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about tonight, then?" Coral went on.
"You want to have dinner? Maybe go to a club or something?"
    "I don't want to have a late night," Serena
said, stretching. "I'm a bit jet-lagged, and I think I'll turn in
early."
    I've got to be there for Misha's call, she
thought. I can't miss him. No way.
    "Okay," Coral said. "Maybe lunch tomorrow,
then. I'm off to Paris tomorrow evening for some meetings there."
She opened a gold compact and began whisking her face with more
ghostly rice powder. When she finished, she snapped the compact
shut with a loud clack and stared at Serena. "I just hope you're
not going to be waiting around for that evil piano-playing putz to
call you."
    Serena rolled her eyes but chose to ignore
the pointed barb.
    Coral picked up a tube of lipstick and gave
her lips a fresh coat of dried-blood mulberry. When she was
finished, she tossed the compact and lipstick back into her black
alligator Hermes Kelly bag, closed it, and looked at Serena. "You
having dessert?" she asked.
    "You bet I am," Serena replied, smiling.
"I'll have to see what they've got. Why don't you have some? Live a
little, Coral. This is Vienna, home of the Sacher torte and a
zillion other gorgeous, yummy pastries."
    "Nooooo," Coral said. "Thank you very much,
but my body couldn't take the abuse."
    "Don't you want some coffee?"
    "Yes," Coral said. "I think I'll have some
decaf."
    "On the way back to the hotel," Serena said,
"let's stop by Demel's. I want to pick up some of their famous
pastries to munch on tonight."
    "God!" Coral said in exasperation. "You're
going to be purging for days, if I know you."
    "What can I say?" Serena said. "I'm just an
excessive sort of person, Coral. I like extremes, I guess."
    "I guess you do," Coral said somewhat
haughtily. "It always seems to be feast or famine with you."
    "I guess you're right," Serena agreed. And
she thought: My life has been like a famine for far too long, and
it's time for a feast. Yes ...some sort of feast . . .
    "Are you ready to order dessert?" Coral
asked.
    "Yes, I'm ready," Serena said. And she
wondered: For what?
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Schonbrunn Palace was ablaze with light, all
of its 1,441 rooms lit for tonight's performance, an unnecessary
but magnificent extravagance. The Baroque and Rococo palace, named
"beautiful spring" for the stream that meandered through the
woodland in which it had been built, was far and away the
Hapsburgs' favorite. It was situated away from the formality,
intrigue, and rigid protocol of the court at the Hofburg Palace, in
central Vienna. Here, the family could five in relative
"simplicity," pursuing their hobbies and interests without the
watchful eyes of courtiers, comfortable in a setting they
considered intime , but built to rival Versailles, as were so
many extravagant European palaces.
    Many of the guests tonight were accustomed to
such grandeur, being descendants of families such as the Hapsburgs,
and some still lived in the remnants of properties that such vast
largesse could provide. For the concert they entered through the
main courtyard. At the doorway two enormous obelisks, crowned with
Napoleonic eagles, stood guard. Napoleon had them placed there
during visits early in the nineteenth century.
    Tonight's visitors had been assembled for
nearly two hours now, seated in gilt bamboo-turned ballroom chairs,
intently listening to Misha play, or pretending to. The air was
heady with expensive perfume, the intoxicating scent from thousands
of flowers, and, of course, the beauty of the music itself.
    With a flourish Misha Levin's hands
descended, striking the final notes of Mozart's Rondo in A Minor,
K.511. A more exciting finale to this performance could hardly have
been imagined. After a moment of suspenseful silence, the audience
burst into enthusiastic applause. Bravos resounded in the
glittering hall, echoing off the gilt-and- mirrored walls and
dazzling crystal chandeliers. Then, as if on cue, the audience rose
to its feet, to pay the