Tempting Fate (27 page)

“Troubled, Madame?” Ragoczy asked, offering his arm to her. Although he was not much taller than she, his bearing provided the illusion of height. His attention was courteous and wholly proper.

“Not exactly.” Gudrun gave a brittle, short laugh. “I imagine that every first party of the season has some awkwardness to it. And with everyone worried about München and the Spartacists, well…” She gestured as if to show herself merrily resigned to the evening. As she spoke, she went with him toward the dining-room door. Earlier she had been worried that her peach-colored organza petal-tiered evening dress was a bit too daring for a woman in her position, but next to her elegant neighbor, she was relieved that she had not settled on the prim gray silk.

“The Frei Korps are closing in, and they are well-financed,” Ragoczy said as he held the door open for her.

The strains of a popular waltz tune greeted them, and a sporadic counterpoint of conversation. There were half a dozen couples standing around the punch bowl and another five couples dancing. There were twelve huge sprays of fresh flowers on pedestals around the room, filling the air with their perfume. The gathering looked as lively as a funeral.

A middle-aged woman in an overdone lace dress hurried over to her hostess, “Oh, Frau Ostneige,” she cried out, “Herr Natter has been saying that the war is not over, and that we’ll see men in the trenches again before we know it. I
know
that the Peace terms are disgraceful, and I
know
the Allies have trampled on the honor of Deutschland, but my two brothers were killed, and three uncles as well, and I don’t want to hear about war again!” Her voice had become quite shrill, and what little interest there had been in the music was lost as the other guests turned to look at her.

“Ah, Aloisia!” Gudrun was dismayed. In the little time it had taken her to greet this last arrival, things had become even worse. “No, no, you must not be upset. Everyone is concerned, of course. It stands to reason that those who fought would be angry at the Allies’ terms, but we haven’t had much time to change our thinking. To say that there must be another war, when most of us lost loved ones and…” She was babbling, she knew, and wished she could stop. She noticed the pressure of Ragoczy’s hand on her arm, and she turned to him gratefully.

“If you would introduce me?” he prompted her kindly.

“Of course. How remiss of me.” Her smile flashed gratitude at her companion. By the time she had presented all her guests to her hochgeborn visitor, perhaps the worst of this latest disruption would have passed. “Graf Ragoczy, may I present to you Frau Aloisia Inschrift; Aloisia, this is Graf Ragoczy from Schloss Saint-Germain.”

Aloisia simpered and dropped a hint of a curtsy. “I’m delighted, Graf. Herr Inschrift and I have been most eager to meet you.”

Ragoczy bowed to the woman. “It is a pleasure, Madame.” He began to anticipate a long evening and wondered if he should have attended the party at all.

Gudrun was already drawing him away from the older woman toward the gathering at the punch bowl. Several curious glances were directed his way, and he met each one with the ironic hauteur he had mastered so long ago.

An hour later, when the musicians were playing again, Gudrun plucked at his sleeve and said to him in an undervoice, “Thank you very much, Herr Graf. I was in flat despair until you arrived.”

Ragoczy looked at her, studying her face. His first impression, he knew, had underestimated her, though he doubted she knew how strong a woman she was. “It was nothing, Madame. I assure you.” He looked at the couples dancing, and remarked, “I would have expected more guests at, as you say, the first party of the season.”

“But there are more guests,” Gudrun said softly. “My brother has retired to the library with his … friends, and the Schnaubels … Oh, I
wish
Maxl wouldn’t be so difficult about Jews. The things he called—”

“Simeon Schnaubel is here?” Ragoczy interrupted her.

“He and his wife: they’re in the conservatory with Gerwald and Walpurga Bohle. They’re from Bad Wiessee, the Bohles, an older couple. She had the influenza, and was very ill for more than a year, but they’re getting out now.” Gudrun had been speaking in an undervoice.

“Simeon Schnaubel is seeing to the restoration of my home,” Ragoczy said quietly. “I wish you had told me earlier he was here.”

Again Gudrun flushed, thinking she had been enjoying the evening for the last twenty minutes, and in fact had been delaying the time when she must, for the sake of good manners, take her illustrious guest to meet the rest of the company. “I’m … sorry, Herr Graf, but…” She did not know what to say, and wished, senselessly, that she could walk away from the whole evening.

Ragoczy relented. “With so much on your mind, it’s understandable that you would like a respite. Let me bring you some punch, Madame.” He left her side and walked along the side of the dining room toward the punch bowl. As he reached for the silver ladle and a crystal cup, he heard a voice at his elbow.

“You’re the one with a French title,” Konrad Natter said a trifle too loudly.

“Among others,” was Ragoczy’s affable reply. “My family name is not unknown in Hungary.” He filled the cup and turned to face the other guest.

Konrad Natter was almost drunk enough to laugh in the foreigner’s face, but not quite. He had enough sense of where he was to do nothing more than sneer. “French titles. I’d be embarrassed to have one, with the war just ended and the French determined to shame us.”

“But you are a Deutscher and I am not,” Ragoczy pointed out mildly.

“Exactly,” Natter declared, wagging one finger at the foreigner. His silver-streaked fawn-brown hair had become disordered and one strand hung over his eyes. “Exactly my thought. Ragoczy is Hungarian, but the family were Prinzes of Transylvania, weren’t they, back a century or so? And where are they now?”

“Two centuries, actually, before the Hapsburgs expanded Austria. It was some time ago.” Ragoczy looked at him. “You must understand better than most what it is to be deprived of your birthright, Herzog Natter.” He was pleased to see Konrad Natter blanch at the sound of his family’s former title. “‘Herzog’ comes as awkwardly to you as ‘Prinz’ does to me, but both were legitimate when we were young.” With that, he inclined his head and walked away through the suddenly-loud dance music and the muted rustle of voices.

Gudrun took the crystal cup and drank eagerly. “Danke, Herr Graf,” she said, her eyes very bright.

“Come, Madame, must you forever remind me of what is lost? It was unpleasant enough with Herr Natter, but with you…” He did not touch her or move closer to her, but Gudrun felt her life narrow down to the little space that contained the two of them. “Must we be formal?”

“Franchot Ragoczy?” she breathed, shaking her head.

He repeated what he had said when he entered her home. “I am Saint-Germain.”

“Saint-Germain,” she echoed, taking wicked delight in pronouncing the French. “But I must continue to introduce you as Ragoczy, and Graf, mustn’t I? It is how you are known in the area. It will be expected.”

“Whatever suits you, Madame.” He held out his hand for the empty cup. “Perhaps you will find a moment to take me to the conservatory. I would very much like to talk with Simeon Schnaubel and his wife—I have not properly met her.”

“She’s a very pleasant woman,” Gudrun said as she strove to check an irrational spurt of jealousy that his request fired in her. “Yes, you should meet her. It was remiss of me not to do this earlier.”

The trio was playing a medley of tunes from Kalman’s operetta
Die Czardasfürstin
and one of the women was attempting to sing along as she danced. The punch bowl had been refilled less than half an hour ago, and at eleven o’clock there would be a buffet supper for the guests. Gudrun looked anxiously over the room.

“They will see to themselves, Madame,” Ragoczy said to her in an undervoice. “Unless you wish to remain here, in which case you have only to tell me where I might find the conservatory.”

“Um Gottes Willen! If I cannot spare ten minutes for the Schnaubels, I must be a very poor hostess.” She laughed a little recklessly and made a complicated gesture with her hands, consigning this portion of the party to its own devices. “Come, Herr Graf…”

“Saint-Germain,” he corrected her quietly.

She glanced up at him as she opened the door, and did something she had not done in several years: she giggled. Her inward shock was negated by the lightness of spirit she felt. “Saint-Germain,” she agreed, and led the way down the hall toward the conservatory.

About two dozen plants had been set in tubs in the glass-ceilinged room in an attempt to show the place at its best. There was one wall that had been negligently painted so that the rude scrawlings the vandals had left on the walls could still be read. The night was cool for late April, and in the conservatory it was necessary for the four guests there to have more than their evening clothes to keep warm. Amalie Schnaubel had worn a long, sleeveless dress with a filmy patterned gauze overrobe, and was clearly the least comfortable of the four. She sat huddled in a wicker chair, her legs drawn up and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Beside her on a leather ottoman sat Simeon in a dinner jacket, looking dapper. They were deep in conversation with an older couple. The man was in proper full tails, which he wore with a great deal of ease; his wife was another matter. She was small and visibly frail. Her dress of lavender satin was new but cut in the mode of a decade earlier. In the square neck of the kimono dress she wore an impressive necklace of diamonds and sapphires.

“I’m sorry to have kept you alone so long,” Gudrun said as she came into the room. “It has been a very awkward evening for you, and I sincerely apologize. You know what it was like earlier: I did not want to give further occasion for offense.” She tried to smile at these four people but gave it up after two attempts.

Ragoczy had entered behind her and decided that there was no need for Gudrun to be made so miserable. He touched her lightly on the shoulder and came past her into the room. “Good evening, Simeon. It’s good to see you.”

“Herr Ragoczy!” Simeon Schnaubel ejaculated, rising with alacrity. He clasped the outstretched hand enthusiastically. “I never thought you would be here.”

“I’ve wanted to meet my neighbors for some time, and this seemed as good a way as any.” He turned to the woman in the wicker chair. “You are Amalie Schnaubel, are you not? I have seen your children, and since we have exchanged notes, I feel that we have met already.” He held out his hand for hers.

“This is Herr Ragoczy, Liebs,” Simeon explained unnecessarily.

“Yes,” Amalie said, a bemused expression in her eyes as Ragoczy bent to kiss her hand. “A pleasure, Herr Ragoczy. The children have said a great deal about your kindness to them, and your ward.”

Ragoczy shook his head slightly. “It gives me a great deal of joy to see them together, and so I am indebted to you.” Though his style was gallant, there was no doubting his sincerity, which Amalie found perplexing. She had expected someone more forbidding than this polished, gently sardonic man. She met his penetrating gaze and the faintest of shivers ran through her. She recognized the strength in his eyes and was strangely daunted.

“Frau Schnaubel is cold,” Ragoczy said, knowing full well that the cool room had nothing to do with her light dress. “Frau Ostneige, if I may, would your servant bring my cloak?”

Gudrun murmured her assent and stepped into the hall to call for Otto. She wished now that the old bell pulls had been reinstalled in each room. At these times, it was unfair to ask two or three men to be everywhere in the Schloss. She had walked half the length of the hall before she caught sight of Otto.

“Do you want me to send another bottle of schnapps to the library? Maxl’s friends have gone through three bottles of cognac so far, and they’ve asked for more.” Otto’s old features were heavy with disapproval.

“What?” For the last half-hour Gudrun had almost forgotten her feckless brother, and the question now almost dashed her newly-restored good humor. “Three bottles of cognac? And my brother says…” She broke off, knowing that there was no benefit in railing at him. “If they must have spirits, choose one of the lesser bottles. If they’ve already gone through three bottles, they probably won’t notice the difference.” As she turned away from her servant, she recalled the reason for her errand. “Oh, and, Otto, will you bring Herr Ragoczy’s cloak to the conservatory? Frau Schnaubel is very cold and he has kindly offered it to her.” As much as she admired the gesture, Gudrun could not entirely avoid the realization that she wished he had done it for her. Immediately she scolded herself for her feelings; she required a moment or two to herself before she returned to the conservatory. There was a vague sensation behind her eyes, as if she was about to have a headache. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took several deep breaths before starting down the hallway toward the conservatory.

Ragoczy was sitting on a rickety willowwork divan, discussing the premiere of
Tosca
in Rome with the Bohles. “Certainly there was a riot,” he was saying, “but not because of the music itself: that came later. No, the public was outraged because Puccini insisted that the work actually start on time.”

Gerwald Bohle gave a somber nod to his head. “That was not what I was given to understand. And the outrage at the impropriety of the material…”

“You must never have been in Roma if you think that
Tosca
offended them. There’s nothing the Romans love better than scandal,” Ragoczy insisted. He turned to Simeon. “Have you been to
Tosca?
Unless you hear it with Scotti, you will miss a great deal.”

“I had the pleasure of hearing him in
Don Giovanni
but nothing else,” Simeon said. The strained look about his eyes was gone and he was less reserved. “I don’t care much for opera. Mahler—now, there’s a composer worth listening to.”

Walpurga interjected a comment before her husband could challenge Simeon’s pronouncement. “I was hardly more than a girl when I first heard
Gräfin DuBarry
in Wien. I’ve often been told I have no taste at all in music, and it is probably true. I like operetta so much more than all that pounding music. Operetta is light and amusing…”