“How can anyone eat all this?” Lara laughed.
“The Dutch have hearty appetites.”
Philip found it difficult to take his eyes off Lara. He found himself ridiculously pleased that she was there. He had been involved with more than his share of beautiful women, but Lara was like no one he had ever known. She was strong and yet very feminine and totally unselfconscious about her beauty. He liked her throaty, sexy voice. In fact, I like everything about her, Philip admitted to himself.
“Where do you go from here?” Lara was asking.
“Tomorrow I’ll be in Milan. Then Venice and Vienna, Paris and London, and finally New York.”
“It sounds so romantic.”
Philip laughed. “I’m not sure romantic is the word I would choose. We’re talking about iffy airline schedules, strange hotels, and eating out in restaurants every night. I don’t really mind because the act of playing is so wonderful. It’s the ‘say cheese’ syndrome that I hate.”
“What’s that?”
“Being put on exhibit all the time, smiling at people you care nothing about, living your life in a world of strangers.”
“I know what that’s like,” Lara said slowly.
As they were finishing supper, Philip said, “Look, I’m always keyed up after a concert. Would you care to take a ride on the canal?”
“I’d love to.”
They boarded a canalbus that cruised the Amstel. There was no moon, but the city was alive with thousands of sparkling lights. The canal trip was an enchantment. A loudspeaker poured out information in four languages:
“We are now passing centuries-old merchants’ houses with their richly decorated gables. Ahead are ancient church towers. There are twelve hundred bridges on the canals, all in the shade of magnificent avenues of elm trees…”
They passed the Smalste Huis—the narrowest house in Amsterdam—which was only as wide as the front door, and the Westerkerk with the crown of the Hapsburg emperor Maximilian, and they went under the wooden lift bridge over the Amstel and the Magere Brug—the skinny bridge—and passed scores of houseboats that served as home for hundreds of families.
“This is such a beautiful city,” Lara said.
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No.”
“And you’re here on business.”
Lara took a deep breath. “No.”
He looked at her puzzled. “I thought you said…”
“I came to Amsterdam to see you.”
He felt a sudden frisson of pleasure. “I…I’m very flattered.”
“And I have another confession to make. I told you I was interested in classical music. That’s not true.”
A smile touched the corner of Philip’s lips. “I know.”
Lara looked at him in surprise. “You know?”
“Professor Meyers is an old friend of mine,” he said gently. “He called to tell me that he was giving you a crash course on Philip Adler. He was concerned that you might have designs on me.”
Lara said softly, “He was right. Are you involved with anyone?”
“You mean seriously?”
Lara was suddenly embarrassed. “If you’re not interested, I’ll leave and…”
He took her hand in his. “Let’s get off at the next stop.”
When they arrived back at the hotel, there were a dozen messages from Howard Keller. Lara put them in her purse, unread. At this moment nothing else in her life seemed important.
“Your room or mine?” Philip asked lightly.
“Yours.”
There was a burning urgency in her.
It seemed to Lara that she had waited all her life for this moment. This was what she had been missing. She had found the stranger she was in love with. They reached Philip’s room, and there was an urgency in both of them. Philip took her in his arms and kissed her softly and tenderly, exploring, and Lara murmured, “Oh, my God,” and they began to undress each other.
The silence of the room was broken by a sudden clap of thunder outside. Slowly, gray clouds in the sky spread their skirts open, wider and wider, and soft rain began to fall. It started quietly and gently, caressing the warm air erotically, licking at the sides of buildings, sucking at the soft grass, kissing all the dark corners of the night. It was a hot rain, wanton and sensuous, sliding down slowly, slowly, until the tempo began to increase and it changed to a driving, pounding storm, fierce and demanding, an orgiastic beat in a steady, savage rhythm, plunging down harder and harder, moving faster and faster until it finally exploded in a burst of thunder. Suddenly, as quickly as it had started, it was over.