The Ludwig Conspiracy(54)
“Then I’m sure you can manage it one more time.” Steven looked at her hard. “Don’t you understand? This may be our last chance to search the grotto. So pull yourself together.” He raised an admonitory forefinger. “You were the one who wanted me to get involved, remember? ‘The greatest coup an antiquarian bookseller can land’—those were your words. So don’t let me down now.”
Sara sighed, then suddenly turned and walked to her car.
“Hey, where are you going?” Steven called after her.
“Where do you think? Back to Garmisch.” Wrinkling her nose, she held up the hem of her green wool skirt. “You don’t suppose I’m going to some hoity-toity party with you in this getup, do you?”
15
THE PARTY THAT EVENING outdid all expectations. Steven and Sara stood beside a statue, a little way apart from the other guests, and from that vantage point watched the high society of Bavaria celebrating with champagne and caviar. A heated marquee had been put up outside the castle, with a small string orchestra in Baroque costumes and wigs playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Although it was nearly mid-October, many of the guests, adorned with Venetian masks, were only lightly clad as they strolled in the park, which looked like a bright fairy-tale land lit by torches and candles. Butlers in frock coats served canapés and glasses of bubbling champagne; farther off, a magician with his face painted white held onlookers spellbound with a top hat and a rabbit. Women stalked around the arbors and gardens in their cocktail dresses like exotic jungle birds, accompanied by gentlemen in classic double-breasted suits whose every gesture spoke of power and authority. Carriages drawn by teams of four horses took the guests over to the nearby hotel, where the party would continue.
With a sour expression, Sara sipped from her glass and then poured out the contents on the gravel path. “You’d think they could lay on a better champagne for such a fancy party,” she grumbled. “And the salmon rolls taste like cotton batting.”
“Oh, stop complaining. We’re not here to eat and drink,” Steven said. “Just enjoy the atmosphere a bit.”
Unobtrusively, he looked down at himself. He wore a black suit with a shirt and bow tie, all of which he had bought with the last of his cash as he shopped with Sara. He felt properly dressed for the first time in days. Only the glittering silver mask over his eyes bothered him, but he had finally let Sara persuade him to wear it. After all, it was perfectly possible that one of the guests would have seen his photograph on TV or in a newspaper. He wasn’t so conspicuous among all the other masked guests. The diary was safely locked in their hotel room’s safe.
The art detective, too, wore a Venetian mask with her dress. After much deliberation, she had opted for a red evening dress cut very low in the back, a Prada jacket, and high-heeled shoes with pointed toes. Considering that the art detective had made such a fuss about going to the party, she had spent quite a lot on her outfit. All the same, he thought it had been worth it.
If she didn’t have such a sharp tongue, it would be easy to fall in love with her, he thought. But no doubt I’d have to be at least ten years younger to have any chance.
“There’s some kind of Wagner event going on in the grotto,” Steven said, dismissing his thoughts. “But when it’s over we can go and have a look around.”
The art detective nodded abstractedly and went on watching the guests, frowning. You know, Manstein Systems have actually booked Mario Baldoni for the Wagner event.”
“The Baldoni?”
“Yep, the world-famous tenor. He’s singing right now in the seashell boat, in front of about thirty people. Wouldn’t surprise me if they’ve also hired a couple of genuine nymphs for the lake. Oh, and look over there.”
She pointed to a tall, stout man in a noticeably ill-fitting suit, approaching Luise Manstein. The industrialist wore a close-fitting gray jacket and skirt, with a sparkling ring on one finger. When she recognized the man, she smiled, and offered him her hand to kiss.
“Well, at least we now know why the lady there is throwing herself a party,” Sara said. “The interior minister of Bavaria himself has done her the honor of attending. Now they can negotiate the next party donation over champagne and caramel mousse.”
“Why are you always so negative?” Steven asked crossly. “I’ve made inquiries, and the money coming in here is used exclusively to restore the castle.”
“Sure, and I’m Mother Teresa.”
Sighing, Steven gave up and ate his salmon canapé. He had to admit that Sara was right; the little roll really did taste like cotton batting spread with mayonnaise. He put his plate down and watched Luise Manstein talking to the interior minister. She had not given Steven so much as a glance since the party began. Only when the minister had left her, with a bow, did her eyes chance to fall on Steven. Her lips twisted in an ironic smile as she raised her glass to him.