His father shook his head. “We can’t go now, not with everything in turmoil.”
Max glanced between his parents. They were supposed to have left weeks ago for their summer retreat. After delays with the bank, his father had assured them they would finally leave in the morning.
He turned toward his mother. “Perhaps we can go on our own.”
“Why do you want to go to Hallstatt?” she asked.
The last two summers he’d begged to stay here in Vienna after school released, hoping to spend more time with Luzi, but in the past his parents always insisted that he join them at the lake.
In the past—words that now defined their country’s future.
“I want to spend some time with Hermann and Annika.” And he needed to speak to Annika. He hoped she would help him again.
“You must tread carefully on that poor girl’s heart.” His mother stirred her soup, the white cream lapping slowly against the sides of the bowl.
“There’s nothing wrong with her heart.”
“She’s our servant, Max.”
“And a friend.”
“She considers you to be more than—”
“It doesn’t matter,” his father interrupted. “None of us are leaving Vienna this summer.”
Max glanced up at the ceiling. The canary he could release in the Vienna Woods west of the city, but what would he do with the jewels?
If they wouldn’t leave as a family, he’d have to borrow the Mercedes again and take one last trip to Hallstatt on his own.
The doorbell chimed, the sound echoing across the dining room. It was a quarter after six—visitors rarely stopped by their house during the dinner hour.
Their housekeeper served each of them plates filled withSchinkenfleckerln, a ham dish baked with cheese, and then rushed into the next room to answer the door. Max’s parents began to eat, waiting to see if she would announce a guest or return witha message for one of them. And Max did what he always did—picked out the meat and set it to the side before eating the noodles and cheese.
“You’re wasting perfectly good pork,” his father said.
Max dumped the meat into his empty bowl and slid it toward him. “You can have it.”
Before his father replied, their housekeeper stepped back into the room and deposited the letter opener along with a brown envelope inscribedTelegrammin red across the top.
“It’s probably Emil again,” his father said, referring to Herr Knopf.
His mother glanced at the telegram. “You should respond tohim.”
“I did respond, but he said that he must speak with me in person.”
“Perhaps something is wrong with the Schloss,” Max said. “Or Annika.”
His father shook his head. “The man wants an increase in salary, but he doesn’t deserve another penny.”
He slit open the envelope, and they waited for him to speak.
“What is it?” his mother asked.
His father’s face flushed as he scanned the typed words, a slow burn crawling up to his ears until they flickered like torches. Then he raised his chin, and Max thought for certain his ruse was up—his father had found out about the hidden jewels or the marriage certificate or both.
But his father’s eyes, narrowed into darts, were aimed straight at his wife.
She turned toward the housekeeper. “We’ll need coffee with our dessert.”
