Dare to Love (32 page)

“Please let go of me.”

“Are you going to get angry? I've yet to see the famous Lopez temper. They say your eyes are like blue fire. Is that true? Do you really scratch and kick and throw things? I can't believe that. My gentle, patient Elena.”

“My patience is wearing thin.”

He laughed softly, holding me, his eyes full of sardonic amusement. “I've certainly given you provocation.”

“You have indeed.”

“I'm difficult, demanding, impossible. I know. Do you know why? Because, my love, you're a damnable distraction. I should work right now. I should lock you out of the room and sit at the piano, but I won't Not just yet, my beautiful distraction.”

I tried to pull away, but he held me firmly. “I told you I'm not in the mood, Franz!”

“You
are
angry with me. Why do you put up with me?”

“That's a question I often ask myself.”

He smiled and kissed my bare shoulder. “You put up with me, my love, because I'm an addiction, an opiate you can't give up, just as I can't give you up. We're very bad for each other. We both knew that from the beginning. These two months have been exasperating.”

“Exasperating,” I agreed.

“And splendid,” he murmured.

He sought my mouth with his own, kissed me repeatedly, breaking through my resistance with practiced skill. He could be so tender, so gentle and persuasive, and he was persuasive now, terribly so, his mouth caressing mine, his arms holding me close, his body firm, strong—an opiate, just as Franz had said, in my blood, a dangerous addiction that I was foolishly indulging in and not yet strong enough to relinquish. Lifting me up, he carried me into the bedroom, where he undressed me and made love to me slowly, superbly, carrying us both into realms of splendor.

Much later, as I sat at the dressing table, I wondered how long it would be before both of us became immune to the effects of the opiate. Applying a touch of pink lip rouge to my lips and smoothing a suggestion of violet-gray shadow on my lids, I thought about the past two months. Traveling through Germany had been exciting and stimulating and, for the most part, marvelous fun, but Franz had grown increasingly jealous of the attention I was receiving. He could be enchanting, exhilarating, but he could also be infuriating. Such outbursts as that at the card stall had become more frequent, and I was finding it difficult to keep the “famous Lopez temper” under control. When it finally flared, there would be fireworks indeed.

I dressed slowly, still thinking about our weeks together. Delightful as it was to be treated as royalty, to be lavished with attention, I knew it was only a matter of time before Franz and I parted. Our bond was purely physical, and such things burned out quickly. I was not at all in love with him, nor he with me, and that, at least, was a blessing.

Taking my hat from its box, I stepped over to the mirror to put it on. My afternoon dress of maroon-and-black-checked taffeta had long, tight sleeves, a square neckline and a skirt that flared out over half a dozen full petticoats. A wide black velvet belt emphasized my narrow waist. The hat, a wide-brimmed black velvet creation with a tall crown, had frothy maroon and white plumes spilling over one side. I pinned it on and adjusted the tilt of the brim, and then I stepped back. The total effect was quite spectacular, I knew. It might be lost on Madame Schroeder, but the students at the university would be most appreciative.

Franz had been very good for me, I decided. I felt stronger, much better able to cope, no longer the emotionally vulnerable creature that I was when Anthony deserted me. Elena Lopez had finally come into her own. The fanciful girl had grown up at last, with just the right amount of light cynicism to enable her to survive. I no longer expected too much, and that was an achievement. When the affair with Franz ended—and the signs were already present—I would suffer no pain, no remorse.

He was at the piano when I entered the sitting room, his tawny gold mane a long, gleaming cap on the head bent forward, in concentration as he studied a sheet of foolscap, pen poised to make a correction. He was a beautiful male creature, and he was the most gifted man I was ever likely to know. Our affair would end, but “Elena's Song” would live forever, immortalizing our months together. To have inspired that piece of music was something of which I would always be proud. Franz made a notation and then looked up. He slowly arched one brow.

“You look stunning, my love.”

“Thank you, Franz.”

“If I didn't know you better I'd think you were on your way to an assignation.”

“Madame Schroeder is meeting me downstairs in the lobby. She's taking me on a tour of the university.”

Franz grimaced. “You have my sympathy. She's a thoroughly detestable type.”

“She's been very kind and helpful.”

“She's fussy, foolish, talks incessantly, and is inordinately obsessed with
culture
. Why are these matrons always the ones who arrange the receptions and set things up? Why must they always be plump, have girlish ringlets and stuff themselves into outlandish satin gowns?”

“You do her an injustice. She's very dedicated.”

“God spare me from her like,” he said wearily. “I'm surprised you'd give her the time of day, my love.”

“She's arranging a benefit,” I told him.

Franz grew wary. “Oh?”

“It's to be held next Friday. Several local musicians are going to perform and—it's for a very good cause. They're trying to raise money to build a new orphanage, and—”

“She hoped I'd volunteer my services,” he interrupted.

“Tickets go on sale tomorrow afternoon. Your appearance would insure a sell-out, Franz, and they could ask twice as much for the tickets. You would only have to play one piece. I promised Madame Schroeder I'd ask you.”

“The answer is no. I have work to finish.”

“It wouldn't take that much time, Franz, and, as I said, it's for a very good cause.”

“My music is more important than any number of orphans. Madame Schroeder will have to make do without me.”

He turned back to the sheet of foolscap. I stared at him, fighting to control my anger.

“Sometimes,” I said, “you really are a bastard.”

“There's never been any question about that,” he said amiably. “Have a nice afternoon, my love.”

I was seething as I went downstairs, and I found it difficult to hide my anger as Madame Schroeder hurried over to me. Fussy and foolish she was, and she did talk incessantly about
culture
. Girlish blonde ringlets bounced about her exceedingly plump shoulders, and her body was stuffed not into satin this afternoon but into a tight black bombazine asparkle with jet bead embroidery. But her blue eyes were warm and friendly, her small pink mouth forming a merry smile. Though Franz might despise her kind, she was well-meaning, and it was the Madame Schroeders of the world who helped keep culture alive and flourishing.

She chatted constantly, in heavily accented French, as we drove to the university and as we strolled over the grounds. Realizing that she was nervous and a little in awe of me, I doubled my efforts to be gracious and charming, showing far more interest than I felt as she pointed out architectural features and elaborated on them. Word spread quickly among the students that Elena Lopez was visiting the university, and soon we had an audience of strapping, robust young men following us about.

Inside the former palace we paused in the great hall before a huge painting in an ornate gold frame. It was a life-sized full-length portrait of a youngish man in a striking white and gold military uniform holding his plumed golden helmet under one arm and standing against a dramatic background of mountains. He was slightly overweight with long, sensitive hands and a melancholy expression. His light brown hair was clipped short, and his deep blue eyes seemed to reflect on a lifetime of sadness. He smiled the pensive smile of a man resigned to perpetual loneliness. Although he was by no means handsome, he had a compelling quality that was immediately touching. One wanted to comfort him as one might a lost child—to take his hand and speak quiet words. Rarely had I been so moved by a painting.

“King Karl of Barivna,” Madame Schroeder informed me. “He attended the university twenty years ago, then went back to Barivna to found a university of his own, second only to Heidelberg.”

“What expressive eyes he has,” I remarked.

“He's much older now, in his mid-forties. A gentle man, dedicated to the arts and, alas, caught up in a touchy political situation. Barivna is a tiny kingdom, unfortunately hemmed in on either side by large states, each of which wants to annex Karl's country.”

“I've heard of him,” I said. “Barivna is supposed to be the Athens of Germany.”

“King Karl has devoted his life to art and beauty. He's spent several fortunes turning Barivna into a wonderland of palaces, gardens, museums. The neighboring states are quite alarmed by his expenditures. He's never married, you know.”

I gazed up at those sad blue eyes that were so full of silent yearning. Madame Schroeder glanced at the students standing a discreet distance away and lowered her voice.

“He's been in Italy buying marble,” she confided, “and rumor has it that he'll stop in Bonn next Friday on his way back to Barivna. He might even attend our benefit! He'd never miss an opportunity to hear the celebrated Liszt play.”

We had not yet discussed the benefit, and I dreaded telling her the bad news. Madame Schroeder looked at me, a little alarmed by my silence.

“You did speak to him?” she inquired.

I nodded. “I—I'm afraid Franz won't be able to perform,” I said hesitantly.

Madame Schroeder's face seemed to collapse, her eyes filling with disbelief. I thought she might actually burst into tears, and I damned Franz for putting me in such an awkward position. The corners of her lips quivered in a brave smile as she sought to conceal her disappointment. She might be a silly woman with silly ringlets, but the benefit was of paramount importance to her, and I knew what hopes she must have cherished.

“He's terribly busy, you see,” I explained. “He's working on a new composition, and he desperately needs to finish it before we leave for Dresden.”

Madame Schroeder managed a tremulous smile. “I understand, of course,” she said. Her voice quavered. “It was foolish of me to think I could get someone of his stature for my benefit. It's just a local thing, very unimportant. Of course he's too busy. Dear me, and I went ahead and rented the theater for Friday night, thinking there'd be a vast crowd. Oh well, that can be mended. I feel sure I can—”

She broke off, unable to go on, actively fighting the tears now. I took her hand and squeezed it.

“I'm so sorry,” I said quietly. “I—I wish there were something I could—” I paused. “Madame Schroeder, would it help if
I
performed? I haven't been on stage in over three months, and I have no costumes here, but—” Again I paused. “I'd be glad to help in any I could.”

Madame Schroeder looked at me as though unable to believe what she had just heard. “Would you?” she asked.

“I'd be happy to.”

“But—that's marvelous!” she exclaimed. “You'd be an even greater attraction. Half of Bonn heard Liszt play last night, but no one's seen
you
perform! We'll sell out immediately. Oh, Miss Lopez, you're an angel. An angel! This will be my greatest triumph. I just know it!”

Several of the students had overheard our exchange. They began to talk excitedly in German. “Elena's going to dance!” I heard. “Elena's going to dance!” Three of the youths rushed over to ask Madame Schroeder about tickets, and at once she became very dignified, very efficient. Soon we were surrounded, and the previously reserved youths, smiling and laughing, made a merry racket as they followed us out to the carriage. They cheered noisily as we drove away. I waved. Madame Schroeder did, too, dignity deserting her in her excitement.

I said nothing to Franz about my decision to perform. He was immersed in his music, and if he saw the announcement in the newspapers the next morning, he made no mention of it. I left the hotel early, for there was much to do. Madame Schroeder was in her element arranging for rehearsals and musicians and music. We were able to use the theater to rehearse in, and though she could only locate one copy of my Spanish music, she had several young men make copies for each of the musicians. After rehearsal schedules were set up, she bustled me off to a dressmaker she knew and I sketched a costume for her. The dressmaker said it would be impossible to have such a costume ready in time, but Madame Schroeder threw her hands in the air and said that was nonsense, sheer nonsense, we must all accomplish miracles, think of those poor little orphans. Finally, the dressmaker said she would try, and Madame Schroeder hugged her and whirled me away in search of castanets.

As Madame Schroeder had predicted, tickets for the benefit sold out immediately, and for double the price that she had originally set. The newspapers were filled with stories. In order to keep the journalists away from the hotel, I gave an interview at the theater after one of the rehearsals. Madame Schroeder took charge, acting as translator for those journalists who spoke no French. With rehearsals, costume fittings and conferences, I spent very little time at the hotel during the days that followed, but Franz appeared not to notice. At least he did not comment on my frequent and lengthy absences. Caught up in the throes of creation, he wanted only to work. His meals were sent up to the suite and, generally, he worked late into the night, retiring to his own bedroom when he finished.

The dress rehearsal lasted until four on Friday afternoon, and I was apprehensive as I returned to the hotel. I knew Franz wouldn't approve of my performing, and I had been expecting a scene ever since the announcement first appeared. Even though he might be too busy to squander time on anything as mundane as newspapers while in the midst of composing, he knew full well that something was afoot. During the past week, though I had been away from the hotel a great deal, it was never in the evening, and I wondered what his reaction would be when I told him I was going out again and wouldn't be in until very late. He might merely have shrugged his shoulders. We hadn't slept together since the afternoon I toured the university, and had exchanged hardly a dozen words.