Eva Ibbotson - The Star of Kazan

They had reached the entrance to the bathhouse. Only patients and their attendants were allowed beyond the entrance. Uncle Conrad’s doctor came out of his office with a piece of paper listing details of the Baron’s treatment for the day, and Zed wheeled him away down the long stone corridor.

‘Don’t forget I’m expecting you to lunch,’ Uncle Conrad called to Annika over his shoulder, and she nodded and made her way back to the hotel.

The office of Herr Bohn was comfortably furnished with a deep carpet, a large mahogany desk, a palm tree in a brass pot — and a clerk who led them in and begged them to be seated because Herr Bohn would be here in a minute.

‘I was expecting him to be here already. Our appointment is for eleven o’clock.’ Frau Edeltraut was not accustomed to being kept waiting and made this clear.

The clerk went into the outer office and spoke to the typist, who went away to make coffee. Even when they had drunk it there was no sign of the lawyer, and Annika saw that her mother was getting upset. The papers they were here to sign must be very important, and Annika, to reassure her, said, ‘But I am a von Tannenberg already, aren’t I? I am your daughter, everyone knows it.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Frau Edeltraut absently. ‘All the same, things must be done properly.’

They waited for another half-hour, then the phone rang in the outer office and presently the clerk came in. ‘That was Herr Bohn — he is extremely sorry, but his wife has had a fit and he has had to take her to the hospital.’

‘A fit ? How extraordinary. Doesn’t he have servants to look after his wife?’

‘Yes, yes. But… He says he will be with you by two o’clock without fail.’

‘I very much hope so,’ said Annika’s mother, ‘otherwise he cannot expect to go on handling my affairs.’

Lunch in the dining room of the Majestic was very grand. Annika was put next to Uncle Conrad and he had Edeltraut on his other side. Hermann was in a bad mood; the gun they had given him at the rifle range had thrown to the left, and though he had explained this, they had refused to give him another one.

Zed was not present of course; servants did not eat in the hotel dining room. Everyone spoke very quietly and Uncle Conrad occasionally told them in a low voice what was wrong with the other guests. The lady on the next table had come in with an agonizing septic throat, which had turned out to be caused by a green bean wrapped round the root of her tongue.

‘They had to give her chloroform to get it out,’ he whispered.

The food was splendid: venison broth, asparagus, beef in a pastry case, lemon soufflé with whipped cream. Annika had begun to wonder if there was a famine in Norrland, but if there was it had not reached Bad Haxenfeld.

She would have enjoyed her meal more if she had not thought of Zed perhaps going hungry. Then, as the waiter came out with coffee, she had a glimpse into the busy bustling kitchen. And there, with his sleeves rolled up, was Zed, his face flushed by the heat. He was helping to load the trays and laughing at something one of the cooks had said and he did not look hungry in the least.

The lawyer was still not in his office when they returned after lunch.

His clerk was grovelling, wringing his hands.

‘Herr Bohn sent word that he will personally come to Spittal tomorrow with the necessary documents. At his own expense.’

‘I should hope so,’ said Frau Edeltraut. ‘Please tell him that I am most displeased.’

But she looked more than displeased. She looked distressed and very worried, and Annika was puzzled. Why was this document so urgent? Surely nothing was going to happen to Hermann for years, if at all?

‘I shall go back to the hotel and rest,’ Frau Edeltraut went on. ‘If you like you can go to the pump room. There’s usually a band there. It doesn’t cost anything to go and watch. I’ll expect you back at the hotel at four o’clock.’

Annika heard the music coming out of the pump room before she reached it: a large domed building with a flight of steps flanked by statues. Inside there was a round hall with a fountain in the middle. People came up to it, gave some money to a lady sitting there, and were given a tin cup, which they took to the fountain to fill with spa water.

The rest of the floor was filled by people parading up and down, nodding their heads to the music, greeting each other. The orchestra was an eight-piece band and they were playing the kind of music Annika had grown up with in the streets and parks of Vienna: waltzes, polkas, marches…

She made her way closer to the orchestra and stood listening. The violins soared sweetly, the leader smiled at her and she came closer and closer still. After a while she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find a white-haired gentleman with a clean-shaven face and a paunch, looking down at her.

‘Would the fräulein care to dance?’ he asked.

Annika was startled — no one else was dancing, and in any case one didn’t dance with strangers. She was about to refuse when an elderly lady in a wheelchair propelled herself forward.

‘This is my wife,’ said the old gentleman. ‘She saw your feet tapping and she thought you might like to waltz a little.’

The old lady nodded. ‘A s you see, I can’t dance any more — but you should have seen us when we were young!’

Annika smiled, and held up her arms. As she and the old gentleman twirled in a waltz, the spectators smiled too, then a couple joined in, and another… The members of the band were delighted. When the music came to an end they played another waltz, and another…

Then she heard an angry voice calling her name. Zed was standing at the edge of the dancers, scowling at her.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ he hissed, coming up to her. ‘You know you don’t dance with strangers.’

Annika flushed. ‘This is Herr Doktor Feldkirch,’ she said angrily. ‘Frau Feldkirch suggested that we might like to dance.’

But Zed was in a temper. ‘I’m supposed to fetch you — it’s time to go home. What will your mother say?’

‘That depends on what you tell her.’

They walked back to the hotel in silence.

Then Zed said, ‘It’s not even proper music that they play there.’

Annika stopped and glared at him. ‘What do you mean? It was lovely. It was proper Viennese music.’

Zed shrugged. ‘If you like everything to be sickly and sweet. If you want real music, you should listen to the gypsies.’

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ she snapped. ‘There aren’t any gypsies anywhere near here.’

‘There might be soon. They come through sometimes on the way to the Spring Fair at Stettin. If they do, I’ll take you.’

It was the nearest she would get to an apology.

In the carriage on the way back, Annika was sleepy and content, which was as well since Hermann grumbled all the way home about the men in the shooting gallery.

They drove in twilight, then darkness. As the carriage went over the first bridge, Zed suddenly drew up. In the same moment he extinguished the carriage lamp.

‘I think we should go back,’ he said in a low voice to Frau Edeltraut. ‘There are people there. Look!’

They stared up at the courtyard of the house and saw lamps being carried round the building — then heard hammering at the door.

‘Come on, open up — we know you’re there,’ somebody shouted, and the hammering started again.

Not burglars then, as Annika had feared.

‘They’re from the Land Bureau, I think,’ whispered Zed. ‘They’ve come in two automobiles.’

‘Turn round at once,’ ordered Frau Edeltraut, but Zed had already begun to turn the carriage in the only passing place behind the bridge. ‘Where can we go?’