At seven o’clock (nineteen hundred European times) a gong was sounded, and Frau Blauer announced to the still-crowded reception that this was the warning sign for dinner; guests had half an hour to dress.
There were enough free rooms for everyone, although the additional influx from the people from the train meant that almost all the rooms were taken; Chetwyn Glyde and his party had claimed all but one of the available suites, and the remaining one had – on the strength of Fritzel’s message to his mother – been secured to Alder Bishop (in the light of his escaped lizard, it was possible that she was now regretting this).
The remaining three rooms on the first floor had been claimed by Franz von Essen, Jack Adler and Joseph Lawrence.
Interestingly, the Count had one of the smaller rooms on the second floor. Judy Novak’s room proved to be the farthest from the staircase (and the bathrooms).
Half an hour to dress for dinner was a short space of time but the helpful servants had unpacked for the guests, as far as they were able. Alder Bishop’s luggage was, perhaps unsurprisingly, untouched.
And then a second gong rang. It was time to put in an appearance in the dining room.
The room was large and well-lit. The tables were arranged in groups of six diners; Chetwyn Glyde occupied one, along with Nellie Nolan, his daughter Miranda and David Olson. He waved Joseph Lawrence over to join him.
Joseph’s hesitation before joining the Glyde-party was hardly noticeable. One wouldn’t want to be impolite, after all. So he greeted those sitting already, adding a small bow for Miss Nolan and Miss Glyde, and sat down easily.
“I say, the hotel is already living up to its reputation,” the art dealer said. “Especially if you consider what little warning they had before a whole trainload of passengers came to stay.” He wore his dress suit – waistcoat, tailcoat, and everything, and apparently tailor-made – in an easy manner, obviously having dressed for dinner without even thinking about it.
The Count too was early and established at a table near the centre of the room (and next to the Glydes), where he could clearly see who was entering the room; he hospitably beckoned people to join him.
There were three other tables, all within hearing distance of each other.
Karl was dressed in a black tuxedo with cravat, perhaps a little more formal than the occasion demanded. He was happy to accept the Count’s invitation to join him and tried out a few phrases of Russian. He had earlier invited Miss Nowak to join him if she wished, but she had mumbled that she had no appetite and escaped to her room.
The Count was delighted to be addressed in his native tongue, and responded volubly, shooting out queries at Karl: Had he visited Russia? In the good old days of course, not under the current barbarians! Had he experienced the White Nights in St Petersberg? Where had he stayed? Who did he know?
Karl apologised that he does not know much Russian, reverting to German.
“I went to St Petersburg as a child, and learnt a few phrases,” he explained. “Father insisted I see the Mariinsky, saying there was nowhere else in the world where I would see such beauty. It was this time of year; the Nutcracker. There was still magic in the world, back then.”
“Ah yes,” said the Count. “ I remember that performance … “ He recalled a few details of the staging, and then passed to reminiscences of his friends in St Petersburg in those days, always members of the best families.
Jack also went for the table with the Count, with smiles and an easy charm about him. He was dressed for the occasion, but a little less formally than the others present, jacket, American style cravat and matching pants and dress shirt. His mood was jovial, with an easy charm to him that tended towards a boyish appearance. And all of this was new and interesting! He was particularly keen to hear what brought people, and indeed other Americans, up to a place like this in the middle of winter. There were no invites or leanings from him, happy it would appear to let the cards fall where they might.
Samantha Smith entered the room a moment after Jack. She wore a white satin dress, elegant but perhaps a few years out of style. She looked around the room hesitantly, noted the placement of people. Then decided to sit in the table nearest to the stairs. Her seat gave her a good view of the Glyde party’s table, and allowed her to people watch the rest of the room. “I’m Samantha,” she politely introduced herself to the rest of the table as she sat down.
Flora DeWilde arrived in the dining room looking more like the daughter of a wealthy New York City family that she’d been born as, than like the aspiring journalist of her chosen career path. She wore a fashionably cut evening gown in a dark-green velvet that closely matched her eyes and set off her auburn hair, which was adorned with a diamond clip. The pearls in her opera-length necklace were obviously genuine.
After one glance around the room, she made a beeline for the one remaining seat at Chetwyn Glyde’s table, near her friend Miranda.
Joseph rose as soon as he saw Flora appear in the doorway. He went over to her, with the intention of inviting him to the table, but she already went for it herself. This resulted in him having to make an very close to comical about-turn on his heels, but her recovered with a good-natured, self-directed laugh, pulling out a chair for her to sit upon. This was a man who might just be used to daughters of wealthy families, and the way they interacted with the world.
The food was good and hearty – a rich meaty soup was followed by lake trout, and then by venison. The wines were excellent, although – unless guests chose to order champagne – tending to the hearty and full-bodied.
There were a choice of rich creamy cakes for dessert, and a delicious selection of ice creams.
Joseph clearly enjoyed tasting the local cuisine, and had no objections to trying out the local wine, either. But he conformed to what the rest of the table is drinking. If he had a chance to steer the conversation, he focused mostly on the ladies at their table, asking them whether they were enjoying Bad Bernsdorff, what the local attractions were, and things like that.
Samantha sampled everything, but didn’t fill up her plate. She had a glass of sweet German white wine to go with her meal.
Midway through the first course, the remarked-upon-but-rarely-seen Alder Bishop appeared in the doorway. He proved to be a tall, ruggedly handsome man in his early thirties, with thick tousled dark hair, greyish-blue eyes, and deeply flushed cheeks; he wore a jacket over a sweater and a shirt, with dress pants. “Good evening, everyone,” he said. His gaze flickered about the room, taking note of the groupings. “Apologies for being late.” He then added, possibly apropos of nothing, “We got the horse out, it’ll be fine.” He made his way to the nearest open seat, stumbling slightly over a rug in the process.
He introduced himself to the others at his table: “Alder Bishop. Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Bishop,” A blonde with an east coast accent at the table nodded with a smile. “I’m Samantha Smith. It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” she added. She looked as if to say more, then cut herself off and smiled at the rest of the table.
“Long Island?” he inquired, as a bowl of stew was set before him. He acknowledged the server with what appeared to be a grateful smile, then attacked the food as though he had not eaten in a year – or perhaps, as though he had recently been digging a horse out of an avalanche.
Samantha’s eyes widened. She took breath to respond, but Mr. Sherman answered his introduction first. Samantha picked up her wine glass and took a sip.
“Ashton Sherman, pleased to meet you”, replied Ashton, “Glad to hear the horse will be fine. Nasty things avalanches.” As someone who enjoyed skiing, he was well aware of the dangers of being caught up in an avalanche. He continued, “It was fortunate the train wasn’t any closer when it happened. Will avalanches and remote snowy villages be featuring in your next book, Mr Bishop?”
“Always glad to meet a reader,” Alder said with a boyish grin. “Well, not the next one, um, actually, four. I’ve got two books at the publisher…and two more under contract, plots and all. Maybe the one after that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment; his eyes unfocused…then, as he was addressed by Franz, he snapped back to attention.
“Franz von Essen,” said the final person at the table, with Prussian formality. “I came by one of your novels in Copenhagen last year, and enjoyed it immensely. Tell me – are any of your novels available in German?”
“All of them,” Alder replied promptly. “My agent’s been very busy with foreign sales, the last couple of years. The latest one is at the translator now; couldn’t ask for anyone better. I do speak German,” he added in that language before switching back to English, “but not well enough to translate either the technical information or most of the colloquial phrasing.”
Flora DeWilde turned around in her seat when Alder Bishop arrived, and called over to him cheerfully, “Alder Bishop, I thought I recognized you running away from the train! After the escaped lizard incident, of course, I was sure!”
Alder halted, the spoon halfway to his mouth. “Good Lord,” he said. “Hello, Flora.” After a moment, with a look of dread on his face (and more than a touch of resignation in his voice), he added “What escaped lizard incident?”
“Miss De Wilde,” said Nellie Nolan, very sweetly, “if the conversation here on this table isn’t sufficiently engaging, perhaps you would like to join your other friend?”
Chetwyn Glyde was glaring at Flora, unused to people giving him less than their full attention. David Olson gave her a faint, sardonic smile. Miranda was gazing at her plate, biting her lip.
Flora just laughed. “He is a very interesting man… but right now I think he’s more interested in his dinner. The lizard is new, though.”
“There was a largish green lizard in a box in the luggage brought from the train,” Samantha said in an aside to Bishop. “It escaped its box in the lobby and is apparently at large in the hotel. Poor thing probably won’t survive the night in the cold unless it gets into the kitchen or such,” she added regretfully.
Looking incredibly guilty, Alder dropped his spoon into his soup bowl. “Ah…that’s my lizard,” he said apologetically. “I’m afraid he’s a bit of an escape artist.” He appeared to unfold in sections from his chair as he stood up. “Can’t have him wreaking havoc. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Mr. Bishop,” Samantha protested. “I’m sure your lizard will be all right for a little while. And I’m sure the kitchen staff won’t appreciate you searching around as they’re trying to serve dinner. I suspect,” she added nicely, “that they’ll let you know as soon as they see it.”
Alder hesitated for some moments, considering her words, then slowly sat back down. “I suppose you’re right, Miss Smith.” He picked up his spoon again and said, almost plaintively, “And I am awfully hungry,” before continuing with the soup.
Seating arrangements at dinner
Table arrangement:
Table 1:
Chetwyn Glyde
Nellie Nolan
Miranda Glyde
David Olson
Joseph Lawrence
Flora DeWilde – currently talking to Alder Bishop on Table 3
Table 2:
The Count
Jack Adler
Karl Stransky
Table 3:
Franz von Essen
Alder Bishop
Ashton Sherman
Samantha Smith
Judy Nowak is eating in her room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Given the opportunity Karl was happy to talk endlessly about the music and night-life of Vienna. He had a long list of anecdotes about film stars and rich friends few people had heard of, and deployed them when the opportunity presented to keep the conversation flowing.
There was a slight hesitation with the food, fancier fare than Jack was used to, but he still went at it with that boyish air of aplomb. As for drinks? Wine apparently would suffice, though there might be a small murmur enquiring after bourbon, which would no doubt thwarted by a lack of said item.
But the waiter was eager to oblige and brought an almost full bottle of fine old bourbon to the table for Jack to help himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A tall fair-haired man paused at the table, where he was collecting the plates of those who had finished the fish course. It was Fritzel Blauer – who Alder would recognise as his companion in digging out the horse from the avalanche, and then travelling back to the hotel. Clearly over-hearing this conversation, he said, “I tried to capture your lizard earlier, Herr Bishop. However it ran into the Library and I believe it has taken refuge under the stove there. Once dinner is over, we should be able to rescue him – but I would advise changing into something less formal.”
There was something curious in the way Fritzel spoke. It was precise and formal, and yet there was little of the deference that some might expect of a member of the hotel staff. It might be because Fritzel had already met Alder Bishop in a situation that has necessitated a measure of equality. Yet his manner was similar with other guests. Perhaps it was because he was the owner’s son and thus in a position of some superiority to the other staff. And yet, to the observant, there was a sense that Fritzel Blauer was someone you would expect to encounter in discussions across the table, not standing behind your chair to serve you.
Samantha smiled at Blauer. “Why Fritzel… how kind of you to try to capture Mr. Bishop’s lizard. Very much in the Christmas spirit if you ask me. Don’t you agree?” Samantha turned to ask the rest of the table.
“Couldn’t agree more, Mr. Blauer. And thank you.” He glanced around at the rest of the table. “I suppose I should explain why I’m traveling with a lizard in the dead of winter.
“My editor — the one who’s been handling my foreign sales — a friend of a friend of hers is,” and he named a lovely starlet of recent but not inconsiderable fame. “Seems she likes my books, and wanted to meet me. And I, ah, wanted to meet her. I like her movies,” he added too quickly. “So when we met — she invited me for lunch — she said at the end of it, she had a surprise for me. She rang a bell, and her major-domo, guy named Guy –” Alder gave the name the French pronunciation. “–showed up carrying Mike, who was wearing (if you’ll believe it) a fancy gold harness and a leash. She said she really liked my book =The Seven Salamanders,= and she wanted to give me something special to show her appreciation. I guess she thought salamanders and lizards were the same thing.” He sighed. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Besides, she’d seen fit to get me a terrarium and lights and food and things, even written instructions from a local zookeeper, everything I needed to take care of him…and I’ve become, ah, rather fond of Mike. He doesn’t speak much, but he’s good company.”
“At least he doesn’t want revisions or autographs I’m guessing,” Samantha smiled at the table. “How long have you had.. Mike? That’s his name, yes?” she asked in an interested tone.
Alder found himself smiling back. “Yes, Mike. He, um, looked a lot like my father’s old desk sergeant, so I just…well. I’ve had him a couple of months now. He’s pretty smart, really. He knows his name, and he’s good about letting me handle him. But I’ve figured out that I’ve got to put a heavy book on top of the terrarium or he figures a way out… I’m having a custom enclosure built for him, for when we get home.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chetwyn Glyde addressed Joseph Lawrence directly as they ate.
“The thing is, I’ve had an approach. A group of … gentlemen and their families, who are desirous of leaving the country in something of a hurry, and are prohibited from taking their wealth with them. You understand me? They all have some interesting pieces they are anxious to sell, and have the money deposited where they may get at it later. Some of the pieces are modern – what the Nazis call “degenerate”. Some are older pieces. I need someone I can trust to check these out And to negotiate a price. I’m not prepared to pay top dollar or this, you understand? But let’s not make ’em sweat too much. It’s in the nature of things that these people may have family stateside, who I could be doing business with later. Hell, I might even be doing business with some of these gentlemen themselves. So let’s go for a hard price, but not unfair. You catch my drift?”
He spoke in a low tome which he intended to be heard by no-one but Joseph. Others sitting close, if they listened hard, might have caught some of this (but it would look very odd is the whole room fell silent).
Flora, sitting at the same table, seemed to be focusing her attention on Miranda and Mr. Lawrence … but she was good at listening.
Joseph felt the muscles in his back knot for a moment, but he forced himself to relax, making him just a second late in answering. That might also have to do with the fact that he had to work through several possible answers, and their fall-out, in his mind. His face, which had showed great animation before, was now carefully neutral, and his voice reflected that he was trying to strike a balance between several feelings here. “I am always happy to assist, Mr Glyde, but I do feel obliged to remind you that in the past, you have criticised my business acumen, saying that I bought too high and sold too low.” He sighed. “Even so, I understand these gentlemen,” there was no hesitation when he pronounced the refugees as such, “will have to sell anyway, and as such they could do worse than someone who had future business opportunities in mind. So, I will do it, provided you will acceed to my fee.”
Now Joseph’s face actually looked quite hard. “My fee is that I will inform the other parties of the retail value of their collections as well, and that, if I know of a place where they can get a better deal, I will have an opportunity to inform them about it. Acceed, and I will not ask for monetary recompensation.”
He had spoken softly as well, and he was curious to see Chetwyn’s reaction.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once she was sure everyone was seated, Judy scurried towards the kitchen. She had washed her spare underclothes and blouse, but her only other garment, a long black skirt, was too creased to wear and appearing in her traveling clothes would not be acceptable.
As she opened the door, Frau Blauer turned to see who had intruded, her expression unwelcoming.
“Excuse me,” Judy gestured to her clothing, “I am unable to dine with the guests. May I take some soup and a little bread perhaps?”
Frau Blauer frowned. “It would be more normal to have it sent to your room. There would, of course be a small change.”
Mutti,” said someone behind Judy. “This Fraulein has had a terrible experience – let us be hospitable.”
As Judy turned round she saw a handsome fair young German with short blonde hair and very blue eyes. On seeing Judy fully he started, and stared for what felt like a long time. Then he said, with something of an effort, “Please go to your room. I will bring you soup and bread myself.”
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