Butterfly and the Violin (9781401690601) Page 4

  “Your headache has not returned?”

  Adele shook her head against the lie she’d told to sneak out of the house the night before.

  “Then what is wrong?” Marina turned her daughter to face her and tilted her chin up with her hand. “Tell your mother.”

  Adele knew she could never tell her mother the truth. Marina Von Bron was too taken in by the glitz and glamour of their place in the Third Reich to care for any of the Jews in the city. Adele had heard her going on about Vienna’s “Jewish problem” at cocktail parties. She thought them wretched, soulless creatures and the sooner Austria had sent them all away to useful employment at the work camps, the better.

  Preoccupied, her mother stepped away and then returned and, with a marvelous white mink shawl outstretched in her arms, prepared to grace Adele’s shoulders with it.

  “Do you not wonder, Mama, what is happening out there?”

  Marina seemed confused and looked to the closed bedroom door, even as her hands smoothed the fur around Adele’s neck. “Downstairs? Well, your father has guests to accompany us to the concert hall. If you’d rather we go on our own, we certainly may. I can have a car brought around.”

  “No—I meant out there.” Adele tilted her head toward the windows that overlooked the charming Viennese street below. The streetlamps cast a soft glow outside. “Beyond our home, beyond the borders of our city. Where our boys are fighting and dying and coming home in caskets. Out there where our world is falling to pieces. Beyond parties and victory concerts . . . far beyond playing the violin on a stage. What does it look like out there? Do we even know?”

  Marina looked disturbed by Adele’s words. The talk of death and war was too weighted a subject for her view of the light evening ahead.

  She came round to stare her point-blank in the face. She grabbed onto Adele’s upper arms and squeezed hard, as if to shake her from her momentary stupor. “What in heaven’s name is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing, I—”

  Another squeeze and a shake. “Tell me this instant. Does this have to do with your departure from a room full of dinner guests last night?”

  “I just . . .” She paused, fearful of the wild look that had taken over her mother’s usually lovely eyes. “I don’t know if I can play, that’s all.”

  “Hush your mouth this instant!”

  The sudden outburst caught Adele by surprise, so much so that she couldn’t even manage to utter a response.

  “What an insult to your father and the rest of the men downstairs, and to the Führer!” Her mother’s face contorted as if the very thought pained her. “What happens beyond our walls is no concern of yours, do you understand me? Your job is to play. That is what you will do for Austria. Play. You will honor the Führer and your family. You will not make fools of us tonight.”

  “I hadn’t thought to make a fool of anyone.”

  Her mother eyed her, the intensity of the glare working to shred her resolve.

  “Where is this coming from, Adele?”

  “Nowhere, I—”

  Her mother cut in with force masked as elegance in her tone. “You have been gifted a rare talent, and I’ll not have you waste it because you’ve decided to become interested in philosophy all of a sudden.”

  “But we are Christians, are we not?”

  Marina huffed. “You see me pray in church every week. I light a candle for all of Austria. What else has God to do with what happens out there, except to protect the fighting sons of our country? I pray for their courage, just like everyone else.”

  Adele didn’t understand why her mother was so upset. She’d never seen Marina Von Bron swat at a fly, let alone grab her by the arms until there were bruises pinched into her second layer of skin. And now she scoffed at her mention of God? He had everything to do with it, hadn’t He? Adele felt they had every right to question what they were doing after the murderous display of evil she’d witnessed the night before.

  “Mama.” Adele wished she could tell her the truth, that if they followed Christ, they couldn’t hope to follow the Nazis in the same breath. She knew what was happening out on the streets of Vienna, and all over Europe, for that matter. They couldn’t look away any longer. “How can I play in the midst of such suffering? How can I turn a blind eye to what is happening? I didn’t know what it was until now. But what we’re doing to the Jewish people, it’s”—she almost couldn’t say the words out loud and instead whispered them—“it’s evil, Mama.”

  The smack hit her across the cheek without warning. Her mother had pulled back and let her hand burn the left side of her face with as much force as she possessed.

  Adele was stunned.

  She brought a gloved hand up to the side of her face and held it there, unable to believe it had happened except for the painful throbbing that had already begun searing her cheek.

  “Are you a coward or are you Austrian?”

  With her cheek on fire and thoughts racing, she whispered, “I am Austrian.”

  Marina brought her face in closer until their noses were but an inch apart. “Then I suggest you act like it.”

  Adele stood with her hand on her face, watching as her mother turned to tidy the makeup that had been strewn about the bedroom vanity. She dropped tubes of lipstick and blush brushes into the top drawer, then collected hairpins and deposited them in a mother-of-pearl box on the bureau.

  “I expect you to be downstairs and ready to go in five minutes.”

  She swiped her fur wrapper up from the vanity chair and without so much as a second glance left Adele in the coldness of her room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sausalito, California

  Sera stepped out of her rental car and looked up—way up, at the towering Bay Area estate home before her.

  She turned in a circle as she glanced around at the pristine grounds. An expanse of lavish architecture stood tall over the weaving cobblestone walkway that led to the blue coast below. Several rocking chairs along the length of the back porch had been lulled into a gentle ebb and flow by a sea breeze that perfumed the air with a fresh saltiness. It made her want to drop into one of the chairs and rock the day away.

  This hideaway was like nothing she’d ever seen. She was from Manhattan, an island with some of the most impressive real estate around—but not like this. Not like the pile of California bricks in front of her. It looked exactly like one of those sprawling California wineries she’d always seen in the calendar pictures that hung above her desk at the gallery.

  She looked to a grassy area overlooking the bay. There was a large white tent pitched in the center. It had a lengthy stage and an archway with an outrageous amount of flowers, elegantly draped ivory gauze curtains, and strings of Italian lights being laced up all around. A commercial van sat to the side of it, where workers were unloading silver candelabras and an endless stream of wooden crates that were being carried into the tent. What was going on? Clearly some sort of event.

  She pulled off her sunglasses and took a long look at the expanse of the house, the tent, and the bay beyond, murmuring, “Just what in the world do you do, Mr. Hanover?”

  “He was in real estate.”

  Sera thought she’d whispered the question under her breath.

  She spun around at the voice and was met by a man who had walked up behind her. He stood there, a thirtysomething Mr. California Cool with a soft blue T-shirt, matching eyes, and a Red Sox cap pulled down over his forehead.

  He wore gardener’s gloves and had a rake in one hand, with a leaf or two still stuck to the prongs.

  “Edward Hanover owned a real estate investment company,” he said, leaning on the end of the rake in a casual manner. His mouth curved with the slightest hint of a smile tucked under the shadow of the hat’s brim. “Heard you coming up the drive,” he said, and motioned to the tree-lined gate she’d driven through.

  “Oh, right.” Sera nodded and looked blankly at him for a moment.

  “Can we help you?”

>   “Uh, yes. I’m here to meet with the Hanovers. I have a gallery sheet in here somewhere.” Trying to cover her embarrassment, Sera fumbled about her oversized handbag for the printout Penny had given her before she boarded the plane. The one with all of the information regarding the painting. The one that had fallen into the black hole of her purse and was presently missing in action.

  She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, now wishing that the kick of coastal wind would calm down enough so she could see what she was doing. After an awkward moment of silence, she gave up the search and plucked a business card out of her purse instead.

  “Yes. I am, uh—” She leaned in, squinting in the sun, and offered the card to him. “I’m Sera James.”

  He stared back at her as he took off the gloves and shoved them in his back pocket, a half squint evident on his face too. Her name didn’t appear to ring any bells.

  “Of the Sera James Gallery in Manhattan?” she said, eyebrows raised, although if this guy was part of the grounds crew, why was she bothering?

  “Oh yeah. The art thing.” He accepted it, then flipped the business card against his knuckles as if lost in thought. “They said someone from the gallery would be flying in soon. I didn’t expect it to be today.”

  He motioned the end of the rake past the driveway where the tent stood, bustling with workers. Sera’s gaze followed, and finally it clicked. Except for the blush pinks and muted greens of the flowers, every last detail was set in a pristine ivory. And ivory could only mean one thing.

  “They’re having a wedding?”

  He nodded.

  There was a wedding at the estate and no one had bothered to tell her. Sera gritted her teeth. She was going to kill Penny when she got home. How could her assistant fail to mention a tiny detail like a wedding, especially when the painting was at stake?

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know . . .” But before she could finish the apology, his attention was diverted.

  “Hey, Manhattan—would you excuse me for a moment?”

  Manhattan?

  He walked toward a younger man, midtwenties maybe, with a tan and a giggling girl positioned at each elbow. If this guy was also a member of the grounds crew, he seemed to have forgotten it. Sera noticed a rake leaning up against the side of the florist’s truck as he chatted with the girls.

  Sera watched the group. It gave her a moment alone to stir up her confidence.

  Breathe, Sera. She straightened her blazer and inhaled. It’s awkward, but not a deal breaker. If you still want to find the painting, you’ve got to go in there and convince this family that they want to help you.

  She watched as the man in the ball cap dispersed the group. He spoke to the younger guy and tossed a nod her way. Were they talking about her? The girls snatched up baskets overflowing with French peonies and scurried away as if their apron tails were on fire.

  When he walked back up to her, she asked, “What did you say to him?”

  He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck and turned toward the younger man who’d moved to the front stoop. “I suggested that he might be better served seeing our guest into the house if he couldn’t keep his mind on his work.”

  Sera tilted her head toward the tent and frowned. “No one told me that there would be, well, this going on. I would have scheduled a better time for the Hanovers.”

  “What, that?” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. There’s always something going on around here.”

  “Yes, well,” she answered, her hand going back to the bottom of her bag. He smiled as she continued digging.

  “Not exactly ready for a day at the beach, are you?”

  Sera looked down at her tailored black suit and then back up at him. “You mean to say I look like I’m from New York?”

  “Not at all, Miss James. Just an observation. How about we show you around, since you’re here on estate business.”

  “Um, are you the gardener?”

  “Sometimes.” He chuckled under his breath and tipped the brim of his ball cap as he walked away. “Go on in, Manhattan. The guy on the porch is Paul. I told him about you, and he’s waiting to give you the dime tour.”

  “Paul!” A lovely blonde sailed down the spiral staircase the moment they walked through the door. She darted into his arms and he welcomed her, hugging her tight as they turned in circles. She was a tiny flip of a thing, petite and with a youthful glow that couldn’t have put her at more than twenty years.

  “Macie!”

  “I didn’t know you were going to be here this early. We expected you tomorrow.” The young woman beamed at him and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “No one told me a thing.”

  “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” he teased, and flipped the sunny waves that bounced over her shoulder. “When did this happen?”

  Macie grabbed the back of her hair and shrugged. “The first second Mom had her back turned, I had it all chopped off.”

  “And how’d our dear mother take it?”

  “Like a champ.” The girl winked at him. “She only cried for a half hour before she was calling the stylist with the new short-haired bridal theme. She had to reorder the flowers and change the neckline of the bridesmaids’ dresses at the last minute, but it’s kept her occupied at the very least.”

  “I’m surprised she’s still talking to you after that stunt.”

  “Nah,” she said, and waved him off. “I’m still in her good graces, don’t forget, because at least I’m getting married. That means someday, Eric and I will give her grandkids and you’ll still be all alone in that Boston apartment of yours.”

  He coughed rather uncomfortably and quickly stood aside, exposing Sera to the bride’s sparkling, dimpled smile.

  “Macie, this here is . . . Manhattan. She flew in from New York for the occasion. Manhattan, this is my sister—our bride.”

  The young bride looked shocked. Her eyes popped open a little wider and she grinned from ear to ear.

  “Really.” Macie turned to Sera, who’d been eyeing the front door as an escape route. That plan was dashed now that the bride was smiling and checking her out from top to bottom. “Your date, Paul?”

  “Nope,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Here on estate business. I have orders to give her a tour of the house.”

  Macie contorted her face in an animated frown.

  “Well, keep her away from William, that’s all I have to say. He woke up in a rotten mood and has been in his usual take-charge mode ever since. He’s even managed to issue orders to the wedding planners. If he finds out she’s here in the midst of it, you might not be able to vouch for her safety.”

  Sera was taken aback by the comment. Wasn’t William the person she was supposed to meet? He should have been expecting her.

  “Look at her.” Paul slugged his sister’s shoulder with a mock punch. “She’s turned into a deer in the headlights. Five minutes and Manhattan is already thinking about hightailing it out of here.”

  Had that all shown on her face? Sera had to think it was possible, because that was exactly what had been flying through her mind.

  Macie leaned in to shake her hand and whispered, “Manhattan? Is that a real nickname or one that this guy gave you?”

  “It’s Sera,” she said, offering a smile in greeting.

  “The Hanover men fancy themselves clever with handing out nicknames. No one else likes it either. Paul here’s called me Spacey-Macie since I was five and got lost at the grocery store. Word to the wise—they’ll never let anyone forget a nickname once they’re branded.”

  “I heard that.” Paul stepped up and issued her a stern frown. “And for your information, I’m not the one who gave it to her.”

  Sera looked back and forth between them. “I’m here on business, actually. Estate business. I’m supposed to meet with a Mr. William Hanover? I believe he’s expecting me.”

  “You’re here to see William?” Macie said, and exchanged glances with Paul. His face was covered with a curio
us grin.

  It made Sera even more nervous. “Is that a problem?”

  “Oh, believe me, honey, he’s not expecting you,” Macie answered, shaking her head rather sorrowfully.

  “He’s not?”

  “Well, not really.” Paul echoed his younger sister’s statement, but with something lighter about his voice. He seemed to be close to laughing. “But I’d say he probably knows you’re here.”

  “But my assistant said—”

  “I’m sure your assistant had it right. It’s about the painting?”

  Sera nodded, not sure what to make of the odd reception the Hanover house presented its guests.

  “When he finds out you’re here, it’s going to send him into hyperdrive.” Macie gave her a weak smile as she reached out to pat Sera’s elbow. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, he might already know she’s here, Mace.”

  The bride shook her head. “No way. He would have said something.”

  “So I’m guessing, Miss James, that you had no idea my grandfather’s will is being contested and that all of his holdings are tied up in the hands of the court.” Paul’s face dropped when she was rendered speechless. “Classic. They didn’t tell you?”

  “No, not a word.” Sera shook her head, befuddled by the revelation that the painting might be unattainable even to the Hanovers. Getting involved with legal proceedings was messy business. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, I’m sorry to tell you this.” Paul shook his head. “But there’s only one thing standing between my family and our inheritance, and that something is the painting. William is unlikely to be happy to see you.”

  At his words Sera did a double take, looking from the blushing bride back to him. “Why . . . ? He doesn’t even know me.”

  “He knows everything he needs to, Miss James. You just happen to be searching for the painting whose owner is set to inherit the entire hundred-million-dollar Hanover estate.”