Oliver falls into step beside her.
They set out with no destination in mind but spend most of the afternoon wandering through the vast gardens of Schönbrunn Palace. They admire the fountain of Neptune and the long pavilion on the crest of the hill behind it. There are other figures from Greek and Roman myth, and other fountains, too, though the strangest sculpture to Beatrix is the set of Roman ruins. She can’t understand why someone would want to build a thing already fallen to pieces when time would take care of it soon enough.
They stroll through a glass house that smells of damp earth, full to bursting with palm trees of every shape and size, and another filled with orange and lemon trees that she wouldn’t mind living inside. But the animal garden is the strangest sight. She sees an elephant for the second time in her life, hyenas and kangaroos and polar bears for the first. They rest at the octagonal pavilion at the heart of the garden before moving on to the final exhibits of the menagerie, the sun sinking steadily toward the horizon.
Beatrix did not expect to meet a wolf in Vienna. It stands and stretches, its tawny coat catching the golden afternoon light, and pads across the small enclosure. Its amber eyes find hers through the iron bars. She has a sudden urge to fling open the cage and set it free.
“When I was a girl, there were rumors of a wolf in the forest around Lancaut,” she says. “I used to sneak into the woods every chance I got, convinced I could catch a glimpse of her.”
“Did you?” Oliver asks.
“Once.” But the wolf in Lancaut was wild and free, and nothing at all like the one pacing before them.
“That’s pretty lucky,” Oliver says.
It was lucky. Not that Oliver would know that. “How do you mean?”
He shrugs. “Wolves were all but extinct in England by then.”
“I suppose she was a survivor,” Beatrix says. A lonely survivor.
They leave the wolf behind and continue their wanderings. Oliver stops in front of a café on the corner of a street Beatrix can’t name. “I’ve always heard good things about Viennese coffee,” he says. “Want to try some?”
Beatrix nods. “Let’s see if the rumors are true.”
A cozy atmosphere greets them. Wood-paneled walls and crystal chandeliers, marble-topped tables circled by bentwood chairs. A woman in a white apron calls out in German, halting them in the doorway.
Beatrix sighs. “She says if I want service, I have to take a table in the garden. No women allowed inside the café.”
“You speak German?” Oliver asks, surprise laced with amusement.
“You said we were going to Vienna, and I thought one of us ought to know the language,” she says. “I didn’t think you could learn much in a week.”
The woman gestures for Beatrix to leave.
“It’s a beautiful evening for coffee in the garden,” Oliver says. “I don’t mind sitting out there if you don’t.”
Beatrix laughs. “You’re not supposed to sit in the garden with me, Oliver. You’re supposed to protect my honor by sitting in here with all the men, discussing politics and the arts and playing cards for hours while you smoke and ogle the ladies that walk past the windows.”
“That makes no sense,” Oliver says.
“It never has,” Beatrix replies.
Oliver nods to the hostess. “Tell her we’ll both sit in the garden.”
The woman seems to find the request odd, but she leads them to anempty table in the back corner of the garden next to a high, ivy-covered wall.
“What are you smiling about?” Oliver asks as he pulls out Beatrix’s chair.
“She thinks I’m your mistress,” she says. “That’s why she’s shoved us in the corner, away from prying eyes.”
“Oh.” Oliver sounds alarmed. Beatrix laughs.
The woman returns and places a silver tray on the table with two glasses of water, a pair of silver spoons set atop crisp white napkins, and two glass mugs of dark espresso, topped with a tall layer of whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder.
“This looks fancy,” Oliver says.
“It looks delicious.” Beatrix picks up her mug and clinks it against his. “Cheers.”
