Viennese Waltz: Glimpses of Happiness

Over their shared picnic lunch, Alex suddenly changed the subject. "Tell me, have you ever been to Budapest? Or am I allowed to know that, Madame Mysterious?" he added, airily disingenuous.

She bit her lips to smother a teased smile. "No, I haven't been."

"No? Well, here's your chance, then! We have to change trains there – and in fact, I'm stopping off for a few days to visit some friends. Would you care to join us? I can show you the city – you won't find a better tour guide anywhere!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "And what would it cost me?" she inquired.

Alex spread his hands wide, radiating innocence. "Nothing at all! No cost – and no strings," he added pointedly, showing that he knew exactly what she meant. "I give you my word, Fraulein Tyler, that my intentions are purely honorable. I am enjoying your company, and wish to prolong it, as well as introduce you to one of my favorite cities in the world." He quirked an eyebrow back at her. "Or do you have an appointment in Vienna?"

She looked out the window, biting her lips again, blushing, suddenly shy again. "No, no appointment," she said softly. Nobody's waiting for me anywhere skittered through her head, dragging a tinge of sorrow behind it. Firmly banishing both thought and feeling, she turned back to her new friend. "I'd be delighted to join you."

His answering smile lit up the compartment. "Excellent!"

^..^

The train finally slipped into the Budapest main station well after midnight, and they were met by Alex's Hungarian friend, Mark, who bundled them into a waiting car and drove them to his house in the suburbs through the deserted streets of the sleeping city. Speaking in whispers so as not to wake his family, Mark showed them to a pair of bedrooms, with a bathroom just down the hall, then stumbled off to his own bed. Rose gratefully stepped out of her clothes, leaving them in an ungracious heap on the floor, slipped in between heavenly clean, crisp sheets, and had sunk into deep, dreamless slumber before she could have counted to ten.

She woke very late the next morning, having slept almost without moving for a good ten hours straight. Raising a bleary head, she stared around until the inevitable temporary confusion dissipated, then she sat up and studied the small, pleasant bedroom. An antique dresser was topped with a large lace doily and an array of crystal bottles under the oval mirror on the wall, while the rag rug on the floor and the thick, comfy quilt on the bed gave it a welcoming, homelike atmosphere. Then she grinned: someone had crept in while she was sleeping, and left a pile of fluffy towels on the chair. She took that as an invitation, and accepted it gleefully, luxuriating in a long, hot, soapy bath down the hall, the first time she'd really been able to get fully clean since her arrival in the past.

Choosing the least dirty of her three pitiful outfits, Rose wandered down the stairs and followed her nose and ears to the huge country kitchen at the back of the house, finding Alex dawdling over coffee and chatting with their hostess, who jumped up over Rose's protest and whipped up a truly amazing and delicious omelette for her on the spot.

Renata was a large, buxom woman with a friendly face ever-ready to break out in smiles and laughter, who showered affection and food on all who came within her sphere, family and visitors alike. The couple's four well-scrubbed young children kept her on her toes as they swirled through and around the house, entertaining the newborn baby – the excuse for Alex's visit – whenever he was awake and could be prized out of his mother's protective arms. Their father's return from work each afternoon was cause for a mini-celebration, complete with ritualistic recountings of childish adventures and plenty of affectionate embraces all around. Rose wasn't sure whether she'd stepped into a Renaissance painting or a television family drama, but she loved every minute, and squirreled away memories of the happy family life like touchstones for future use.

All told, they spent over a week in Budapest, and Alex made good his promise to show her all the sights, spending the days touring the castles and cathedrals, islands, parks, and the vibrant street scenes. He delivered her for one entire afternoon into the hands of the attendants at one of the city's world-famous hot spring spas, a glimpse of such decadent, sybaritic delights that she thought she might forgive him anything thereafter. The evenings were filled with talk and laughter, as Mark and Renata's wide circle of friends, all of them literary, artistic, and politically-minded, had the habit of dropping by their house to visit, sitting around the huge kitchen table sipping wine and eating Renata's delicious – and substantial – offerings, often staying until after midnight when the subject under debate was particularly engaging. The talk was mostly in Hungarian, and Rose found herself on the periphery, just listening to the sounds of the speech and watching their faces while she sipped her wine, or took her turn holding the baby. Alex and others would occasionally turn to her and apologize for excluding her, and try to switch to German, but she shook her head, waving them off self-deprecatingly. "I don't mind – I'm used to being invisible," she said.

Alex gave her a long, sympathetic look and then shook his head. "You're not invisible," he told her quietly, taking her hand, which made her smile shyly.

Of course, they tried to find out more about Alex's new companion, but all she told them was where she'd grown up: Southampton. When asked what she was doing in eastern Europe, all she would say was "Traveling. Just... traveling." After that, Alex's puckish title for her, Madame Mysterious, was spread about and used affectionately, but they let her be. They understood privacy, and the keeping of secrets, in Budapest.

The first evening, she caught Mark studying her from across the table, a look of puzzlement on his face. After a bit, he hooked an eyebrow up and commented softly, but with an odd emphasis, to Alex, "She reminds me of Sonia." Alex shook his head sharply as if denying it, then deliberately changed the subject. Rose was puzzled by the exchange, as he'd admitted the resemblance the very first moment they'd met, but let it go, distracted a moment later by the decadent chocolate dessert being passed around the table.

She could have happily stayed there forever, but finally, Alex admitted it was time he was getting back to Vienna. "And after all, we don't want to overstay our welcome!" he exclaimed graciously, bringing out the old saw about visitors and fish both stinking after a week.

("Three days, you mean?" Mark asked disingenuously, then grinned to show he didn't mean it. The deep affection the whole family had for their Viennese friend was genuine and obvious, and Rose felt immeasurably warmed by how easily they had extended it to her, and was forever grateful to them for it.)

Nevertheless, all things must end, and so they reluctantly packed their bags again, let Renata pack a picnic big enough for an entire train car – or so Alex said, laughing – and Mark drove them once more to the station.

^..^

Sitting side by side, sharing a compartment with several strangers – the train really was full, this time – Alex turned to Rose, strangely hesitant. "Rose... do you have a place to stay in Vienna?"

"No," she admitted.

"No one is expecting you?"

"No," she said again. "Why?"

He took a deep breath. "I would very much like to invite you to stay with me," he finally admitted. "But... there is a small problem."

"What?" she laughed. "A wife and six kids?"

Alex snorted. "No," he said emphatically, then turned concerned. "Although... that could also be a problem later on." Now Rose was really getting confused, especially when the usually ebullient and confident man actually blushed. "The problem is," he finally admitted, "that I live in a garret. A very small one. With but a single bed. One that... I would like very much to share with you," he finished earnestly, making his meaning plain.

It was Rose's turn to look away, blushing. But she was also smiling, which gave him a bit of hope. She started to reply, then suddenly stopped, shaking her head, diverted. "What did you mean about a wife being a problem later on? Are you engaged or something?"

"Um... actually... I meant the opposite... um... that it's not part of the equation. And won't be. I'm just... not the marrying type."

"Good," she laughed, attracting attention to them. She lowered her voice again. "Because it's not part of my equation, either." She shook her head, sighing. "That is just not in the cards for you and me. In any possible world..." she added, her voice drifting off.

Alex's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded, surprised. "Excellent. Then we understand each other on that score." He paused, uncertainly licking his lips, then leaned over, conspiratorially. "Does that mean yes, then?"

She glanced away again, blushing once more, then finally looked back at him and nodded. "Yes. I'd like that," she accepted the invitation, and a slow, relieved smile spread across his face.

"Excellent," he repeated in a soft, happy whisper. And then he leaned over and kissed her, a short sweet kiss, short because of their glancing, grinning audience, but full of promise; promise that was borne out not only that night, but many nights thereafter. Alex was a tender, considerate, and exciting lover (in stark contrast to her only two previous: the sloppy, egocentric Jimmy Stones, and the autocratic Nazi General Schultz, who had literally bought her for a song by sponsoring her short-lived singing career). Alex, however, not only coaxed a warm, natural, enthusiastic responsiveness out of Rose, but over the next few months slowly began to convince her that she actually deserved the attention and the happiness it brought.

And gradually, she started to feel alive again.