Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.
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The Sound of Music Chronicles
Part I
The Twelfth Governess
Chapter 03
Elsa
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"No little shack do you share with me,
We do not flee from the mortgagee,
Nary a care in the world have we;
How Can Love Survive?
You're fond of bonds and you own a lot.
I have a plane and a diesel yacht,
Plenty of nothing you haven't got
How Can Love Survive?
No rides for us on the top of a bus
In the face of the freezing breezes.
You reach your goals in your comfy old Rolls
Or in one of your Mercedes!
Far, very far off the beam are we,
Quaint and bizarre as a team are we,
Two millionaires with a dream are we,
We're keeping romance alive.
Two millionaires with a dream are we,
We'll make our love survive
No little cold water flat have we,
Warmed by a glow of insolvency,
Up to your necks in security.
How Can Love Survive?
How can I show what I feel for you?
I cannot go out and steal for you,
I cannot die like Camille for you.
How Can Love Survive?
You millionaires with financial affairs
Are too busy for simple pleasure.
When you are poor it is toujours l'amour,
For l'amour all the poor have leisure!
Caught in our gold plated chains are we,
Lost in our wealthy domains are we,
Trapped by our capital gains are we,
But we'll keep romance alive.
Trapped by your capital gains are we,
We'll (You'll) make our (your) love survive!"
Rodgers & Hammerstein, How can love survive?
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"A true U-boat man would exchange all the medals in Vienna for a dry pair of socks."
John Biggins, "A Sailor of Austria".
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The memories of the day of the SMU-6 christening would forever be a pleasant blur for Georg von Trapp. At least after that damned champagne bottle was broken by his future wife…
He vaguely remembered being introduced to Miss Agathe Whitehead and to her cousin Elsa, the youngest daughter of the Count von Enns. The Comtesse was absolutely dazzling, a stunning beauty. Agathe was not. She was beautiful, yes, but not exceptionally so, although she had the most captivating smile he had ever seen. He was blinded by it. At a ball, later that evening, the men had fallen over themselves to court the tall, elegant Elsa; he, however, could not resist the petite figure of Agathe and her smiling light brown eyes.
He recalled seeing Elsa a couple of times after his engagement, since she and Agathe had been inseparable as children. She was a bridesmaid at their wedding. But never once he saw her after they were married – only the occasional telegram, or even more rare, a telephone call. Vaguely, he recalled his wife telling him that her cousin had married a millionaire nearly 30 years her senior, a man she had been introduced to at the ball which had followed the SMU-6 christening.
"Comtesse Enns," he said softly. He was not sure yet what her married name and title were, and he did not wish to risk another faux-pas with such a distinguished lady.
She had changed, of course, but time had been kind to her. She was much, much more than he remembered her, probably because Agathe had blinded him for any other woman that day and only now he could see her clearly. Elsa was taller than he remembered, her hair of a lighter shade. She was also more beautiful and infinitely more elegant and sophisticated. Strong and confident, the contrast between her and the debutante playing the piano could not be more staggering.
"Oh my, you do remember me! I´m relieved. For a moment my female pride was in tatters. My late husband used to tell me how utterly unforgettable I am, and for a moment I believed that he had lied to me," she said.
"I apologize, Comtesse. Your husband was absolutely right, of course. I, on the other hand, seem to be forgetting myself this evening."
"Oh, I assure you that you are every bit as unforgettable as I am, Captain von Trapp." He bowed lightly, gracing her with a genuine smile – his first that evening. "I daresay that we make the perfect couple – dear old Max is watching us from the corner, wringing his hands already."
Georg followed the direction of her glance.
"Indeed he is. I dare not ask what his obscure motives might be this time or what devious plans he might have for us, but I see that the money signs are back in his eyes," he said ironically.
"That is much better," she exclaimed laughingly. "You were scaring away all the ladies with your dark scowl. By the way, it is Elsa von Schraeder now. For you, just Elsa. We are old acquaintances, after all, and we are about to fall into Max´s clutches."
Again, he acknowledged her kindness with a smile, but deep inside he had no intention of calling her by her first name.
"We waltzed together once, remember?" She leaned into him, nudging his shoulder playfully with hers.
He looked down, staring at his half empty glass. Yes, he remembered it. Indeed, they had waltzed together during that ball, but only because his grandmother had whispered to him that another dance with Agathe would be hardly inappropriate, at least if his intentions towards her were serious. People would talk, unless he showed some interest in the other young eligible women present. Yet, while they danced, all he remembered was to guide her in a way that he would never be too far from Agathe Whitehead, now in the arms of a fellow naval officer. "If he holds her too close, or if he drags her away to the garden, I may have to break his arms, or, at the very least, challenge him to a duel," he remembered thinking.
"How should I call you nowadays? Captain or Baron von Trapp?" her amused voice awoke him from his reveries.
"I prefer Captain." For some reason, he did not feel like permitting her to use his first name yet, even if she had openly allowed him that courtesy. A courtesy he had no intention of taking advantage of.
"You are right, of course. "Barons are usually wicked men who ride their horses around the countryside looking for gentle and unsuspecting maidens to ravish. No, you are a respectable sea captain, a grieving widower and a father of six."
"Seven," he corrected her.
"It does not matter, darling. You are still too dashing to be a Baron, and perhaps not wicked enough," she teased.
"O-ho, I wouldn´t be so sure of that," he said, the thoughts about what he had anticipated doing with and to the ravishing Isabelle that evening briefly crossing his mind.
"I said perhaps, darling," she purred.
What the hell was he doing?
He drowned his next words in another large sip of champagne, so quickly that he nearly choked on it. He prayed that she had not realized his discomfort. If she only knew the reason for it… Would she feel like running for dear life, like Pauline Eberfeld? God, he felt like an untried youth, it had been two decades since he had done that: just flirting with a woman. No flirting had ever been necessary with Isabelle and the few others who had preceded her. But Elsa von Schraeder was openly flirting with him, and he was only responding to it so easily, so naturally. Could it possibly happen, could he, even if for only a few moments, return to his old charming self? To be once more the gallant naval officer who had won the heart of Miss Agathe Whitehead so easily? The idea was vaguely disturbing, and he tried to push his thoughts in another direction.
"Uh - did you say your husband´s name was von Schraeder?" he asked, clearing his throat.
Baron Rufus von Schraeder had been a close friend of his father, and had passed away a week after Agathe´s death. When it happen, he had been so distressed by grief that he had failed to pay his respects to the family, and he could not help but feeling guilty about it.
He continued, not waiting for her answer.
"Then you must be Rufus…"
"Widow, yes. Isn't it a terrible coincidence? We both met our spouses on the same day, and we lost them within a week of each other."
"Indeed," he said cryptically, raising his eyebrows. She did not look at all like a grieving widow, and he wondered how she had managed to survive after losing her husband. Unlike his marriage, he wagered hers had not been a love match, but a match none the less, one that had lasted as long as his own had. Even still, the Baroness didn't appear to be grieving – either due to her upbringing or the politics in her marriage - he wasn't sure. Baron Schraeder had been described to him by Max Detweiler, one of his best friends, as being "richer than God and uglier than the devil".
Elsa – Baroness Schraeder now – continued speaking. It was unavoidable, now politeness demanded that he stayed and listened to her, at least until their conversation, which he had hoped at first would be brief, died.
"How long has it been since we last saw each other?" she asked. "Fifteen years?"
"Sixteen. You went to visit us when my eldest daughter was born."
"Oh yes. Elizabeth, isn´t it?"
"We call her Liesl."
"Yes, I remember the day, and your little girl. I remember she had your eyes – dark blue and mysterious."
"She still does!" he smiled, taking another sip of his champagne.
"I saw Agathe several times after that, but you were never around. Where were you?" She touched his arm lightly.
"Oh, here and there," he mocked.
"How clumsy of me! Where were you, indeed, how silly to ask a question like that to one of Austria´s greatest war heroes! Trying to save us all, fighting your battles underwater, sinking enemy ships and winning titles and medals."
"Yes, I think that accurately sums up my military career!" he smirked.
"You certainly miss it all…"
"Yes, of course I miss the sea," he said immediately, and a little more irritably than he had intended. There was nothing that ripping a bandage from a wound quickly, the pain was blessedly quick. By now he knew well what to say to end such conversations quickly.
"Have you never been to the ocean again?"
"Oh yes, constantly. A treaty might have stripped Austria of a seacoast, but at least it did not steal the freedom of its citizens to reach the ocean. I go sailing quite often, as a matter of fact, I still have my boat docked in Venice. Every now and then I take commission to take a merchant ship from one port to another. I´ve been working in the design of a new submarine for the British Navy, but…"
"But what? You seem to be a very busy man."
"It is not the same thing," he admitted reluctantly.
"I know. Like you, I threw myself at work after Rufus died." He threw her a quizzical look – he could not help it. "Now, don´t give me that look, Captain! I am no idle socialite. You have no idea how tiresome it is, organizing one charity ball after another for the Viennese high society."
"O-ho, undoubtedly!"
"You miss her too, don´t you?" Elsa changed the subject abruptly, and the smile froze in his face. He should have seen it coming. In fact, he deserved it – his reaction to her commenting about being busy with work had been telling, and she probably resented it. Still, he saw no need to answer her question. Apparently, the answer was only too evident in his face.
"I went to see her at the hospital in Salzburg, you know. I was with her only days before it happened. You never saw me, she told me you had gone home to care for your children who were also very sick."
It was rare, nowadays, but it still happened – once in a while he would run into someone who had not seen him since Agathe´s funeral. And the questions and comments about her would automatically happen. All he could do was to brace himself for the pain and do everything within the limits of politeness to drop the subject as quickly and elegantly as possible.
"Probably," he said curtly. It was what he did in those days, anyway. Never sleeping or eating, only running madly from the hospital to the house and back, as if trying to be in two places at once, utterly unable to decide where he was most needed, incapable of knowing where his heart wanted him to be.
"I'm sorry, she never told me you visited," he added, for the sake of politeness. "Otherwise I would have contacted you when it happened."
"I am sure you would. Would you like to know what she said to me?" she asked.
"Not really," he wanted to reply, but he had to force himself to hold his ground, once more for the sake of politeness. At the piano, Pauline was beginning to play a Mozart Sonata, one who happened to be another one Agathe´s old favorites. He closed his eyes for a moment. If Elsa noticed his discomfort, she either did not mind it or she felt that he could handle whatever it was that he was about to say.
"You are going to tell me anyway, aren´t you?" he sneered.
"Only because she would have wanted me to. She said: "He has lost the Navy, now he is going to lose me…" She said that you would try to wallow yourself in self pity, like some Byronic hero – her words, not mine, although seeing you now I can´t help but agree wholeheartedly."
"That does sound like my wife," he grimaced. Byronic hero, indeed! The description was an apt one, as much as he hated to admit it.
"She also said that it was up to me, my dear husband and sweet old Max Detweiler to keep it from happening."
"Well, it seems that you are all inexcusably late," he nearly spat.
"I am terribly sorry I was not around. And although he would die before admitting, I think Max is sorry as well," she said, patting his arm lightly, as if to give him comfort and reiterate her understanding of his loss. He was surprised by the warmth of her gesture. Tenderness was another thing that he had willingly banished from his life lately. He could not recall the last time he had allowed one of his children to hug him. Until now he hadn´t realize that he missed it, perhaps too much.
"Unfortunately, I was never good in keeping my promises, even to my closest childhood friend. And then, one week later my poor Rufus died," she rambled on. "And once that awful mourning period was over, you… well, you know what you did. Let's just say I was surprised. First you disappeared from the face of the earth, then you… oh, admit it, you have not become the most charming bachelor in Vienna! You are utterly unapproachable, did you know that?"
He chuckled. "I am doing what I can. You know what I mean."
"Are you? Soaking yourself on champagne, seducing women of dubious reputation… Now, don´t glare at me like that, I know all about the French dancer!"
"You know all about… Who told you?" his voice was dangerous.
"Darling, I am not one of your war prisoners. You are not going to torture me if I don´t tell you, are you?"
Again, the flirtatious tone, but this time he would not fall for it. If there was gossip about him, he needed to know.
"I never tortured anyone in my life!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Now, why do I find that so disappointing?" she pouted, with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"When did she turn into such a charming coquette?" he asked himself. He did not remember her being that way, it was very distracting, but right now he could not allow himself the pleasure. The last bit of information she had providing him was disturbing, and it could be quite damaging.
"Who told you?" he insisted.
"Max, of course."
"I will strangle him, I swear I will," he gritted.
"Oh, don´t blame him. He claims that he heard it from your butler."
Georg groaned.
"In this case, I will strangle Franz too!"
"I would not worry, darling. I trust Max with my life. He and I are old confidants, we tell each other everything. He has a great deal of respect for you and I don´t think he will repeat this little scandalous piece of gossip to anyone else. Actually, he told me he gave your butler quite a scolding when he heard it."
Yes, Max might keep his mouth shut, but Franz was an entirely different matter. It was not the first time he heard about his butler being a scandalmonger, but at this rate his worst suspicions about the man would be proven true quite soon.
"In my defense, I think that your friends at the Opera would be horrified if they heard you describe their prima ballerina as a woman of dubious reputation," Georg said.
"Oh, I won´t argue with that. Not now, at least. By the way, speaking of dancers, you still owe me a proper, waltz. I will not let you escape me this time."
He looked at her, surprised.
"Didn´t we waltz properly last time?"
"No, my darling," she pouted. "You were much too busy watching another woman, you tripped on my toes!"
"I married that woman."
"That you did. But my pride and my feet were hopelessly bruised that night. That was not very gentlemanly of you."
Her smile was so charming, so captivating… He quickly made his mind not to resist it.
"Tell me, Baroness, what can I possibly do to correct my unforgivable behavior?"
"Forget the waltz, Captain. Forget everything else, leave it all in the past where it belongs." He frowned, not sure if there was an underlying meaning behind her words. Her next words disarmed him.
"I will teach you how to tango!" He raised his eyebrows, incredulously. "I think is what both of us need, it is so marvelously risqué."
Moments later, he was insisting that she call him Georg. She was also making him laugh. She invited him to a ball the following night. He accepted, and they waltzed all the time, and not once did he glance at another woman.
The evening had taken an unexpected turn for the best, and for the first time in years he allowed himself to feel just a glimmer of hope. The French ballerina, Isabelle waited for him in vain that night. The following morning he sent her flowers, accompanied by an obscenely expensive emerald bracelet. There was a note, ending their affair, permanently. Though he would not hear from the woman again for quite a while, he was told – by none other than Elsa – that she had taken it quite badly.
"Max said that she tried to drown herself in the Danube last night, wearing nothing but the emeralds you gave her." He choked violently. "Darling, there is no need to feel so bad about it. I find it deliciously wicked. Your first suicide!"
Georg finally laughed, reminding her that fortunately the lady in question had not actually died in the attempt, so it hadn´t really been a suicide. He never knew if there was any truth to the outrageous tale, nor did he have any inclination to find out. What was refreshing was that Elsa was amused by his peccadilloes of the past year or two, rather than scandalized by them. In a way, she relieved him of a good part of the awful guilt he felt for turning to other women for comfort, perhaps because she had gone through similar experiences herself in a not so distant past. He never dared to inquire; of course, he did not think he ever would, even as their relationship progressed. If she had taken any lovers after her husband died, she was very discreet about it. A lesson that he should have learned by now…
Several waltzes and tangos later, Baroness Elsa von Schraeder became his constant companion. He never gave her any false illusions, telling her plain and simply that he did not believe he would every love another woman. Wherever their relationship took them, she should not expect declarations of undying love for him. For her part, she never demanded of him more than he could give her. Perhaps that was part of what made so easy being around her. He could be an outrageous, shameless flirt with her without risking his heart. It had no surprised him when his body reacted in a very peculiar manner the first time he held her close while they were dancing a tango.
"Oh my, I fear this might be bigger than I can possibly handle, darling," she exclaimed.
It was always like that. Elsa amused him; she made him laugh in the most unexpected moments with her outrageous words. Although deep inside he was still a broken man, he felt better when he was around her. She understood him in a way no other woman except Agathe ever had. He felt almost… alive again. Physically he felt also better – he regained some his youthful appearance, he started sailing and riding again. He slept better at night, and enjoyed more of the sunshine during the day. Though he still drank socially, he no longer did it to oblivion. Little by little, he discovered the joys of having a nice conversation with a highly intelligent woman. They have the same witty sense of humor and shared a myriad of common interests, and even their political views were similar. There was never an official engagement, but they slowly became known as a couple, and one would not see one without the other in any social function. He escorted her to the Opera, to concerts, and to every ball of the season, frequently acting as a host in the charity balls she organized herself. Max Detweiler, a mutual friend of both, began acting as their chaperon, whenever he was needed.
Elsa became his armor, his shield against his own memories. Sometimes he asked himself if he was not using her, but never dwelled too much upon the idea, because if she was using him for the same purpose, he did not mind. Their relationship simply worked. He could not help but being impressed by the manner in which she used her impeccable skills to whisk away any unwanted attention that he might be attracting, before he even became aware of it.
It was inevitable: little by little, he began to see her not only as a good friend, but as a mature woman who possessed all of the qualities he was looking for in the wife he needed - beauty, brains, breeding, birth – not to mention beauty. She was charming, witty and sophisticated, nearly perfect in every sense of the word, and he was certain that his family, and even Agathe´s family, would approve the match. His decision would not be questioned.
Naturally, such realization changed everything. It did not matter how far things between them had advanced; now Georg would be forced to retreat. His sense of propriety demanded that, from that moment on, he conducted their alliance following all of the rules. It did not matter that quite a few members of society would not condemn them for becoming lovers. He respected Elsa too much to place her in the same category of those women he sought comfort with until recently.
And the rules dictated that, once his decision was made, the next step would be to introduce her to his children…