Katerina's Secret (12 page)

The colonel, stopping, looked back at her.

‘A dog is up there, probably,' he said.

‘No,' said Rosamund, frowning as the reflected glitter flashed again. ‘Some beastly person has a spyglass on us. Whoever it is, what is he hoping to see? One would hardly canoodle on an open road, and in daylight.'

‘Canoodle?' said the colonel, retracing his steps to stand beside her. ‘Canoodle?' He had a little difficulty in pronouncing the word. ‘May I ask what that means?'

‘It's the act of embracing with cuddlesome affection,' said Rosamund, eyes still on the shrubs above them.

‘
Himmel!
' breathed the colonel.

‘Aren't you interested in that peeping Tom up there?'

The colonel seemed all of disinterested.

‘No one is there, I'm sure,' he said. ‘Perhaps a dog, scratching away at the earth. No one would want to look at me.'

Rosamund smiled. Used field glasses, listed among second-hand war surplus, were fairly easy to come by these days, and one saw people carrying them about as casually as box cameras. The objects they observed were no doubt many and varied. It was not amusing to her to be considered an object. If people wanted to look at her, they could do so as she passed by. There was no need for the sick use of a telescope or binoculars, particularly as she was unlikely to take up any posture of a sensational kind.

She went on with Colonel Brecht. They enjoyed the walk in the sunshine, Rosamund inhaling heady draughts of an air laden with the scent of wild thyme, lavender and pine.

Monsieur Valery, apparently, was determined to cross the path of Mademoiselle Dupont with cheerful frequency. He believed, obviously, in the theory that to keep oneself in sight was more likely to pay dividends than sitting unnoticed in a corner. He intruded himself very affably into the billiards room that evening, taking a seat which enabled him to watch to advantage the svelte, red-gowned figure of the Frenchwoman at play. He was admiring of all her shots, whether good or not so good, and
Rosamund thought it went without saying that he was also admiring of the lady's figure. All in all, in fact, he seemed to have every small man's infatuation for a woman taller than himself. Mademoiselle Dupont, however, appeared hardly aware of him. She was obviously far more interested in Edward. She was partnering him against Rosamund and Franz Brecht. The latter were well ahead, Rosamund a more consistent scorer of points than the Frenchwoman.

Mademoiselle Dupont maintained a possessive proximity to Edward whenever they were watching their opponents at the table. Her scent was delicate, her good looks enhanced by perfect makeup. Rosamund was her usual handsome self, and Colonel Brecht spent much time averting his eyes. Conscious, undoubtedly, of her valley of abundance and her off-shoulder gown, he gazed despairingly at the ceiling each time she made a shot.

She was in good form.

‘You're going to run out,' Edward said to her when she needed only to add two to her break to win the game. ‘Then I think I'll take a turn in the garden. Get a little fresh air, you know.'

Rosamund, however, failed to add to her score, and Mademoiselle went to the table.
Rosamund, excusing herself for a moment, slipped out. She found Celeste.

‘Celeste, my dear, Monsieur Somers is going to take a turn in the garden in a moment. Unless we're careful, Mademoiselle Dupont will endeavour to be on his arm. I rather thought you might help him avoid that.'

‘Oh, yes. At once, madame. Immediately.'

Rosamund returned to the billiards room. She was just in time to see Colonel Brecht score the two points that won the game for them. The colonel was shaking hands all round when Celeste put her head in.

‘M'sieur,' she said to Edward, ‘there's a message for you. Could you come, please?'

‘A message?' said Edward, and could think only of the countess. He went after the quick-moving Celeste.

Monsieur Valery was suddenly beside Mademoiselle Dupont.

‘Such an interesting game,' he said, ‘and you were so unlucky to lose, mademoiselle. It would be a pleasure to have you all take cognac with me, or whatever else you might wish.'

Mademoiselle Dupont, looking slightly fretful at the disappearance of her partner, said that what she wished at the moment was to powder her nose.

Edward was taken by Celeste into the garden. The night was fresh, clean and silvery, the moon showing the first signs of its wane.

‘There,' said Celeste, ‘now you may breathe fine air instead of Mademoiselle Dupont's scent.'

‘What about the message?' asked Edward.

‘Oh, the message,' said Celeste, ‘is that you're safer with me than her.' She put her arm through his and they strolled gently around the garden.

‘I've a feeling,' said Edward, ‘that my ability to resist Mademoiselle Dupont is being underrated.'

‘Ah, but should you be overrating it, that could lead to disaster. You're so kind and trusting, m'sieur, that we must take no chances with a lady as hungry as she is.'

‘Angel of thoughtfulness,' said Edward, ‘I'm touched by your determination to save me, but I think Mademoiselle Dupont would herself assure you I'm in no danger. She merely likes an audience.'

‘That's what you think,' said Celeste.

‘Precocious girl, at sixteen you should be engaged in the innocent pursuits of the young, not advancing into the mysterious realms of worldliness. Hello, who's that?'

Someone came along the path between the hedge and the summer house, emerging into the moonlight.

‘Ah – Edward.' Colonel Brecht was a trifle taken aback. ‘I thought you had gone to reception, to the telephone.'

‘At the moment,' said Edward, ‘I'm being perambulated around the garden by France's little mother. I thought you'd be having a cognac with Rosamund.'

‘The dear lady has retired,' said the colonel.

‘And you're off for a brisk night walk?' said Edward. The colonel was wearing a hat and a lightweight dark blue raincoat.

‘Yes, quite so, my friend. A walk before bed-time usually puts me soundly to sleep. And it's a fine night. Ah, cheerio, then.' The colonel's use of the English expression brought a smile to Celeste's face.

Off the German went, reaching the front steps from around the side of the hotel. Thoughtfully, he was wearing rubber-soled shoes, so that when he returned he would not disturb guests asleep.

‘Breathe deeply, m'sieur,' said Celeste, as she and Edward resumed their gentle meandering, ‘the night air is not too cold for you yet. You must be at your best when you visit the countess tomorrow.'

‘Did you get a good look at him?' asked the senior member of the investigative team.

‘I was unable to see her,' said number two, ‘but yes, I got a good look at him.'

‘You agree it's Surgeon-General Boris Tchekov, once of the Imperial Army?'

‘From the photographs we have, I'd swear it.'

‘Good,' said number one. ‘And where he is, she must be. He's had her under his wing for years. A tenacious man, but not a brilliant one. He has kept her out of sight, but not himself. He has unwisely forgotten that he's as recognizable as she is.'

‘But we still need to get a look at her?'

‘To fully satisfy ourselves, yes. One must consider he may be more cunning than he seems. In showing himself in the village, as he has done more than once, he might have been laying a false trail. The woman residing in the villa with him might not be the one we think she is. He might, perhaps, have sent her a thousand miles away months ago.'

‘He might,' said number two, ‘but I feel she's there.'

‘Then make certain. Use your eyes. Discreetly and quietly. Clumsiness, comrade,
could lead to our waking up one day to find the birds flown. That would be unfortunate. The villa now. We need to get into it sometime. There'll be letters, papers and diaries, any of which could point us towards the others. You're aware of the uproar being caused by that wretched woman who's claiming to be Anastasia? They're dangerous, all of them. The villa is a difficult place to enter?'

‘I examined the exterior thoroughly after getting over the wall the other night. The locks are formidable, and I suspect there'll be bolts as well. To effect entrance it'll be necessary to break a window.'

‘Break a window?' said number one coldly. ‘Break a window? Are you serious?'

‘I withdraw that, comrade. We must use a glass-cutter.'

‘And quietly. Tchekov has firearms. But first, lay your eyes on her. Identify her.'

‘I will.'

Edward emerged from the pines adjacent the villa and walked up to the green gate in the high wall. The gate opened to his push. Katerina came down from the terrace as he entered, closing the gate behind him. She was hatless, her hair a deep-fired brilliance in the sunlight, her eyes warmly bright, her white dress summery.

‘Thank you so much for coming,' she said.

‘I'm not late?'

‘Oh, no,' she said, but she had been down a few minutes ago to look for him.

He laid fascinated eyes on her. She was not a shy or diffident woman, but his survey brought the colour to her face. Her blood was flowing a little fast.

‘You look remarkable,' he said.

‘Healthy, you mean?'

‘Yes, that as well, Countess.'

Her colour deepened.

‘I am Katerina Pyotrovna. Will you call me Katerina, please? And I may call you Edward?'

‘I shan't object.'

‘Then come, Edward,' she said, ‘and we'll play croquet and later have tea. Yes? That's agreeable to you?'

‘Very,' he said. ‘It sounds perfect.'

‘Yes? It isn't dull? You would really like to play again and then have tea?'

‘If you'll allow me to play at my slow pace, Katerina.'

‘Oh, you may play as slowly as you wish,' she said, ‘and I, of course, will remember not to overexert myself. Dr Kandor has commanded restraint.'

‘I'm sure he has,' said Edward. As before, there were no other people to be seen. Dr Kandor did not appear, nor were there any signs of servants. ‘Who keeps your garden so well, and your lawn so perfect?' he asked as they advanced to the croquet area. The mallets and balls were out.

‘Oh, Sandro is our gardener. He works on it each morning. He's also a house servant with Anna. That's all, just Anna and Sandro. They see to everything, except that I look after my
own room and a few other things. Edward, I'm not simply a player of croquet. I'm in the garden only in the afternoons mostly.'

‘I assure you, I'd never think of you simply as an exponent of croquet,' said Edward. With his back to the sea, he surveyed the villa. Beyond it was the wall, and beyond that were the pines and the road. And beyond the road was the rising incline covered with maquis scrub, desultory pines and wild olives. Somewhere up there, Rosamund had told him, a person had been using a spyglass yesterday morning. The garden of the villa was visible from way up. He wondered a little, remembering the original incident, and feeling certain it was Dr Kandor who had fired that shot over the head of the man Gregory.

‘Edward, what is that you have?'

He turned to her. She was looking at the leather case he was carrying.

‘My camera,' he said. ‘If you don't mind, I'd very much like to take a photograph of you.'

Katerina stiffened.

‘But why?' There were little vibrations in her voice.

‘It worries you, that I'd like a photograph of you?' he said, curious because she seemed so reluctant.

‘No, of course not, but—' She stopped as Dr Kandor emerged from the villa and walked down the terrace steps towards them.

‘Mr Somers, welcome,' he said and shook hands with Edward. His eyes picked up the meaning of the leather case. ‘You've been taking photographs?'

‘No, none so far,' smiled Edward. ‘But I've asked the countess if I might take one of her.'

‘And she's expressing modesty?' Dr Kandor's smile did not disguise his tendency to take the world seriously. A smile was merely a momentary lightening of his inbuilt gravity. ‘The countess is convinced she photographs badly.'

‘A rose may hang its head,' said Edward, ‘but can never look anything but beautiful.'

Katerina laughed, but still did not give him permission to use his camera.

‘Well, Countess Katerina?' said the doctor. ‘Are you able to refuse him one photograph after that?'

‘Dr Kandor?' she said, regarding him uncertainly.

‘Be generous,' said the doctor.

‘I really don't wish to press her if she'd rather not,' said Edward, a little surprised that the taking of a snapshot should become something of an issue.

‘I'm sure you'll take an admirable photograph,' said Dr Kandor, and smiled again, this time at Katerina.

‘Oh, I will sit for you, Edward,' she said, ‘but first must get my hat.'

‘I'd like you without your hat,' said Edward. He did not want her to hide her magnificent hair.

‘I agree,' said Dr Kandor. ‘Let him take the photograph while I get your hat, for you should wear it while you're playing croquet.'

He made his way back to the terrace. Katerina's hat lay on the table there. Edward took out his camera and his subject stood with the sun on her face, her expression a little tense.

‘No smile?' said Edward. ‘I'm not taking a tooth out, you know – there'll only be a click and hardly any pain.'

She laughed then and he caught her in close-up, her face vivid and animated, and her hair a shining, burnished crown.

‘It was all right?' she said.

‘All right?' Edward laughed. ‘That doesn't cover it at all. You may rely on it, Katerina, that if the photograph is no more than all right I'll throw the camera away. I'm expecting nothing less than exceptional.'