Page 19 of A Song in the Dark

chapter Six

As he drove the car back to the hotel, Rick did his best to appear focused on the road and not give any sign that he was listening to Chaisley and Melanie talk in French.

Hitler was coming to one of her concerts? Just the thought of seeing the man made his skin crawl. And his outrage burn.

Should he wire London? Ask if there’s something they wished for him to do? He’d never been close to the man himself before.

And he would be in the front row, watching Chaisley perform.

His pulse tripped.

Hitler was going to see Chaisley play the piano. Not knowing she was blind. What would happen if that madman found out? Rick rubbed a hand over his mouth. Well, he’d have to ensure no one found out.

There was no way he’d let Adolf Hitler get within six feet of Chaisley Frappier.

Barely two weeks had passed since he’d started his job as her driver, and he’d done everything in his power to dig up everything he could on his employer. While he was still in the dark about what Miss Frappier, her grandmother, and Miss Brigman were up to, he was certain of one thing.

Chaisley was an amazing person. A good person.

They were on the same side. They had to be. He felt it deep in his gut. And if he couldn’t trust his instincts? He shouldn’t be a spy.

Wait a minute. What did Melanie just say about a code? A code for what? First contacts, now a code. What were they up to?

Chaisley switched back to Dutch. “Rick, I need to ask a favor.”

Her soft, cultured voice cut through his frantic thoughts. How did she make his name sound like an endearment? He pushed the thought away, raised his eyebrows as if startled to attention, and glanced in the mirror. “Ask away, Miss Frappier.”

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment then lifted her chin. “The concert on Sunday?”

Melanie’s eyes caught his, her concern evident.

He flicked his eyes back to the road. People were still filling the streets after the concert tonight. A petite woman in a fine mink coat clutched the arm of a lanky man in a tuxedo. He said something, and she tossed her head back with a laugh, slapping his arm.

Rick tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. How was that type of joy possible when their country had just been invaded by a rogue government?

Once the road was clear, he eased the gas pedal down, making a left turn and then a right. Finally they were away from the thick of the crowds. He rolled his shoulders, trying to work some of the tense ache from them. “Sorry, ma’am. You asked about Sunday. It’s the last concert here, correct?”

“Yes.” She leaned back against the seat again with her arm propped up on the door.

Her fingers drumming. “It seems that we will have none other than Herr Hitler in our audience that evening. This concert has been sold out for months, so I’m wondering who he stole the tickets from.

I suppose some of his wealthy supporters would be willing to give theirs up—but nevertheless, he will be in attendance.

Which means there will be many of his men and guards with him.

Which in turn makes me wish for a bit more . .. show of protection for myself.”

Ah, their minds had been on the same thing. “Yes, ma’am. What is it that you need me to do?”

“I would like you to don a different uniform that evening. Not that of a driver, but something a bit different ... perhaps.” Her brow furrowed. “Something that is a bit more imposing. You need to have the appearance of...”

“A bodyguard?”

She nodded. “Yes. Perfect. A bodyguard. I will gladly pay whatever is needed for your new attire. How tall are you?”

“In British measurements, I’m a couple inches over six feet.”

“I thought you were about that height. That helps. An intimidating figure is what I need.” She whispered something to Melanie.

A prick of unease needled him. Those whispered conversations had increased in the last few days. “If you don’t need me first thing in the morning, I will get what I need then and make sure that it meets your approval.”

“Thank you, Rick.” She leaned forward this time.

“I would like you by my side at all times that evening. Even when I am playing the piano. No farther than six feet away. Melanie will show you where to stand, and I will need to practice a few times with you standing there because it might take some getting used to.”

“Whatever you need.” He wiped a sweaty palm against his pant leg. Part of what he loved about being a spy was being unnoticed. Melting into shadows. Just another face in the crowd. Now he would stand on a stage.

In front of thousands of people.

In front of Hitler.

He wouldn’t be blending into the background or hiding in a crowd.

At least everyone would be focused on her and the magical sounds coming out of her piano. He turned left into the hotel parking lot, relief washing over him. He needed to get alone. Fast. How did he tell his bosses he was going to be only fifty feet away from the biggest threat to peace in Europe?

“Also,” Chaisley said, oblivious to his distress, “I delayed speaking with a newspaperman after the news came about our ... guest. But I will have to speak with the man tomorrow. There is sure to be an article out by the time the tenth rolls around.”

Rick eased the limousine to a stop in front of the hotel’s front doors, killing the engine. Why was she telling him this? Did he need to make an appearance? “All right. You just tell me if there’s anything else you need me to do.” He pulled the key out of the ignition and grasped it in his palm.

The two women went back to whispering.

The metal of the key pressed into his skin as he clenched and unclenched his fist. He needed to send a carefully worded telegram to his bosses. Surely, with this kind of access, they would give him some sort of assignment. The prospect was terrifying.

And a little thrilling to think he could be a part of taking Hitler down.

“I think it’s a bad idea!” Melanie’s harsh whisper caught his ear. Were they talking about the newspaperman? From what they’d told him, Chaisley didn’t do interviews. So why had she chosen to do this one? His eyes narrowed as he exited the car, walking toward the back passenger door.

What did Chaisley have up her sleeve?

And why did he have a sinking feeling in his gut?

Friday, April 8, 1938

“You can’t possibly do a concert in front of Hitler. Not after this.” Melanie tossed the newspaper onto the table. Her anger was so hot right now, she would strangle Hitler if he were in the room. She paced in front of the table while Chaisley sat drinking her tea.

Oh sure. It was fine for Chaisley to be calm. She didn’t have to deal with all of the chaos from this interview. She just had to go on stage and play the piano. Chaisley didn’t have to worry about the reporters clamoring for another interview, another comment, another... another... another.

No, that was Melanie’s job. To clean up her friend’s bombshell.

Melanie pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Complaining wouldn’t take care of the stack of telegrams in her satchel. Or the gaggle of reporters stationed at every available exit in the hotel. She chewed her thumbnail for a moment, her anger ebbing for a moment.

Chaisley was not a reckless woman. The opposite, in fact. That’s what made this all so mind-boggling. Why was she telling the world she was blind now ?

Melanie flopped into a soft armchair, her head slamming against the plush headrest.

“Are you done with your tantrum?” Chaisley brushed her fingers over a lemon square on her plate. She picked up the pastry and nibbled on the corner.

The barb stung. “I don’t know how you can act so nonchalant about this.” Melanie wanted to grab Chaisley by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. Instead, she leaned forward and picked up the paper, smoothing it to read the front page.

Chais shrugged. “Probably because I can’t undo anything. God gave me peace about what to say, and I said it. Read it to me.” She took another sip of her tea.

Melanie took a breath. The paper shook in her hands. Chais was right about one thing, this couldn’t be undone. “‘World’s Most Renowned Concert Pianist Scheduled to Play for the Führer on Sunday.’”

“Gotta love how they twisted the words to say I am playing for the Führer. Ugh. As if this wasn’t a last minute charade.” Chaisley half-laughed. “It’s really not that bad. So far.”

Melanie groaned. “I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

“Oh, believe me, I could feel it. Go on.” Her smile grew.

“‘Miss Chaisley Frappier, touted as the world’s greatest pianist for many years, is on a hope-filled tour of Europe, which is set to last about eighteen months. During this time, she will spend a good deal of time in Austria, France, Belgium, Hungary, Italy, Germany, and Holland.’

“‘Miss Frappier spoke with us after one of her concerts and said she has been thrilled to share music with the world. Critics over the years have spoken of her “uncanny accuracy,” her “speed and ability to play the most daunting of pieces,” and most recently, “her unparalleled gift at composing music.” But what many do not know is that Miss Frappier is, in fact, crippled. She is blind.’”

Melanie’s stomach curdled. Crippled! How dare that man ...

She took another inhale to try and calm herself.

It didn’t work because she’d already read what was coming.

“‘She lost her sight in a tragic accident outside London on the same evening her parents were killed.’” That sentence made her blood boil.

“No mention of the fact that it was a German bomb that caused the accident in the first place.” She flicked the paper with a loud thwack .

“Probably because I made sure I didn’t say that.” Chaisley dabbed at her mouth with her linen serviette. She looked calm. Peaceful, even. How? “Please continue. So far, it’s not horrendous. Other than the word crippled— which is complete rubbish.”