by A. L. Duncan
“Yes, I’ve seen it. But that’s not exactly what I had in mind.”
He laid a finger aside his nose, then pointed it at her. He toddled past a grandfather clock and patted the wood of another music box. He carefully opened its oblong lid and it played an adagio arrangement. “It uses two cones. Very pretty, ja?”
“Wonderful. But...”Janie held out her hands just a few inches apart indicating she was thinking of a smaller box. The proprietor pursed his lips in deep thought, duplicating her gesture. They nodded together. He walked past her, again with finger in the air indicating that she should follow. Amused, she raised a finger in reply.
He smiled as she picked up a box with an elaborate design, slivered pieces smaller than a toothpick arranged in the likeness of a Baroque rosette.
“If I tell you what music I want, can you put it in a box like this one?” she asked.
He beamed. “Anything you want.”
“If I pay you today, can you have it made and shipped to England by Christmas?”
“Christmas?” He made a face as he performed some mental calculations. “Well, I...”
“What if I pay an additional shipping fee?”
He drew his shoulders back, marched over to his front door and pulled the drape. Turning on his heel, he exclaimed, “I shall start immediately.” He took the box from her hands and set it atop the counter, casting an assessing eye at her wad of money. “I can have it engraved for you,” he suggested.
She chuckled. “I suppose that would be an additional fee?”
He showed his crooked teeth and shrugged. “Perhaps a little.”
Janie laid down the cash and shoved hands into her pockets. “I’m not very good at calculating the exchange rate. Take what you need.”
The man was eyeing the money as if he was planning his early retirement. He gulped hard then passed a piece of paper and pencil to his generous customer. “I’ll need you to tell me what music exactly, and what you wish me to engrave.”
Janie scribbled her instructions as he nervously thumbed through his receipt book for a blank page. She nodded her approval of the amount he tallied and then he honorably withdrew his payment, then handed the rest of the money back to her. Janie shoved the bills into her pocket and turned to leave.
“Don’t forget, now,” she added. “By Christmas.”
The shopkeeper acknowledged her with a final wave of the hand and a wipe of the brow. “Christmas, ja.”
THE HOTEL SACHER lobby was elegant, with Italian marble floors and pillars. Ilene was patiently awaiting Janie’s arrival, sitting on a settee and apparently observing the bellboys. They drifted about in their short white jackets and matching pillbox hats, gathering this set of luggage or pulling that cart of food.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”
Ilene spun about with a grin, her eyes meeting Janie’s with eager anticipation. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, Sam just left. Perhaps, you saw him.”
Janie shook her head. “Sorry. Guess he was in a hurry.”
Ilene sighed. “He was still quite an awful wreck over Teddy, I’m afraid.”
“Umm.”
“I really had no idea,” Ilene whispered. “The poor man spoke of such wonderful things they did together. How I envy him.”
Janie’s expression softened. She took Ilene’s hand and placed it on her arm, then led her slowly through the lobby. “And why is that?”
Ilene admitted sheepishly, “For their moments of such happiness. Teddy seemed truly content with all things, he never once wrote about anything traumatic. His life was adventurous, in fact, quite dangerous at times. But all in all, Sam said Teddy was very comfortable with his life. And it was genuine. Teddy was like that, you know, genuine.”
Janie cleared her throat uneasily and changed the subject. “Have you attempted to check in?”
Ilene turned away from the front desk. “I’m afraid our trip to Vienna is full of miscommunication.”
“What do you mean?”
“As soon as Sam departed, I did attempt to check us in. The gentleman at the desk informed me that I canceled our reservations shortly after I had made them.” Ilene grimaced. “That’s a most preposterous idea. I did no such thing. At least, I don’t believe I did.”
Janie patiently listened as Ilene continued her musings about the emotional behaviors one falls into after the loss of a loved one.
“I should have known never to attempt making arrangements in the state I’ve been in since Teddy’s passing.”
“I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Janie admitted.
“What? You know something about this?”
“Yes. I…um...I canceled our reservations.”
Ilene’s temper flared, but subsided just as quickly. “Carolyn, what on earth are you up to? And where is our luggage?”
Janie placed a hand on Ilene’s back and propelled her toward the exit. “Let’s just say I made other plans. Would you care to join me for dinner, Mrs. Eldridge?”
The evening suddenly held intriguing possibilities. “What do you have in mind, Miss Vaughn?”
JANIE ASSISTED ILENE out of a cab at the rail station, and the two stood before a series of deep blue rail cars, freshly scrubbed and with their windows squeegeed to sparkling clearness. The gold-trimmed lettering spelled out the esteemed name of the Orient Express.
“I hope you don’t mind eating on the move.”
“This? This is where we’re dining?” Ilene gasped as she looked at the tickets Janie held out to her. “Istanbul.”
“I thought you wouldn’t mind a slight detour from our planned itinerary.”
“What about Vienna?”
Janie clicked a tongue and escorted Ilene along the trellised walkway. “It’ll still be here when we get back.”
“But, I had plans for us. The museums, the opera, the Danube...”
“And we will visit them all when we return. I thought you might like a pleasant diversion. This way you don’t have to envy anyone else’s adventures. You can write about your own when you’re old, cantankerous, and happily gray.”
“I dare say, I’ve never met an American quite as charmingly persuasive as you,” Ilene said with a laugh.
“Cunning politics my father taught me. I swore I’d be damned to ever use them unless they be executed with virtuous results.”
Janie felt a forlorn sensation that anything said after that statement was going to be no less than deceitful and all consequences were to sink her like the great Lusitania. She only hoped God’s grace was enough to carry her through whatever she was about to enter into, and that risking Ilene’s safety wasn’t going to be something she was later going to regret.
“Just how long have you been planning this, anyway?” asked Ilene.
Janie helped her onto the step of a railcar. “Longer than I care to calculate.”
CRISP WHITE LINENS draped over tables in the dining car like Roman robes and were set with crystal stemware and vases of fresh flowers. Each chair was pulled back by a waiter who wore a short tuxedo jacket and white gloves.
Janie was impressed with the comfort of the chairs, made for living room lounging rather than sitting before a dining table. “Well, what do you think?” she asked Ilene, who was staring out into the Austrian countryside.
Slowly, Ilene pulled her attention back to her companion. “It’s beautiful.”
“You seem pensive. I’ve offended you, haven’t I?”
Ilene’s sympathetic eyes now rested on Janie’s worried expression. “No, no. Of course not.”
“I’m sorry.” Janie was about to tell her the whole truth, when Ilene continued.
“I was just thinking of how my husband, Richard, had promised to take me on the Orient Express when things settled down a bit. I regret to say, that was many years ago. And look, now here I am.”
Janie slumped in her chair. “Oh, good. Now I feel as if I’ve stepped on his grave.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ilene said reassuringly
. “I’m absolutely thrilled at the idea of finally getting away from Aria Manor for a while and experiencing God knows what kind of getaway. You were absolutely right to mussy up the plans a bit. It is so much more exhilarating this way, don’t you think?”
Janie acknowledged the waiter as he handed her a wine list, then replied, “Yes. Absolutely. Experiencing it together, where neither you nor I know entirely what on God’s earth is going to happen next.” Her eyes moved to the hovering waiter. “May we just have a bottle?”
Janie ordered a lovely dinner, which they both enjoyed. After dinner, they relaxed over coffee and tea. Janie did most of the talking as Ilene listened intently, elbows propped on the table’s edge.
Janie leaned back and lit a cigarette, sighing in contentment. “From Vienna, on to Budapest.” She admired the soft reflection of their images in the foreground of a darkened landscape through the window. “Then Bucharest, and finally, Istanbul.”
After a moment, Ilene asked, “How ever did you get rail tickets?”
Janie’s heart skipped a beat.
“Usually, this time of year, everything’s booked due to diplomatic functions between heads of states.” Ilene sipped her tea and eyed Janie with inquisitive steadiness. “Or people doing unsavory things in the name of the aforementioned.”
Janie felt the food and wine that had settled contently in her stomach was suddenly about to leap from her in a truthful heap of rotted shame. She had known the question was bound to come up. She had hoped, however, it wouldn’t be so early into their trip. She had obsessively prepared a thorough explanation of the trip and its relevance to Teddy, Oliver, and her reasons for accepting the whole damned idea. She knew that she would either come out of the explanation with flying colors, or she would crash and burn like the Red Baron.
“I knew someone who wasn’t able to make the trip. I’ve had the tickets for some time.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
Ilene leaned back and smiled shyly. “You have no idea.”
The waiter offered them champagne from a tray of crystal flutes, and Janie reached for two. She immediately gulped down the first in an attempt to stem the wave of nausea.
Janie mustered a purposely shifty expression and spoke in a very poor French accent. “As we’ve sat here enjoying ourselves, a gentleman has turned Mademoiselle’s suite into a divine sleeping chamber with ready wash basin and hot water, not scalding.” Ilene laughed under her breath. “You look flushed. Is it me or the wine?” Janie teased.
Ilene’s flush deepened. “A bit of both, I think.”
THEY ENTERED THE compartment. Ilene stood in front of the window and gazed at Janie’s reflection as if in a mirror. Janie locked the door then slipped off her blazer and hung it neatly. Her blouse draped in a way that complimented her slender, athletic form. Ilene was mesmerized by every movement, every curve and expression. All these months she had watched Janie in various moments of the day. How she turned over the dirt in her nimble fingers, studied the seasonal changes like a child in awe, laughed and swooned at the makeup of the landscape and its sometimes temperamental wrath upon her and her workers in varying degrees of climate. She was fascinated by how well Janie’s body took to the hard chores and yet stumble at such a simple task as sewing a button on a pair of trousers. Janie was certainly not your average hairpin and powder puff type of woman. Yet, her feminine attributes made the manly work about the manor quite a delight to witness in a most stunning and awe-inspiring manner. Never had she believed herself capable of cherishing the moment when the ancient goddess figure of Artemis would come from her childhood musings into a figure gleaming with sweat and dirt as if she had just wrestled a wild animal from the hunt. Ilene now understood the artistic eye of the sculptor; a most beautiful image in spirit and form that the eyes never tire at in their gaze.
With Janie’s breath warm on her neck, Ilene was overwhelmed by desire. This time she was not going to deny herself. She spun about and faced Janie boldly. They slowly bent toward one another and their lips met with tender kisses.
Fingers unbuttoned blouses. Janie’s fell to the floor, and she tugged Ilene’s blouse off, slowly kissing Ilene’s neck. Janie’s fingers glided down her arms and sides, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Fingertips traced shapely hips before sliding under Ilene’s skirt and pausing on a heaving stomach.
Janie pressed gentle kisses on a smooth shoulder, then down Ilene’s back. She knelt before Ilene, her tongue caressing and dancing over the trembling body. Ilene’s skirt fell to the floor, and Janie stood and slid her trousers off. She led Ilene over to the bed and softly lowered her down until she was reclining on the bed. Janie laid down beside her. Smiling tenderly, Janie stroked the silken neck, shoulder, and thigh with rapt attention.
Janie softly nuzzled a cheek and lips around Ilene’s firm, peaked breasts, teasing the nipples to rigidity. At the first touch of tongue on a nipple, Ilene inhaled sharply and her head fell back against the pillow. She felt Ilene’s heart quicken at nibbles and loving flickers. Hips raised as hands and tongue continued to stroke and probe as Janie patiently inched her way downward, Ilene’s fervid response igniting her own passionate moan.
Janie finally slipped her fingers inside, and Ilene released a gentle gasp. Whimpers rose in pitch and volume as she rode the ebb and sensual flow until a surging fire consumed her. Softly, slowly Janie made love to her. Time and again Ilene rose and arched, insisting on more. Playfully, Janie would pause, moving only slightly.
“What do you want?” Janie whispered into Ilene’s cheek.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”
Deeply now, and deliberately, Janie continued to press and move her. Again, and again, and again. Breathlessly, Ilene held Janie in her trembling arms, until she groaned in delicious release.
JANIE WOKE ABRUPTLY at the sound of shuffling feet out in the hall. In the darkness, she could barely see a card slipped under the door. She cast an eye at Ilene, but she was deeply asleep. Janie gingerly slid from underneath Ilene, trying not to disturb her. Only a soft moan protested her sudden absence. Janie picked up the card and read it. The message requested her presence in the dining car.
She checked her watch. It was one o’clock in the morning, hardly an hour conducive to a foray. Nevertheless, she dressed and made her way down the swaying narrow corridor. The lounge car was empty except for a bartender who nodded acknowledgment and continued wiping his counter. Passing through the lounge and into the dining car, Janie nervously eyed her surroundings. She spied an elderly woman sitting alone, sipping coffee. She was dressed in a black gown and a hat with plum-colored plume feathers. Janie thought it unlikely that she had sent the card. The only other passenger was sitting at the last table in the rear of the car. He was dark complected with a thick mustache, white jacket and matching turban. He paid little attention to her arrival.
A waiter approached and gestured for her to follow him to a seat. Janie’s instinct was to be on guard, but she did as she was bidden. She initially sat facing the front of the car in case her contact had not yet arrived. Feeling as if eyes were staring at her from behind, she decided to change seats. If the man seated in the rear was going to shoot her or flick a dagger at her, she wanted to see it coming.
“Coffee,” she said to the waiter, all the while viewing the traveler with suspicion.
A china cup of coffee was set before her almost immediately. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Don’t worry about him,” a new voice advised. “He’s harmless enough.”
She was amazed to see Samuel Tisdale sit down opposite her, placing his own cup of coffee in front of him. “Sam. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, I must say, old cat, you are certainly most genuine in your American greeting.” At that moment, the waiter appeared with a tray of biscuits and buns. “Care to nosh on a biscuit while we talk?” Sam offered. When Janie held up a hand, Sam declined politely. “To answer your question,
I’m traveling as escort for Edward and Mrs. Simpson, you might say.” He smiled at her questioning look. Lifting his cup, he added, “So glad you could make it.”
“Are you legitimate?”
“Oh, absolutely. We’re on our way to Bucharest. The Duke is to have lunch with the esteemed Romanian Grand Duchess.”
“Bucharest is a bit far for a lunch, don’t you think?”
“Istanbul is a bit far for you to be having dinner, isn’t it?” he volleyed.
“Touché.”
Sam laughed. He pulled out a cigarette case and popped it open, then offered it to Janie.
“Just what is your job at the embassy?” she asked, accepting a cigarette.
“Foreign Affairs.”
“Pretty general, isn’t it?”
He offered her a light. “It gets me the contacts I need. Which brings us to you, old girl.” He took a drag and stuffed the lighter back into his vest pocket. “Your contact in Istanbul has changed. By the way, did you get your bargaining chip?”
“The book? Yes, but—”
“Don’t let it out of your sight until it is time for the exchange,” he cautioned. He stirred his coffee in silence as the waiter passed. “Drink your coffee,” Sam directed.
To Janie’s surprise, she was seeing a totally different side of him. At their first meeting, he was a boyish, charming example of a British businessman. The man before her now was a well accomplished, unmistakable gentleman diplomat, who presented himself as someone with confidence and authority.
She lifted the cup to her lips and saw a small piece of paper on the saucer. The scribbling on it was not in English. She looked at Tisdale expectantly.
“You’re to take Ilene to the Grand Bazaar. About twenty meters down on your left, you’ll find a quaint little bookshop called Ada. Set the book down in front of the monkey’s cage.”
“A real monkey?”
“A real monkey.” He let the waiter pass before speaking again. “Get Ilene interested in the rugs next door or something. It shouldn’t be difficult, most women I’ve met love rugs.” He grinned at her objectionable eyebrow. “On your way out, pick up another book that will be left there and bring it to the shop owner in Vienna you bought the other one from. Understand?”