Katerina's Secret (16 page)

‘There, he's anchored himself to her,' said Rosamund, ‘and she so prefers Edward, and Edward so prefers Celeste and the mysterious countess of the Villa d'Azur. Come along, Franz.'

The colonel still had his eyes on Monsieur Valery. He was frowning.

‘Idiot,' he muttered.

‘Come along,' said Rosamund, ‘there's a shop ahead which specializes in the most delightful creations.'

‘Not – ah – dear lady, not – ah – '

‘No. Men's clothes. We'll see if there's anything there which will suit you. A dashing spotted bow tie, perhaps.'

‘Bow tie? Bow tie of the spots? Rosamund—'

‘Come along, Franz,' said Rosamund yet again, and was laughing as they went on their way.

‘M'sieur, yes,' said the works foreman, ‘a new fender.'

‘Fitted by twelve o'clock?' said Edward.

‘Certainly, m'sieur, certainly,' said the foreman of the comprehensive motor garage which specialized, among other things, in attending
to the needs of the various British cars that found their way into Nice.

‘Thank you,' said Edward, and dropped a French banknote into the man's hand. He was accorded a smile of Gallic appreciation. ‘I wonder if you could help me with another matter? I'm interested in the car which damaged mine and didn't stop.'

‘The scoundrel, m'sieur, should be reported to the police.'

Celeste opened her eyes wide. Edward had told her he brushed a wall.

‘The car in question was a black Citroën saloon,' said Edward, ‘and suffered a damaged bonnet and wing. It hasn't been brought here for repairs?'

‘No, m'sieur, I can assure you it hasn't.'

‘I'd like to trace it, without the help of the police.'

‘Ah,' said the understanding foreman, ‘to come face to face with the miscreant, m'sieur?'

‘Precisely.'

‘M'sieur, I'll make telephone calls, to other garages. When you return for your car, perhaps I'll have some information for you.'

‘It's possible, of course, that the driver may not have brought it to Nice for repairs.'

‘I'll make some calls, m'sieur.'

‘Thank you,' said Edward.

‘Oh, this is disgraceful,' said Celeste as they left the garage, ‘you did have an accident when you were out with Madame. It's deplorable of you not to have told me.'

‘We all have our regrettable moments, my infant.'

They strolled in the sunshine, Celeste in a pale yellow frock and straw hat. She looked young, buoyant and pretty. She also looked indignant.

‘Edward, I'm ashamed of you,' she said. ‘Such a terrible shock for my Madame, to find herself in a car accident. Her heart, did you think of her heart?'

‘I'm always thinking of her heart, Celeste. Fortunately, she remained calm and unshocked. Celeste, has it occurred to you that she may not be confined to her villa because of her heart? Has it occurred to you that she isn't being protected from physical stress, but something else? The accident was no accident. The other car tried to batter us over the edge of the road and over the cliffs.'

‘Oh, it can't be true!' Celeste was appalled.

‘It is true, I'm afraid. But keep it to yourself, my sweet little friend. Promise?'

‘Yes, of course,' said Celeste, ‘but how can
anyone want to harm the countess? She's so sweet, so gracious, so kind.'

‘I wonder where her husband is?' said Edward thoughtfully. ‘Or is there a husband? She wears no ring. What became of the Count of Varna, if there is a Count of Varna?'

‘Stop,' gasped Celeste, ‘it's too much for me.'

‘Shall we walk a little more slowly, angel?'

‘Oh, a thousand pardons, m'sieur, I'm going too fast – but I'm agitated, you see.'

‘Let's continue on to the Imperial. Then we can sit and drink coffee in the sunshine until it's time to go back to the garage. That will be enough exercise for me, since I'm due to play croquet this afternoon.'

‘Oh, you are going to visit her again?' said Celeste. ‘Again? Then how happy I am for you, and will pray that rose petals will fall around you both.'

‘Rose petals?' he said as they entered the broad tree-lined promenade.

‘Always at weddings there should be rose petals,' said Celeste.

‘Was there ever such precociousness?' said Edward. ‘There'll be no wedding, you terrible child.'

‘But where there is love—'

‘Where there's a very fertile imagination, you mean. I'm no man to make a husband, Celeste.'

‘Oh, such gloom,' declared Celeste, shaking her head. ‘How can you be so poor in spirit? That isn't like you at all.'

They turned into the spacious forecourt of the Imperial and found themselves a table. A waiter hastened up, pulling out a chair for Celeste, into which she sank with the feline grace of a girl young and free-limbed. Edward ordered coffee. The sun poured brightness over the face of Celeste and warmed his lined features. Celeste thought she would like to kiss him. He was not to know that her precociousness hid her love for him. She spent the busy summer months looking forward to autumn and winter, when she knew he'd be there. Sometimes frost nipped the ears early in the morning, and sometimes he spent hours writing in the quiet of his room. She had fervent hopes for him, but she viewed the long slender talons of Mademoiselle Dupont with jealousy and horror. It was the countess she had her eye on for Edward, because she could not think of two people who would look after each other better.

‘I've just thought,' she said, leaning forward
to whisper. ‘If that other car tried to push you off the road and to send Madame to a fearful death, the person driving it must have known she was going out with you.'

‘Yes, Celeste, that's quite a thought.'

‘Ah, m'sieur.' The works foreman greeted Edward cordially. ‘All is ready.'

‘Thank you,' said Edward, and inspected the new fender. ‘Excellent. Anything else?'

‘Yes, m'sieur. The car you spoke of was returned to Heriot's this morning. It was hired from them by a gentleman who signed himself Henri Lascalle of Lyons. He left money to pay for the damage.'

‘I'm greatly obliged,' said Edward and handed over another banknote.

‘A pleasure, m'sieur.'

Edward settled the bill. On the way to pick up Rosamund and Colonel Brecht, he said, ‘Celeste, when we get back to the hotel, could you find out if there's an Henri Lascalle of Lyons listed in the telephone directory?'

‘You're very optimistic, Edward. I don't think there'll be any Henri Lascalle of Lyons, or a telephone number or an address.'

‘How shrewd you are, young lady. But we'll check, shall we?'

They picked up their friends. Rosamund and the colonel seemed satisfied with the time they had spent in Nice. The colonel was carrying a small packet and a dainty striped box tied with ribbon.

‘I've bought a delicious negligee,' said Rosamund, when the car was under way, ‘and Franz has bought a tie. I helped him select the tie, but he refused me any help at all with my purchase.'

‘So should I have done,' said Edward.

‘We aren't living in the time of Victoria,' said Rosamund, ‘and we are, after all, in France.'

‘I have suffered the ordeal frightening,' said Colonel Brecht.

Celeste smiled. Mama had said that Madame Knight was leading Colonel Brecht by the nose, and that his nose was having the time of its life.

But although some things were amusing, it wasn't anything but deadly serious to know that someone had tried to kill Edward and the countess. Edward could not possibly have imagined it, unless he was oversensitive about Madame.

There was no Henri Lascalle in the Lyons telephone directory. Edward thought it might,
therefore, be a good idea to go into Nice again as soon as he could and ask someone at Heriot's for a description of the man.

‘You're still satisfied about having taken the car back?' asked the senior member of the mission.

‘I've assured you I am,' said number two.

‘I think now that you should have abandoned it, not presented yourself again.'

‘I must point out you gave no instructions to that effect, comrade.'

‘I agree, but it was something that might have reasonably occurred to you.'

‘When?'

‘At any time between the moment when you failed and when you returned the car.'

‘I thought it was agreed that the hire and return of the car was to be a completely straight-forward operation.'

‘Yes, it was. It was also agreed the car might sustain a little damage, but not as much as it did. Further, their escape enabled them to report the incident.'

‘With all respect, comrade,' said number two, ‘it's a little late for these second thoughts. But I've insured against answers to questions, as I told you.'

‘We must hope there are no questions. Insurance can't be guaranteed. However, it's done now. Unfortunately, I doubt if we can catch her in the open again. It will be trickier now. Concerning the dog – it must be dealt with.'

‘Poisoned meat?'

‘Arrange it – after you've attended to Tchekov.'

‘That won't be easy.'

‘I'm confident, comrade, that you'll make up for yesterday's failure.'

Katerina received Edward at two thirty in a spirit of overbright gaiety. Dr Kandor was out, she said, attending to a little business in Nice. She was, therefore, entirely under Edward's protection for the afternoon, or until the doctor returned.

‘Protection?' said Edward.

‘Yes,' she smiled. ‘You're to protect me from any tendency I might have to rush excitedly about.'

‘You feel a little recklessness coming on?' he asked.

‘Not really. I feel only a wish for a peaceful game of croquet with you. So there must be no thumping or whacking. We'll be friendly
to each other and only make little taps. You would like to play?'

There was no question of his being unwilling. Croquet, whatever other people thought about it, was a game of magical enjoyment when played in this garden. Katerina invested it with laughter, anguish, triumph and pleasure.

As they picked up the mallets the Alsatian appeared. It advanced, bristling, head thrust forward and teeth showing. It began to bark at Edward, and to circle around him.

‘Prince!' Katerina called to the dog. ‘Come here.' She put out a hand. The Alsatian, still bristling, still keeping its eyes on Edward, approached her. She put her hand on its head. ‘Edward, come and let Prince meet you.'

‘That's a brute of a dog to say hello to,' said Edward.

‘Prince, this is my friend Edward. Edward, give him your hand.'

‘To eat?'

‘No, no, silly.' Katerina laughed. ‘Stroke his nose.'

‘He'll swallow my arm as well.' But Edward stroked the long nose, while Katerina held the collar. The dog was stiff and suspicious, and its legs were rigid.

‘A friend, Prince, a friend,' said Katerina soothingly, and the Alsatian's head came up and its nose nuzzled Edward's hand in acceptance.

‘You're a beauty, old boy, aren't you?' said Edward.

‘There, now he knows you, now you're friends,' said Katerina.

‘My relief is immeasurable. Where'd you get him?'

‘Dr Kandor bought him for me.'

‘To guard you, Katerina?'

‘To keep me company,' she said.

‘Well, he's a wise acquisition,' said Edward, ‘whatever the reason.'

The Alsatian sat and watched the game, tail thumping. Katerina applied herself with her usual zest, quickly becoming involved in the many quirks and facets of the kind of game she liked to play when competing against Edward. Yet little silences not at all usual began to emanate from her. Edward, striking for a hoop and missing, glanced up with a rueful smile. She was not looking at the play, but at him, and her eyes were like deep grey pools of sadness.

He felt an intense longing to bestow laughter on her.

‘Katerina, it's your play.'

‘Yes? Yes?' She did not seem fully aware of what she was about as she advanced. She was not even looking at the ball she was to play. She caught her foot in a hoop. She tumbled. Edward caught her. She turned in his arms and lifted her face, wide eyes strangely clouded. She was so close that her vitality seemed to effect an electric transference from her body to his. It poured into him, and he felt the impossible was happening, that he was vigorous and healthy again. It was the essence of wishful dreams. Her lips were parted, her breathing quick and her body full of tremors. Her sadness was gone, and she was in as much wonder as he was. ‘Edward?'

But the Alsatian was there, pushing its nose between them and rumbling nervously and sensitively, and the sweetness of the contact was broken.

Edward released her. His arms fell away. She did not move, she still looked up at him, wonderingly and giddily, her face deeply flushed.

‘Katerina, are you all right?' It was the most prosaic of questions after the most dreamlike of moments.

She came to. She turned, bent her head and gazed blindly at her ball.

‘Is it my shot, Edward?'

‘It's your shot, Katerina.'

She struck. Her ball glanced his.

‘A roquet, Edward.'

‘Agreed.'

She stooped to reach down for the ball, then straightened up without touching it. She put her mallet down.

‘I think – I think a little rest,' she said. ‘No, a little walk, through the gate and to the cliff top. Will you give me your arm, please.'

‘If you'd prefer to rest – ?' He was not sure at any time just how much her weak heart troubled her, and whether or not it occasionally put her in pain. He thought she was in some discomfort now, that her blood was struggling to reach her heart, for she was so subdued. But her face showed no greyness, no spasms of pain. He gave her his arm. She took it and they walked to the gate. He opened it and they passed through into the little open space fringed by the pines that stretched almost to the cliff top. There was a bench made of French oak just beyond the front wall, where one could sit to look down over the rocky cliff to the beach on the left and the expanse of sea all round. Just to the left of the seat was a stepped descent for the use of
the villa's residents. It brought one down to the beach, the beach also used by the hotel guests. A handrail gave support, for the steps, cut out of the rock, were steep. Other people could not climb them from the beach, however, for there was a locked gate at the bottom.