I removed my costume and stepped behind the tall screen to slip into my rich maroon taffeta gown. I touched up my make-up and was straightening my hair when once again the door flew open and Eric, Hans and Wilhelm rushed in, accompanied this time by six or seven other youths.
“You were magnificent!” Hans cried. “Magnificent!”
“And what a marksman!” Wilhelm exclaimed. “I saw you catch that tomato, saw you hit Schroder sploosh in the face with it! Those sodding soldiers will think twice before messing with us again, I can tell you for sure! Did you see me? Did you see what I did to that brute?”
“I saw. You were wonderful, all of you.”
They continued to carry on, and I wondered where Phillipe was, wondered why he hadn’t come backstage. Had he been here tonight? Had King Karl been in the Royal Box? I couldn’t be certain. Perhaps Phillipe was waiting out in the hall for the boys to leave before he came in. They were making so much noise I couldn’t even think properly. When I finished with my hair, Eric handed me my reticule and Hans scooped up the bouquets as Wilhelm seized my elbow and hurried me out of the dressing room, the others following on our heels.
“I—I really—I should wait for—”
“No arguments! We’ve got a surprise!”
I let them lead me down the hall. Surrounded by the merry pack, caught up in their excitement, I realized that any further protest would be futile. Hans flung open the side door and Wilhelm rushed me outside onto the steps. The cheering was deafening, a thundering earthquake of noise that seemed to make the ground tremble. At least two hundred students crowded around the steps and spilled out onto the street beyond, several of them holding torches that blazed with leaping orange flames. My carriage was in their midst, the horses stamping and neighing, terrified by the uproar and the leaping flames that drove away the darkness.
“Elena! Elena! Bravo Elena!”
Wilhelm released me and pushed forward with four other youths to unharness the horses. My driver protested vehemently. Wilhelm shoved him aside. I stood there on the steps, slightly dazed. Hans plunged through the mob with the bouquets, placing them inside the carriage, and Eric took my hand and led me forward.
“Make way, lads! Make way for Elena! Ready, Wilhelm?”
“Ready!”
“Go on, Elena! Climb in!”
Two of the students led the horses to one side. Six strapping youths lifted the shafts of the carriage, three on either side. I climbed inside surrounded by flowers, and with gleeful yells the boys began to run, pulling the carriage down the street. It bounced dreadfully. I was knocked from side to side until I had the sense to catch hold of the window frame for support. The mob of students ran along on either side, waving their torches, yelling my name with lusty glee.
“Elena! Elena! Elena!”
“Out of the way up ahead! Out of the way!”
“Watch that damn bridge! Don’t stumble on the cobbles!”
They carried me past the lighted cafes and beer gardens, past the stately museums. I leaned out the window and waved, and the students roared all the louder. Torch flames leaped. The carriage rocked and swayed. We were moving along the side of the lake, and now that we were outside the main part of town the uproar seemed even greater. Eric grabbed a torch and ran beside one of the windows, smiling at me, and Hans was right behind him, blond hair flopping over his brow, cheeks bright pink with excitement. I continued to wave until we pulled up in the drive.
The carriage stopped in front of Chez Elena, tilting precariously as the boys let go of the shafts. Wilhelm hurried around to help me alight, holding my hand in a bone-crushing grip. His red hair was damp with perspiration, his roguish brown eyes dancing with delight as he smiled a lopsided smile and led me toward the steps. Hans and Eric scrambled into the carriage to gather up the bouquets. Behind the mob of students, the driver came trudging wearily up the drive, leading the two horses by the reins and looking thoroughly disgruntled. I smiled and gave my attention to the rapt young mob that filled the front yard, torches held aloft.
“Say something, Elena!” Wilhelm urged.
“Thank you!” I called. “Thank you! I love you all!”
They roared their appreciation, and they helped the driver take horses and carriage around to the stables, and then they left, torches flaming, voices raised in song. As I turned to go inside I was startled to see Phillipe standing in the shadows beside the door. He moved forward, elegant in formal attire, dark lapels gleaming, neckcloth snowy white.
“Phillipe! I—I didn’t see you.”
“You’ve had quite a night.”
“You were at the theater?”
He nodded, smiling. “I was there.”
“You didn’t come backstage. I thought—”
“I expected the students might do something like this. That’s why I came on ahead. His Majesty was at the theater tonight, too, Elena.”
“He was?” I asked nervously.
“He thought you were marvelous,” Phillipe said. “He asked me to come fetch you and bring you to the palace. It’s very late, and he knows you must be tired, but he thought you might like to have a midnight supper with him.”
“I—I’ll have to change.”
“There’s no hurry. The King is an extremely patient man.”
XXIX
I had changed into my loveliest gown, a pale oyster gray satin completely overlaid with dark, delicate black lace in floral designs, lace as fine as cobwebs. The long, tight sleeves left my shoulders bare, and the bodice was low, exposing a great deal of bosom. The full skirt belled out at the waist to cascade over half a dozen pale pink underskirts. I had fastened a pink velvet rose above my temple, another at the side of my waist. As Phillipe helped me out of the royal carriage, I felt sure that I had never looked more glamorous.
The lake shimmered in the moonlight, silvery threads dancing on the surface, and a gentle breeze drifted through the formal gardens. I heard a solitary bird warbling quietly from his perch in one of the trees. It was well after midnight as Phillipe led me up a long flight of white marble steps awash with moonlight. The palace was truly imposing, a vast, sprawling structure shrouded in shadow. My skirts made a silken rustle as we climbed.
“The King does not sleep well,” Phillipe explained. “He rarely goes to bed before dawn. He roams the palace, examining his paintings, his statues, his various collections. Sometimes he plays solitaire in front of the fire, and sometimes he just strolls in the gardens.”
“He must be very lonely.”
“He has a great many problems,” Phillipe said quietly, “and there are very few people in whom he can confide.”
“He’s lucky to have you, Phillipe.”
“I’m only a minor aide,” he protested, “not important at all. His Highness entrusted me with looking after you because—well, because I requested it. I was very eager to meet you.”
“Oh?”
“I’d seen you dance, you see. In London. While I was still attending the university, I went to England on holiday with one of my friends, and we managed to get tickets for your performance. It was—it was one of the most exciting nights in my life.”
“You have never mentioned it before.”
“You were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, incandescent with beauty, aglow with fire and passion. I was very nervous that day I came to the inn. I expected a mercenary creature who would be rude and sullen and perhaps even throw things.”
“I had been throwing things earlier on,” I confessed.
A footman opened the heavy door, and we entered the palace. We were in a long, sumptuous hall with pale ivory walls. Chandeliers hung from the exquisitely gilt ceiling, crystal pendants aglitter. A dark gold carpet covered the floor, and it seemed to extend for miles. Phillipe nodded to the footman, and led me down the hall.
“I fancied myself an authority on Elena Lopez. I’d read all the stories about you, everything I could find, and then I met you and discovered a completely different person.
”
“Disappointed?” I asked.
“On the contrary. We turn here.”
He led me down a smaller hall, this one not as brightly lit, all done in pale blue and white and gold, magnificent paintings on the walls, mostly French. I recognized several Watteaus, a Boucher, a stunning group of small Meissoniers framed in ornate gold. We moved down a flight of stairs and into yet another part of the palace. It was drafty here, the air chilly, and there was a distinct musty smell.
“This is my last official duty,” Phillipe said casually. “I’m leaving Barivna tomorrow.”
“Phillipe! I—I’m sorry to hear that.”
He sighed and smiled sadly. “I received another letter from my father. He wants me to return to Touraine. He insists, as a matter of fact. He claims he is no longer able to manage the estate on his own.”
“I thought you had a brother.”
“He’s away at the Sorbonne and will be for the next two years. The estate is very large, you see. There are over fifty tenant farms, and the chateau is in need of repairs and—Father used words like duty and responsibility and so on, all calculated to make me feel guilty. I suppose I should have returned to Touraine a long time ago.”
“You hate the idea so much?”
“Especially now,” he said.
We stopped before an ornate white door with lovely tapestries hanging on either side. Phillipe looked at me with those clear blue eyes, so sad now, despite the gentle smile on his lips, and I suddenly realized that he was in love with me. He was much too polite, much too genteel to declare himself, but there was no need for words.
“I wonder if I might write to you?” he asked.
“Of course you may, Phillipe.”
“And when you return to Paris—well, I’ll be coming up to Paris, and I thought perhaps I might call on you.”
“I’ll expect you to.”
He gazed at me for a moment longer, leaving so much unsaid, and then he sighed again and indicated the door.
“The King maintains an elaborate set of rooms for show,” he told me, “but this is his private apartment, where he comes when he wants to get away from all the pressures. He’s expecting you, Elena. There’s no need for me to announce you. The King doesn’t believe in formality except on state occasions.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
Phillipe shook his head. “I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. My bags are already packed.”
“I shall miss you, Phillipe.”
“And I you.”
“Have a safe journey. I won’t say goodbye. I’ll simply look forward to your letters and count on seeing you again in Paris.”
“You shall,” he promised.
He opened the door for me, and, after a moment’s hesitation, I went inside. Phillipe closed the door behind me, and I found myself in a surprisingly small room filled with comfortable clutter. Unframed paintings leaned against the wall. Tables were piled high with books and journals, and there were several rolls of paper that looked like blueprints. The furniture was elegant but unimposing, the atmosphere snug and welcoming. A fire crackled in the lovely white marble fireplace, spreading warmth throughout the room, and only two lamps burned, making hazy pools of light and creating nests of shadow in the rest of the room.
For a moment I thought I was alone, but when I stepped further into the room, King Karl arose from a wing-backed chair in the shadows. Moving into the light, he smiled a warm, timid smile.
“Elena,” he said. “We meet at last.”
I made a deep curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Please, I’m ‘Your Majesty’ when I’m dressed in splendid attire and entertaining dull, pompous statesmen. Here I’m simply Karl, a lonely man who’s grateful you’ve accepted his invitation.”
“It was kind of you to invite me.”
The King took my hand and lifted it to his lips.
“I had wanted to ask you earlier, but there were—problems, distractions. I trust you’ve been comfortable?”
“Very.”
“You’re extremely lovely, my dear, incredibly so, even more so in this light than behind the footlights. I can quite honestly say that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”
“You’re very gallant.”
The King kissed my hand and held it a moment longer before releasing it, and then he stepped back. Not much taller than I, he was solidly built, a bit too fleshy, although his stoutness was not unattractive. His hands were long and sensitive, and his expression was as melancholy as I remembered it being in the portrait I had seen in Bonn. His light brown hair was turning silver at the temples. Over dark trousers and a white cambric shirt he wore a quilted dressing robe of rich blue brocade, the lapels heavy black satin, as was the sash tied at his waist. His slippers of soft black kid were obviously well worn.
Middle-aged, weary, Karl of Barivna was not a handsome man, but there was a compelling quality about him, much warmth and a curious compassion that I sensed immediately. He was neither grand nor imposing, yet he was undeniably regal, the authority unmistakable even though veiled by his timid, unassuming manner. One sensed great kindness and an even greater vulnerability. His loneliness was immediately apparent, something he had lived with for a very long time.
“I’m so pleased you could come,” he said. “I enjoyed your performance tonight very much.”
“I’m sorry about the fracas at the beginning. I hope you don’t think that I deliberately instigated it.”
“Of course not. Truth to tell, I rather enjoyed that, too. Schroder and his soldiers went altogether too far. Don’t give it another thought, my dear. Come, sit by the fire.”
He took my hand and led me to a chair. Then he pulled a silk bell cord and took the chair opposite mine. The small table between us was set with gold-rimmed delicate china and glittering, ornate silverware, napkins of the finest linen, crystal glasses on fragile stems. A minute or so later the heavy velvet curtains concealing an archway parted, and a footman in palace livery appeared with a cart. Silent, efficient, he set ornate silver covered dishes on the table as well as a tall bottle of champagne in a silver bucket filled with crushed ice. He removed the covers from the dishes, twirled the bottle of champagne once or twice, uncorked it and then left as unobtrusively as he had come, rolling the cart in front of him.
“Hungry?” Karl inquired.
“Actually, I’m famished. I never eat before a performance.”
Smiling, Karl poured champagne into our glasses, then took my plate and filled it with food, waiting on me as though it were the natural thing to do. I found myself completely at ease with him, not the least bit of strain between us. Karl was utterly charming, still rather shy, asking me questions about myself and listening with total absorption as I told him about my girlhood in Cornwall and the early days with Madame Olga. I gave him a brief account of my career as Elena Lopez, and he laughed quietly when I described the deception Anthony had so successfully put over on the paying public.
“Of course, everyone knows I’m English now,” I continued. “It was in all the papers—the shocking truth revealed at last. The public found it delightful, and somehow it only enhanced the legend.”
“And your love affairs?” he inquired.
“Vastly exaggerated. They’re already making up stories about us, you know. The Paris papers arrived yesterday, and were full of highly colorful accounts of how Elena Lopez conquered the King of Barivna. You have set me up in my own palace and we’re shamelessly flaunting our affair.”
“Would that the stories were true,” he said quietly.
He looked up at me with a sad, lost longing in his eyes. Something about Karl had puzzled me ever since I arrived, and I suddenly realized what it was—a total lack of sexuality. He was warm, charming, attentive, clearly interested in me and pleased to have me with him, yet there was not the least glimmer of active desire as he gazed at me. I was beginning to suspect the reason for that haunted look.
“More pheasant?�
�� he inquired.
“I couldn’t eat another bite. It—it’s very late.”
“Must you go?”
He was clearly distressed at the thought of my leaving so soon. Those sad eyes were filled with concern. I felt a great empathy for him, pitying him without really knowing the full reason. I wanted to take his hand and smile a reassuring smile and speak soft, consoling words. There was a moment of silence, and Karl seemed tense, almost on the verge of panic. This man needed me tonight, and his need was great even though there was nothing at all physical about it.
“I would love to stay, if I’m not intruding,” I said. “I’m always stimulated after a performance. I won’t be able to sleep for hours.”
The look of distress vanished. Karl poured more champagne for us and relaxed, looking as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He plainly dreaded being alone tonight. I suspected that there were nights when his melancholia became almost unbearable, that tonight was one of them. I asked him questions about himself, and he talked freely and a bit wistfully about his childhood, his early manhood, his student days in Bonn. He had been an enthusiastic horseman, inordinately proud of his stables, and at seventeen he had owned a fine line of pure-blooded Arabians as beautiful as fresh snow, as fast as lightning.
“I wasn’t aware of your interest in horses,” I said.
“I had to give it up. After the accident I—there were a great many things I had to give up.”
“Accident?”
“I was riding one of the Arabians. We leaped a fence, and I miscalculated. The horse fell—on top of me. Two of its legs were broken and it had to be shot. My own injuries were—” Karl paused, gazing into the fire. “I’ve often thought it would have been better if they had shot me, too. I was engaged to a Romanian princess. The engagement was—tactfully broken off.”
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