Katerina's Secret (11 page)

‘Oh, they're delicious,' said Celeste, ‘but I've eaten all I can, madame.'

‘Mr Somers?'

‘One more, then,' said Edward, helping himself. ‘You know, Countess, I don't think there was ever any declaration of war between Russia and Bulgaria.'

She thought about that. She said, ‘We won't talk about the war and the sadness of separation. The day is far too nice. I'm unable to receive or entertain very much, as you probably know, and so this is an unusual pleasure for me, enjoying two visitors at once. And the game of croquet was an additional pleasure.'

Dr Kandor suddenly appeared. For a large man, he could move very quietly, and not until he was close to the group did Edward notice him.

‘Good afternoon,' said the doctor civilly.

Katerina turned, giving him a smile.

‘You must meet my new friend,' she said. ‘Mr Somers, would you like to say hello to Dr Kandor?'

Edward came to his feet and shook hands with the physician.

‘I think we met a few days ago,' he said.

‘I am sure we did,' said Dr Kandor, ‘and I hope you'll forgive me for not making you too welcome. I'll join you, if I may.' He drew up a chair. His expression bland, he said to Celeste, ‘How are you today, Mademoiselle?'

‘Oh, quite happy, Dr Kandor,' said Celeste.

‘And do you see how good my game of croquet has been for me?' said Katerina.

‘I can see it has given you a glow,' said the doctor. ‘Now you must relax.'

‘I am relaxing,' said Katerina. ‘You must turn your attention on Mr Somers, who has been exerting himself playing a merciless game of croquet with me.'

‘He has his own doctor, I'm sure,' said the physician. He regarded Edward with professional interest. ‘Poison gas is pernicious. Are you still receiving treatment?'

‘I'm looked at from time to time,' said Edward, ‘but on the whole I merely follow my doctor's advice, which is to avoid strain, effort and fog.'

‘You use a balloon? How often do you use it?'

‘A balloon?' said Celeste.

‘A balloon?' said Edward.

‘You carry one, do you?' said Dr Kandor. ‘A toy balloon which you blow up regularly?'

‘Heavens, no,' said Edward. ‘Should I?'

‘It isn't an unknown therapeutic exercise for damaged lungs,' said the doctor. ‘I've recommended it in certain cases, but it would not, of course, be correct for me to recommend it to you if your own doctor hasn't.'

‘I'm interested,' said Edward, and fell into friendly conversation with the doctor.

In a little while, Katerina wondered why it was that, although Celeste was talking to her, it was Edward's voice she was listening to. It was a distraction of a disturbing kind. She looked at him. Engaged as he was with Dr Kandor, he caught her glance. He gave her a smile. She felt a warm, melting sensation. She had received a thousand smiles during her emergent years, from young and dashing officers, and from mature and polished men. She had teased them all and fallen in love with none. Then, when she had been at her most eligible, the Revolution had virtually cut her off from every man who might have been a suitor.

She was thirty-one now. Thirty-one. That was so old. Yet because of this man, hollow-cheeked and drawn, she felt like an uncertain and impressionable girl.

Celeste saw her watching Edward, with a strangely wondering expression on her face. Celeste smiled.

They had to leave at five o'clock. Celeste had to be back to help her mother, and five o'clock had always signalled the end of her visits. Today, however, the countess seemed oblivious of time.

Celeste said, ‘I must go, madame.'

‘Celeste, but why?'

‘It is five o'clock, madame.'

‘Already? Already?'

Edward rose.

‘I must totter along with you, Celeste,' he said. ‘Countess, a lovely afternoon – thank you.'

‘Oh, you will come again, won't you?' she said impulsively.

‘With very much pleasure,' said Edward.

‘For croquet and tea?' said Katerina.

‘If the weather stays kind, yes, for croquet and tea. You're offering me an irresistible combination. Goodbye – and goodbye, Dr Kandor.'

She sat in silence after they had gone. Everything, suddenly, was so quiet, so empty. She felt a little ache, a little sad.

‘You're satisfied with your afternoon?' said Dr Kandor.

‘Boris Sergeyovich, thank you for the concession. There can be no danger, can there, from a man like Edward Somers? I should so like to have him for a friend while he's here.'

‘We've found a gentleman, I think,' said the doctor gravely. ‘In the world as it is, men of kindness and honour are few.'

‘I know little of this world, Boris Sergeyovich,' said Katerina. ‘I only know I should like to invite him many times, and not just every two weeks.'

‘Here, in this garden, which is open to the sea, the air is at its purest,' said Dr Kandor. ‘That is what his lungs need, air that is dry and pure. Katerina Pyotrovna, invite him as often as you wish.'

‘Oh, thank you,' she said breathlessly, ‘thank you.'

He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

‘Only remember,' he said, ‘that you are entrusted to me.'

Edward awoke in the night. No sound had disturbed him, nor was his chest troublesome. The activity of his mind had brought him out of his sleep. Her image filled it. She was all eyes, eyes full of laughter and life. He lay awake, thinking of her.

She too was awake, and out of her bed. Outside, the garden was ghostly bright beneath the huge moon, the sea a vast shimmer of shining water.

No, she had never been loved by a man. No man had ever seen her as she was, as God had made her.

The croquet. The thumping.

She smiled, though her mood was not one of gaiety. It was one of longing.

What should she say in her note to him, a note that was to ask him to visit her again?

‘Please call, please bring me to life again.'

No, not quite those words. He would have to read between the lines of a far more formal invitation.

Edward was at work, pencil moving flowingly, abbreviating words as Dickens had when a court reporter. Would became wd, regiment became rgt, position became pn, artillery became aty, Ypres became Yp. His treatment was factual, entirely so, though he could not view the battle completely as an historian, for he had been there himself. Casualties evoked pictures of men blown to pieces by the power and ferocity of the German guns.

Rosamund was engrossed in her book a few yards away. On the other side of the lawn, Mademoiselle Dupont had Colonel Brecht by his ear. Edward, able to shut out extraneous sounds when his concentration was at its best, was patently not to be interrupted. Rosamund seemed equally unapproachable, such was her interest in her book, a biography of Queen Victoria. That left Colonel Brecht a helpless
prisoner in the hands of Mademoiselle Dupont. From time to time he looked across at Rosamund, obviously in the hope that she would rescue him from the vivacious loquacity of the lady from Paris. Rosamund's conversation might have a teasing quality, but Mademoiselle Dupont's could be numbing. It reduced one to merely being a sounding board.

Rosamund was quite aware that Colonel Brecht was in need of help. She let him suffer at length, however, on the perfectly reasonable assumption that she would be seen as an angel of mercy when she did finally exercise pity.

Monsieur Valery, as dapper as ever, made an appearance. He strolled around the garden, calling an affable good-morning to everybody, saw that the attractive Mademoiselle Dupont was determinedly latched to Colonel Brecht, smiled a little disappointedly and wandered away.

Celeste came out, ready to take orders for morning coffee. She was pleased to see that Edward was by himself and that it was poor Colonel Brecht who was suffering the attentions of the flirtatious Frenchwoman.

‘M'sieur?'

Edward looked up. Celeste smiled and placed a white envelope on his table.

‘Celeste, how fresh you look,' he said.

‘Oh, I am totally unspoiled, m'sieur. That has just come for you.'

He opened the letter, ordering coffee as he did so. Celeste went to collect other orders while he read the note.

Dear Mr Somers,

I hope you aren't suffering from yesterday's exertions, that you are well. Myself, I am very fit, and feel extraordinarily pleased with my powers of endurance.

I am at home tomorrow afternoon. For that matter, I am always at home, yes! Is it possible that I might have the pleasure of your company again, at the same time? I will understand if you are otherwise engaged, when I should like to suggest the following day. I am told the weather is set fair. I wish that it will bring the best of health to you.

Katerina Pyotrovna.

PS My love to Celeste.

Edward refolded the note.

‘You did say you wanted coffee, m'sieur?' Celeste was back.

‘Yes, Celeste, a small pot, if I may.'

‘With pleasure,' said Celeste, but refrained
from despatching herself. She was in obvious expectation of information. Edward said nothing as he took up his pencil again. ‘M'sieur, am I to stand here and die of curiosity?'

‘I shouldn't like that to happen, no, not at all,' he said. ‘Will it save your life if I tell you I've been invited to call on the countess again, tomorrow afternoon?'

Celeste smiled happily.

‘Oh, already, you see, you are in tender accord,' she said.

‘In tender accord?'

‘But yes, m'sieur, you and she. Already love is blossoming, already there are billets-doux. Write your answer and I'll have Jacques deliver it. You will send kisses?'

‘Audacious girl, what's all this you're dreaming up?'

‘But I'm not dreaming it up, m'sieur, never,' she said earnestly. ‘You are made for each other. Even I can see that.'

‘Even you? Only you, you mean. Off with your head, terrible infant.'

Celeste departed with a laugh.

Rosamund, finishing her coffee ten minutes later, closed her book and came to her feet. Colonel Brecht cast her a look of a drowning man. Rosamund gave him a
little nod. Mademoiselle Dupont put a hand on the colonel's arm to recall his attention. Mademoiselle Dupont, thought Rosamund, seemed a woman not disposed to let any man easily escape her. She also seemed set to have an affair either with Franz or Edward before she returned to Paris. How Edward would manage the vivacious lady in his state of health, only he knew. On the other hand, Rosamund doubted if he would fall for a woman so obviously a
demi-mondaine
. Poor Franz was a different kettle of fish. He would be netted while still clearing his throat.

‘Colonel Brecht,' she called, ‘I'll be down again in a few minutes to join you in our arranged walk. Will you meet me outside, on the steps?'

The colonel came to life and sat up. Since no walk had been arranged, he knew Rosamund was putting out a lifeline.

‘With pleasure, dear lady, with pleasure,' he said.

He was on the steps outside the hotel five minutes later, waiting for her as she emerged.

‘Ah, there you are,' said Rosamund.

‘Madam,' he said fervently, ‘you are an angel of mercy.'

‘Yes, I thought you'd think that,' she said.
‘You find Mademoiselle Dupont a little tiring?'

‘Charming lady, charming,' said the colonel, ‘but I've been crushed – yes, that is the word – crushed by the weight of words, madam.'

‘An embarrassing position for a German officer to be in. Perhaps Mademoiselle Dupont is taking her revenge for your attempt to obliterate Verdun. Now,' she said, as they descended the steps, ‘where shall we walk to?'

‘To the village?' he suggested.

‘Enchanting,' said Rosamund. ‘I shall buy some pears for eating in the bath.'

‘Madam?'

‘That is the only place to eat a juicy pear, in the bath,' said Rosamund, the colonel upright beside her as they walked along the verge. ‘You may call me Rosamund, by the way. I'm no longer as sensitive about the war as Mademoiselle Dupont, who seems to think it was an imperialist plot. You and I must learn to live with its consequences. And you should tell her the theatre owes much to the patronage of kings, emperors and other imperialists. You must not sit and be crushed. You must strike back. Then she will fall into your arms. Women react lovingly to men who stand up to them. The day is delightful, isn't it?'

‘Good God,' said the colonel.

‘Mademoiselle Dupont is extremely good-looking, and most men, I imagine, would like her to fall into their arms.'

‘Ah – you have – madam, you have an incurable way of pulling the leg.'

‘Oh, I'm quite serious,' said Rosamund, sailing along blithely in a cream dress and brimmed hat. ‘You must take the initiative with the lady, and describe in exhausting detail the battles in which you were personally engaged during the war. You must make them full of shot and shell, ignoring all full stops in your narrative, as full stops will give her the chance to interrupt you. When she finally realizes she has met her match, she may well be yours, Franz.'

‘Stop,' said the colonel hoarsely.

‘That isn't the advice you want?' A bright figure of composure against the sunlit background of the Riviera, Rosamund pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘I've misinterpreted your feelings?'

‘I am not a ladies' man – ah – Rosamund – as I am sure you realize, and to have Mademoiselle Dupont regard herself as mine is not the boot I want on my foot.'

‘But you're an upright man, Franz, and could be just right for some feminine boots.'

Approaching the iron gates of the Villa d'Azur, they heard the sound of loose stones and chips slithering amid shrubs above them on their right. The colonel briefly glanced and walked on. Rosamund came to a halt and looked upwards. She glimpsed a momentary flash of reflected sunlight.