though she inhabited a miserable little bubble, transparent so she could glimpse the outside, but sealed so she was unable to escape.

  Milton courted her sporadically, disappearing without notice or explanation for an entire week and then returning to pursue her with renewed vigor. She reluctantly accepted his tokens of affection, including additional bouquets of flowers and several boxes of chocolate. But when he presented her with a glittering sapphire bracelet, she emphatically refused it no matter how many times he tried to change her mind. After he had offered the bracelet, Rebecca knew that he was trying to purchase her love, and the thought made her ill. Undeterred, he lurked around the theatre, still attending shows and infuriating Luke whenever their paths crossed. But as plain as Luke’s jealousy was, he remained stubborn and did not confess his true feelings.

  When October finally arrived, relief streamed through every vein in Rebecca’s body, as she was desperate to start anew, albeit for the second time in one year. Mechanically, Rebecca completed the last week of performances of The Magic Flute, still fond of the opera but infused with an artist’s desire to begin another project.

  The night before her departure, Rebecca was organizing her clothing into neat piles, determined to transport her belongings in a more orderly fashion than she had coming from Michigan. Emptying the drawers of her nightstand, Rebecca found the compilation of love poems that Luke had given her. She didn’t dare open it, lest she fall to pieces and weep, but she resolved to bring it with her, not willing to give up on the idea of being with Luke. Sliding the book in between two dresses and transferring the whole pile into her suitcase, Rebecca walked to the other side of the room where her armoire stood, waiting to be emptied. When Rebecca finally sealed her last piece of luggage, she felt a bittersweet twinge at the realization that she was leaving Vienna.

  After the orchestra’s swansong performance, Mr. Graysen had read a telegram announcing that they had been commissioned to spend a full four months in Italy. It seemed so surreal to be leaving behind a building and a country that she had come to know as home. But Rebecca did not dwell too long on reminiscences, convinced that going to Italy would prove to be a positive change of scenery and lifestyle. After all, she would no longer be residing inside a suffocating little room, but sharing a spacious waterside villa replete with amenities.

  Stuffing her rent money into an envelope and signing her name on the outside, Rebecca mused how she might return to Vienna but would probably never see this apartment building again. The proposed salaries for the musicians in Italy were high enough that she would be able to afford more comfortable accommodations even if her group of housemates disbanded.

  Absorbed in her thoughts, Rebecca fuzzily became aware of a rumpus downstairs. Freezing in place, she listened to the raucous sounds of what seemed to be a heated argument. Within seconds, Rebecca had identified the muffled voice of Luke and, listening more attentively, the strident accent of Greta Schiller.

  Unbelievably, the clamor became louder. Had they raised their voices? No, they were headed upstairs! Still traumatized from her onstage attack, Rebecca rushed to the door to lock it, but Greta was too swift and charged into her room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Greta had lost some of her beauty in jail, as she sported bluish circles under her eyes and coarse lines around her chapped lips. Her hair was loose, a straw-colored mop that looked as though it hadn’t been washed since the night she assaulted Rebecca.

  Retreating several wide steps, fearing that Greta would harm her, Rebecca bumped into her bed and fell backwards on the mattress. Jumping up as soon as she fell, Rebecca looked beyond Greta to Luke, who stood by complacently. Was he waiting for Greta to claw her again? Is that what he wanted, Rebecca wondered bitterly.

  “Luke! How could you let this beast barge into my chamber? Why are you even with her?” She demanded.

  “Relax, Rebecca. Greta merely came up here to apologize.” Luke replied levelly.

  His explanation flabbergasted Rebecca, and she screamed, “Apologize?! Since when does a person come flying into a private room, late at night, to apologize? It seems to me that she is here to finish off the attack that she started in September. Besides, I heard you yelling downstairs. What was that all about if she is here to apologize?”

  With infuriating calmness, Luke explained, “Greta was released from jail earlier today and came to my room this evening. I was suspicious to see her at first and, frankly, didn’t want her anywhere near you.” He looked accusingly at Greta. “I told her not to come running in here because it was inappropriate and she would frighten you. But Greta still proves to be a willful woman. And I honestly don’t see any harm in her apologizing.”

  Rebecca listened, still finding it incongruous that her attacker had truly meant to apologize, especially in such a crazed, invasive manner. “Apologize, Greta. Go ahead.” She challenged.

  Greta sucked in a heaving breath before she spoke, and Rebecca noticed upon closer inspection that the woman’s eyes were moist with what looked to be fallen teardrops. “It is true. I do want to apologize. I am very sorry. When I was in jail, my father became very sick in Switzerland. He died. I could not attend his funeral. This made me know that I am being punished.”

  Certainly it was tragic that Mr. Schiller had passed away while his daughter sat in jail, and Rebecca felt compassion, but not guilt. She had not incited the attack in any way and would not be made to feel responsible.

  “Yes, I am sorry. Tonight I will go home to Switzerland to be with my mother. I also came to say goodbye. Auf wiedersehen, Rebecca.”

  “I accept your apology. But why didn’t you say goodbye to Luke?”

  “Because Luke will bring me to the train station tonight.”

  Luke affirmed this with a nod. “Yes, that’s right. Greta doesn’t have anyone else in Vienna to walk her to the train station, and it would be too dangerous to let her go unaccompanied at night.”

  “Why should you care about her safety?” Rebecca clipped.

  “I am merely trying to be a gentleman, Rebecca. I would help anyone in need. It’s nothing personal, I assure you. Good night. See you tomorrow morning at the train station. Don’t forget our train departs at half past
seven.”

  Luke walked out of the bedroom with Greta following him like a wounded child.

  *****

  In a blurry state halfway between sleep and consciousness, Rebecca stirred in her bed, shielding her eyes from the sun penetrating her chamber. Lethargically, she peeled back the covers. Glancing over at her timepiece sitting on the nightstand, she was alarmed to discover that it was ten o’clock!

  With a cry of disbelief, she blinked, reading the time again. She had read correctly. It was ten o’clock. She had overslept and missed the train to Venice! Lunging with uncharacteristic clumsiness from the bed, she wondered why Ryan hadn’t awakened her. How could he have left for the train station without her? Did he just assume that she would make it there on time? After Luke’s curt, dismissive goodbye last night, she did not expect that courtesy of him---but her own brother!

  All her careful planning and packing had gone to waste, she mused bitterly, looking at the dress she had laid out over a chair. Seizing the dress violently and forcing it over her head, she blamed Luke for her oversleeping. After he had gone with Greta, Rebecca had not been able to fall asleep until the somber predawn hours. Even then, sleep had not come swiftly or restfully. Instead, she had switched positions dozens of times, not finding comfort in any of them.

  Eventually, she had tumbled into sleep, but it was very shallow and now caused her head to throb as she dragged her luggage to the door, hoping there would be another train to catch.

  Fifteen minutes later, Rebecca burst into the rail station, which was quiet and deserted in the middle of the morning. She rushed over to a ticket booth to inquire if there were any other trains leaving for Venice that day. Rebecca took her place in line behind an elderly man, who held a ticket to Luxembourg. As she stood impatiently waiting, a deep voice called out to her.

  “Fashionably late, I take it?” Luke drawled, standing next to her in line. “You don’t have to buy yourself a ticket. I already took care of that.” He said, taking her hand and trying to guide her away from the ticket booth.