A/N: Thank you for your wonderful reviews, they are inspiring as usual. There is a long chapter ahead, waiting for you - I could not bring myself to split this one in two. Have fun with it!

For those of you who are still trying to find the new home of the old proboards forum on Facebook, the name of the group is "TSOM Fan Fiction" and everyone is welcome. I changed the settings, it is a closed group but you should be able to find it on a search. If not, please contact me:-)

Disclaimers: See chapter 1

ooooooo

The Sound of Music Chronicles

Part II

Interlude

Chapter 10

Scraps

ooooooo

"...a medley of scraps, half verse and half prose and some things not very like either, where wise folk and simple alike to combine, and you write your nonsense, that I may write mine."

From the website "The Scrap Album" – author unknown.

ooooooo

"There is no aphrodisiac like innocence."

Jean Baudrillard

ooooooo

Captain von Trapp would never expect that a mature man like himself would suddenly be overcome with adolescent urges. First, strange dreams that made him wake up with the desire to kiss an unknown woman who was not his late Agathe, the love of his life. And now this: the most incongruous, baffling, ridiculous curiosity about a pitiful governess.

What could a man do?

He had no clue, and yet it was something he was slowly getting used to. He could not help himself: she intrigued him.

Her antics drove him over the edge most of the times, but at the same time they were so… amusing! Her tomfooleries had already made him laugh in secret more times than he had laughed in the entire three years since his wife´s death. Sometimes he had barely been able to disguise his mirth from those around him. Yet, there were times when she was so infuriating, so irritating that he felt like climbing up the walls of his villa and it took a supreme effort of his part not to yell his head off at her. He was sure that all this was adding up to a few more wrinkles around his eyes, and a few more gray strands of hair in his head. Yes, the black sheep of Nonnberg would be the death of him, if he did not do something about it!

Naturally, he would never admit such feelings, would never voice those worries aloud - not to a soul! Admitting his near obsession/fascination with a mere governess to anyone would be nothing short of disgraceful. Admitting that he worried about her future happiness was insane. Admitting any of those things to himself would be… unthinkable.

Nevertheless, as dangerous and forbidden as it was, he allowed himself the strange pleasure of brooding about the children´s governess once in a while. Well, at least he was honest enough to admit that to himself, although there were other things he simply refused to acknowledge, not even under torture, particularly anything to do with a certain female form revealed by a wet dress… Other than that, he began to find his curiosity about the little Fräulein a pleasant distraction when Max and Elsa were not around to amuse him with their outrageous remarks and deliciously risqué innuendos. He saw no harm in giving free rein to any of that, so logically there should also be no harm in being charmed by the alluring little Fräulein.

"Intrigued," he reminded himself. "Yes, intrigued, entertained. Fascinated? – Not even remotely!"

Well, perhaps that was not entirely true, perhaps he wasn´t being completely honest with himself. Despite his inner reassurances, he could not deny that actually found the sight of the governess flustered whenever he caught her off guard quite… charming.

In any event, a pleasant distraction was what he was in the mood for that morning, and he saw no reason not to indulge himself with whatever came his way. Elsa had gone to town for a bit of shopping, with Max tagging along, and he had no wish to join them. The children were all busy with the English tutor he had recently hired, for he felt that they had neglected their mother´s language long enough.

Honestly, he had no clue about how to act around her, and the thought have him another little pause. Sometimes he felt compelled to ignore her completely, acting like she barely existed at all – and that was what he did most of the times, being the safer course of action. There were other times, however, when he had to fight the urge to call her to his study to ask for her opinion about something entirely unrelated to the children's upbringing. Horse breeding, wine making, politics, submarine warfare – he felt an uncanny desire to hear what she would have to say about the most unlikely subjects, what outrageous ideas would come out of her mouth… Once or twice, he even caught himself imagining what she would say, knowing that, whatever he came up with would pale in comparison with reality.

Because of all this, and as much as he hated it, he knew that his behavior towards the little Fräulein would appear erratic to any keen observer. He could only hope that no one was paying close attention to his reactions whenever she was around.

"Why would anyone have any reason to do that?" he told himself. "She is nothing but a governess, for pity´s sake! Governesses have occupied a very specific place and a very specific role in any distinguished household for centuries, and there is no reason why that should change now, in my house of all places. Governesses were born governesses and if everything was right with the universe, they would also die governesses – unless, of course, they lived in the minds of one of those horrid female writers of gothic novels."

Fortunately, it seemed that most of the ladies who chose that distinguished profession were sensible enough in order not to indulge themselves in silly fantasies induced by the likes of that Bronte woman! He smirked, not able to prevent himself from imagining exactly what kind of romantic female fantasies the little postulant entertained while she was dreaming away during her free time. But the train of thought was a dangerous one, and with a shook of his head, he tried to focus his mind on other things.

His guests seemed to understand the unshakable truth about governesses perfectly, and maybe he should be inspired by their example. While Max was clearly amused, Elsa had treated the children´s Fräulein like they had always treated any other governess – politely, but coolly, barely acknowledging her existence, with typical aristocratic superiority, as if she were practically invisible. It disturbed him, and he did not know exactly why, but probably because he would never think of someone as Fräulein Maria being invisible. No, she was certainly many things, but never that. Max, on the other hand, seemed more curious, but that was almost second nature to him, so Georg saw no reason to worry about. It was his own behavior that appalled him.

In a way, he felt like one of those stray dogs that sometimes chased his automobile and had no clue about what to do with it once they had reached it. It was an odd, almost alien feeling for him. In the Navy he commanded men of every possible background, and the same could be said about the running of his estate. Fräulein Maria was undeniably a governess, but she was also unlike any governess he ever met in his life, unlike anyone he had ever met. She was delightfully unimpressed and unaffected by his authority, but she seemed restless whenever he treated her more informally. The solution he found for that problem was a very simple one and he worked it in his mind in a matter of seconds. Because he did not know what to do, he decided it was safer to keep a certain distance, at least until he figured out exactly how to handle the hellion. He ought to give her the benefit of the doubt – it could be that she too had no clue about how to handle him!

On the other hand, the workings of her mind fascinated him – which led him back to the beginning of his dilemma. It was a lure he found hard to resist. She could come up with the most illogical arguments and be entirely convinced that her line of reasoning was perfectly flawless. She had a nagging ability to have original ideas even about things she knew absolutely nothing about. While doubt and uncertainty reigned in his life, she guided hers with by an unshakable faith – at least at first glance. It was obvious that she would never admit anyone daring to question her vocation for religious life. Her reaction to Frau Schmidt´s fortune telling had told him as much. Such stubborn certainty intrigued him, to say the least.

It was unavoidable; he could not help but to think about the recent events. The icing on the cake – two of his daughters candidly informing him that the virginal little Fräulein, who loved to proclaim to the four winds that she had no other wish in life than to become a virtuous nun, whose eyes sparkled with fury whenever anyone dared to question what to her was an unshakable truth… His daughters telling him that chaste little vestal of the modern times had a suitor.

Astonishing. Ludicrous. Infuriating.

If he thought that her chosen fate, to live in seclusion forever, was cruel enough, he had to revise his opinion: to marry to a youth who would not value her as she deserved (well, he had to admit that) would be a worse fate. An empty life, where she would be forever dissatisfied in every imaginable way, doing nothing but cooking, cleaning and making babies – it would destroy her vivacious, free-spirited personality in a matter of months. If he ever met her again in one year or two, she would be no more than a shadow of what she was.

What a waste! Poor little Fräulein!

If only someone could do anything to rescue from such a bleak future. Such thoughts brought him a wave of contradictory feelings, some of which did not make any sense to his rational mind. There was, first and foremost, a curious little pang of sadness, almost grief for a life that was about to be wasted. There was distaste when he realized that he did not find very pleasant at all to think about whom that someone who would rescue the Fräulein from her sad fate might be. But what made his blood boil was that, astonishingly, when he thought about the boy his little Marta had cleverly – and aptly, without a doubt – named Herr Broomstick holding the governess in his arms, making love to her. When he thought about the governess becoming a woman in the arms of such an inexperienced youth, he cringed, he became… murderous! Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that Fräulein Maria was so adamant about becoming a nun after all. To her, it would undoubtedly be the lesser of two evils. He was certain that the Mother Abbess did not consider that her own life had been a waste!

Such torturing feelings about the possibility of the naïve little postulant having a gentleman admirer could not, should not be confounded with jealousy, he told himself. No, no, no, it was mere concern for the little Fräulein´s future, mixed with his high regard for the Reverend Mother who had sent her to him and made him promise that no harm would come to the postulant while she was out of the Abbey. To imagine anything different than that would be ridiculous. Unthinkable. Had such feelings been centered on Elsa, they would bring a great deal of relief. Jealousy was a feeling that he had felt only associated with his beloved wife, and it was somehow closely related to love, at least in his mind. It would be indeed a very good sign if he found himself jealous of Elsa all of a sudden, but he never did. He found her accounts of the few love affairs she had after her husband died amusing, more than disturbing to his peace of mind. The idea of his soon to be fiancée in the arms of another man, his predecessor in her bed, never disturbed him in the least. Quite the contrary, he used to laugh at her tales, and not even once he had the desire to chase Elsa´s former lover to the end of the earth and wring his neck. Yet, for some preposterous reason, he did want to wring Herr Broomstick´s neck, whoever the silly youth was, although he honestly doubted that the twit had ever laid one finger on her.

That is why now he could not digest the idea of him being jealous of his governess, although he was fine with the idea of not being jealous of Elsa. He liked to think that such feelings were beneath him now – he was, after all, a mature man, a widower, a father of seven…

He thought about his children for a moment, thinking that one month ago he would never consider them a safer subject to think about, one that would not lead him to unwanted thoughts of any nature. Times had indeed changed!

He thought about the English lessons they were having at that moment. In the old days, the children were completely bilingual, and switched from English – which they always used when speaking to their mother - to German with an ease that baffled him. French had always been another integral part of their education, and although they were not as fluent, they spoke the language with an easy that always amazed Agathe and himself. Nowadays, it was one of the many things that he wondered if was lost to them as a consequence of his actions, one of the things he was determined to fix, no matter how long it took. The governess was taking care of their musical education quite adequately by teaching them basic music theory and with the singing lessons, but there was little or nothing she could do about their language skills. As far as he knew, her knowledge of French and English was nothing short of rudimentary. Her education, as the Reverend Mother had told him, had been adequate, but it pained him to admit that it was very far from the teachings his children had received from the cradle.

In any case, the English lessons with a private tutor would certainly leave Fräulein Maria with a precious hour in her hands. O-ho, he could not help it, he had to know what she would do about it! Inactivity was something he did not associate with her, and the image of the governess napping under a tree appeared as ludicrous as the sight of her blowing soap bubbles in the stairway while she slid down the banister... (He would never forget the look on her face when he surprised her in the middle of that one!) Was she perhaps busy thinking of a multitude of other ways in which she could annoy the hell out of him? Another suitor, perhaps? Stealing things from his pockets, thinking she could get away with it? O-ho, he would not let her get away with that one! Having her fortune read by Frau Schmidt again with the most ludicrous results? Was she planning another disaster? Was she causing another disaster?

He chuckled when he thought of the possibilities, and walked outside, towards the lake, whistling from time to time.

"Captain!"

Her musical voice reached him before he could see her, startling him. Ridiculous as it was, he felt his heart gave a little jolt in his chest, as if he had been caught unawares while doing something wrong. It was not something he was used to and he did not like it because most of the times he was the one who caught others unguarded - he liked to have the element of surprise always in his favor when it suited him. The melodious sound came from the lake and for a mad second he wondered if she hadn´t wandered into that rowboat again. But it was merely an illusion.

"Over here, under the tree!"

"Which tree?" he gritted, fighting the urge to laugh at her blatantly unnecessary piece of information. He was, after all, surrounded by trees of every kind, size and shape, some of which were quite exotic, having been brought home from his many trips around the world.

"Hallo!" she greeted, laughingly the moment he finally saw her.

There she was, reclined against a tree trunk. There was a bulky notebook lying in her lap, and a few others scattered around her, some of them open. The same soft breeze that ruffled her golden ruffled their pages, as if the wind was trying to read what she had written there. He shook his head to banish the poetic image from his rational mind.

Again, there it was. That absurd joy etched in her face when he saw her.

What a peculiar female!

Sometimes she looked so tense around him that if felt like she would jump to the roof if he touched her with only the tip of his finger. And she had, only the day before, when he took hold of her wrist to prevent her from stealing the Tarot card he had hidden in his pocket. Yet, in times like this, she could not disguise her sheer pleasure of seeing him. Her face, with her irregular features, was utterly transformed until it was almost… pretty, More than merely pretty – beautiful. Not an obvious beauty like Elsa´s, but an alluring beauty nonetheless, because it was rather… unique.

He shook his head again, running his fingers through his thick hair while he slowly walked towards her. Something on the ground caught his attention – not one, but several pieces of paper. They were curious little things, those little colorful scraps of paper that women were fond of. Agathe had been no exception and now this governess. One of them depicted a carriage loaded with colorful pansies, pulled by equally colorful butterflies. There were more pansies in another one, a garland carried by two cherubs. He smiled – she did have a fondness for the little flower, as he had imagined during his musings before and after that first and only dinner they had together. He wagered that he would not have to look far to find another favorite of her – the annoying little daffodils. And there they were, a small posy of flowers, next to where she sat, by the trunk of the tree.

"Oh yes. The eternally unsuspecting Persephone," he chuckled, not realizing he had spoken the words aloud.

"Captain? Did you say something?"

Silently he took another step towards her. He looked down at more paper scraps scattered everywhere, then at the disordered notebooks. Yes, she had written in them, her handwriting was unmistakable. He could not read the words, but he noticed that the pages were covered not only with her writing, but also with drawings, old post cards and the die cuts, like those he had picked from the ground, like a chaotic scrapbook. Frowning, he realized that the wind was not reading the governess secrets, but that it was also playing tricks on her, just as his children used to do – a few more paper items that were probably not glued properly to the pages were now scattered around her.

"O-o-oh dear! How clumsy of me."

The governess made a motion to get up and do something about the disorder, but he did not let her.

"No, no, you stay there where you are, you´ll only make a bigger mess. Please, allow me," he said gentlemanly.

He reached for one card lying dangerously close to the edge of the lake – a photograph. He glanced at it very quickly, only to see a laughing young girl with long blonde hair flying in the wind. Without giving it another look, he went after another one. He frowned when he found the infamous Tarot card – "The Lovers" – depicting a surprisingly decent reproduction of Klimt´s painting by the same name.

"How the devil did she steal it back from me? When did she do that?" he thought. Grinning, he hid the card in his pocket before she noticed it. He quickly made a mental note to solve the mystery by asking her one of these days where she had acquired such unusual talents!

He went after the other scraps scattered around her, picking them up, one by one, until he had all of the fugitive pieces of paper safe in his hands. Something in her worried expression told him that those were infinitely precious to her. The way she eagerly reached for them when he handled the small pile he had gathered back to her confirmed his suspicions.

He remembered that he found a large box filled of those little paper things in Agathe´s desk after she died. Not knowing what to do with it, he locked it in one of those trunks in the attic. Throwing something that belonged to his wife away was simply unthinkable, even if only pieces of worthless paper. He doubted that his daughters would want anything to do with that, and he fitfully wondered if the governess would not appreciate them… Would it be improper if he offered them to her? Probably so, and with that conclusion he dismissed the idea immediately. Well, she would have to give everything away to the poor once she made her vows anyway, wouldn´t she? Even little things that were precious to her. He wondered how such a lively creature would live with the possibility.

"Thank you," she whispered, when he handled the runaway scraps, carefully avoiding touching his hands in the process. Then she glanced at the open notebook, as if to explain herself. "My journals."

"You keep a journal!" He raised a quizzical eyebrow. So, the Fräulein kept a diary. O-ho, he could not help but being curious about whatever she wrote on it. The scraps of paper added a very alluring element of femininity to whatever she scribbled in those pages.

"Actually I prefer to call it a… ehrm…" she thought for a moment, then frowned "… a personal repository of information and wisdom," she finished proudly, apparently satisfied with her choice of words.

His lips twitched.

"You sound like – uh – Sister Berthe." The governess let out a very unladylike moan. "I did not know you were allowed to keep something like this to yourself in the Abbey. I was under the impression that all your secular possessions were given to the poor."

"Yes, they are, but this would not be worth much to the poor, would it? It´s just my own notes, old pieces of paper, a few personal cards and photographs, things that I cut from newspapers and magazines. I am not sure what will happen to it all after I take my vows, but I´m glad I still have them for a while."

There was a hint of sadness in her smile, and he wondered if she was even aware of it. Suddenly he wished he could turn back time, only a few minutes, and steal a quick glance at the photographs he had picked from the ground. Would those reveal a younger and even more innocent – if possible – Fräulein Maria to him? Was she the laughing golden girl with long braided hair he had seen briefly in one of them? Would he be able to glimpse a carefree girl of fourteen fifteen, dreaming of meeting her knight in shining armor – or some ungainly youth at the Pegasus fountain - instead of planning to be locked for life in a medieval convent?

"It is all very… colorful," he commented.

"Yes, I love to add a little color to life whenever and wherever I can, even in a simple notebook," she stated.

"Hmm." He suspected that was something she would say. "Where did you get all that?" he pointed to the pieces of paper still in her hands. Acting on impulse, he sat on a stone not far from her, stretching his long legs before him, rambling distractedly. "You know, Agathe had a fondness for such things too. Ephemera – I believe that is how they call it. I think there might be boxes and boxes filled with scrapbooks in the attic. I always thought it was because she was English and…"

He stopped abruptly. Where had all that come from? He never rambled. And he rarely spoke of Agathe to anyone. Correction, he never did, unless he was asked to do so. And whenever he did, she was always "the children´s mother", more rarely "my wife", but he never, ever pronounced her name. Actually, he could almost count the number of times he had done that since she died. Now it had just escaped his lips naturally, effortlessly. Her name was something almost sacred to him, but now it felt like… just a name, belonging to a woman he once loved. It was a feeling he did not understand, and he was not sure he liked it. He felt a familiar pang in his heart.

The Fräulein noticed his sudden tension, and did her best to work around it.

"My aunt collected them – my foster mother," she said, cleverly choosing wisely to answer his question instead of prodding about Agathe and her scrapbooks in the attic. "She kept her treasures, as I called them, in a brown box tied with strings and never let me get close to it… not that I never tried," she giggled.

"Brown paper packages tied up with strings," he chanted.

"Yes," she laughed. "After she died, the box was sent to me at the Abbey. The Reverend Mother was kind to allow me keep it, because the poor wouldn´t want anything to do with old photographs, postcards and worthless scraps of paper… What is it? Why do you ask?" she frowned again.

"Nothing. I think I am just… still surprised that a future nun is allowed to keep a journal," he provoked.

"Well, not all nuns are keen to the idea, but the Reverend Mother encourages it," she shrugged. "She says that it is important that we learn how to properly express our thoughts and feelings into words. It makes it easier to do God´s work this way."

"Every thought and every feeling?" he taunted further.

"Hah! I know what you are thinking," she blurted, pointing a finger to him, narrowing her eyes. Yes – he was thinking about the broomstick in the Mirabell Gardens, but she couldn´t have known that, could she?

"Is that so? Were you taking lessons from Frau Schmidt in the arts of the occult, perhaps?" he teased.

She laughed, looking away from him.

"Oh please, don´t remind me. No, I think I learned my lesson the last time," she said mirthfully.

He wondered briefly if he was not about to waste the precious opportunity to ask her about the broomstick – that is, that boy the girls had spoken about. Maybe some other time.

"Pray tell me, what your telepathic talents tell you about the inner workings of my mind?" he asked her instead.

"You were wondering if I wrote anything about you and the events of the past few weeks."

"About me? Is that so?"

"Mm mm," she nodded.

"Did you?" She eyed him defiantly, but did not reply. "Was I?"

"Yes, it is typical. But not everything that happens is about you, Captain, Not even here in your domains…"

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but something that he needed to be reminded of from time to time.

"She believes I am nothing but an arrogant peacock," he thought.

Was she right? He could not be sure, not anymore. He remembered spending the first few weeks of his courtship of Agathe trying to prove to her that he was not a dandy, because the idea displeased him utterly. After she was gone, he hardly cared what others thought of him. Now, why should it annoy him so much that this girl had the same notion?

It was time for him to take the upper hand in their conversation again.

"Hah! If I am so overbearing, why is it that you seemed so delighted to meet me this morning, Fräulein. Why?" he stressed the question, making clear he would not allow her to get away without an answer.

It was now her turn to be taken aback by unabashed honesty. Her face reddened and she looked away again. This time, she pretended to be busy with the old volumes of her journal, gathering them neatly next to her. At first he thought he had her at a loss for words, but he was wrong about it.

"I am just in an extremely good mood today, that is all," she stated, a bit impatiently. "There is nothing wrong with being in a good mood, is it? Not even Franz was able to ruin it. Not even you. I won´t allow it." She thought for a moment. "I don´t think he likes me very much."

"Who?" He frowned. "Yes, Fräulein, who? The boy at the fountain? Are you in love with him after all? Unrequited love – is that what ails you?" He wondered.

"Your butler."

He laughed at her unexpected answer, absurdly relieved.

"How extremely perceptive of you!" he exclaimed, ironically. "Franz doesn´t like anyone, sometimes I think he barely tolerates me. I would not lose my sleep over it, if I were you. But now, I must insist and ask you again – why were you so – uh - extremely happy to meet me?"

A sudden blush tinted her cheeks.

"Ehm… mmm?"

"I mean, the other night, you called me insignificant, and I thought…"

"I explained what I meant, and I apologized," she defended herself quickly. "As for today, it´s all very simple, Captain. I wished to discuss something with you and since Mahomet does not go to the mountain, it was very convenient that the mountain came to… Ooohh you know what I mean! That is why I was so pleased to see you here," she finished, clearly satisfied with her answer.

He smirked. "Am I to be Mohamed or the mountain?"

She gave him a thorough up and down look, utterly oblivious of how obvious her appreciation of him.

"Keep doing that to every other male you meet, Fräulein, and you´ll have to deal with much more than just only one man in your future as Frau Schmidt´s cards predicted," he thought bitterly. No, the idea did not please him at all. Undoubtedly the little governess would be much safer in the Abbey!

"That depends entirely on how difficult you are going to be today." Immediately after she said that, she bit her lower lip. "Oh, I´m sorry. Here I go again."

"It is quite all right, I assure you. I provoked that one, I deserved it. Now please tell me, what you wished to discuss with me."

"Very well." She took her sweet time. She arranged her notebooks in a neat pile, then she took the sprig of flowers and placed it between two blank pages of the one on top. "It´s the children, of course. You told me that I could talk to you about them at any time."

"Of course I did and I expect you to do that. I´m all ears."

"It hasn´t escaped their attention, or mine, that you haven´t shared a meal with them since you returned from Vienna," she stated boldly. "It´s been almost two weeks now."

"I see. You fear I am starting to neglect them again." Once more, she started torturing her lower lip, but she nodded vigorously. "It´s all right, that has been my concern as well. But I do have guests, Fräulein, and my obligations as a host demand that I give them my full attention. There is nothing I can do about it, there are rules I must live with. I am sure the children can understand that, regardless of the circumstances."

"Yes, they do, but they are your children, Captain!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Oh I know that you are giving each one of them more attention, and that is a wonderful thing, but…"

"You are right, dammit," he wanted to should back at her. Instead, he took a deep breath. "What precisely do you have in mind?"

"It´s Herr Detweiler´s birthday today, I am sure you are aware of that." He nodded – Max´s birthday was an occasion that the fiend made sure that no one ever forgot. It was her turn to take a breath for courage. "The children wanted to surprise him with a cake at dinner. With your permission, of course."

"Why would I say no to that?"

"Because you will have to be present at dinner… with the children, of course."

"That is hardly a problem, is it? Max christened three of my children, I would never consider not including them at the table."

"I´m glad, but, you see, they want to bake the cake themselves… as a gift to their favorite uncle…"

She stared at him, as if bracing herself for his reaction. His first impulse was so say a resounding "no", followed by a ten minute lecture, explaining his reasons, one by one. Then again, that elusive something that attracted him to her like a bee to a flower gave him pause, made him think long enough to consider the possibility of humoring his children… of humoring her.

"Mmmm…," he mumbled. "It is a very unusual request, Fräulein, I am sure you are aware of it."

He scratched his jaw, while she still watched him like a hawk, as if trying to read his every thought.

"Children belonging to the higher classes, particular the von Trapp children, do not frolic in the kitchen with their governess, baking cakes to give as birthday presents," he thought. It was one of the many ideas that he had grown up with, one that seemed ridiculously silly and meaningless all of a sudden.

"Yes," she continued, more confidently now. "But the children are willing to do that during their free time later this afternoon, and I thought…"

"Have you spoken to the chef?"

She was quick to guess his intention behind the terse question. Her response did not surprise him in the least – one of her unspeakable moans and one of the many curious looks in her expressive face from her vast repertoire, one he hadn´t quite learned to read yet. Annoyance, mixed with amusement, if such a thing was possible.

"Yes, I know," she exclaimed, in an overly dramatic tone. Her hands dropped to her side, in a gesture that meant she was conceding him victory this time. She took a deep breath before mimicking his militaristic tone almost perfectly. "There is a chain of command that must be obeyed at all times. I know that, Captain, it was one of the very first things I was told in this house. I must report to Frau Schmidt or Franz first, and they will report to you," she recited.

"I believe I made myself clear the other night, I told you that you were free to speak to me directly about any matter directly or indirectly concerning the children. I never mentioned such nonsense about a chain of command. Yes, there is one, if you must know but it does not apply to you!"

"Your other employers believe it does. I should not bother you with meaningless, menial things, I should not go to you directly unless it is an emergency or a matter of extreme importance. Oh, I know what you are going to say, that baking a chocolate cake does not exactly qualify as a matter of life or death, but, but…"

He gifted her with one of his slow, deadly smiles, as her voice trailed away.

"What?"

"Did you say chocolate?"

"Yes, I did."

"Dark chocolate?"

Funnily, the idea tempted him. It had been years since he had the pleasure of savoring a simple chocolate cake, instead of the elaborate deserts that usually came from his kitchen.

"It could be if someone asks nicely."

"I should warn you, Fräulein, that the success or failure of your current mission depends entirely on your next answer," he teased.

The governess burst on laughing.

"Thank heavens you are human after all, Captain von Trapp," she said, raising her eyes heavenward, as if in prayer. "Wine, champagne and caviar perhaps, but I would never picture you as a chocolate lover. By the way, dark chocolate is my favorite too."

"She does think that I am nothing but an arrogant snob," he thought distastefully. Chocolate aside, it had been at the very tip of his tongue to ask her if she had ever pictured him not as a chocolate lover, but rather, simply as a lover. Flirting with a woman was something almost natural to him, and it usually involved quick retorts like that. If she were Elsa, or any other, he would have done it, although with his future bride he already knew what the answer would be.

However, not to the innocent governess!

There she was, with her posy of daffodils carefully tucked between the pages of her diary, looking just like Persephone before she was abducted by Hades, the king of the underworld. And not for the first time since he met her, he felt like Hades himself. He wagered that a word such as lover was never written in any of the pages of her journals, not even to refer to a treat such as chocolate. If she ever gave the meaning of the word any thought at all, it would not have gone further than what she had just said to him.

"Yes, I do have a few things in common with the rest of mankind," he retorted sarcastically, masking the very improper other ideas beginning to form in his mind. "You are absolutely right, Fräulein, a cake, chocolate or not, isn´t a matter of life and death, of course," he said simply. "Not even if it is dark and rich chocolate," he added, smiling, softening his tone. He pointed a finger to her. "However, as you just reminded me a moment ago, I did ask you to come to me whenever you had to discuss the children."

"It´s a cake, Captain, not a child," she said, very seriously.

"Does she do that on purpose?" he asked himself, not sure of he started laughing or if he pulled his hair from his skull in sheer frustration.

"Fräulein Maria," he said simply. "You…"

"Yes, Captain?"

Again the innocent, disingenuous look in her face.

"Never mind, forget your point, if there ever was one. Let us be practical for once. Just answer me, please. Have you spoken to the chef about this… cake of yours?"

"I tried to this morning, I really did, but he only yelled at me in half a dozen languages, none of which I could understand. Oh, that little man can be worse than Franz, I don´t think he likes me very much either. I couldn´t grasp a word of it, but Liesl understood it all and she said he said he was banishing me from his kitchen."

"I will have him banished from my kitchen," he said between clenched teeth, not quite comprehending the source of his irritation. He did not mean to say the words aloud, and he cursed as soon as he realized that.

"Captain?" she asked, puzzled.

"Never mind, Fräulein. It is, after all, a special occasion, and I think I should please you… I should humor the children, just this once," he stressed. "I will speak to the chef myself. It will all be arranged. You and the children can bake that cake after they finish their lessons."

"Oh Captain!" she exclaimed, jubilant. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she clasped her hands firmly.

"Only once will suffice, Fräulein. You are welcome. Just do me a favor while you are at it and try not to blow the galley, to pieces will you?"

He didn´t think she ever heard the last recommendation. She was already running as fast as her slim legs could carry her, towards the house, her precious journals firmly clutched against her bosom. He realized that she never noticed that he had stolen back "The Lovers" card – he wondered what she would do when she finally did. Would she recover it from him again? It would be fun to watch and wait. Smiling, almost absent-mindedly, he patted his breast pocket, where the card was safely hidden.

38