Hidden Away Read Online Free PDF Page A

present smile complemented by the intriguing twinkle in his dark blue eyes.
    Friends from university had told me about the nightclubs they visited. While most were frowned upon since the Anschluss, there were some that apparently were still acceptable. I had never gone to one. It never seemed like a comfortable scene for me. Besides, my uncle was strict in regards to socially acceptable behavior.
Under his unyielding eyes, I bowed my head and looked at my shoes.
    It was only when he asked, “What do you say?” that I realized I hadn’t responded to the obvious invitation he’d just extended.
    I shook my head and picked at the cotton fabric of my slacks with my fingers. When I’d gathered my courage, I looked up. He was still looking at me with that smile playing on his lips. Instead of the normal heavy feeling in my gut, the butterflies took off again under the intensity of his gaze. “I should get home.”
    The smile remained as he said, “It’s not late.” Shifting my weight, I tried to think of a substantial excuse to use. I didn’t want to tell him that my uncle was very particular in regards to my whereabouts, or that the possibility of spending an evening of leisure with a great man like the renowned Herr Waldenheim was just too much for me. I would be nervous all night. I already felt sick at the thought of it; I didn’t want to enhance that feeling. It was safer for me to return to my aunt and uncle’s home and retire to my room.
    I shook my head again. “I should go home and practice. Obviously, I—”
“You sounded perfect, Kurt. The only thing lacking was your timing, but you can’t work on that alone. We’ll all be back tomorrow. Come out with us.”
    Somehow I took a step toward the stairs leading off stage. As I descended down into the house, I found my voice again. “I don’t usually go out. I wouldn’t know….” I trailed off as soon as I was face to face with Peter.
“We’ll take good care of you,” he said quietly. “Please join us.”
    I couldn’t look at him any longer. He created such a strange sensation within me. I longed to be on my way back home, away from the intensity of these feelings. I felt uncomfortable, but the pull to him was as obvious to me as the decadence of the golden hall in which we stood.
Once again, I declined with a shake of my head. “I must go.”
    When I looked back up at him, his smile had shifted. Something in it told me he saw right through me. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
    It wasn’t a question. I had a feeling we would repeat this interaction the next evening. I wanted to tell him I would not go out with him tonight or tomorrow or a week from tomorrow, but instead, I heard myself say, “Perhaps.”
    He seemed to accept this, and together we walked out of the Musikverein. Outside, under the awning, he turned to me and held out his hand. “It was my pleasure to meet you, Kurt Klein,” he said as I took the offered hand in mine. The feeling that it was more than a simple pleasantry swept through me once again.
“It was mine,” I returned.
     
At this, his face broke into another huge grin. “Until tomorrow.”
    Peter joined the others, and with a simple “Good night” to the group, I turned and headed away from the concert hall, away from Peter Waldenheim, and back toward the regulated life I knew.
    The walk home was pleasant. It was cold, but no new snow fell. The streets grew less crowded as I made my way east. My aunt and uncle lived in a very nice apartment overlooking a large park. While it had thrilled my parents that I was given the chance to live with them, the austerity of their home was difficult for a child of nine.
    Eleven years later, it was still uncomfortable for me, but my uncle provided relatively easy means for me to live. As long as I followed his rules of decency and actively engaged in society, I was allowed free room and board. Now that my training was complete, the expectation of obtaining employment was explicit.
    My uncle