Love and Triumph: The Coltrane Saga, Book 8 by Patricia Hagan Page B

Rudolf’s head, or his heart. I only know he went to Spain to see her and to attend her cousin’s wedding. It was supposed to be quite lavish, and—”
    “Who is she?” Amalia sharply cut her off to demand. “Who is this little fortune hunter that her family stages such ‘lavish’ affairs?” she asked with a sneer.
    Elenore dared to snicker, “I’d hardly call, her a fortune hunter. If anything, it could be the other way around.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    Elenore’s smile was gloating. “I mean, Mother, dear, that Rudolf’s ‘special friend’ is actually quite special.” She paused, enjoying the moment. “She’s a Coltrane. Her grandfather was Travis Coltrane.”
    Amalia was properly impressed. She knew about Travis Coltrane and the respect accorded him in government circles, just as she knew his son, Colt Coltrane, was equally revered. The family was said to be extremely wealthy and considered the crème de la crème of society in both Europe and the United States.
    “It doesn’t matter!” Amalia suddenly screeched out loud, startling Elenore with the unexpected outburst. “I will not have it! Rudolf is going to be one of the greatest piano virtuosos that ever lived. He has the gift, and he’s not going to throw it away! Whether he wants to or not, I’m going to do what I should have done when we first moved here—send him to the Conservatory of Music in Geneva!”
    Tiptoeing till she reached the door, Elenore made her escape as her mother began to rant and rave. Behind her, she could hear her mother screaming for her to return, but she kept on going, not about to be a substitute for Rudolf, and she was going to hide till either he came back or her mother calmed down.
     
     
    Rudolf was already back in Zurich, had arrived that very morning but had other things on his mind besides facing his mother’s wrath. He went straight to the Wolfa coffeehouse on Schulleslgasse, in the oldest part of the city. It was situated at the end of the cobblestone street, with a boarded-up building on one side and a private residence on the other, so there was little traffic, making it an ideal place for private gatherings.
    He was glad the coffeehouse tradition had carried over from Vienna. It was like a private club, a large and well-furnished establishment where customers always felt at home. There were billiard tables, chess sets, cards, as well as writing materials. One of the most popular amenities was the choice of newspapers from all over the world, ringing the walls on cane holders.
    Rudolf’s friends at the Wolfa had one day jokingly referred to themselves as the “Zurich Zealots”. Then, as their casual conversations became serious, and goals and philosophies united, they adopted the name, as well as the Bolshevik slogan: “Peace, Land, All Power to the Soviet.”
    Rudolf did not like it when Elenore became involved, and he’d accused her of merely looking for a man. That had infuriated her, and she’d said she had as much right to pursue ideals as he did.
    When Rudolf walked in that morning, he was glad to see that the Zealots declared leader, Hanisch Lutzstein, was already there.
    Rudolf was trembling with excitement over his news but had to restrain himself because Lutzstein was not alone. He sat at the favored table in a rear corner, surrounded by a dozen or so comrades, and they were engaged in deep conversation.
    Rudolf went to join them, his presence acknowledged, for no one just “walked up” without being noticed—and identified. They could take no chances on spies in their midst.
    They were talking, as usual, about the July uprising in Petrograd that Lenin and the Bolsheviks had been unprepared for. Half a million people had marched carrying banners of protest to the war and the PG—the Provisional Government—and the PG had crushed it. They had also circulated among the regiments documents that were supposed to prove Lenin was a German agent and the uprising had actually been