Freud's Mistress by Karen Mack Page A

for his tardiness—crowded omnibus, the “wife,” his swollen ankles. He smoothed his square-shaped beard and straightened his woolen waistcoat over his sizable paunch, as he too headed for the refreshments and uncorked a bottle of wine. He was about to light up the third cigar, adding to the thickening cloud of smoke, when the door to the parlor swung open and Minna walked in.
    She had changed into a white lace-trimmed blouse that was slightly open at the neck, her hair swept up in soft waves with a set of combs, and she was trailed by the scent of lavender-perfumed soap. For an instant, she hesitated, conscious of Freud’s gaze roaming her face. Did he see it in her? she wondered. Her tense shoulders, her flushed cheeks, and the care with which she had applied her makeup?
    He had noticeably transformed the moment she stepped into the room. His hard, bright eyes softened and his stiff demeanor relaxed. He had taken her hand, whispered a word of hello, and then given her another lingering glance. Minna wondered if this intimacy was merely her imagination but it gave her a peculiar sensation.
    Earlier, when she was getting dressed, her sister had been all ambrosial sweetness, like a mother sending her daughter off to a ball. Why then did Minna feel as if she were doing something behind Martha’s back? If there was nothing to hide, why did she feel guilty?
    â€œAllow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Fräulein Minna Bernays,” Freud said, rising from his chair, taking her hand in his, and ushering her into the room. “She’ll be our fourth tonight. Eduard Silverstein and Ivan Skekel.”
    It was obvious to Minna that Sigmund had not discussed her joining the game, and his partners looked noticeably surprised. She calmly regarded the group with her hazel eyes and walked over to the sofa.
    â€œGood evening, gentlemen.”
    â€œDelighted,” Dr. Silverstein said, breaking the silence. He stood up, took her hand, and kissed it lightly. Then he poured a glass of wine from one of Martha’s good crystal decanters on the sideboard and handed her a glass.
    â€œHow very kind,” Minna murmured.
    Minna knew very well who Eduard Silverstein was. Martha had mentioned him several times. He was on her list of eligible bachelors. The son of a successful doctor and an enthusiastic supporter of the arts, he took over the thriving family practice when his father retired. Minna thought he wore his hair a little too long to be stylish but, on the whole, he was handsome, with liquid brown eyes and a worldly air. And even though he seemed pleased to see her, he had to be wondering, along with Skekel, why Freud hadn’t called one of their other colleagues who usually filled in when someone was indisposed.
    Minna sipped the wine and settled herself on the sofa. She was still not quite at ease. Her feet felt prickly and ached from the day, the left boot pressing on her anklebone. She had left the children still awake, one of whom—was it Ernst? no, maybe Oliver—shouting something as she went downstairs.
    â€œAre you up to this, my dear?” Freud asked solicitously, as he sat down next to her and lightly touched her on the shoulder. “Second thoughts?”
    â€œNot at all,” she said, and smiled, laying her hand on the sofa arm, which was covered with several of Martha’s ubiquitous doilies.
    They sat together while Skekel and Silverstein drifted over to the fireplace, finishing their conversation. They were talking about what everyone was talking about, the recent election of Karl Lueger, the new mayor of Vienna, who was known to be rabidly anti-Semitic.
    â€œYou know what this means, don’t you?” Skekel said. “The liberals are losing ground. It’s the Christian Social Party now, and they can’t wait to take away our rights. It’s like the Middle Ages.”
    â€œI wouldn’t go around saying too much in public, old boy,”