Trouble in Transylvania by Barbara Wilson Page B

all.”
    Eva whispered, “Cassandra, don’t tease the poor man so much. He’s paying for our meal.”
    “Cassandra, you are being just the slightest bit rude, dear.” Jack smiled wickedly. “See? There’s my mother speaking.”
    I opened my mouth for another jibe, but put in a bite of duck in plum sauce instead. I’d just caught, from the corner of my eye, the entrance of the Snapp family into the restaurant. Cathy saw me first and waved, and then Archie dragged them all over to say hello. I wondered why Emma was staring so hard. But then I realized she wasn’t looking at me at all. Her attention was completely absorbed by the frenzied musician between me and Eva and, of course, by his violin.
    “Don’t let us disturb you,” said Archie, as he crowded his children almost on top of us.
    “Not at all, not at all, sit down here with us,” I said, with a heartiness that astounded Jack. “Let me introduce you all around. This is Eva Kálvin, and Jacqueline Opal, and I’m especially delighted for you to meet Señor Martínez from Spain. Señor Martínez is in the bathroom fixture business. I think he’d make a great interview for your newspaper. He grew up in the Franco period, so of course he sympathizes with the Hungarians getting their first taste of freedom, with all the excitement and pitfalls that go along with a market economy…”
    “Just the kind of information I’ve been wanting to get,” said Archie happily. “Cómo está usted, Señor? I forgot to tell you in the train, Cassandra, that I speak a little Spanish myself.”
    “All the better,” I said. “All the better.”

Chapter Five
    A WEEK HAD PASSED since my arrival in Budapest, and already I’d established my little routines, although they were not the routines I’d imagined for myself on the train from Vienna. No, I’d envisioned a leisurely spring experience in the heart of Central Europe: reading newspapers in cafés, strolling along the Corso above the Danube, queuing for tickets outside the Opera House. And if I’d also hoped for a wild, though brief, romance, who could blame me?
    But instead, the days had slipped into a dispiriting sameness. Yes, I was awakened every morning with a kiss on the cheek and a cup of coffee from blond, red-suited Eva. But the sweet nothings she whispered to me were only invitations to join her in the office at nine o’clock sharp. And even if I’d had an inclination to lie in bed all morning, the sight of Mrs. Nagy, lurking in the winter garden with her crazed hair and tightly buttoned cardigan, was enough to get me on my feet.
    Señor Martínez was still hanging around Budapest, attempting to sell his line of bathroom fixtures to hotels and office buildings. I accompanied him on several sales trips. He poured his heart out to me about Eva, and I told him that underneath her flirtatious exterior she was a hard-hearted businesswoman and a raging feminist, but this put him off somewhat less than I had hoped.
    Of course, I could have moved out of Mrs. Nagy’s flat and found myself a nice room in a hotel and lived just the way I wanted while waiting for my ticket to China to be confirmed. Call it curiosity, call it infatuation… or call it a simple case of inflation. Prices had jumped since I’d last been to Hungary. In spite of my constant travels, which hint at trust funds or other fabulous resources, I live on a slim budget provided by my work as a translator. The money to travel to China had come mainly from six months in the SAB office. I hated to admit it, but the forints from O.K. Temporary Secretarial Services were coming in handy.
    Still, I was restless, and when I got my train reservations and found out I couldn’t leave for another two weeks, I chafed. Jack was restless too. Every afternoon, if we could manage it, we met at four for tea and pastries somewhere, at either a small espresso bar near the O.K. office or at one of the deliciously expensive cafés, Ruszwurm’s on Castle Hill or