Palm Sunday

The gentle chime of church bells drew Maria from her contented sleep as she woke up to find the first streaks of dawn lightening the room. Stretching across for Georg, she blinked fully awake when her arm landed on the crumpled sheet where his warm chest should have been. Sighing at his absence, Maria realised that the faint tinkle of water permeating the room came not only from the canal but the hotel's connecting bathroom.

Rolling over, she idly contemplated joining her husband beneath the shower's warm cascade when Georg strode through the doorway, his hair sprinkled with little droplets of water, his mouth forming a typical half-smile as he saw her sit up in bed.

'I see you've woken up Baroness,' he murmured, entranced by how exquisite she appeared surrounded by the mass of downy blankets in the large four-poster.

'Yes, Captain, I have,' she whispered as he moved closer, 'only to find myself completely abandoned in this huge bed.'

'Well, I'm sure that's a situation that can easily be remedied,' he said lowly, his hands caressing her shoulders as she reached up to touch his face.

'And would you be so kind as to administer that remedy, Captain?'

'With pleasure, Fräulein,' he said with a grin, leaning down to bring his lips to hers. He chuckled as he heard her moan, her fingers slipping underneath his bathrobe.

'I love you,' she breathed, caressing his strong shoulder blades underneath the fluffy material.

Touched that she had sacrificed witticism for emotion, he stroked her hair tenderly, a fresh deluge of adoration sweeping through his veins.

'Maria…you'll never know…just how much I love you,' he whispered between kisses, gently guiding her towards the pillows as they exchanged morning 'greetings'.

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'And so we have here a spectacular series of twelfth century Byzantine mosaics, completed to the highest perfection to endow this ancient basilica. Note, please, ladies and gentlemen, the hieratic style of Byzantine decoration, the static, solemn figures and the stiff drapery, a theme which inspired Italian artists throughout the Middle Ages…,' the moustached guide explained, a crowd of restless tourists surrounding him.

Despite his love of art, Georg had to admit the man was bieng more than a little tedious, a fact demonstrated by Kurt's repeated shuffling from foot to foot and Friedrich's fiddling with his watch strap. Only Brigitta appeared completely entranced, frequently comparing something the guide had mentioned with her weighty guide book.

Maria, holding Gretl and Marta's hands, was almost as fascinated as Brigitta by the fine mosaics and wished that the Reverend Mother could be there to see them. Although married to Georg for three months, she looked back on her time at Nonnberg with affection, knowing that the wisdom the nuns had endowed her with would be of perennial value. And, of course, without the Reverend Mother she would have been too frightened to return after the ball, a thought which still had the capacity to make her tremble.

As these reflections floated through Maria's mind, she could glimpse Georg staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Patting their heads gently, she entrusted Liesl with Marta and Gretl – still clutching their palms from Mass that morning – and walked to stand beside her husband at the back of the crowd.

'I've never seen such beautiful mosaics, not even at Nonnberg,' she whispered, sliding her hand to rest in the crook of his arm.

'Mmm,' he replied distractedly, focusing not on the artwork but on a shaft of crimson light from the stained glass window which bathed Maria in a warm glow. 'Our guide is very, uh, detailed in his description, don't you think?'

'A little too detailed for Louisa and Friedrich it would seem,' she replied, motioning towards the siblings who were furtively engaging in a game of rock-paper-scissors, Louisa smiling with glee as she cut Friedrich's outstretched 'paper' with her 'scissors'.

'Yes, you're right' Georg concurred, raising his eyebrows slightly towards the pair, who immediately stopped playing, exchanging sheepish grins with their parents.

'So now, meinen Damen und Herren, would you please follow me outside where we will examine the Doge's Palace, a truly remarkable building in Italian Gothic with some early Renaissance elements,' the guide instructed, leading the group from the dusty church into the blinding spring sunshine of St. Mark's Square.

'Oh, Mother, that was the most beautiful church I've ever seen,' exclaimed Brigitta enthusiastically, slipping her hand into Maria's as they walked through the dim collonades surrounding the bustling piazza.

'I'm glad you liked it, Brigitta,' said Maria with a smile as the dark-haired girl bobbed at her waist level. 'Did you prefer the Byzantine mosaics or the stained glass windows?'

'Oh, she loved all of it, of course,' interjected Louisa. 'You could hardly tear your eyes away from that guide book, could you?' she teased her younger sister.

'Unlike some people who seemed to find other ways to amuse themselves,' inserted Georg pointedly, exchanging a quick smile with Maria as Brigitta attempted to defend Venetian art.

'Yes, but Father, he was going on and on,' interrupted Friedrich indignantly, 'even you must have been bored. And,' he added smugly, 'the game gave me an opportunity to beat Louisa five-four'.

'It was a draw and you know it,' retorted his sister, elbowing him in the ribs while Maria motioned for them to be quiet as the guide resumed his lecture.

'Rematch this afternoon,' muttered Louisa huffily as Brigitta busied herself finding the relevant page in her guide book.

'Prepare to be beaten all over again,' whispered Friedrich with an aggravating smile, dutifully turning towards the guide as Georg put a warning finger to his lips.

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'Mmm…a momentous decision is before us, Baroness,' said Georg, weighing up the two Easter eggs in his hands. 'Should we buy Marta the one with pink bows, which we know she likes, or the bunny shaped one with only blue bows?' He stroked his chin in mock-contemplation.

'Definitely the pink one,' said Maria, replacing the blue bunny firmly on the shelf. 'Pink's her favourite colour and, besides, the blue one is dark chocolate which she doesn't like.'

'My thoughts exactly,' replied Georg with a seriousness that belied the mischievous glint in his eye, as he added the egg to their already overflowing shopping basket. There was something incredibly rewarding, he felt, about doing a simple thing like buy Easter eggs for their children. Tightening his arm around Maria as they approached the counter, he gave thanks once again for her presence in his life, a joy he would have believed impossible little over a year ago and which he now could not contemplate living without.

'Uh, Georg, we need to pay,' said Maria gently, jerking him out of his reverie.

'Yes, yes, of course,' he murmured, writing out a cheque for the pile of Easter eggs before of a slightly bemused shopkeeper, confounded as to why the couple were buying such copious amounts of chocolate.

Seeing the man's furrowed brow, Georg decided to put him out of his misery and called, 'seven children,' by way of explanation as he opened the patisserie door for Maria. And with a grin, he left the Venetian even more baffled, wondering how such a young woman could have produced seven offsping. It must have involved three sets of twins, he decided at last, pensively closing his cash register.

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'I suppose we'd better be getting back to the pensionne,' murmured Maria with a sigh as they stepped into the piazza, still bustling yet slightly less dazzling in the late afternoon light.

'Yes, I think Max has plans for the evening,' said Georg, pleased that his friend had managed to join them in Venice on account of some 'really quite promising' musical talent in the vicinity. His offer to look after the children for the afternoon was characterically generous and, Georg suspected from his wry grin, Max was also aware of the couple's need for some rare time alone.

Making towards a stone seat beside St. Mark's basilica, they sat down contentedly, Maria moulding herself into Georg's chest as they watched the colourful crowds pass by.

'Maria,' Georg murmured, his lips brushing her air, becoming increasingly entranced by the sweetness which seemed to emanate from her, 'I'd like to give you something.'

Turning around to face him, Maria reached up to tenderly brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. 'You've already given me so much', she whispered. 'You and the children.'

'I'll never be able to give you enough,' replied Georg lovingly, reaching into his gray jacket pocket to bring out a rectangular object, wrapped in white tissue paper.

Obediently taking it, Maria slowly undid the ribbon, her eyes never leaving his face.

'Go on,' he urged, eager to see her reaction.

Brushing aside the paper, Maria's eyes filled with tears as she beheld the wedding photograph. Surrounded by a gilded frame, the cheerful faces of her entire family were smiling beneath the glass, the children circled around her and Georg as they emerged from Nonnberg Abbey amidst a shower of confetti.

'I finally got it back from the photographer,' he explained, tightening his arms about her waist.

Unable to reply, she was so touched, Maria leaned in to kiss him. He responded with passion, cupping his hand around her neck as they found renewed joy in each other, oblivious to the smiles of passers-by. Gently breaking the kiss, Georg draped his arm around Maria's shoulders as they stared afresh at the photograph, Marta and Gretl as flower girls, Liesl the perfect bridesmaid, Kurt standing proudly beside his father…

'Georg, how can I ever thank you?' whispered Maria moments later, her gaze settling on her husband in full naval uniform, visor tucked under his arm, sword by his side.

'Oh, I can think of ways, darling,' he replied with a grin.

Elbowing him indignantly, she could not help giggling as they began to stroll towards the glimmering Grand Canal, their laughing figures sillouetted in the Venetian twilight.

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