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“Edith, please don’t be frightened of me,” he murmured. “I am your friend, no?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not frightened.”

“Good. Because I will never hurt you, you know.”

Friend. Yes, they were friends, a friendship born of a mutual love of music, art, opera, culture. Nothing more, surely. Such a small gap, friend to boyfriend. She knew that the other secretaries at the bank had husbands and boyfriends, watched them excited before going out on a date, giggling in the hall the morning after, pitying her for being so alone.

“That’s ‘Roses from the South,’ isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I think it’s my favorite of all the waltzes.”

“Mine too.” That was better—back to music.

He took her coffee cup from her lap and put it beside his own on a side table. Then he rose, took her hands, and pulled her to her feet.

“What ...?”

She found her right hand taken in his left, a strong and persuasive arm around her waist, and she was turning gently on the strip-pine flooring of the small space between the furniture, dancing a waltz.

Gidi Barzilai would have said, go for it, boychick, don’t waste any more time. What did he know?

Nothing. First the trust, then the fall. Karim kept his right hand well up Edith’s back.

As they turned, several inches of space between them, Karim brought their locked hands closer to his shoulder, and with his right arm he eased Edith nearer to his body. It was imperceptible.

Edith found her face against his chest and had to turn her face sideways. Her small bosom was against his body, and she could sense that man-smell again.

She pulled away. He let her, released her right hand, and used his left to tilt her chin upward. Then he kissed her, as they danced.

It was not a salacious kiss. He kept his lips together, made no effort to force hers apart. Her mind was a rush of thoughts and sensations, an airplane out of control, spinning, falling, protests rising to fight and failing. The bank, Gemütlich, her reputation, his youth, his foreignness, their ages, the warmth, the wine, the odor, the strength, the lips. The music stopped. If he had done anything else, she would have thrown him out. He took his lips from hers and eased her head forward until it rested against his chest. They stayed motionless like that in the silent apartment for several seconds.

It was she who pulled away. She turned to the sofa and sat down, staring ahead of her. She found him on his knees in front of her. He took both her hands in his.

“Are you angry with me, Edith?”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear it. I couldn’t help it.”

“I think you should go.”

“Edith, if you are angry a

nd you want to punish me, there is only one way you can. By not letting me see you again.”

“Well, I’m not sure.”

“Please say you’ll let me see you again.”

“I suppose so.”

“If you say no, I’ll abandon the study course and go home. I couldn’t live in Vienna if you won’t see me.”

“Don’t be silly. You must study.”

“Then you will see me again?”