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Max is hiding in his room. It’s his twenty-fifth birthday, and the house is filling up with guests – most of whom are friends and acquaintances of his parents. He can hear people talking and laughing downstairs, and knows they’re all waiting for him to make an appearance.
After a great deal of pleading and arm-twisting, Max managed to persuade his parents to let him invite Oskar…although getting Oskar to agree involved even more pleading and arm-twisting. But his lover isn’t due until a bit later, and in the meantime, Max is going to have to make himself go down and face his unwanted visitors whether he likes it or not.
He can hear footsteps on the stairs, and knows someone is coming to fetch him. He gets up from sitting disconsolately on the end of his bed, and pretends to be adjusting his cuffs when Leah walks in, wearing a new dress she purchased especially for the occasion.
“Max, what are you doing?” she asks irritably. “Everyone’s wondering where you are.”
“I’m coming,” Max mutters, avoiding her gaze. “Just trying to get up the courage to go down. I really don’t want to do this.”
“So you keep saying.” Leah’s tone softens. “It’s just a party. Relax and you’ll be fine. Clara and Jonas are here, and so are the Spitzers.”
Max gives her a look of dismay. “Seriously? That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Leah signs and takes her brother’s arm. “I’ll go down with you if you’re that nervous about it. But you can’t hide up here any longer.”
Max reluctantly allows himself to be led from the safe haven of his room.
“Can you please keep Clara and that Spitzer girl occupied?” he asks his sister. “I don’t want either of them mooning around me.”
Leah stiffens. “Clara’s a married woman now, in case you’ve forgotten. She’s not going to moon around – you had your chance. And ‘that Spitzer girl’ has a name. It’s Rosalind. She’s a lovely girl and perfectly nice, so don’t be rude.”
Max scowls. “But she’ll have expectations, wanting me to take her out. You and our parents know that’s not going to happen.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t at least be polite to her.” Leah tugs on his arm. “Now come on. Behave yourself, Maxim.”
They start down the stairs and Max looks anxiously over the banister to get a birds-eye view of the gathering below. There seem to be people everywhere, spilling into the hall from the sitting and dining rooms, all standing around talking with drinks in their hands. Max doesn’t know most of them, and wonders why they’re even here.
Father wants to impress his friends and colleagues, that’s why, he thinks darkly. Doesn’t matter what I want.
Max wishes he could just quietly lose himself in the crowd before anyone notices him, get a glass of wine to help bolster his spirits before he’s forced to start socializing. But it’s not to be.
“Ah, there he is!” It’s his father, beaming up the stairs at him. “There’s our birthday boy!”
Max is mortified. I can’t believe you just called me a boy in front of all your friends.
The elder Liebermann’s voice reverberates through the hall as if he’s bellowing through a megaphone, and everyone stops what they’re doing to turn and look as Max descends from the landing with his sister. There’s a wave of cheers and applause, and Max feels his face turning beet red.
“Where on earth have you been, son?” His father claps him on the back and steers him into the midst of the gathering. “I want you to meet everyone.”
The next half hour or so passes in a daze. Max's father introduces him to an endless succession of people who all wish him happy birthday and then try to make conversation by talking about the weather, the state of the economy, and what they saw at the theatre last night – all topics Max really couldn’t care less about. He shakes so many hands that he thinks his fingers are going to drop off, and he suspects the forced smile stuck to his face probably looks more like a rictus of pain than anything else.
At last, Anna comes by with a tray of glasses and he helps himself to some wine. He’d like to down it one mouthful and grab a second, but he knows such behavior would be frowned upon by everyone around him, most especially his parents.
“Happy birthday, Max,” says a voice, and he turns to see Clara coming up behind him with a glass of champagne, a careful smile on her doll-like face. “I wasn’t sure if Jonas and I should come, but your mother insisted.”
“Why shouldn’t you come?” Max is trying to be polite, but it comes out sounding defensive, and he can see Clara’s smile falter a little.
“Still the same Max,” she says cryptically, leaving him wondering exactly what she means. Inconsiderate? Arrogant? Cold? Probably all three, and more besides.
“I’m glad you came,” he hears himself say. “You’re both welcome, of course. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
“You sound like a postcard,” Clara says critically, and Max feels himself flushing with annoyance.
I never could do or say anything right as far as you’re concerned, he feels like saying, but he just stands there mute, as he so often does in Clara’s presence, trying to force his lips into something approaching a smile.
"Where’s your inspector?” Clara asks, looking around. “I’m surprised not to see him here. I assumed he’d be your guest of honour…or have you thrown him over the way you did me?”
Max feels his flush deepen. “He’s coming,” he says stiffly. “He had to work late.”
You’re the one who ended our engagement, Clara, yet you act like it’s all my fault every time we meet.
Not that he isn’t eternally grateful she did end it. Their marriage would have been a disaster, especially after he discovered where his true affections lay. Of course, Clara has no idea about that…and never will if he can help it.
“What about Miss Lydgate?” Clara goes on. “I don’t see her here either. It’s your birthday, yet you seem to be quite alone.”
Max licks his lips, longing for another glass of wine. “She left Vienna,” he says shortly.
“I wonder why?” Clara is still smiling but her words are barbed. “I hear you didn’t get hired on by the police either. That must have been a blow, being unable to spend your every waking hour with Inspector Rheinhardt. So what are you doing now? Have you gone back to your practice?”
What is this, the third degree? Max feels flustered and defensive. Clara has always had a pushy, almost aggressive way of firing questions at him, as if she thinks she owns him and has the right to know every single detail about his life and what he’s doing. It was bad enough when they were engaged, but it’s completely unacceptable now.
"I'm busy with patients, yes,” he says, but doesn’t offer any more details. He sees Anna making her way towards them with the drinks tray again, and replaces his empty glass with a full one.
He can tell Clara isn’t finished with him yet. She’s studying him with cool curiosity. He decides to try directing the conversation, such as it is, away from himself.
“What about you?” he asks. “Are you and Jonas well?”
“Very well, thank you. Jonas is taking me out to dinner and then to the opera tomorrow night. We’re seeing La Bohème.” She pauses, smiling, then adds pointedly: “Jonas is always very attentive. And he’s never late.”
“It would be odd if he was, considering you now live in the same house,” Max says drily.
“Are you jealous?” Clara asks, simpering at him.
“Absolutely not,” Max says firmly.
The smile fades from her face and she looks offended.
“What did you expect me to say, Clara?” he challenges her. He’s starting to get seriously annoyed. “You’re married.”
“Yes.” She tilts her chin at him. “At first, I wondered if I made a mistake when I ended our engagement. I can see now I didn’t.” She glances past his shoulder at the door. “Here comes your inspector. I suppose I’d better get out of your way. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Max.” And she glides off towards her husband, who has been watching their exchange with a suspicious eye.
Max gives her a sullen glance then goes to meet Oskar, who’s standing just inside the door in his evening suit, looking very handsome and rather lost.
“Oskar!”
His lover’s face lights up when he sees Max. “This is quite a crowd,” he says gruffly, looking more than a little uncomfortable.
“Yes, well, they’re all my parents’ friends,” Max says dismissively. “I don’t even know most of them. To be honest, this is really more my parents’ party than mine. Come and have some wine.”
He gets a glass for Oskar, who gives him a mischievous smile and raises it in a little toast. “Happy birthday, sweet boy,” he says softly.
“Thank you.” Max grins. “I’m so glad you’re here, Oskar. It’s been intolerable.” He can see his mother eyeing him from across the room, probably wondering – correctly, as it turns out – if her son is going to spend the rest of the evening focused on Oskar and ignoring everyone else.
“This really isn’t my kind of thing at all,” he says. “I told my parents I didn’t want a party, but they went ahead anyhow.”
“It isn’t my kind of thing either, frankly,” Oskar says. “I really don’t feel I belong here, among these people.”
“Don’t say that!” Max wishes he could give his lover a hug. Better still, he wishes he could abandon the party and take Oskar upstairs. “You belong more than they do, as far as I’m concerned.”
Violin music starts up in the sitting room and Max rolls his eyes. “Here we go. If we must have music, I wish it could be something I actually enjoy listening to instead of this scratchy fiddling.”
He’s trying to make Oskar laugh, and he succeeds, much to his gratification.
“Poor Max! Is there anything at all about this party you like?”
Max smiles at him. “Having you here, of course,” he says, and looks around at the sea of men and women talking and laughing and drinking. Now he’s made his entrance and been introduced, no one is taking any notice of him anymore. And that suits him fine. He hates being the center of attention.
“Are you hungry?” he asks Oskar. “There’s some refreshments laid out in the dining room.”
Oskar’s dark eyes kindle at the mention of food, and Max can hardly resist taking him by the arm and leading the way. “I thought that would please you,” he teases. He hands Oskar a plate and ushers him into the lineup in front of the table, which at this early stage of the evening is still quite short.
“Aren’t you having anything?” Oskar says, surveying the spread with a keen eye. Max’s mother and the Liebermann cook have gone all out, and the table is laden with a range of traditional cakes, pastries, rolls and biscuits, along with cheeses, cold meats and fruit.
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Are you ever?” Oskar reaches for a second plate and hands it to him. “Please eat something. This all looks so good.”
Max sighs and gets into line behind his lover, who is already loading his plate. Max helps himself to a slice of chocolate cake, some cheese and grapes, and they take their food back out into the hall. Chairs have been arranged around the perimeter of the space, and they choose a quiet corner to sit in.
They haven’t been there more than a few minutes when Max sees a young woman coming towards them. She’s small and slight, with light brown hair and hazel eyes, and a tentative smile on her lips.
“Max?” she says hesitantly, coming up to them.
“Yes, I’m Max.” He regards her coolly, brows raised, a forkful of cake raised partway to his mouth.
“Happy birthday.” Her smile falters a little. “You don’t recognize me, do you? I’m Rosalind Spitzer.”
Max puts his fork back on his plate. “Oh…hello.”
He casts his mind back a dozen or so years, when he was in his early teens and the girl in front of him a gawky child of ten or eleven. They were at a wedding back in England and Rosalind spent the whole day following him around and trying to get him to play with her. She was obviously smitten by him, and he remembers being embarrassed by her attention, regarding her as a silly little girl who was unworthy of his notice. Max feels himself blushing at the memory.
“It’s good to see you again,” he says lamely. As always, when pushed into conversation with someone he’s not entirely comfortable with, he can’t think of anything intelligent to say. He gestures at Oskar, who is eating his dinner with every sign of enjoyment, and watching the exchange with a droll twinkle in his eye.
“This is my friend, Oskar Rheinhardt,” he says, wanting to distract the girl’s attention away from himself. She’s looking at him in almost the same way she did twelve years ago, with a combination of admiration and bashfulness, and it’s making him uneasy. “Oskar is a police inspector,” he adds. “We work together sometimes.”
“Nice to meet you, Inspector.” Rosalind nods at Oskar but doesn’t extend her hand to him. Max hopes it’s just because Oskar’s hands are occupied with his plate, and not because she thinks he’s beneath her.
“And you, Fraulein,” Oskar says, with gruff courtesy. “I take it you and Max are old acquaintances?”
“From many years back, yes,” the young woman says. “Our families have been friends since we were children. We recently moved to Vienna from England, so we may be seeing a lot more of each other.” She gives Max a shy smile which he returns only vaguely.
He doesn’t want to be rude to the girl, but he also doesn’t want to encourage her. It doesn’t appear as if she’s going to throw herself at him, the way he feared, but it’s nevertheless obvious she’s interested in him. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes over-bright, her lips parted as if in expectation. No doubt both her parents and his own have nurtured that interest since his break-up with Clara, although once his own mother and father learned about their son’s sexual inclinations, they surely would have backed off from promoting a match between them. He doesn’t know for sure, though. Perhaps they’re clinging to some faint hope that Max will marry anyhow, someday, just to maintain appearances. But it’s not going to happen, so it’s best to make it clear to Rosalind he’s not interested.
“So what are you doing these days, Max?” Rosalind asks. “Papa says you’re a doctor of the mind, and you have your own practice now.”
“That’s right,” Max says. “But I’m just getting started. It’s going to take a while to build up a clientele.” He doesn’t want her thinking he’s in any position to support a wife.
To his dismay, she sits down next to him, her eyes fixed on his profile. “It’s really nice to see you again after so long, Max. You’ve changed so much since I last saw you that I almost didn’t recognize you either. It was your mother who pointed you out to me.”
Thanks, Mama,Max thinks darkly.
“You’re so tall and slender now, and your hair’s darker,” Rosalind says admiringly. “And what happened to those freckles you used to have?”
Max is aware of Oskar’s growing amusement, but he pretends not to notice.
“I don’t remember having freckles,” he says stiffly, even though he does. Thank goodness they’re barely visible anymore, now he’s a grown man, although he can still faintly see them in certain lights, dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
Rosalind giggles. “I always thought you were such a handsome boy,” she says. “And you still are, now you’re grown up. Very good-looking.”
She probably thinks she’s flattering him, but he’s starting to feel cornered and just wishes she’d go away and leave him alone.
“Thank you,” is all he says. She’s most likely expecting him to say something similar about her, but he can’t. She’s not unattractive, of course – some men would surely find her beautiful – but Max isn’t one of them.
“You’re still as ineloquent as ever, I see,” Rosalind points out. “That hasn’t changed.”
“Yes, well, I’m not good at conversation,” Max says. “I never have been. I’m sorry, but it’s just the way I am.”
He can feel Rosalind watching him, then she sighs and gets up, much to his relief. “I’d better find my parents. Maybe we’ll see each other again soon?” She sounds wistful and Max makes himself stand up and give her his hand.
“Perhaps,” he says, forcing a smile.
She gazes up at him longingly. “Are you with anyone at the moment, Max?” she asks, sounding slightly breathless. “I heard you were engaged to Clara Weiss at one point.”
“Yes, for a while,” Max says carefully. “And I am with someone at the moment, Rosalind, although it’s not official.” Which is perfectly true. It’ll never be official because the someone is a man and not a woman.
Rosalind looks so disappointed he almost feels sorry for her.
“I see,” she says, and gently pulls her hand from his. “Well…good evening, then.”
“Good evening.” Max watches her walk away and then sits beside Oskar with a sigh.
“Sometimes I wish I was ugly,” he announces.
Oskar laughs. “What a strange thing to say.”
“Well, at least then I wouldn’t have women pestering me all the time,” Max says irritably. “Even some of my female patients are at it, and it doesn’t seem to matter how old they are either. One is over sixty. It can be very embarrassing.”
“Well, if that’s your worst problem, Max, you’re a lucky fellow.” Oskar’s grin fades as his gaze moves past Max and into the crowd. “Is that Strasser? What the hell is he doing here?”
Max looks and sees the Chief of Police with a woman he assumes is his wife, talking to another couple.
Max shrugs. “Well, he is a friend of my father’s, Oskar. And I told you that this is more my parents’ party than mine. If it was mine, you’d be the only one here. I’d much prefer it that way, but apparently I don’t have any say in the matter, even though it’s my birthday.”
“I’d rather he didn’t see me,” Oskar says, getting up. He looks put out. “We had words this afternoon, about von Bulow.”
“What’s von Bulow done now?” Max asks.
“I’ll tell you later,” Oskar growls. He puts his plate down on the chair and takes out his handkerchief, wiping his brow. “It’s getting warm in here.”
“Too many bodies,” Max agrees. “Why don’t we go out in the garden for a bit of fresh air?”
Oskar looks relieved. “I’d like that.”
Max leads him into the sitting room, which is full of people listening to the violinist, including his parents.
His mother, seated in an armchair, reaches out to take Max’s hand as he walks towards the French windows with Oskar.
“Darling, where are you going?”
“Just outside for a few minutes, Mama. Oskar and I need some air.”
She looks disapproving. “Well, don’t be long. It’s not polite to leave your guests.”
“They’re your guests,” Max says curtly. “I’m sure no one will notice.”
His mother is frowning. “But it’s your birthday party.”
“Is it? You could have fooled me.” His mother, distracted by some woman leaning over to talk to her, doesn’t hear him, which is probably just as well.
“You must think I’m very ungrateful,” he says to Oskar, as they step out into the cool darkness of the garden. He closes the French doors firmly behind him and takes Oskar along one of the paths to a bench, where they sit down together.
“Well, I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Oskar says. He takes his tin of coffee beans out of his pocket and pops one in his mouth. “But your parents need to consider their standing in the city, I suppose.”
Max snorts but says nothing. The fresh night air feels good and he takes a few deep breaths. It’s May, the most beautiful time of year, and the garden is fragrant with apple blossom. He reaches out to take Oskar’s hand and squeezes his fingers. They’re alone out here, in the dark, so there’s no one to see.
“I wish we could go someplace where we could be alone,” he says wistfully.
“So do I, sweet boy, but we can’t.” Oskar heaves a wistful sigh and strokes Max’s hand with his thumb. “Not tonight anyhow.”
Max glances over his shoulder at the house, and then shifts closer to Oskar, leaning over to kiss his bearded cheek. “I love you,” he whispers.
Oskar turns towards him, his eyes soft and dark. “I love you too.” He hesitates, then plants a kiss on Max’s lips, long and gentle and lingering. Max feels himself melt into it, his eyes blissfully closed, tasting the coffee on Oskar’s tongue.
“Uncle Max?”
They spring apart so violently that Max almost falls off the bench. He looks around to see his nephew Daniel standing in the shadows of a rhododendron bush. There’s someone with him, and Max realizes it’s a girl. It appears he and Oskar aren’t the only ones seeking some private time in the garden.
It’s too dark to see Daniel’s expression, but Max can sense his surprise and puzzlement. Did the boy see him and Oskar kissing, or did the darkness hide it? He hopes the hell it did. Either way, Daniel must be wondering why his uncle is out here alone with Inspector Rheinhardt, instead of someone like Amelia or Rosalind.
“Daniel, what are you doing?” he asks, trying to sound stern.
“My friend and I are just getting some air,” the boy says hurriedly, and Max knows he’s lying. “We weren’t doing anything, honest.”
“We didn’t know anyone else was out here,” the girl pipes up anxiously.
Daniel glances at her companion. “This is Katrina.” Max can hear the adoration in his nephew’s voice and he smiles in spite of himself.
“Good to meet you, Katrina.” His brain is whirring. “We were just getting some air, too. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Do you understand what I’m saying, Daniel?”
There’s a moment’s silence, then the boy says, “I understand, uncle. So you won’t tell Mama then?” His tone is pleading, almost desperate.
“I won’t,” Max says solemnly. “Your secret is safe with us – just as long as you don’t ever tell anyone what you saw here. Or what you thought you saw.”
“We promise we won’t – right, Katrina?” Daniel tugs at the girl’s hand and she murmurs an agreement. The two youngsters melt away into the darkness and Max turns to Oskar, who’s staring at him with his mouth open.
“My God,” Oskar says. “That was a close one. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you. I thought we were alone.”
“So did I.” Max realizes his heart is pounding. “Try not to worry, Oskar. I’m sure Daniel won’t say anything.”
“How can you be certain?” Oskar’s brows are crinkled with anxiety. “He’s just a boy. And that girl – we don’t know anything about her.”
“I know…but we’ll just have to hope they keep their word,” Max says flatly. “Daniel isn’t going to want me telling his mother he was making out with a girl in our garden. He’s only sixteen and Leah’s strict about that sort of thing. She’s very protective of her son.”
“Like mother, like daughter, eh?” Oskar says weakly.
“Yes, something like that.” Max sighs. “I suppose we’d better go back in before something else happens.”
It’s the last thing he wants to do, and he’s sure Oskar feels the same, but they re-enter the house and let themselves get swallowed up again by the lights and the music and the incessant chatter.
Someone’s playing the piano, not very well, and Max frowns. He’s a good player himself, but has no desire to draw attention to himself by doing so.
“Let’s go back to the hall,” he says to Oskar. “It’s less crowded there.”
Oskar is looking around with a frown, probably trying to figure out where Strasser has gone.
“Would you like more to eat?” Max asks him. “There’s plenty. Or perhaps some champagne?”
“Another piece of cake wouldn’t go amiss,” Oskar says, and they sidle past a cluster of chattering women into the dining room – only to come face to face with Director Strasser, who’s standing just inside the doorway with a plate in one hand and glass of wine in the other.
He looks surprised to see Oskar. “Rheinhardt,” he says, without enthusiasm. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Sir,” Oskar says stiffly, bowing his head slightly. It looks less like a gesture of deference and more like a bull lowering its horns in preparation for battle.
“I invited him, Herr Strasser,” Max says coolly. “He’s my friend as well as my colleague.”
The Chief of Police gives him a slight nod. “I hear congratulations are in order, Dr. Liebermann,” he says, ignoring Oskar, who’s standing stiffly by Max’s side, a frown creasing his brow, hands clenched.
“Your twenty-fifth birthday, I understand,” Strasser goes on, and looks Max up and down with a brief, chilly smile. “Still so young.” His tone is distinctly condescending.
“Yes,” Max says, nodding. “I suppose I must seem young to you.”
A faint spluttering sound comes from Oskar, who turns away to take a plate and cut himself a slice of cake.
Strasser regards Max with raised brows and cold blue eyes. The Chief of Police might be friends with his father, but he certainly doesn’t like Max much -- most likely because of his close association with Oskar, but probably also because of his intellect. He’s not the type of man who appreciates being overshadowed by anyone else, particularly a know-it-all psychologist who’s less than half his age.
“Well, enjoy your party, doctor,” the Chief of Police says coldly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rheinhardt.”
Oskar’s mouth is full of cake so he doesn’t answer. Strasser gives him a look and turns away, stalking from the dining room.
“Damn it.” Oskar swears, spraying crumbs. “Why does that man always make me feel six inches high?”
“Because you let him get under your skin,” Max says. “You’re a good detective, Oskar. Don’t let Strasser or von Bulow or anyone else make you think otherwise. They’re just jealous.”
Oskar raises his brows. “Jealous? You think that’s what it is?”
“In von Bulow’s case, certainly,” Max says confidently. “Anyone can see you’re twice the detective he is, and I’m sure he knows it. The trouble is, he’s better at ingratiating himself than you are.”
Oskar looks offended. “You think I should ingratiate myself to Strasser, be a boot-licker?”
“Of course not!” Max snaps. “But unfortunately, Strasser is the type of man who responds to that sort of thing so he’s going to come down on von Bulow’s side most of the time.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about it,” Oskar says sourly. “Have you made a psychological study of everyone at the police station?”
“No, but I understand how human nature works,” Max says coolly.
“You think you do, but it’s a lot more complicated than that.” Oskar is scowling, his face severe. “Not every interaction and relationship can be explained by a textbook.” He sounds almost derisive, and Max feels himself becoming offended too.
“I’m sorry,” he says flatly, half turning away. “I didn’t mean to annoy you. I was just trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not.” Oskar’s nostrils are flaring, a sure sign he’s displeased.
Max doesn’t really understand what Oskar is angry about. Clearly, something happened at work today that upset him, but if he isn’t going to tell Max what it was then there’s nothing he can do to help.
“Perhaps I should go,” Oskar says. “I have an early start tomorrow.”
Now Max is hurt, and averts his gaze. “WelI, I know you didn’t want to come in the first place. I’m sorry I forced you.”
“Oh Max, for God’s sake…you didn’t force me to do anything.” Oskar’s voice is rough. “All I meant was—”
“Max!”
It’s his father, and Max turns wearily to see him coming across the hall towards the dining room. He’s flushed and smiling.
“Come play the piano for us, son!”
Max’s heart sinks into his stomach. “I’d rather not, Papa,” he says. “Please. I’m talking to Oskar about something and—”
“Oh, don’t be so bashful.” His father throws an arm around his shoulders. “You’re a very talented player, and everyone wants to hear you.”
Max resists his father’s attempts to coax him out of the dining room.
“Papa, please! I’m not in the mood.”
His father’s face stiffens. “You haven’t been in the mood for anything this evening, it seems. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to play…it’s been a while and I’m rusty.”
“Nonsense! Come along – just one piece.” His father pulls at his arm.
Max casts a helpless glance over his shoulder, and is dismayed to discover Oskar has vanished. He must have slipped away while Max was arguing with his father.
Injured and disconsolate, Max gives in and follows his father into the sitting room. He’s greeted with smiles and applause, but with Oskar angry at him it just feels foolish and meaningless. He sits down stone-faced at the piano and tries to ignore the expectant faces ranged around him as he wracks his brain for something to play. He finally decides on a Chopin nocturne – not party music, by any stretch of the imagination, but it suits his melancholy state of mind.
At first, he thinks no one is listening – the room is still awash with conversation and laughter – but gradually, a hush descends and his playing fills up the silence. Max wasn’t lying when he said it’s been a while since he last played, but it comes back to him easily and he finds himself becoming absorbed in the melody, in the sight of his long fingers moving delicately over the keys.
He glances up from under his lashes and sees his parents sitting nearby, smiling proudly at him. His heart lifts a little…then lifts even more when he looks past them to see Oskar standing in the doorway of the sitting room, watching him intently, his dark eyes warm and gentle. He looks a little sad. Is it because he’s sorry they fought…or because he’s thinking, as his listens to the music, that here’s something else Max is better at than he is? Max hopes it’s the former. He doesn’t want his lover feeling inferior to him in any way.
He gives Oskar a hopeful little smile, trying to telegraph his thanks for not leaving, and is gratified when the older man responds.
When Max finishes the piece, everyone applauds and several people call for more. He starts to get up from the piano but his father puts a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.
Max glares at him. “You said one piece.”
“I know, son, but our guests would like to hear more.” His father pats his shoulder reassuringly. His expression is almost pleading. “My friend Herr Meyer was playing earlier, but he’s not very good, I’m afraid. Rather embarrassing, in fact. Please, Max…if only to keep him away from the piano.”
“But I need to talk to Oskar,” Max says feebly. “He has to leave soon, and—"
Suddenly, Director Strasser is at Max’s other shoulder. “Perhaps we could have some singing to accompany your exquisite playing, Dr. Liebermann,” he says smoothly, then raises his voice so it carries clearly across the room. “Rheinhardt! You have a good voice. Come sing for us.”
Everyone turns to look at Oskar, who stands frozen in place, a half-empty glass of champagne in his hand. He shoots a venomous look at Strasser, who just smiles coolly back.
“He sang at one of our station Christmas parties a few years ago, so I know he can carry a tune well,” the Chief of Police says to the room at large, using that same carrying voice.
Max can feel Oskar’s mortification as if it’s his own, and he gives his lover an apologetic glance. Oskar just goes on standing there, his face a grim mask, obviously trying to ignore the cries of encouragement coming from the other guests.
“I’m not in good voice,” he says at last. “I…I’m getting over a cold.”
“Nonsense,” says Strasser cheerfully. “You’re just being modest.”
Max knows perfectly well the man has no real interest in hearing Oskar sing – he’s just trying to embarrass him, put him on the spot. And it’s making Max angry.
“He doesn’t have to sing if he doesn’t want to,” he snaps at the Chief of Police. “Don’t pressure him.”
“Max!” his father says, looking appalled. “Don’t be so rude.”
Against his will, Oskar is being herded across the room towards the piano. Once he fetches up beside the instrument he stares helplessly at Max, who gives him a remorseful little shrug.
“I don’t know what to play,” Max squeaks, at the same time Oskar growls, “I don’t know what to sing.”
Max starts fumbling through the sheets of music in front of him, half wishing the piano would suddenly fall through the floor and take him and Oskar with it. Everyone is watching them expectantly, including Strasser, who still has that smug smile on his face. Max wants to punch him.
“I only know a few popular songs, and that’s about it,” Oskar is stammering, looking red and flustered. “They’re probably not appropriate for the present company.”
“And I only know how to play classical music,” Max adds. “Everything I have here is instrumental only. I don’t have anything for voice accompaniment.”
Perhaps if they can’t find anything they both know, the whole idea will be discarded. Or so Max hopes.
“Well, I’m sure if Inspector Rheinhardt starts to sing something, you’ll be able to pick out the melody on the piano, son,” his father says innocently. “You have a good ear for that sort of thing. You used to do it a lot as a child, remember? You could play a tune after only hearing it once.”
Max frowns at him. “Yes, but I’m not a child anymore, Papa – I probably can’t do that now.”
“Nonsense,” Strasser says again. Max is glad he doesn’t have a glass in his hand, because he’d probably end up dashing its contents in the Chief of Police’s face. “Anyone can hear you’re an extremely talented player, doctor. Come along, Rheinhardt, give us a song.”
There’s nothing for it. Everyone’s waiting to hear their music and there’s no way to get out of it unless they both make a break for it and run for the door.
Oskar gives Max another anguished glance and heaves a sigh that can probably be heard downstairs in the servants’ quarters. He clears his throat a couple of times, then starts to sing – tentatively at first, then with growing volume.
Max stares at him, his mouth falling open in astonishment. Oskar has a magnificent baritone that’s almost operatic in quality. His voice is rich and full, and pitch perfect. Max has always assumed his lover knew or cared nothing about music, but it’s very obvious he was wrong.
He doesn’t recognize the tune – it sounds like some kind of music hall song -- but his fingers start to pick out the notes Oskar is singing, almost as if they have lives of their own. Before long, he’s mastered the melody and is playing along with Oskar’s singing as if they’ve been doing this all their lives. It seems a few others in their audience know the tune, because other voices join in for the chorus.
When the song is over, applause washes over them and Max takes his hands off the keys and sits back with a deep breath. Oskar is red and perspiring, and wipes his forehead with his handkerchief before accepting a full glass of champagne from Max’s father.
“That was wonderful!” the elder Liebermann enthuses, eyes sparkling. “What a voice! Will you sing for us again?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Oskar says gruffly. “It’s getting late and I really must be going. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Oh, what a shame.” Herr Liebermann claps Oskar on the back. It’s becoming clear to Max that his father has had a bit too much to drink. “Perhaps another time then.”
“Perhaps,” Oskar says stiffly, and turns to Max. “I’m sorry, but it’s time I left,” he says and there’s a note of urgency in his tone that brings Max anxiously to his feet.
“I’ll see you out,” he says, ignoring the pleas for more music coming from the guests. He follows Oskar as he stalks rigidly into the hall, wondering bleakly if this will be the last time his lover ever agrees to come here.
“I’m so sorry, Oskar,” he says miserably. “You must be wishing you’d never come tonight.”
Oskar turns to face him. His colour is returning to normal, but there’s a guarded, pained look in his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Max,” he says impatiently. “Don’t look so upset. It was Strasser…I knew as soon as I saw him this evening he was going to cause trouble for me.”
“But why?” Max asks. “What on earth has happened?”
Oskar hesitates, then turns and walks towards the front door. Max follows him into the vestibule. “Oskar! Don’t go,” he pleads.
“I’m not going just yet.” Oskar stares past him into the hall. Now the music has ended, guests are starting to filter back out of the sitting room.
“I just don’t want anyone listening in,” Oskar says. “The fact is, von Bulow and I had a rather heated argument this afternoon about the best way to handle a case, and I called him an idiot in front of several constables. Of course he went bleating to Strasser about it, so I got pulled up on the carpet and told I need to learn to control my temper.”
Max raises his brows. Where Oskar is concerned, he suspects “heated argument” really means “blazing row”, but Max still doesn’t see why this is such a disaster.
“Well?” he says. “Von Bulow is an idiot. I’m sure even Strasser knows that. Why did that make him want to give you such a difficult time tonight?”
Oskar sighs. “Because I didn’t stop with ‘idiot’. I used some other choice words, and then proceeded to tell Strasser that he must either be blind or stupid if he can’t see that von Bulow is nothing more than a sycophant. As you can imagine, that didn’t go down well. Strasser basically said if I ever spoke to him again like that, I’d be relieved of my duty. So you can understand why I wasn’t too happy to see him here tonight – or he me. I knew he was going to do something to get back at me, which is why he coerced me into singing. He knows I don’t like being in the spotlight.”
Max gazes at his lover with concern. “I’m sorry,” he says disconsolately. “But Oskar….”
“Yes?”
Max isn’t sure he should say what he’s about to, but he can’t hold it back. He steps closer and gazes adoringly into Oskar’s dark, sad eyes. “You have a very beautiful singing voice,” he says earnestly. “I had absolutely no idea you were so gifted.”
A smile appears on Oskar’s lips and his face warms. “Likewise. I had no idea you could play the piano as well as you do. You could be a professional musician if you wanted.”
“And so could you!” Max grins, suddenly excited. “We should play and sing together more – not in front of an audience, of course, but just in each other’s company. Don’t you think that would be wonderful? We could learn new pieces together and—”
“I don’t think so, Max.” Oskar’s smile has faded away.
Max stares at him in disappointed silence. “But why not?”
It seems as if Oskar isn’t going to answer at first. An expression of pain moves across his face like a shadow, then he says: “Before tonight, Max, I haven’t sung since Mitzi died. I sang a lot when she was alive – she loved to hear me. And when she got old enough, she’d sing along with me.” He pauses, his breathing ragged. “Even as a small child she had a lovely voice…pure as a bell. She probably would have become a brilliant vocalist when she grew up…but it wasn’t to be. And when she died…well it was as if my music died along with her. I just didn’t want to sing anymore. I couldn’t.”
Max longs to take his lover in his arms and comfort him. “Oh, Oskar…you must have been distraught when Strasser made you sing in there.” He widens his eyes as a horrible thought strikes him. “He didn’t know, I hope. He didn’t know the reason you stopped singing was because of your daughter? If he did, and he made you do it anyhow, in front of all these people – well, I’m going back in there right now to tell him exactly what I think of him.” Max’s feels his face burning with rage and indignation.
Oskar chuckles, seemingly both moved and amused by Max’s ire on his behalf.
“Don’t worry, my sweet boy, he had no idea,” he says gently. “I’ve never told anyone apart from Else – and now you.”
Max relaxes a little. “Well, I can understand your reluctance to sing again, but I have to admit I hope you change your mind sometime,” he says. “It’s a shame to let your talent go to waste.”
“Says the man who never once told me he could have been a concert pianist,” Oskar says with a wry grin.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Max cocks his head. “But fair enough. And I don’t really have an excuse not to play, apart from the fact I don’t like being the center of attention.” He gazes at Oskar longingly. “Do you really have to go? I was hoping you could stay until after everyone else left, so we could have some time together – just you and me.”
Oskar’s smile is gentle, wistful. “It’s very tempting, Max, but how long will it be before everyone leaves? They seem to have settled in for the night.”
They turn to look back into the hall, where Anna is once more circulating with a tray of drinks. Several people are sitting down with plates of food, and clusters of guests are engaged in lively conversation. Max sees Leah with a group of her friends, talking and laughing; she’s always been better at socializing than her younger brother. There’s no sign anyone is thinking about leaving any time soon.
Max sighs. “Well, it’s only nine o’clock. Will you at least stay another half hour or so? We could go sit somewhere away from all these people, and talk, or maybe play chess or cards or something. There won’t be anyone upstairs – we could go to my room.”
Oskar looks uncertain. “Won’t your guests wonder if they see the two of us going upstairs alone together? And it’s supposed to be your party – you can’t just abandon your guests and give me priority over everyone else.”
“Why not?” Max says irritably. “No one except my parents will care. I hardly know anyone here…and those I do know, like Clara, I really don’t want to talk to.” He hesitates, thinking. “We have an extra study just off the drawing room. More like a reading room, actually. It’s small but no one will be in there, I’m sure. Come on.” He gives Oskar his most charming smile. “Please? Just for a while?”
Oskar heaves a great sigh, and shakes his head. “Oh, all right. I can never resist you. But we’ll have to keep our hands off each other, just in case someone does come in. I don’t want a repeat performance of what happened in the garden.”
The room Max takes his lover to is only large enough to hold a desk, two chairs, and a reading lamp. Unfortunately, it appears his mother and Anna have commandeered the space for use as a cloakroom this evening. A mountain of coats, wraps, scarves and hats is heaped on the desk.
“Seems we can’t get away from the party even in here,” Max grumbles. He starts to clear the clothing off the desk, and piles it on the windowseat.
He’s only half finished when the latch on the window suddenly gives way and half a dozen coats and hats tumble outside and disappear from sight.
“Shit!” Max exclaims.
“For God’s sake, what have you done now?” Oskar sounds both exasperated and amused.
“Why wasn’t this window locked?” Max grouses. “It should have been locked!” He leans out into the night and can just see the coats festooning his mother’s rose bushes several yards beneath the window. Someone’s bowler has been caught by a rising wind and is starting to roll across the lawn.
“I’ll have to climb out and get them,” he says.
Oskar joins him at the window. “Wouldn’t it be easier to walk around from the door?”
“I don’t want to be seen going through the house with an armful of other people’s coats,” Max says briskly. He clambers awkwardly up on the windowseat and straddles the sill.
“Be careful,” Oskar cautions him gruffly. “Don’t fall and hurt yourself.”
“It’s only a few yards…but hang onto my arms just in case.”
Max slithers feet first out the window with Oskar grasping his arms and muttering something that sounds like “this is stupid.”
Max’s flailing feet come into contact with the tops of the rose bushes and he tells Oskar to let go so he can drop to the ground. He ends up landing on his backside in the bushes, swearing as rose thorns poke through his trousers and scratch him.
“Are you all right?” Oskar’s head is silhouetted against the light from the window.
“I’m fine.” Max scrambles to his feet and starts retrieving the scattered clothing, pushing it back through the window at Oskar. A woman’s scarf – possibly Clara’s -- snags on the thorns and rips, and he must have knocked a man’s coat into the dirt when he fell in the bushes, because it comes up damp and smeared with earth.
“This is Strasser’s!” Oskar exclaims as he takes the coat. “Look at the mess you’ve made of it.” There’s a gloating note in his voice, as if he’s trying not to laugh.
“Well, serves him right.” Max runs after the errant hat, which is on its way down the garden path, no doubt gathering an unsightly collection of dirt and moss stains as it goes. As soon as he picks it up, he realizes it’s Oskar’s. He can’t help grinning as he returns to the window with it.
“Your hat,” he says solemnly, handing it up to his lover.
“Max!” Oskar glares down at him. “If you’ve ruined it….”
“It’s not ruined.” Max hooks his fingers over the windowsill. “Help me up,” he commands.
Sighing gustily, Oskar leans over and takes him by the wrists as Max scrabbles with his boots against the wall and climbs back in through the window.
“What on earth are you doing?” comes a strident voice.
Startled, Oskar lets go of Max, and they both overbalance and tumble off the windowseat onto the floor, amid a jumble of damp and crumpled coats.
Oskar lets loose a string of colorful curse words as he clambers red-faced to his feet. “Sorry, Fraulein” he mutters.
Max, still on the floor, looks up through his fallen forelock to see Leah standing in the doorway, hands on hips.
“What are you two up to?” she demands, looking shocked. “What have you done? And what’s happened to Clara’s scarf?” She picks up the torn and grubby scarf and holds it sternly out towards Max, who grins back at her sheepishly.
“Sorry, Leah. It was an accident. I was moving the coats off the desk into the window and the latch gave way. I thought it was locked,” he adds accusingly.
“What are you even doing in here?” Leah asks. Max thinks he sees a glimmer of laughter in her bright blue eyes, although he could be mistaken.
“Trying to find a place where we could have some peace and quiet.” Max gets to his feet and helps Oskar pick up the scattered clothing, piling it back on the desk. He finds himself holding a cluster of feathers that must have come detached from some woman’s hat. Vindictively, Max half hopes it’s Clara’s.
“We were just going to have a game of chess or something, away from all the noise,” he goes on. “I didn’t know this was the cloakroom for tonight.”
“I’m sorry, Fraulein,” Oskar is saying, still looking red and flustered. “But you know what your brother is like.”
Max gives him a look. Thanks for sticking up for me, he thinks darkly. Oskar just gives him an apologetic little shrug, dark eyes twinkling.
“Max, you’re the most aggravating person I know,” Leah scolds. “If you wanted to play chess, you could just sit in the drawing room – it’s not being used much tonight. Why hide away in here? People will talk.”
“Let them,” Max snaps, pushing his hair back. “Oh, never mind.” He shoves past Leah and Oskar and stalks out the door. “Sorry for another stupid idea, Oskar. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to leave now.”
“Oh Max, don’t be so silly.” Oskar follows him, leaving Leah to shut and lock the window in the reading room. He seems to be holding back laughter again and Max is annoyed.
“What are you grinning at?”
“I’m not grinning.”
“Yes, you are. You think I’m a child.” Max casts a resentful glace at his sister. “You both do.”
Oskar sighs. “I think you’re had a bit too much to drink.”
“So now I can’t hold my alcohol.” On some level, Max knows he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t seem to help himself.
To his chagrin, Oskar bursts out laughing – not unkindly, though, and Max feels himself relent a little.
“If it’s any consolation, sweet boy, I’ve had too much to drink too.” Oskar takes Max by the arm and leads him to a sofa where they sit down together. “Maybe we need that game of chess, after all, to help us sober up a little. And then, I really will have to go.”
Leah emerges from the reading room, shaking her head. “I don’t know how we’re going to explain the damages to our guests’ things,” she says sharply. “They’re going to think we’re terribly careless.”
“Well, if it’s that much of a disaster, Leah, I’ll tell them it’s my fault, and offer to pay for it,” Max says impatiently. “It’s not the end of the world. Go back to your friends and forget about it.”
Leah sighs and crosses to the sofa, leaning over the back and kissing the top of her brother’s head. “What will we do with you, Maxim?”
“I have no idea,” Max says, though with less rancour than before. “I sometimes wonder myself.”
She pats him on the shoulder and leaves him and Oskar alone, pulling the drawing room door to behind her.
“I’m sorry, Oskar,” Max says, giving his lover a sidelong glance. “I don’t mean to be difficult.”
“You’re not being difficult,” Oskar says gruffly. “This party is stressing you, that’s all.”
“That one way of putting it,” Max says darkly. “No doubt I’ll get raked over the coals tomorrow at breakfast for being so churlish and unappreciative.”
Max can feel Oskar watching him with concern. “How about we meet for lunch tomorrow?” he suggests. “It’ll give us both something to look forward to, along with a chance to talk more than we’ve been able to tonight.”
Max brightens instantly and flashes Oskar a grateful smile, touched. “I’d like that. I have a patient in the morning, but I’ll be finished well before noon. We could try that new restaurant you wanted to visit.”
Feeling better, Max fetches the chess set while Oskar moves a table between two armchairs.
“Don’t let me win this time,” Oskar warns him.
“I won’t.” Max gives him a wry smile. “I don’t want you angry with me again. Just don’t get upset if I win the game within five minutes.”
Oskar gives him a sardonic look, brows raised. “You really think you’re that good, do you?”
Max smiles. “I can’t help it if I’m a prodigy,” he says innocently.
Oskar just snorts and makes the first move, having chosen to play white this time.
As it turns out, Oskar is a worthy opponent, and Max has to work harder than he normally does to stay on top of the game and anticipate his lover’s moves. He enjoys the challenge, though – it’s refreshing. Because they’re both playing so well, the game goes on a lot longer than Oskar probably wanted it to, and it’s almost eleven by the time Max finally checkmates his partner.
“So…you were going to win the game within five minutes, were you?” Oskar asks, sitting back with a self-satisfied smile.
Max tilts his head, pleased. “Well, that’s usually what happens,” he says. “It makes a nice change to play someone who’s almost as good as I am.”
Oskar laughs. “You’re a conceited little sod, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” Max starts to put the pieces back in their box and Oskar leans forward to help him.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimes the hour and Max can’t help feeling guilty. “Sorry -- you probably wanted to leave long before this.”
“Well, it was extra time in your company, so I can’t complain,” Oskar says gently. “But we both have to get up early tomorrow, so yes – it’s time I was on my way.”
Max sighs. He feels a poignant wave of sadness, as he always does when he and Oskar have to part.
“I wish you could stay, my dear,” he says wistfully. “Or I could come back to your place for the night.”
“I wish that too, my little love, but we both know we probably wouldn’t get much sleep.” Oskar stands up and stretches. “And I’m tired, if I’m honest.”
Max nods. “Me too, actually.” He glances at the drawing room door to make sure no one is outside, then takes Oskar by the arms and kisses him, quickly and lightly. He fetches Oskar’s coat and hat and leads him back into the hall and to the front door.
It appears some of the other guests are thinking about leaving too, thank goodness, although Max isn’t looking forward to having to say goodbye to them all, while apologizing to those whose coats or hats he damaged. His parents are going to be mortified when they see Clara’s scarf and Strasser’s coat, and learn their son was responsible.
Max accompanies Oskar down the steps outside, and they give each other a stealthy embrace in the dark before saying good night. Max watches until Oskar is safely aboard a cab, then sighs and goes back inside.
He encounters a tense little tableau just inside the door, consisting of Strasser, his mother, and Anna. The Chief of Police, icy-faced, is holding up his dirt-smeared coat, while Max’s mother rebukes the maid, who’s standing there looking confused and upset.
Max braces himself and joins them. “It wasn’t Anna’s fault, Mama,” he interrupts her. “It was mine. Sorry.”
His mother and Strasser both turn to stare at him, perplexed and angry. Anna seems on the verge of tears.
“What do you mean?” his mother asks coldly. “What have you done?”
Max sighs and explains the situation, although he leaves Oskar out of it for the time being. He doesn’t want Strasser giving his lover a hard time again tomorrow.
“Max, for heaven’s sake!” his mother scolds. “How could you be so careless? Look at the mud on Director Strasser’s coat.”
“I’ll pay the cleaning bill,” Max says coolly, looking the Chief of Police in the eye. “I apologize for the mess, Herr Strasser. It was an accident, and I’m sorry.”
“Indeed,” is all the man says, looking Max up and down with disdain. “Very well then. I bid you goodnight.” He nods stiffly at Max and his mother and stalks out with his wife.
Rachel Liebermann, clearly livid, turns on her son as Anna melts away to fetch more coats.
“What’s got into you, Max?” she demands. There are two spots of angry colour on her cheeks. “First of all, you don’t come downstairs to greet our guests when they arrive, then when Inspector Rheinhardt turns up you keep disappearing with him and ignoring everyone else. You were rude to Clara and Rosalind, and then you damage our guests’ belongings. Your father went to a lot of expense to give you this party – we worked hard to make it a special evening for you -- and this is how you behave. I’m ashamed of you, I really am. Goodness knows what everyone is going to be saying about us after tonight.”
Max’s anger rises to meet hers and his face burns with indignation. “Well, Mama, as you’ll recall, I was against having a party from the start, but you didn’t pay any attention to me,” he snaps. “Let’s face it – you didn’t do this for me. You did it for yourselves, to impress your friends and associates. And I was not rude to either Clara or Rosalind. Quite frankly, Clara was the one who was rude, not me. And I was perfectly civil to Rosalind, but I had to make it clear I’m not interested in her – as you must have known I would -- so if she took me the wrong way that’s her problem and not mine.”
His mother sighs and shakes her head, apparently at a loss for words. “Sometimes I wish….” She breaks off and averts her gaze.
“What?” Max glares at her. “You wish what? That I was normal? That I was the model son you always wanted?”
“Max, don’t talk like that!” Now his mother looks shocked, although he has the distinct feeling he’s right, that this is indeed what she wishes for. A perfect, gentlemanly son who would obediently marry the girl they chose for him, give them grandchildren, and live happily ever after.
“You’ve had too much to drink, I can tell,” his mother is saying. She reaches out to touch his arm but he pulls away.
“I think I’ll go up to bed,” he says icily.
“Not yet, you can’t.” Her voice is brisk. “I want you to stay here and say goodbye and thank you to our guests at they leave. You’ll need to apologize to those whose coats you ruined, and offer to pay for any damages. Then you can go up to bed.”
“You’re talking to me as if I’m twelve,” Max protests.
“That’s because it’s how you’re acting,” his mother shoots back. “Now will you please just behave and do as you’re told for once.”
By the time everyone has left, and Max is through with all his “goodbyes”, “thank yous” and “I’m sorrys”, he’s absolutely exhausted, and more than a little depressed. As he trudges upstairs and shuts himself in his room, he can’t help thinking about his parents’ reaction when they learned of his sexual inclinations, the fact that he’s more attracted to men – specifically Oskar – than to women. Despite the fact his mother and father appear to have accepted him for who he is, at least on the surface, he knows deep down they’re disappointed, dismayed and confused. He doesn’t question the fact they love him, but in his darker moments, he can’t help wondering if that love is still as intense and unwavering as it was before they found out he was in love with Oskar instead of Clara.
Sensing that he’s letting himself get too despondent, Max goes into the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, then starts to get ready for bed. As he unbuttons his trousers, he feels something in his left pocket. He pulls out a small package rather inexpertly wrapped in tissue paper.
What’s this?
Intrigued and puzzled, he carefully opens the package and finds a tiny wooden box inside. It’s exquisitely made, the lid intricately carved with a spreading tree. Mystified, Max opens the box and sees the underside of the lid has been engraved with something. It’s hard to read because the letters are so small, but he crosses to his desk, turns on a lamp and picks up a magnifying glass.
The inscription says: “Happy Birthday, my sweet boy – Love always, O.R.”
Max smiles, his eyes filling with tears. Where a moment before he felt sad, forlorn and unsure, his heart is now swelling with joy. Oskar must have slipped this into his pocket when they hugged outside the door, just before he left to go home.
Max sits on the edge of the bed with the tiny box nestled lovingly in his palm. It’s unlike his gruff, straightforward lover to make such a romantic gesture, and Max is deeply touched.
It doesn’t matter what my parents think. It doesn’t even matter if they don’t love me as much as they used to. Oskar loves me – and that makes up for everything else.
Up until now, Max hasn’t enjoyed his twenty-fifth birthday much. But suddenly, it’s become the best birthday ever.