Eternal Melody Page 10

  Luke was either obsessive about organization, or he had tidied the room in expectation that she would accept his invitation. The image of this burly Wisconsin farm-boy turned-athlete turned-musician sweeping a broom around the chamber made Rebecca bite her lip to keep from giggling.

  As though reading her mind, Luke admitted, “I tidied up a bit today. Usually, my chamber is a pigsty, but I had hoped you might let me give you the tour. I know it’s quite a letdown from the tour of Salzburg, but it will have to do at this late hour.”

  Rebecca laughed and said, “Good to know that I’m not the only one who gets a little lax about cleaning. I haven’t even unpacked most of my luggage. And after scouring a mansion for half the day, the last thing I feel like doing is cleaning! My chamber is a place to sleep and nothing more.”

  “I told you you’re earthy.” He chuckled appreciatively, as she gave him a quizzical look, still confounded when he described her with that term. “Allow me to show you some of my prized possessions. First, I have something for you to taste.” Luke spoke huskily all of a sudden, and Rebecca wondered if he were teasing her or if he was about to proposition her.

  “Pardon me?” She asked.

  Luke walked over to his desk and pulled out a decorative tin, painted with a sparkling winter scene amidst a snowcapped mountain range that resembled the Alps. He opened the tin as foil rustled inside, and he unwrapped a colorful sweet shaped like a star. “This is marzipan. Have you ever tried it?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She eyed the candy with intrigue, as it looked more like an art project than something edible.

  “Taste it.” He offered her the candy, and when she would have taken it with her hand, he held it up to her mouth. She obliged him and parted her lips, taking a bite of the star-shaped treat.

  “Mmm. It tastes like sugary almonds.” She remarked.

  “Yes, marzipan is made from almond paste…and loads of sugar. I’m surprised you’ve never had it.”

  “I’m very deprived.” She sighed, as he fed her the remainder of the star. “Everyone always says that it’s women who have a fondness for sweets. I didn’t expect to find a stash of confections in your room.”

  “Well, you may find there are many surprising things about me.” Luke said evasively.

  “Such as the fact that you read in three languages?” Rebecca pointed towards his books.

  “I’m not perfectly proficient, though. Not even in English!” He joked, as Rebecca laughed, careful not to choke on the granules of sugar that filled her mouth.

  Suddenly, Luke’s eyes clouded over with sadness as he said, “So this is my palace. I know it’s not much.”

  Rebecca regarded him as though he had just babbled utter nonsense and interjected, “I live upstairs in an identical room, Luke. I don’t have much either, and I think it’s fine that way.”

  “Do you really? Would you really be content to live out the rest of your life like this, renting a tiny room above a storefront?”

  “No, but I don’t believe in peering into the future. We can never see more than a hazy picture there, and it can be very misleading.” Rebecca looked at him with grim thoughtfulness. “It’s ironic that you’re asking me such questions, Luke, as you were the one who accused me of coveting wealth. Do you recall what you said to me the first day we met?”

  “Yes, I do.” He said quietly. “So I suppose I’m the one who should really be answering those questions. Truthfully, I could be happy living in a tree house, but society conditions us to desire more. If I had a normal job, then I would be able to have all those things that society flaunts seductively in our faces. But as a musician for an orchestra that is still bicycling with training wheels, I cannot afford to buy a house…or settle down with a wife.” Luke turned his back to her after that final statement.

  Rebecca wondered what had prompted Luke to mention taking a wife. She did not want to conjecture whether he had her in mind. Instead, she challenged what he had just said.

  “You claim that you’d be happy living among nature, but if that’s true, then why do you desire more? Society can be influential, but can it truly alter the desires of your heart? Has it really persuaded you into believing that you don’t have enough?”

  As Rebecca asked these questions, she felt like a hypocrite, recalling how just that afternoon she had wished for a lady’s attendant to help button up her dress. Had the slithering serpent of greed swallowed her whole as well?

  Daydreams of extravagant dresses and standing ovations had flooded her imagination since she was a little girl. She had no right to scold Luke about being hoodwinked by society, when she herself was equally enamored with material gain. Suddenly, Luke gave his reply, snapping her out of her musings. “Those are very provocative questions, Rebecca, and I don’t know how to answer them. I would like to think that I am immune to societal pressure, but it would be an outright lie. The point remains, though, that as a musician in the very competitive world of classical music, I have little chance of moving beyond these four walls.”

  “You don’t know that, Luke! I’ve heard how you play the piano and the violin. The sounds you produce through those instruments are not just beautiful, they’re miraculous! Someday, we may all prosper from doing what we love. Remember everything that Mr. Graysen said.”

  Luke regarded her intensely without blinking. “You may be right. But suppose the prosperity never comes? Then I will be stuck in the lower class that I am in right now.” Luke inhaled and took a great pause. “What you need is a man like that Brecht fellow. He’s got everything to offer a woman.”

  Rebecca had to suppress herself from exploding into hysterics at the thought of Gerhard Brecht having anything to offer a woman. He was as repulsive a creature as ever existed.

  “Mr. Brecht is an illusion. He has nothing worth offering a woman that can’t be found in his wallet. I pity his wife, as a matter of fact.”

  “Why do you pity her?”

  “Because her husband is a lecherous oaf! I don’t even want to tell you how he treated me yesterday when he saw me in that ridiculous costume that he passes off as a uniform.” Rebecca shuddered to recall the depraved glimmer in Gerhard Brecht’s eyes.

  “You mean he came on to you? The creep! I’ll punch his lights out if he ever comes near you again! You should ask Mrs. Denmaker for a transfer immediately if your employer is not respecting you.”

  Surprised by his impassioned reaction, Rebecca asked, “Why are we even discussing this, Luke?”

  Luke pondered exactly what had prompted him to initiate such a personal, delicate discussion with Rebecca. It was obvious to both of them that he felt inadequate because of his financial portfolio, but why would he share such feelings with her? After his unpleasant exchange with Greta, Luke had juxtaposed the two women in his mind. Rebecca shone like a beacon. Greta, conversely, was a dungeon of falsehoods and temptation. Perhaps he was afraid that Rebecca would turn out to be the same dungeon that Greta was and hurt him even more deeply. He stood there in the cramped room, feeling foolish for having delved into such sensitive issues with Rebecca who, despite his intuitive connection with her, was still a virtual stranger.

  “I don’t know why I’m discussing this with you. But such matters need to be discussed, don’t you think?”

  Yes, between two people who are betrothed, Rebecca thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Never mind. Clearly, I’ve made you uncomfortable. Don’t feel as though you have to stay.”

  Rebecca felt her heart plummet with the realization that she was being pushed away. “Why are you trying to hustle me out of here? You were the one who invited me in to see your chamber.”

  “I’m not trying to hustle you out of here at all. Please stay if you would like.”

  “Would you like me to stay?”

  Swiftly, wordlessly responding to her inquiry, Luke towered over Rebecca and bent his head to seize her lips, which still tasted of sweet marzipan. Shocked, Rebecca stood immobile for several sec
onds, then wrapped her arms around his neck and responded fervently to his kiss. She was glad that he had finally shut up and put his mouth to much more pleasurable use. Eagerly, she demonstrated her feminine ardor by pressing her full length to his, fitting their bodies together like a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that had finally been assembled, each part fitting perfectly with the next.

  Breathlessly, Luke broke off the kiss to inhale the lily scent that still lingered on her hair and muttered, “Whatever you’re wearing, it smells delectable. And that dress is stunning on you. You are a real beauty, Becky.”

  Unskilled in the art of complimenting a lover, Rebecca murmured in reply, “Thank you…you look very handsome in your suit.”

  He sported a crooked expression and confessed, “I only have a few of these fancy suits. I splurged on them for our opening performance last autumn. So, you’ll have to excuse me if I go around the rest of the while looking like a haggard hobo.”

  “I don’t care about such things, Luke. I’m earthy, remember?” She whispered as he laughed, his breath fanning her face while he reclaimed her lips.

  They stood there in his room, dangerously close to the bed, kissing excitedly as a strong, refreshing draft wove through the fourth floor window, rustling Rebecca’s hair. Luke shoved his hands into that appealing, fragrant mane, tilting Rebecca’s head back so that he was in greater control of the kiss.

  A viola’s somber melody wafted into the chamber, distracting Rebecca, but remaining entirely unnoticeable to Luke who would not have paid heed to an earthquake at that moment. Rebecca knew that it was one of their fellow orchestra members practicing down the hall, and she thought dazedly how no one seemed to be getting any rest on the sultry August night. It would have been sublime to pass the entire sleepless night in Luke’s soothing yet electrifying embrace, but reality assailed Rebecca as the viola music became louder. With an unpleasant mental nudging, she remembered how early she was expected to report to work tomorrow and how if she stayed in Luke’s room any longer, she would likely succumb to whatever he asked of her.

  As gently as she could, she pulled away from Luke, who released her reluctantly.

  “Is something wrong, Rebecca?” He asked hoarsely, seeming slightly disoriented.

  “No, Luke, but I do think I should be going up to my room now.” She explained softly, feeling a rush of vertigo under his intent gaze.

  Luke merely nodded his head and strode over to his desk. Rebecca thought that he was going to offer her another piece of marzipan, but instead he picked a thick volume out of the bookends and wiped a coating of dust off the cover.

  “I haven’t read this for quite some time, as you can see.” He said, his throat going dry from the dust particles that floated through the air. “I’d like you to borrow this and read it. Tell me what you think of it when you’re done.”

  “I will read this, Luke.” Rebecca glanced down at the title, mildly shocked. It read: Shuddering Rose Petals: 50 Poems of Passion and Nature.

  “From cover to cover, agreed?”

  “Agreed. Thank you. I only brought one book from home and this will keep me company on sleepless nights such as this.” She held the book against her bosom, wetting her lips nervously as she did not know how to say good night. If he kissed her again, it would surely stir up inescapable passion.

  “Indeed, this will be a sleepless night.” Luke agreed, as Rebecca lowered her eyes in a sudden onslaught of modesty.

  “Good night, Luke.” She said simply. To her relief, he merely clasped her hand and touched his lips to it.

  “Good night, sweet Becky.” His voice dropped to baritone level with those final words of the evening.

  *****

  At the Brecht mansion for her third consecutive morning of cleaning duty, Rebecca experienced the odd sensation of being physically present, but emotionally adrift. After finally retiring to her chamber last night, she had expected exhaustion to settle in and drag her into slumber, but instead she had read the book of poems until the sun illuminated her room with a halo of gold light. She did not know if it was from lack of sleep or from Luke’s kisses, but she accomplished her tasks in a trance, not even aware that the butler was speaking to her.

  “Miss Meadow? Pardon me, Miss Meadow?” The wooden man uncharacteristically raised his voice in an increasingly impatient effort to gain Rebecca’s attention.

  Startled, the duster fell like a windblown feather to the parquet floor as Rebecca intoned, “Yes?”

  “At last you respond. I have instructions for you from Mr. Brecht. You are to launder all the sheets and coverlets by hand before you leave today. There is soap on the third floor.”

  Stiffly, he turned away as Rebecca impulsively stuck her tongue out at him. The mansion contained an astonishing eight bedrooms, and washing all the sheets and coverlets would be a formidable task even if shared between several maids, let alone delegated to one person.

  With indignantly flaming cheeks, Rebecca flounced over to the master bedroom and began yanking the black satin sheets off the enormous curtained bed. Without warning, Gerhard Brecht jumped out from behind the door with a resounding chuckle as Rebecca squealed with fright.

  “Oh my! Mr. Brecht, I had no idea you were in here. I’m very sorry. I’ll come back to clean the master bedroom when it’s unoccupied.” She sprinted towards the door as he caught her by the material of her skirt, pulling violently and exposing her bloomers.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Rebecca. This is exactly where I want you.” He spun her around and lunged towards her, extending meat hooks to pinch her rump and press her against him while she struggled furiously.

  “Get your hands off me!” She screamed in outrage. “Halt! Hilfe!” Taking advantage of her strong vocal chords she shouted the German words for “stop” and “help” as Gerhard Brecht merely laughed.

  “No one will hear you. You and I are all alone.”

  “That’s not true! The butler is here!” Why in the world hadn’t she learned that butler’s name? It had seemed comical not to know his name, but now it was dreadful.

  “He’s not going to help you. I pay him richly, and he will not betray me. I will pay you richly too, much more than Alice Denmaker will ever offer. Just stop squirming, do as I say, and you will never have to worry about money again.” He gave a mighty tug on her top, splitting the lace with an obscene ripping sound as Rebecca struggled more desperately.

  “I don’t want your money!” She cried. “I just want you to take your hands off me!”

  For a stout older man, he was unbelievably strong, and Rebecca was beginning to feel that fighting him might be futile. But she would not surrender to him; she would have to trick him instead.

  Suddenly, she went limp in his grasp, pretending to submit and heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You win. How much money will you give me?” She asked, as he immediately slackened his grip on her just as she had anticipated.

  Before he could realize that she had bluffed, Rebecca jerked her knee up and struck a painful blow against the dastardly man, causing him to eject her from his arms and double over, groaning. Without looking behind her, Rebecca fled the room, racing down the winding staircase, and nearly tripping over several steps in her haste. As she caught her balance, she grabbed onto the brass banister and slid her hand down while continuing to descend as though she were being stalked by a madman, which she essentially was. Distantly, she heard Gerhard grumbling expletives upstairs, pounding towards the staircase.

  With a dizzying infusion of adrenaline, Rebecca reached the main hallway and bolted out the front door, darting out into the baking sun, still clad in her ridiculous uniform. Hobbling over to the train station with a debilitating cramp in her side, Rebecca swore with a resurgence of dignity that she would never wear the degrading threads ever again. Ever again. If that meant facing life in Vienna as an unemployed foreigner, then so be it.

  Chapter Eleven

  From the moment Rebecca entered the rehearsal hall, she could feel Greta’s
eyes stabbing her with vicious green blades. Rebecca knew that their introduction the other day had been less than cordial, but she could not understand this glacial reception. Trying to focus on reading the libretto in her hands and better familiarizing herself with the story behind The Magic Flute, Rebecca ignored Greta’s toxic glares. Between her maligned relationship with her brother and sister-in-law, and the frightful episode with Gerhard Brecht, the last thing Rebecca wanted was another adversary.

  Rebecca’s thoughts strayed from the libretto to exactly how she was going to handle her employment situation. Time had not permitted her to speak with Mrs. Denmaker after fleeing the mansion, so she had decided to explain the whole humiliating fiasco to her on the morrow. Instead of reporting to work, she would tell Mrs. Denmaker exactly what had transpired and hoped that the woman would be compassionate and assign her to another client.

  As Rebecca glanced up from her reading material, Christopher Graysen walked into the hall and, with him, a heady aroma of cigar smoke floated. Instantly, the scent reminded her of her father, who had an affinity for cigars and smoked them during those brief years she had with him as a little girl. While Rebecca savored the cigar scent billowing through her nostrils, she felt as though she were breathing in a precious memory, one that she had never thought to revisit.

  “Good day, Miss Meadow.” Mr. Graysen said pleasantly with a friendly wink as he passed her row en route to the stage.

  “Good day, Mr. Graysen.” She replied, straining to inhale more of the lingering cigar aroma.

  Mr. Graysen clapped his hands for attention as the musicians stopped their warm-up. Rebecca set down the libretto, eager to hear what Mr. Graysen had to say.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make this afternoon. I received an invitation from a friend and colleague in Munich, a certain Mr. James Shundry. He manages a four-piece chamber quartet, and two of his violin players have fallen ill. Mr. Shundry has requested to borrow two violin players from our orchestra for an upcoming concert series that will run until the beginning of September. Therefore, I would like to ask Luke Springwell and Ryan Meadow to travel to Munich for the month of August.”