'Excuse me mister – um, do you speak English?'

'Eh? Ah...yes. A little. How can I be of help?'

'I'd like to send my sister back home in the States a postcard, but one's prettier than another and I just can't make up my mind on which to choose...I couldn't help wondering what a Salzburger himself would suggest.'

Georg nodded at the girl who stood expectantly beside him and set down his parcel, crossing to the wall where he fingered the postcards on the rack.

'Well, let's see...there's the Hohensalzburg, that's the fortress up on the top of the mountain...then there are the gardens of Hellbrunn, very pretty...hmm...if you're musical, here's a nice one of the house in which Mozart was born, but...ah, yes...my personal choice would be this one of Mellweg – it's a mountain in the Salzkammergut. Not strictly in Salzburg, no, but far more beautiful than anything you could find in this city. A postcard doesn't do it justice.' He handed the card over to the girl; she smiled as she turned it over in her hands.

'It is beautiful,' she said. 'How could I get out there myself, to see it?'

'You might be able to get a guide to take you there, I suppose,' Georg mused. He considered the girl. She was young, perhaps in her late twenties, and certainly pretty in her appearance. 'Are you travelling on your own?'

'Uh-huh. I came here to see where my father grew up, before he moved out to America...I'm of Austrian ancestry, you see.'

'Is that so? And how do you find the country?'

'Oh, most delightful...the air is so fresh, the people so pleasant...' The girl smiled attractively at Georg, combing a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. 'Now if I could only see the...um, Salzkammergut, did you say? Then I think my trip would be quite complete.'

Georg thought for a moment, glancing back at the brown paper package on the counter beside him.

'Well, miss, erm...ah, I'm sorry, I don't believe we've introduced ourselves to one another.'

'Ziegler,' the girl said as she extended a gloved hand, still smiling. 'Miss Scarlett Ziegler.'

'Captain Georg Von Trapp,' he replied, taking her hand and shaking it. He did not fail to detect the flash of interest that crossed her face as he did so. 'Now, Miss Ziegler, once I have sent this parcel, I will be driving back to my residence in Aigen...if you were interested in accompanying me – that is, if you were not otherwise engaged – I could perhaps make a small detour, and show you the Salzkammergut myself...?' Georg let the question hang in the air, but the girl was quick to answer, clapping her hands together in delight.

'Oh, that would be capital, absolutely capital,' she gushed. 'I would be most obliged to you, Captain. But, oh, I'd better pay for this postcard...I won't be a moment, I promise!' Scarlett counted out a few coins onto the palm of her hand as Georg turned back to his parcel, checking the string that held the brown paper package together. His heart thudded in his chest, faster than usual. Taking the parcel up in his hands, he joined the small queue at the counter. A hand touched his arm, and there was Scarlett, smiling prettily beneath the brim of her hat.

'I'll just wait outside, then, Captain,' she said. 'See you in a moment.' Georg watched as she made for the door of the post office, a thought occurring to him.

'Miss Ziegler...are you not going to write your postcard? I have a pen if you need one.' Scarlett looked back over her shoulder and shook her head, laughing.

'It's alright,' she said. 'I thought I'd wait until after our little trip to the mountains together – otherwise, for all I know, I might be leaving the most exciting part of my holiday out!' As she opened the door and stepped outside, Georg could not help but run his eyes over her fine figure – she was a beautiful woman, there was no denying that much. With a sudden pang of something indescribable – was it desire? Guilt? Both at once? - Georg touched the small gold band on his finger. It had been twelve long months. They had seemed to span an eternity of emptiness, a millennium of grief...no, could it really have only been a single year? But yes, there was no doubt about it – it was March 1939 alright, and it had been only March previous that the Von Trapp family had made their escape across the mountains into Switzerland. And yet so much had happened since. Georg could not have foreseen his return to Eigen so soon after he had fled from the place; he could not have foreseen that he would be going anywhere without the company of his beloved Maria. Once again, the course of Georg's life had been changed forever, but even as he had grieved in solitude he had perceived that greater, more terrible events were afoot, sweeping up the lives of millions in their passage. Whole worlds were being destroyed, and new ones were being called into existence – Austria itself was Austria no longer, transformed almost beyond recognition. Georg glanced up at the post office wall. A grim face glowered back at him, its mouth set in a frown under its small dark moustache.

'Heil Hitler!' Georg turned back to the counter, grunting by way of reply as he handed his parcel over to the saluting postmaster. I should never have come back, he thought. Not to this, not for anything. He passed a handful of Reichsmarks over the desk, shifting from foot to foot with impatient irritation while waiting for his change. Receiving it, he headed for the door. Through the glass he could see Scarlett waiting outside, looking up at the Swastika banners that fluttered from the buildings lining the street. Her father had the right idea, Georg found himself thinking. After all, better to plant a little piece of Austria in the soil of a new home than to sow the soil of Austria itself with salt.

'Heil Hitler!' A small man was holding the post office door open for Georg, a package held under one arm. Georg looked him up and down in disgust.

'Hitler? Hitler be damned,' he growled, leaving the man blinking in consternation as he swept past and out onto the street. Scarlett beamed at the sight of him; Georg gave a small nod and pulled from his jacket pocket the keys to his motorcar. 'Miss Ziegler. My apologies for keeping you waiting...shall we?'