The Melancholy Countess (Short Story) Read online

  Praise for Vienna Twilight

  “Perhaps one of the best, if not the best, of Tallis’s Max Liebermann books, the latest in the series featuring the Viennese psychoanalyst and his friend, detective Oskar Rheinhardt, is a gripping read.… With numerous unexpected plot twists, captivating characters, intriguing intellectual interplay between Rheinhardt and Liebermann, and masterful writing, this is a must-read for all mystery buffs.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Liebermann’s fifth (Vienna Secrets, 2010, etc.) once more folds a nifty mystery into a fascinating portrait of a unique time. And there’s a nice surprise twist.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Cleverly done and never dull … with well researched and wonderfully imagined period detail … a rich and riveting read.”

  —The Guardian (UK)

  “With this novel Tallis, a Harley Street clinical psychologist, confirms his place in the front rank of British thriller writers.”

  —Daily Mail (UK)

  Praise for Vienna Secrets

  “Captivating … [an] elegantly designed and executed period mystery.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “Tallis’s excellent fourth puzzler set in early twentieth-century Vienna (after 2008’s Fatal Lies) neatly blends mystery and history.… Fans of Caleb Carr will feel right at home.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “The historical details of police work and forensic investigation again are a strong point, and with this book’s inclusion of a trip to Prague, readers are introduced to another fascinating city.… A solid entry in an excellent historical mystery series.”

  —Booklist

  “Outstanding … Tallis’s darkest and most compelling novel to date.”

  —The Sunday Times (London)

  “Tallis is exploring serious themes here—among them, the political and religious climate that made the rise of fascism possible, and the conflict between secular and religious ethical systems.”

  —The Spectator (London)

  Praise for Fatal Lies

  “Tallis’s singular achievement is to bring vividly to life many of the glories and dangers of a great city at a crucial moment in its history … immensely satisfying.… The author delights us with rich, often gorgeous prose.… [He] has an exceptional ability to move seamlessly among varied plot elements, characters and emotions.… If you’re looking for the best in popular fiction, it’s well worth seeking out.”

  —The Washington Post

  “Frank Tallis has surged to the front of the field riding his dark horse, Vienna in the last days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.… While it’s always a delight to visit the ballrooms where Strauss is played and the opera house where Mahler is rehearsing and the coffeehouses where ideas are devoured mit Schlag, this smart series has far more to offer than decorative charm.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “Another immensely satisfying novel in Frank Tallis’s intelligent and subtle Dr. Liebermann/Inspector Rheinhardt series … dense, engrossing … a fine adventure.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “St. Florian’s Military Academy outside Vienna serves as the forbidding backdrop for Tallis’s stellar third historical to feature Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt and Dr. Max Liebermann.… Several late twists lead to a startling resolution of this compelling tale.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “What is basically a murder mystery becomes something quite extraordinary as Tallis skillfully weaves in the politics, history, music, and social customs of turn-of-the-century Vienna. Another outstanding entry in an erudite and mesmerizing series; a must for historical-mystery devotees.”

  —Booklist (starred review)

  “Elegant.… Tallis has come up with a particularly ingenious method of murder.… His novels show the modern world coming into existence in one of Europe’s great cities, and are all the more poignant for the knowledge that the first world war will soon cast its shadow over his deeply human characters.”

  —The Sunday Times (London)

  “[Tallis’s] handling of the psychoanalysis and criminal pathology are fantastic … a romping tale.”

  —Scotland on Sunday

  Praise for Vienna Blood

  “A dazzling tour de force.”

  —The Washington Post

  “[Tallis] cunningly folds psychoanalysis, early forensics, eugenics, music, and literature into a captivating suspense novel.”

  —The Boston Globe

  “A murder mystery of great intelligence … a fascinating portrait of one of the most vibrant yet sinister cities of fin-de-siècle Europe.”

  —The Times (London)

  “Tallis uses his knowledge of medicine, music, psychology and history to create an endlessly fascinating portrait of 1902 Vienna.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “Brilliant … Tallis can ratchet up the suspense.”

  —The Globe and Mail

  “Gripping … The clever plotting and quality writing elevate this above most other historicals.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Excellent … Tallis handles his themes adroitly.”

  —The Sunday Times (London)

  “Exhilarating … expertly crafted … The layers of Viennese society are peeled away as delicately as the layers of each mouth-watering Viennese pastry that the portly Rheinhardt makes it his business to devour.”

  —The Daily Telegraph (London)

  Praise for A Death in Vienna

  “[An] elegant historical mystery … stylishly presented and intelligently resolved.”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  “[A Death in Vienna is] a winner for its smart and fin-de-siècle portrait of the seat of the Austro-Hungarian empire, and for introducing Max Liebermann, a young physician who is feverish with the possibilities of the new science of psychoanalysis.”

  —The Washington Post

  “Frank Tallis knows what he’s writing about in this excellent mystery.… His writing and feel for the period are top class.”

  —The Times (London)

  “An engrossing portrait of a legendary period as well as a brain teaser of startling perplexity … In Tallis’s sure hands, the story evolves with grace and excitement … a perfect combination of the hysterical past and the cooler—but probably more dangerous—present.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Holmes meets Freud in this enjoyable … whodunit.”

  —The Guardian (London)

  Also by Frank Tallis

  A Death in Vienna

  Vienna Blood

  Fatal Lies

  Vienna Secrets

  Vienna Twilight

  Death and the Maiden

  The Melancholy Countess is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Random House eBook Original

  Copyright © 2012 by Frank Tallis

  Excerpt from Death and the Maiden © 2012 by Frank Tallis

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Random House, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  This contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Death and the Maiden by Frank Tallis. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-679-64487-3<
br />
  Cover design: Flamur Tonuzi

  Cover photograph: Adam Burn/Getty Images

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Death and the Maiden

  1

  Oktav Hauke looked across the table at his wife. She had hardly touched her starter course. Indeed, she seemed to be more interested in rearranging the contents of her soup bowl than eating. Occasionally, however, she would raise a small dumpling or a morsel of sausage to her mouth. Then she would chew slowly, her jaw moving from side to side like a cow. The light from the gas lamp gave her complexion a sickly, yellowish pallor, and the unfortunate proximity of such a strong source of illumination exposed every flaw, crack, and crevice—particularly the row of vertical creases that occupied the space between her thin upper lip and nose. Her back was slightly hunched, and her head bowed forward, as though the weight of her ornate ruby necklace and matching pendant earrings were proving too burdensome for her withered neck to support.

  Although still plush with the trappings of grandeur—Venetian mirrors, gilt flourishes, and marble statues on Doric plinths—the dining room of the Corvinus Hotel was well past its prime. These pompous effects and gestures did not mitigate a pervasive atmosphere of irreversible decline. Within a domed alcove, half concealed by an ostentatious arrangement of potted palm trees, was a pianist, playing Hungarian dances without the necessary zest. It was the same every night.

  The waiter (for there was only one) interrupted his oscillations between kitchen and tables to stop, somewhat abruptly, next to Hauke’s wife. In heavily accented German he asked, “Is everything to your satisfaction, Countess?” It was a constant source of irritation to Hauke that his wife was routinely addressed before he was.

  “Yes, thank you, Oguz,” the Countess Zigana replied, making a languid gesture that made the diamonds on her fingers flash with conspicuous brilliance.

  The waiter bowed and turned to face Hauke.

  “Herr Rác,” Hauke declared in his habitual inebriate drawl. “The best libamáj zsírjában in Vienna, without doubt.” He speared the last of his slippery goose liver.

  The waiter smiled ambiguously and retreated.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Hauke asked his wife.

  “Not very.”

  Hauke observed his own reflection in a nearby wall mirror and couldn’t stop himself from admiring what he saw—the square jaw, the clear blue eyes, and the burnished mop of gold hair that three decades had failed to thin or tarnish. He was reminded of his old regimental nickname, Apollo. A faint self-satisfied smile played around Hauke’s lips. This smile, however, quickly vanished when he noticed—advancing behind his handsome image—someone he recognized.

  A harried-looking man in a long gray overcoat stepped through the open double doors. He brushed some raindrops from his shoulders and scanned the lavish interior.

  “Damn!” Hauke growled.

  “What is it?” his wife asked.

  The man spotted Hauke and approached with a purposeful stride. Like everyone else, he addressed the countess first. “Forgive me for intruding, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with your husband.”

  “Not now, Tausig,” said Hauke. “Can’t you see we’re eating?”

  “I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

  Hauke folded his napkin and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said to his wife. Applying moderate force to the small of the man’s back, Hauke moved Tausig across the room and into the pianist’s alcove.

  “We can’t speak here,” said Tausig.

  “I don’t mean to hold a very long conversation.”

  “You told me that you would be in Café Central tonight.”

  “Did I? I don’t recall that.”

  “I want my money back, and I want it now.”

  “Keep your voice down, Tausig.”

  Fortunately, the pianist had come to a middle section that required a pounding fortissimo.

  “I’ll be ruined,” said Tausig. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Tomorrow,” Hauke replied.

  “You said that yesterday.”

  “Yes, but things are different today.”

  “How are they different?”

  Hauke observed Herr Rác emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates. “Ah. The second course, if I’m not mistaken. I’m afraid I really must return to my table, or my steak will be ruined.”

  As he moved away, Tausig grabbed his arm. “You’re not going to get my money tomorrow, are you?” said Tausig. “Or the day after?”

  “Let go of my arm, Tausig.”

  “You’re a liar and cheat.”

  Hauke twisted his neck to show off the dueling scar on his left cheek. “Don’t push your luck, Tausig. If someone overheard your impudent remark, I would be forced to consider my reputation. Think of your wife and children.”

  Tausig’s fingers relaxed. “You won’t get away with this.”

  Hauke shrugged. “My conscience is clear. Incidentally, Tausig, your hair is wet. The concierge might lend you an umbrella if you ask politely.”

  Tausig scowled and walked briskly toward the exit. Hauke smoothed a crease from his sleeve and returned to his table.

  His wife said nothing. She was toying with her beef goulash, lifting noodles with her fork and letting them drop off again. The pouches of maculated flesh beneath her eyes seemed to gather shadow.

  Hauke picked up his knife and fork and cut into his thick, rare steak with relish. Blood seeped out onto the porcelain; however, when he placed the strip of meat into his mouth, he found it to be tough and leathery. He then sniffed the sauce—too piquant, too peppery. The intemperate use of paprika and spices was a feature of Magyar cuisine that still disagreed with his digestion. Why couldn’t these people appreciate the simple virtues of an undressed steak?

  “If you’re not very hungry,” said Hauke, “I’ll have your goulash.” He didn’t wait for his wife to give her consent. He simply reached across the table and swapped their plates. The countess didn’t protest. She examined her new meal for a few moments, and then used a spoon to scoop up some of the sauce. After testing it with the tip of her tongue, her expression showed approval, and she began to eat. The steak did not appeal to her, so she left it.

  After ten minutes, during which not a single word was spoken, the countess sighed and said, “I’m tired.”

  “Then go to bed,” Hauke replied without looking up.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I’ll go to bed if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Hauke watched her leaving the dining room. She looked unsteady, infirm, a thing made of cobwebs and dust, something that should not be held too close to a naked flame.

  The goulash had been particularly good, and so was the Tokay wine. Hauke had drunk one bottle already. Even so, this did not stop him from finishing the second. He returned the plates to their original positions and ordered a third bottle of Tokay—twice as expensive as its full-bodied and velvety predecessors. He held his glass up to the light, swilled the contents, and considered his options.

  2

  Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt stepped down from his carriage and stared up at the commanding façade of the Corvinus Hotel. Instead of the customary stone caryatids, two Magyar warriors stood on either side of the entrance. Their strange headgear and armor made them look both threatening and
magically exotic.

  “They don’t look very friendly, sir,” said Rheinhardt’s assistant, Haussmann.

  “One must suppose that this was the sculptor’s intention,” the inspector mused. “An odd decision, when one considers that a hotel’s principal function is to offer hospitality.”

  On entering the lobby, they were greeted by the hotel manager, Herr Farkas. He was a slightly built individual, whose head seemed disproportionately large compared with the rest of his body. This was, in part, attributable to his dense black beard and enormous mustache, the ends of which had been trained into involute curlicues.

  “This won’t be good for business,” said Farkas as they ascended a broad, red-carpeted staircase. “We’re already finding it difficult to maintain respectable profit margins. There hasn’t been as much patronage since the empress was assassinated, God rest her soul.” He crossed himself. “She used to recommend us to visiting dignitaries.”

  “Really?” said Rheinhardt, showing polite interest. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Guests don’t like to stay in rooms where people have died. I do hope I can count on your discretion, Inspector?”

  “The security office cannot stop people from gossiping, Herr Farkas. The lady was an aristocrat. And this is Vienna.”

  Farkas shook his head. “We were always fond of the countess at the Corvinus. Her bloodline can be traced back to the ninth century. She used to stay here every winter with the old count.”

  When they reached the second floor, the manager led them down a hallway, the walls of which were hung with oppressive, penumbral landscape paintings. Eventually the men reached their destination, a door with a brass number seven fixed into the woodwork with screws. Farkas knocked three times, but there was no response, and it was necessary to employ a key to gain entry. “This way, gentlemen, please.”

  They passed through a drawing room and a bedroom, and finally came to a halt in a spacious bathroom. The colorful tiles, decorated with Oriental sigils, were clearly intended to evoke the Ottoman Empire, and beneath two projecting faucets was a tub that appeared to be made from galvanized copper. Some silk undergarments had been dropped on the floor, next to an intricately molded stove.