He reached over and shook them. Mavis opened her eyes. “It’s morning,” he whispered, “you’d better be getting back to your own rooms.”
“Oh.” She sat up and stretched. “Is Enid up?”
But Enid wouldn’t open her eyes and in the end the two of them had to carry her back across the hall. Dax dropped her onto her own bed and turned to leave.
Mavis stopped him, her hand on his arm. “Dax.”
He looked down at her. “Yes?”
“It was a good party, wasn’t it?”
He smiled. “It was great.”
She hesitated; her glance fell before his. “Will there be a next time?”
“Of course.”
She looked up into his face and smiled. “The house will be too full this weekend. Too bad you can’t get down to Brighton during the week. We have our own apartment near school.”
“Who says I can’t? Will it be all right if I bring a friend?”
“Of course.” Then she looked up at him, a worried look in her eyes. “But—”
“He’s all right, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. You know him. Sergei. The Russian who plays on the French polo team with me.”
“Oh, yes.” She began to smile. “That could be real fun. When would you come?”
“Monday night, if that’s all right with you.”
Later that morning, before anyone arrived, he went down to the village and called Sergei at the hotel in London. As a reward for winning, the whole team was staying over. He wasn’t worried about Sergei not coming once he’d explained. Sergei would know just what he was talking about.
87
Sir Robert looked down at the photographs on his desk. His face did not change expression as he looked up. “You could go to jail for this, you know.”
Dax remained impassive. He did not answer. He knew that Sir Robert was bluffing. Silence fell into the room; only the faint hum of commerce seeped through the walls from the banking area outside.
Sergei had used almost the same words when Dax had broached the idea to him at the hotel in Brighton but Dax had laughed. “On what grounds? Do you think Sir Robert would want the publicity? Don’t forget it’s his daughters who will be involved.”
“Just make sure my face isn’t in the pictures,” Sergei had said, acquiescing.
“It isn’t your face I need,” Dax had answered. He paid the luncheon check and got to his feet. “Let’s go. We still have to buy a camera and some film.”
“You’d better get developing equipment as well. You can’t take pictures like that into the corner store to be developed. But what if the girls won’t go along with the idea?”
“When they’ve had enough to drink they’ll do anything,” Dax had answered, and he’d been right.
Sir Robert shuffled the photographs and placed them in a small neat pile in front of him. “How much do you want for these?”
“Nothing,” Dax replied, “they’re yours.”
The banker looked at him for a moment. “The negatives then?”
“There are four ships in Macao that were promised to my father two years ago. When they arrive in Corteguay the negatives will be mailed to you.”
“That’s out of the question,” Sir Robert said. “I don’t control those ships.”
“Ramirez thinks you do.”
Sir Robert stared at him. “So that’s what happened to the letter.”
Dax did not answer.
“Is that your conception of honor?” Sir Robert demanded angrily. “To betray your welcome in the home of your host?”
The beginnings of anger stirred in Dax’s voice. “You’re not the one to lecture me. When your own value of honor is how much you gain by its betrayal.”
It was Sir Robert’s turn to be silent. He stared down at the pile of photographs. “I do what I think is best for England.”
Dax rose to his feet. “For your sake, Sir Robert, and my own, I would much prefer to believe that than to believe you acted out of greed.”
He started for the door. Sir Robert’s voice stopped him. “I need time to consider this.”
“There’s no hurry, Sir Robert. I’m returning to Paris today. If, say, by the end of next week I do not have a favorable reaction to my request, Ramirez’s letter will be shown to your cousin the baron, and to my father. Then a thousand duplicates of each of those photographs will be distributed all over Europe.”
Sir Robert’s lips were tightly pressed together. His eyes stared coldly at Dax. “And if I should, as you put it react favorably? You surely don’t expect me to communicate with you directly?”
“No, Sir Robert. I shall learn of your decision soon enough from my father.”
“And Ramirez? Don’t you want me to do something about him?”
A yellow light flashed in Dax’s dark eyes. The banker felt a chill run through him at the sudden savageness that came into the boy’s voice. “No, Sir Robert, I have my own plans for him.”
Sir Robert’s breakfast coffee slowly turned cold as he read a headline in his newspaper the following morning:
FORMER DIPLOMAT AND AIDE MURDERED ON ITALIAN RIVIERA
He felt his hands begin to tremble as he remembered the look in Dax’s eyes. He shuddered, recalling how he had urged the boy to stay with them when he entered Sandhurst. Beneath it all the boy was nothing but a savage; all the education, the polish, was merely a thin veneer covering up the jungle. There was no telling what an animal like that might do. They might all have been murdered in their beds.
It was strange how suddenly near at hand it all seemed. No longer was it merely numbers and notations on a balance sheet at the bank. Now it was people, human beings, himself and his daughters, life and death.
His daughters. He felt a chill as he thought of them coupled with that savage. Whatever had possessed them to behave as they had? They had never given him the slightest trouble before. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to talk to them about the pictures. They were such proper young ladies he did not know how to begin to discuss it.
Suddenly he was angry. It all came clear to him. He was a fool for even having doubted them for a moment. Everyone knew that savages in the jungle had access to mysterious potions that even modern science knew nothing about. That had to be it. Somehow the boy had managed to give the girls an aphrodisiac. Perhaps in a harmless cup of tea.
He realized suddenly what he had to do. He had to get them away from here. His wife came into the breakfast room and sat down opposite him. “How are you, my dear?” she asked, spreading marmalade on a slice of toast.
“The girls are going to your cousin in Canada!” he exclaimed angrily.
She stared at him in surprise, her toast forgotten. “But I thought we agreed that they didn’t have to. That Chamberlain would never permit a war in Europe.”
“He’s not prime minister yet! The girls are going, there will be no further discussion about it.”
Sir Robert got to his feet abruptly and walked from the room, leaving his wife staring bewilderedly after him. As he walked down the driveway to the car that would take him to his offices in the city he decided that was only part of the answer. The other part was that Corteguay would get her four ships.
Because now it wasn’t the threat of scandal or exposure or even for that matter the possible besmirching of his honor if his cousin learned of his betrayal. It was much simpler and more basic than that. For the first time in his life Sir Robert no longer felt protected by his position and his money. They were scarcely the armor that would deflect the thrust of a savage’s knife. The ice-cold fear of death danced on his spine.
The sound of the muffled drums echoed hollowly on the dock behind him as Dax followed the flag-covered coffin up the gangplank. The sailors snapped awkwardly to attention in their new and unaccustomed uniforms of the Corteguayan merchant marine. Silently Dax watched as the coffin passed into their hands from the honor guard of French soldiers who had carried it aboard.
Then the soldiers stood at atte
ntion as the sailors moved down the deck with the coffin. Slowly he followed them, moving stiffly in his stiff new morning suit and holding his shiny top hat awkwardly. He closed his eyes as the sailors tilted the coffin in order to get it through the narrow doorway of the stateroom.
How ironic, he thought, that his father would never know he was returning in a ship bearing his name. That was the first thing Dax had noticed when the cortege stopped dock-side. JAIME XENOS. The white lettering on the black paint was still fresh enough to allow one to discern the former name beneath. Shoshika Maru. It was the first voyage between France and Corteguay for the newly created merchant marine.
It was only a little over a month since the day he had sat in his father’s office and Marcel had brought in the cable from England. He still remembered the smile on his father’s face when he looked up after reading it.
“Our friend Sir Robert has managed to get the ships for us!”
Dax had smiled at the happiness in his father’s eyes.
“Now perhaps when the time comes we shall return home aboard our own ship.”
The time had come, Dax thought, but in a way neither of them had foreseen. His father was returning home. But not he. He was to remain. The cable from el Presidente had been explicit:
“My condolences over the death of your father, who was a true patriot. You are hereby appointed consul, and will remain at your post until further notice.”
He watched while they tightened the straps around the coffin to secure it against the turbulence of the sea. Then, one by one, the sailors left, saluting as they passed, until only he and Fat Cat remained in the cabin.
He turned to his friend. Fat Cat said in a quick whisper, “I will wait outside.”
Dax looked down at the coffin, still covered by the green and blue flag with the soaring white eagle of Cortez, from whom the country had taken its name. Then he quietly walked over and rested his hand lightly on the lid of the casket.
“Good-bye, Father,” he said softly. “I wonder if you were ever aware how much I loved you?”
88
It was near eleven when Sergei awoke and stumbled blindly from his room into the kitchen. His father was seated at the table. “Why aren’t you at work?” Sergei asked in surprise.
The count looked at him. “I am not working there any longer. We are going to Germany.”
“What on earth for? Everyone knows that Paris hotels are the best paying in all Europe.”
“I am no longer going to do such menial work,” his father answered quietly. “I am a soldier. I am returning to my profession.”
“In what army?” Sergei asked sarcastically. Ever since he had been a child he had heard about the White Russians forming an army to return in triumph to the motherland. But nothing ever came of it. They all knew it would never happen.
“The German army. They have offered me a commission, and I have accepted.”
Sergei laughed as he poured himself a cup of steaming black tea from the samovar on the sideboard. “The German army, eh? A bunch of idiots training with wooden guns and gliders.”
“They will not always have wooden guns and gliders. Their factories are not idle.”
Sergei looked at his father shrewdly. “Why should you fight for them?”
“I will help lead them into Russia.”
“You would lead an army of foreigners against Russians?” Sergei’s voice was incredulous.
“The Communists are not Russians!” The count’s voice was angry. “They are Georgians, Ukrainians, Tartars, banded together by Jews using them for their own purposes!”
Sergei was silent. He knew better than to argue with his father on this one subject. He sipped at his tea.
“Hitler has the right idea,” his father went on. “The world will never be safe until the Jews are exterminated! Besides, Von Sadow tells us that Hitler wishes Russia returned to her rightful rulers.”
“There are others going with you?”
“Not at first.” His father hesitated. “But they will join us. You had better start packing.”
Sergei looked at the count. Long ago he had come to the conclusion that his father wasn’t the brightest of men. Somehow he was always in the forefront of every harebrained scheme to restore the monarchy, and somehow he was always the one who lost his money and was made to look the fool. This time would be no different. The others would wait, watching as his father took all the risks, then commiserate with him over his failure. But there would never be any talk of compensating him for his efforts on their behalf.
He sighed. There was no use in trying to talk his father out of it. Once Count Ivan made up his mind, that was the end of it. There was no turning back. The words came to his lips almost before he knew he had spoken them. “I am not going with you.”
Now it was his father’s turn to be surprised.
Later that week Sergei sat uncomfortably on the edge of the chair across from the desk in the room that used to be the office of Dax’s father. In a way it was hard for him to realize that less than a year ago he and Dax had gone to classes together. In the months since his father’s death, Dax seemed older, somehow matured.
“So you see,” Sergei said, “I’ve got to find a job.”
Dax nodded.
“And there’s really nothing I can do. That’s why I came to see you. Perhaps you could think of something I could do. I know how busy you are; that’s why I hesitated.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Dax did not tell his friend that actually there wasn’t that much to do. There still weren’t many people interested in Corteguay. The only thing that had really changed was his social life; suddenly he was in great demand for parties. There was something attractive to the French about a young man whose only qualification for the job as consul was an international rating in polo.
“We’ll have to find something for you,” he said. He smiled at Sergei. “I’d give you a temporary position in the consulate but I’m going home next month. El Presidente has decided on the new consul.”
“I thought—”
Dax smiled. “It was only temporary. Until el Presidente could find the right man.”
“What are you going to do?” Sergei was more interested in his friend than in himself.
Dax shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. El Presidente has written that he has plans for me but I don’t know what they are. Perhaps go to Sandhurst as he had planned. I’ll find out once I get home.”
The two young men were silent for a moment. “Perhaps you’d like to come to Corteguay with me?”
Sergei shook his head. “Thank you, no. I would not feel right in a strange land. I wish to stay in Paris.”
Dax did not press it. “I understand. I will keep my eyes open. Should I hear of anything I’ll get in touch with you right away.”
Sergei got to his feet. “Thank you.”
Dax looked over at him. “I have some money I can spare if you need it.”
Sergei looked down. Five thousand francs. His hand itched to pick it up but he was too embarrassed. “No. Thanks,” he said awkwardly, “I have enough to manage.”
But he was angry with himself as he left the consulate. The ten francs he had in his pocket would barely last him until tomorrow. And already the landlord was screaming for his rent. Without thinking, he walked all the way to the hotel where his father used to work. Then he suddenly realized, and stared up at the familiar building. Why had he come here? His father no longer guarded the door, he could no longer give him the money he used to ask for.
He walked across the street to a café and sat down in the back row under the awning. He ordered a coffee. He nursed it while he considered which of his friends might be most likely to have something on, a party or even cocktails, where he could unobtrusively get something to eat.
A voice interrupted his reverie. “Sergei Nikovitch?”
He looked up. The man standing by the table was familiar. Then he realized that it was the bell captain from the hotel across the str
eet.
“Hello,” he said, unable to remember the other’s name.
Without ceremony the man sat down. “What do you hear from your father?”
Sergei considered him coldly. For a moment he was tempted to get up and leave. The fellow was too damned presumptuous. Then curiosity got the better of him. He would not have had the nerve to sit down unless there was something definite on his mind. “Nothing.”
The bell captain shook his head. “I do not trust the Germans. I told your father not to go.”
Sergei did not answer. He knew very well that the bell captain had done nothing of the sort. He wouldn’t have dared. His father would have squashed him like the insect he was.
A waiter came by. “Two cognacs,” the bell captain ordered grandiosely, then turned back to Sergei. “And how is it with you?”
“All right.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
Damn him, Sergei thought, there are no secrets in this town. “There are several propositions I am considering.”
“I was thinking about you only today.” The bell captain was silent while the waiter put down their cognacs. “I was wondering if Sergei Nikovitch was doing anything.”
Sergei looked at him silently.
“If he isn’t, I thought, there is perhaps something that I can arrange. If only while you are making up your mind about the many offers.”
Sergei picked up his drink. “Na zdorovie.” At least the worm had the manners not to say what he must obviously know to be a fact. That Sergei had nothing at all to consider.
“A votre sante.”
It was Sergei’s turn now to express an interest. If he did not, that would be the end of it. He felt a little better with the warmth of the brandy in his stomach. “What was it you had in mind?”
The other lowered his voice. “As you know there are numerous tourists in the hotel. Among them many rich ladies alone. They are embarrassed to go out at night without escorts.”
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