Last Act by Jane Aiken Hodge Page A

between us and the schloss. The whole opera complex is tucked away in there. The only place you can see it from is the castle itself, and, as our Rudolf says, if he doesn’t mind, who else could?”
    â€œExcept his descendants, perhaps? Has he any?”
    â€œHereditary Princelings and Princesses? Indeed he has. But here we are, and there’s the bus.” He guided her into the courtyard of a plain, arcaded building tucked away behind the Rathaus, and there, indeed, was a small green bus discharging its passengers, and, standing a little to one side, scanning them anxiously, Carl Meyer. He looked younger than she remembered, and amazingly neat, the once-shaggy dark hair cut short above an elegant grey gabardine raincoat.
    She looked down anxiously at her own damp and crumpled clothes. “I look a wreck.”
    â€œWell, no wonder, left out in the rain.” She was grateful to him for not denying it. “Now he’s beginning to sweat,” Michael went on, “and serve him right.” The last passenger had alighted and Carl Meyer had climbed in to speak to the driver.
    â€œWatch it!” Michael’s firm hand held her back as a car zoomed past. “You look left here, remember, if you want to stay alive.”
    â€œWhich I do.” How odd, she had said it again. “Carl!” she called as Meyer emerged from the bus, his brown face wrinkled with worry. “Here I am!”
    â€œAnne!” He came hurrying across to them, arms outstretched. “Dearest Anne!” He kissed her warmly on both cheeks. “You got here, thank God. But how?” And then, seeing Michael, “You?” Something in his tone: dislike? distrust? Or something more complex, less easily identifiable?
    â€œExactly.” Michael sounded amused. “I missed Signor Falinieri,alas, and found Miss Paget drowning in a bus shelter, for which I trust you are grateful.”
    â€œI certainly am. It was crazy not to meet you at Schennen, Anne. You must forgive me. But I’ve had such a time … Such a time! You’ve no idea. Lord, it’s good to see you! Dearest Anne!” Any minute now he would be kissing her again. Had they really been on such warm terms?
    â€œHow is Alix’s throat?” she asked. And then, “I’m afraid I don’t know her other name.”
    â€œShe’s not working today. We ran through with Lotte—the understudy. A disaster! What Signor Falinieri will say! But where’s your luggage? Why are we standing here?”
    â€œThe luggage is in my taxi,” said Michael. “And we are waiting to see if you would like me to run you up to the hostel.”
    â€œThe rehearsal room,” corrected Carl. “Signor Falinieri should be there by now. He wants a run through of principals at once. God knows what he’ll say when he hears Lotte Moser. I must have Anne there.”
    â€œShe’s wet through and worn out. I’ll drop you at the rehearsal room and take her on to the hostel.”
    â€œNo, thanks a lot.” Anne shivered. “I’ll be fine. Your splendid heater has dried me off and I’m longing to get to work. Only, would it be a bore to take my case to the hostel for me? And, Carl, I’m terribly sorry; I lost my purse at Zurich. Can you pay Michael for me?”
    â€œPay Michael?” His bushy dark eyebrows drew together in something between surprise and anger.
    â€œI drive a taxi, remember.” Michael sounded merely amused. “But I’ll drop your case at the hostel for free, Anne, and gladly.” He turned to lead the way back to where he had parked the taxi, and Carl took Anne’s arm to follow.
    â€œYou
are
wet,” he said. “I’m a brute, Annchen.” He spoke English with more of an accent than she remembered. “Would you really rather go to the hostel and rest?”
    â€œOf course not. Only, I’m afraid I look a mess. Will you mind? Does it