The Only Woman in the Room by Marie Benedict

Author:Marie Benedict
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2018-12-17T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

August 24, 1937

Vienna, Austria

I could wait no longer, and in truth, there was no need. The elements of my plan—two months in the making—were largely in place. I’d mapped out the method of escape, an unexpected but not overly complicated route. I’d deposited the items critical to my new life in easily accessible safekeeping after lingering for long hours over my other possessions—exquisite bejeweled couture gowns, handmade shoes and purses of the finest leather and silk, and especially jewelry laden with emeralds, diamonds, pearls, and countless other precious stones—culling only those essential to my next steps. And most importantly, I’d secured the lynchpin, an unsuspecting servant critical to the entire scheme, my new lady’s maid, Laura. I needed only to select the right moment to set the events in motion.

Before I could proceed, however, I needed to fulfill the final piece of my promise to Papa.

“Mama, if I were to leave Vienna, would you come with me?” I asked my mother over tea at her home during a visit to Döbling. The once-grand house now seemed small and my mother even smaller. And though it was still cluttered with all my parents’ belongings and scattered with memories, including the evocative smell of my father’s pipe tobacco, it felt empty without Papa.

She stared at me, her eyes brimming with judgment. I could almost see her pondering the reasons I was asking this question, and I began to wonder: Had Fritz told her of my flight to Budapest? Had he shared how I had invented an alibi based on a fabricated hospital stay for her? Mama had never mentioned my failed escape, and of course, I would never dream of informing her about it myself. But she likely had a myriad of reasons for keeping the knowledge from me, if indeed she knew.

Her teacup steamed in her hands, and I heard the summer rain tap on the parlor window during the long minute she waited before bringing the cup to her lips to sip. Only then did she answer me. “Why would you leave Vienna, Hedy? Your husband is here.” Her tone was unexpectedly inscrutable.

I had to tread carefully with Mama. No matter my attempts to explain the strictures of my life with Fritz, she either chose not to hear me or always sided with him. Even when a bruise was blooming on my cheek, she urged “commitment.” A wife’s duty is to her husband, she was prone to announcing whenever applicable. I wondered, not for the first time, whether this proclamation was borne out of jealousy and a modicum of rage. That because she herself had made the sacrifice of a promising career as a concert pianist to become a hausfrau and mother, she believed I should be bound to make similar renouncements and commitments. No matter the cost.

“I meant if my husband and I left Vienna, because of the political situation.” I almost said “because of the threat of Hitler” but caught myself. Knowing that my husband had just

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