Katerina's Secret (21 page)

Madame Michel returned his smile.

‘One likes to think so, without quite believing it is so,' she said. ‘Very well, I'll see what I can
do about the doors at night, though I shouldn't want to provoke patrons into deserting us. M'sieur, I feel I must mention it – you're looking ill.'

Edward, grimacing, said, ‘Well, that's the devil of it, feeling only half a man every time the lifeboats are launched.'

‘That is quite wrong,' said Madame Michel reprovingly, ‘and is certainly not the most intelligent thing you've ever said.'

‘Oh, I'm guilty at times of feeling sorry for myself,' said Edward.

‘The cure now is a large cognac,' said the proprietress on a practical note. She turned at a knock on the door. ‘Enter, please.'

Inspector Cartier came in. He gave Edward a friendly nod and thanked Madame Michel for the use of her sitting room.

Edward said, ‘May I ask if Mademoiselle Dupont was informative?'

‘She was most helpful,' said the inspector. ‘She's quite sure that Dr Kandor jumped. She felt he came off the cliff as a man might after suddenly making up his mind to go to his death.'

Edward thought that a man who was violently pushed might just as easily look as if he had jumped.

‘How dreadful,' said Madame Michel. ‘Oh, the sorrow there is in the world.'

‘Bulgarians, I believe, are emotionally impulsive,' said Inspector Cartier.

‘You've spoken to the countess?' said Edward.

‘No. I thought it unnecessary to add to her distress at this moment. I must return to Nice.' And the inspector shook hands and departed.

Mademoiselle Dupont came in, looking sad.

‘Edward, how tragic,' she said. ‘The poor countess was so stricken when she saw him, lying there on the rocks. She said not a word, not one. She couldn't. The shock must have been dreadful for her, with her weak heart. She climbed back up the steps so slowly, so unhappily. I wanted to go with her, to comfort her, but she refused. So I stayed until the doctor and the gendarme arrived from the village. There was nothing, of course, the doctor could do, except help the gendarme carry the body up. The countess is a good friend of yours, isn't she? I'm so sorry, but it will at least be a comfort for her to stay here a while.'

‘Yes, it's something,' said Edward. ‘The inspector said you felt that Dr Kandor jumped.'

‘Yes, it was so sudden and quick,' said the Frenchwoman, ‘such a startling movement. I assumed at first that he fell, but thinking
about it made me feel he leapt. The inspector advised me I'll be called to attend the inquest, so I shall stay until it's over.'

Edward rather wished only Celeste and her mother knew about the arrival of Katerina, but that had not been possible.

‘It's been an ordeal for you, mademoiselle,' he said.

‘It has,' said Mademoiselle Dupont tiredly, ‘and I shall never be able to forget the sight of that poor man falling. And I've had no lunch and am going to get a headache.'

‘Would you like some coffee, mademoiselle, or a headache powder?' asked Madame Michel. ‘And a salad can be made up—'

‘No,' said Mademoiselle, ‘what I would like to order is a large cognac.'

Edward gave her a smile of sympathy and made his way to his room. Celeste appeared.

‘The countess?' he said.

‘Oh, her room is a harvest of comfort to her,' said Celeste. ‘She's very quiet, sitting in a chair beside her window.'

‘I'll let her rest,' said Edward.

‘Yes, but she will want to see you later, m'sieur, I'm sure.'

He lay on his bed and let the tension drain out of him. His breathing was wheezy, and there was a feeling familiar to him, that of painful, abrasive lungs combined with physical weakness. Wryly, he conceded he was entitled to feel sorry for himself. He needed at this moment to be capable of exceptional endeavours, to create peace and security for Katerina, who spoke such fascinating English but was no more English than Pavlova. And as much as any threatened woman, she was in desperate need of a strong right arm and a haven. That need was obvious, although she would answer no questions and had disclosed nothing.

Through the open shutters of the venetian blind that covered the casement doors, he caught a glimpse of Rosamund and Colonel Brecht in the garden, their continued rapport apparent.

His eyes closed. He had long since discovered that, much as he disliked being inert, the only cure for an attack was rest. His mental activity slowed, his mind blanked and he slept.

‘Edward?' The voice was soft and warm.

He awoke. Faintly, he was aware of a delicate scent. He turned his head and there she was, sitting on the bedside chair. The light was
magnificent, the dipping sun bathing the room with fire. Her hair was aflame, her face lambent with russet.

Edward indulged himself in the extravagance of a quotation.

‘“The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, and his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.” Are you the Queen of the Assyrians?'

Katerina smiled and gently shook her head.

‘I am nobody, only Katerina Pyotrovna. Celeste said you looked unwell. So I came to sit with you. I've been here twenty minutes. You've been fast asleep. Are you better?'

‘I took a little rest.' He sat up. ‘I'm fine now.'

‘I'm sorry to have been such a worry to you.' Her eyes were melting in the fiery light. ‘You are sure you're better? I feel so guilty, Edward, making such demands on you.'

‘Do friends make demands on each other? Not really. I get little attacks for no apparent reason, but a rest always does the trick.'

‘Edward, would you like some tea?' Katerina brightened at the idea. ‘Perhaps Madame Michel will serve it to us both. It will be all right to have tea in here with you?'

‘I can't think of anything nicer,' said Edward. ‘I'll go and order it.'

‘No, I will. I'll find Celeste.' She swept out in an enthusiastic rush. She returned a minute later. ‘There, Celeste is seeing to it herself. When I asked her she said, “Oh, at once, madame, if not immediately.” She's irrepressibly sweet, isn't she? I've such a comfortable room, next to yours. Celeste said it was advisable to have you close enough to look after me.'

‘In between my coughing and wheezing?' smiled Edward.

‘Was it Achilles who was the Greeks' greatest warrior?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, in a crisis,' said Katerina, ‘I would rather have you than Achilles. Edward, I'm full of grief. It's been such an unhappy day. But you've helped me bear it better than anyone else could.' She sat down again. He lay back and relaxed, immersing himself in the atmosphere of magic she created for him. Her lashes flickered, and her eyes travelled uncertainly. She saw two people in the garden. ‘They are guests, those two?'

‘Yes, but you won't be compelled to meet anyone you don't wish to. The lady is English, Mrs Rosamund Knight. The gentleman is Colonel Franz Brecht, a German. As a widow whose
husband lost his life fighting the Germans, she was very cool towards him at first—'

‘So should I have been,' said Katerina quite fiercely. ‘The Germans were responsible for sending that ice-cold monster, Lenin, to destroy Russia by revolution.'

‘That was a blow at your heart, Katerina?'

‘Revolution feeds on hatred and cruelty.' Katerina was stiff, her hands tightly clasped. ‘It doesn't build, it destroys. Perhaps that German out there was one of those responsible for sending Lenin to Russia.'

‘Perhaps,' said Edward, watching her profile. ‘But he and Mrs Knight are the most agreeable of friends now. I think they'll remain friends.'

‘They are your friends too?' Katerina managed a faint smile.

‘Yes, but not as you are.'

‘I am special?' she said lightly.

‘Yes,' he said. He knew her as a woman of secrets and griefs. He knew Dr Kandor had been her mainstay, her sure-minded guide, a man of strength and decision. He slipped from the bed, wanting to dispel the suggestion of being the invalid. He ran his hand through his tousled hair, and Katerina watched him as he took a brush to it.

His body was as slender as her own, and she
supposed the illness of poisoned lungs had robbed him of flesh. But he had such fine eyes, such a good, firm mouth. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

Celeste knocked and brought in the tray. She smiled, and set the tea things out on the little table. There was a glass in a chased metal container for Katerina, a china cup and saucer for Edward. There was lemon for Katerina and milk for Edward.

‘Shall I pour, madame?' asked Celeste.

‘Thank you, Celeste,' said Katerina.

Celeste poured. She did not talk, she did not scatter effusions of lightness or sympathy. It was not the moment for too much talk of any kind. It was a day of tragedy, its only sweetness, perhaps, in that it was drawing Edward and Madame closer together. Celeste was willing to surrender her most cherished guest to her most cherished friend. To no one else.

She left them to their tea and they drank it in an unusual and sensitive silence, Edward because his every emotion was committed to her well-being and words were hard to come by, and Katerina because she could say nothing of what she wanted to unless he spoke first. She was basically an extrovert, but not a woman to discount conventions or
modesty. It was impossible for her to tell a man she loved him, unless he declared himself first. And Edward, although not particularly conventional, believed it would be totally unfair to ask any woman to marry a wreck. Katerina did not even think about that herself, except to instinctively regard him as a man whom a woman would take particular care of. She was quite unable to understand why some lady called Emily had allowed him to make a decision unfair to both of them. They could not have been truly in love. To Katerina, love was life's most precious gift, to be nurtured, cherished and enjoyed, to help forgive and be forgiven. Loved ones departed in body, never in spirit. They remained in one's mind and heart, irrespective of the human imperfections common to all people.

‘I think it's cooling outside,' said Edward, seeing Rosamund and Franz leaving the garden.

‘Yes,' said Katerina in her quieter way. ‘And Boris Sergeyovich will have been taken away now, do you think?'

‘Yes, I'm sure he will,' said Edward. She looked so sad that he wondered if they had loved each other, she and Dr Kandor. ‘Will he be given a Bulgarian or Russian funeral, Katerina?'

Katerina sighed.

‘Does poor Boris Sergeyovich make you think of Russia, then?' she asked.

‘Russia, somehow, keeps creeping up on me.'

Katerina rose and turned her back.

‘Do you know any Russians?' she asked.

‘I've come across one or two Russian émigrés in London,' said Edward.

Her voice vibrating, Katerina said, ‘If Russia is ever on your doorstep, Edward, you must bolt your door. What do they say about Russia, the one or two émigrés you know?'

‘That Russia has always walked hand in hand with tragedy, that Russians enjoy sorrow more than laughter, and prefer funerals to weddings.'

‘Perhaps that's right, even if a little cynical, although I've known—' Katerina made one of her pauses. ‘I must go back to my room or Madame Michel will begin to disapprove of me. I shall take dinner privately.'

‘Yes, I understand,' said Edward, ‘but later on, when you feel safely installed here—'

‘Installed?' Katerina turned and smiled. ‘I am sad, yes, but I'm not a piano or a telephone.'

‘No. That was badly put. But when you feel
less sad and much safer, you may like to show yourself and dine at my table.'

‘No, no,' she said, ‘if I show myself and people talk about me, others may discover me.'

‘Others, Katerina?'

‘Those responsible for sending Boris Sergeyovich to his death,' she said.

‘You believe what I believe, then?' said Edward.

‘I knew it, Edward, before you did.' She glided out, closing the door behind her.

Katerina retired early to her bed, but sleep was elusive, and Celeste, peeping in at ten thirty, found her awake. The girl sat with her for a while, then sought Edward, about to retire himself.

‘M'sieur, she's still grieving and I think would so like to see you.'

‘She's not asleep yet?' Edward had sat up talking with Rosamund and Franz. He was unwilling to go to his own bed until he was sure Katerina was sleeping and the hotel secure. Two guests who had been out had returned, and Madame Michel had been able to bolt the front and back doors.

‘She's in need of a little love,' whispered Celeste. ‘I'm going to take a camp bed into her
room and sleep there, and while I'm seeing to it, I think she would like it if you'd go and say goodnight to her. I wonder if Dr Bush has any medicine for making a sleeping draught?'

‘Ask him, you precious girl,' said Edward. He went to Katerina's room, knocked lightly and entered to the sound of her voice. He did not put the light on. The moon, though waning fast, filtered its own light through the shutters. Katerina lay in her bed, her hair a mass of darkness against the white pillows. ‘Katerina, why aren't you asleep?'

‘Edward?' Her hand reached out and curled around his. ‘How silly I am. I'm so tired, yet I can't sleep.'

‘Well, I'm going to say goodnight to you and watch you close your eyes. And Celeste is going to be here with you.'

‘That sweet child. I'm ashamed, needing the comfort of her presence.'

He brought her hand to his lips.

‘Goodnight, Katerina.'

‘Edward, I—' Her voice was a nervous vibrating murmur. ‘Edward, would you kiss me, please?'

He bent low to kiss her cheek. She turned her face and her warm lips unashamedly received the pressure of his own. His were firm,
engaging in a moment of ardour, and hers were quivering, questing and enquiring, seeking a knowledge of love. Her vitality communicated itself to him, as it had once before, and his blood coursed and quickened.