road again today.” Sonia pushed back the curls from her forehead.
Stefan looked down at her flushed little face. “You walked? Today?”
Sonia nodded. “Yes. Michael and I missed the tram after lunch.”
He stared at her in a puzzled fashion. “You know Michael, then? You are friends perhaps in England?”
“He was on the same train from Zurich,” Sonia explained. How little that told anyone, and yet what would be gained by telling the whole story? It would only give a false importance to a chain of events that could mean nothing.
Sonia stared around the cafe with delighted eyes. She hadn’t expected this. She had stumbled blindly down the steps after Greta and Stefan. At first the cigarette smoke had made it difficult to see. The music had seemed to beat against her ears, and the voices shouting over the musicians were deafening. But now, tucked away at a corner table with Greta and Stefan, she could take it all in at her leisure. The twirling figures on the tiny dance floor could only be Austrians. She would see no English here. This was no tourist haunt. The beat of the music died down for a brief moment and then began again, a haunting quickstep melody that tugged at her feet.
Stefan was rising to his feet and looking at Greta questioningly.
She shook her head. “Dance with Sonia. Me, I am too tired for the moment.”
Stefan made Sonia a little bow, his face polite and serious. She stood up hesitantly. “I’m not sure that I can do the steps. They seem different from ours.”
He led her from the table. “No matter. I can dance the English way if that is what you wish.”
“No, please don’t I want to learn. It looks so much nicer than ours.”
She found it so easy after all ... only an extra little kick step to slip in on each beat of the music . Stefan held her firmly, and his strong arm swung her faster and faster. Breathlessly she clung to him for support when the music stopped.
Gently he brushed back the hair from her eyes. “You are too hot, no?”
But Sonia wasn’t listening. She was staring past him to a familiar figure. Michael was standing at the foot of the stairs and was looking at her. On his face there was an infuriating, mocking smile that seemed to say: You have been warned.
CHAPTER THREE
“L iebling, what is it? Why do you look so strange?” Stefan’s voice seemed to come from a long way off. Sonia brought her attention back to him.
“Why do you call me Liebling? Surely it’s Greta that you love?”
“Greta? That one, she has no time f or my love! Perhaps she is right when she says I only care for my country. Greta and I met on holiday, and it was different then. She was not full of the ambition to get away ... she was happy with laughter and sunshine. We did not talk of serious things. Now it is not the same.”
“What happened?” Sonia couldn’t see where Michael had gone. The music had started again and Stefan was guiding her through the dreamy movements of a waltz.
Stefan looked down at the face turned up to his. “You are too young to understand,” he said gently. “You do not know of revolution and of children being shot down in the streets. My sister was no older than you are and died on the barricades, and she was one of the many. Greta says I must forget, must not speak about it. How can I? All that I knew was swept away.”
Sonia’s eyes were troubled. “I’m sorry...” How inadequate the words sounded.
Stefan’s arm tightened a little. Then, as the music slowed to a standstill, he led Sonia through the dancers to their table. She was trying to see through the crowd. If only she were taller. She relaxed. Michael was there. He was talking to Greta, who was tapping the table with impatient fingers.
Michael stood up as Stefan and Sonia approached. He smiled at her, and she became uneasily aware of the force of his personality. She might be angry with him. She might dislike him. But she would never be completely indifferent to his