Free Love and Triumph: The Coltrane Saga, Book 8 by Patricia Hagan Page A

breath, turned to look at her standing in the doorway of her eternally shadowed room.
    “Yes, Mother. As I told you earlier, they arrive today, and we’ll be back in time for tea this afternoon.”
    His gaze swept over her scornfully. She was still wearing her robe, a wretched, faded piece. “I thought you promised you would get dressed, let Elenore do your hair, air your room out, for God’s sake…” His voice rose irritably.
    “So help me, if I bring my fiancée back here to this…” His voice trailed off, and he waved his arms in a gesture of disgust.
    He could tell she had been drinking again, and he thought once more how her weakness and inability to face life only served to reaffirm his belief in socialism. Like so many others, his mother had to have the status of imperialism, and when it was lost, her life no longer had meaning.
    God help him if he should ever be so inferior.
    Amalia swayed slightly as she whined, “There are strangers in and out of my home all day. Who are they? They won’t talk to me when I ask them.”
    He smiled. “What strangers, Mother? The new maid? The new cook? The new butler? I’ve told you, but your memory isn’t so good these days. They’re friends of mine, doing me a favor so we can make a good impression on Marilee and her aunt, and you aren’t to bother them. They have their orders. They know what they’re to do. Just stay out of their way.”
    She lifted her chin indignantly. “It doesn’t seem right. You even ran Vincent off.”
    Because he was big and could prove formidable , Rudolf grimly reflected.
    Breezily, he said, “Oh, Vincent was ready to move on to another job. And you have Ulda,” he reminded her. Ulda had been Ilsa’s housekeeper, and she was old and harmless.
    He crossed to give his mother a patronizing kiss on her cheek, not wanting her riled today of all days. “Now remember what I told you, Mother. I love Marilee, and I want to marry her. I’m depending on you to help me make a good impression.”
    Amalia bit back the resentment and anger that were like raw bile burning in her throat, but could not resist the usual harsh reminder. “You promised your music would always come first. You take a wife, you can forget your dream…and mine.”
    “Mother, Mother, Mother! How many times do I have to tell you? Marilee will complement my career. With two good women behind me—my wife and my mother—how can I fail?”
    He hurried on his way, and Amalia grudgingly stared after him. She had already made up her mind she did not like this husband-hungry girl who was chasing her son, but she had no intention of losing Rudolf’s love, alienating him for all time. If Marilee Mikhailonov was what he wanted, then she would have to accept it, like it or not.
    She turned and went back into her room to pour herself another cup of vodka, which could help to ease the frustrations that seemed to consume her every waking hour these days.

Chapter Ten
    Rudolf took one last polishing swipe with his handkerchief across the gleaming red hood of the Fiat Zero. With a white top, lots of brass trim, and red spoke wheels, he decided it was impressive enough. No matter that it was probably stolen and also nearly three years old. He had neither asked questions nor criticized when Hanisch Lutzstein and the others had so proudly presented him with the Italian roadster. It was expected that he meet his guests at the train station in, supposedly, his own automobile. But he could not help wondering if his comrades would have gone to so much trouble if only Marilee were expected.
    He picked up the two bouquets of flowers lying on the black leather front seat. Red roses for Marilee, white for Frau Coltrane, provided by one of the Zealots who worked in a floral shop. There was also an expensive bottle of French perfume and a dainty gold bracelet—deftly shoplifted by Hanish’s wife, Gerda.
    “The train from Zug just pulled in,” Hanisch called as he came down the marble steps of the