Mission to Monte Carlo

by Barbara Cartland

  Craig was well aware how superstitious Zsi-Zsi was, but that was nothing new, for every gambler had what they believed was a lucky charm, which would ensure their winning at the tables.

  He had known women who carried with them the skin of a venomous snake, an eagle’s claw, a rabbit’s foot and even a piece of a hangman’s rope.

  He had also known men who put a spoonful of salt in the pockets of their evening coats to induce the cards to bring them luck.

  He had always thought them ridiculous, since all a man really wanted was an intuition that warned him of danger and a perception to tell him there was trouble ahead.

  However, this was something he would not have said to the Grand Duke Boris who, like most of his countrymen, believed that luck was a lady and could therefore be wooed.

  “How are you, Craig?” the Grand Duke asked genially.

  “All the better for seeing you, sir,” Craig replied. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Things seem to be pretty dull at the moment. But I must certainly give a party now that you have arrived. What about tomorrow night?”

  “I shall be very honoured,” Craig replied.

  “I will tell Zsi-Zsi to ask all your particular friends, but none of your enemies, if you have any.”

  “I am always hoping they are few and far between.”

  “There you are right,” the Grand Duke said. “You are a very popular man, Craig, and, as I understand it, you are alone. We must find somebody who is beautiful to keep you anchored here for at least a little while.”

  He paused before he added,

  “I see that your yacht is in the harbour so that you will be able to steal away without our being able to prevent you.”

  Craig laughed.

  “I have every intention of staying for a while. I find New York boring and I have no wish to be in London at this time of the year.”

  “I expect it is raining.”

  “I am sure it is,” Craig laughed.

  As they were talking, they had moved across the room to where there was an open window and sat down at a table in the centre of it.

  A waiter came hurrying to the Grand Duke’s side.

  He ordered a bottle of champagne, then said to Craig as if it was on his mind,

  “There is one damned pretty woman I have not seen before, but she seems to be caught up with one of your countrymen. I expect you know him – Lord Neasdon?”

  “Actually I have never met him,” Craig replied. “What is he like?”

  “Pompous – and I find it strange that anything so attractive as the Countess Aloya Zladamir should find him interesting.”

  Craig did not answer for a moment.

  Then he said,

  “With a name like that I suppose she is one of your countrymen?”

  “I suppose so,” the Grand Duke said. “I have never met any Zladamirs, but that is not to say that they do not exist.”

  Craig laughed.

  “You could not be expected to know everybody in a country the size of yours.”

  “She is also very young,” the Grand Duke continued as if he was following the train of his own thoughts, “and I cannot make up my mind whether she belongs to the Beau Monde or the Demi-Monde.”

  “Surely that is not a very difficult decision – at least for somebody as discriminating as Your Imperial Highness.”

  “I have an idea that you are pulling my leg,” the Grand Duke said, “but I admit this woman has me baffled. I got myself introduced to her and believe it or not, she made it very clear that she was not interested in me!”

  The Grand Duke spoke in an ingenuous way that made Craig want to laugh.

  He was well aware that to know the Grand Duke Boris – handsome, rich and exceedingly generous with a flamboyant personality that dominated the Social scene of Monte Carlo – was the ambition of every woman whether she belonged to the Beau Monde or the Demi-Monde.

  In fact Craig was certain that if what the Grand Duke had said was true it was the first time he had ever shown an interest in a woman of any Social class and had not been responded to with enthusiasm.

  What had happened had obviously piqued him, for he continued,

  “I should have thought being here alone in Monte Carlo for the first time she would have jumped at the opportunity of extending her acquaintances. But no! She is seen either with Neasdon or alone.”

  “A possible explanation is that she is in love with him?”

  “I don’t believe it!” the Grand Duke asserted. “He may be a very good Diplomat, but I am quite certain he is as much of a bore in bed as he is at the dinner table!”

  Craig laughed again.

  “That is certainly condemning, especially when it is the opinion of an expert like yourself, sir.”

  The Grand Duke had the grace to laugh as well.

  “I am probably making a fuss about nothing, Craig,” he said. “At the same time it really annoyed me. But I did not say anything to Zsi-Zsi. She of course has no idea that I approached this woman.”

  “You know that anything you say to me is in confidence.”

  “Well, I shall try asking her to the party tomorrow night, and you can have a look at her,” the Grand Duke said a little heavily, as he sipped the champagne which had just been poured out for him. “But I doubt if she will come.”

  “Why not try asking Neasdon and suggest that he brings her with him?”

  The Grand Duke chuckled.

  “I might have known you would have a solution to the knotty problem! But of course! That’s the ticket! And Neasdon, I should imagine, will be quite pleased to be invited to one of my parties. I have never sent him an invitation before.”

  “I am sure he would be delighted, sir, and make quite sure the invitation is a dual one.”

  “I will!” the Grand Duke agreed firmly.

  They talked of the Concours d’Elegance and the Grand Duke had invited himself aboard The Mermaid before Craig left him.

  As he walked back to the Hotel de Paris, he felt he had done a good day’s work, although he had not actually made contact with the two people he was most concerned with.

  Then, as he walked along the corridor to his own suite, he saw in front of him a very elegant figure.

  His first impression was of a woman moving with a grace that was unusual and she was also exceedingly slim.

  Then, as he stopped at his own door and she turned in at a door at the far end of the corridor, he realised that he had seen the back view of the Countess Aloya Zladamir.

  As he entered his own suite, he thought again what a lucky coincidence it was that she should have rooms connecting with his and that the room next to hers was empty.

  ‘My luck has not failed me,’ Craig told himself. ‘I have no need of snakes, hangmen’s ropes or black cats!’

  He read the newspapers until it was time to dress for dinner and when he had changed into the smart, close fitting tail coat which, like all his other clothes was made in London’s Saville Row, he went downstairs to find the party with whom he was dining.

  They were old friends he had encountered on the terrace in front of the Casino this morning, and they had insisted on his joining him and he was only too willing to do so.

  He was already making a list in his mind of the people with whom he wished to renew his acquaintance and those he wished to avoid.

  The Prince and Princess of Braganza who were his hosts this evening were charming and she was very attractive.

  They were only a party of ten and were seated at one of the best tables at the side of the room where the windows overlooked the garden in front of the Casino, which was brilliant with fairy lights.

  There were also fairy lights in the trees and, with the stars coming out and a pale moon shining its light on the dome of the Casino. the whole place looked enchanted.

  The guests in the dining room of the Hotel de Paris looked enchanted too and Craig wondered if anywhere else in the world one could find in one place, more beautiful wo
men or more handsome, aristocratic men – all the finest representatives of their different nations.

  The conversation from the moment they sat down at the table was sparkling and Craig found himself talking in first one language, then another, and contriving in his own inimitable way to be witty in them all.

  Everybody was laughing and it seemed as if a crescendo of voices was rising from all the other tables, when suddenly by the door there seemed to be a sudden hush, which spread gradually over the room.

  Craig looked round, saw the reason and was not surprised.

  Moving into the dining room was the most beautiful and unusual woman he had ever seen and, as he looked at her and saw who walked behind her, he knew who she was.

  One man at the table murmured,

  “By Jove! That is something to look at!” and Craig thought he could have echoed his words.

  She was, as he had noticed when he had seen her walking down the passage, very slim. She was also taller than many other women in the room and, if she had dressed in order to cause a sensation, she had certainly succeeded.

  Every other woman was clothed in colours of the spring fashions, green, blue, pink, yellow and a great deal of soft white chiffon or tulle.

  The Countess Aloya was wearing black. It was quite a severe black and the bodice was plain and very tight, accentuating the soft curves of her breasts and her very small waist.

  Her skirts, billowing out, were not ornamented and what at first glance seemed so extraordinary was that unlike every other woman in the room she was not glittering with jewels.

  Craig as a connoisseur of women knew that there was no need for them, for the whiteness of her skin was a jewel in itself and her hair, so fair that it seemed almost silver in the light from the chandeliers, appeared to glitter without the aid of diamonds.

  Only when she had drawn nearer to a table not far from Craig was he able to see that on one side of her bodice was pinned a brooch with one enormous stone the same colour as her hair and he knew it was a yellow diamond.

  She was spectacular, but, far more important, she was really beautiful. Her eyes were enormous, slanting up a little at the corners, and her eyelashes very dark.

  Although he could not see the colour of her eyes, he suspected, because she was Russian, they would be green. Without that coloured hair she could easily have belonged to another nationality, though for the moment he could not think what it might be.

  Almost as if he was the producer of a play, the Maitre d’Hotel ushered the Countess to a table for two, which was next to the one occupied by Craig’s party.

  The Countess sat down facing him and now he could see the exquisite symmetry of her small straight nose. Her lips were softly curved and strangely, he thought, gave the impression, although of course it was ridiculous, of being a little unsure and apprehensive.

  Then he told himself he was imagining things and yet he knew that he was looking at a face that was so different, and so unusual that it was hard to find words to describe it even to himself.

  For the moment all the conversation at the table at which he was sitting had ceased.

  Then his hostess the Princess said,

  “I must admit, she is surprising! Last night she wore dead white that was almost like a Grecian gown and her only jewel was a pearl ring the size of a pigeon’s egg.”

  “Have you met her?” Craig enquired.

  The Princess smiled and shook her head.

  “My husband has not yet made up his mind whether it is comme il faut for me to do so.”

  Craig laughed.

  “The Grand Duke is just as undecided as you are,” he said. “But surely this is a very unusual enigma in Monte Carlo of all places?”

  “Very very unusual,” the Princess agreed, “but I assure you every man in the place is trying to discover the secret of the Sphinx, and every women, including myself, is hoping they will not do so too quickly!”

  Craig laughed again.

  As the conversation returned to normal, however, he found it hard to take his eyes from the woman sitting almost opposite to him.

  Although he could not hear what she said, he knew that Lord Neasdon was droning on with a monologue that he was quite sure was extremely boring.

  His companion appeared to be listening attentively, and, Craig supposed, encouragingly.

  At the same time she was certainly not being in the least flirtatious nor did she appear to be enticing him with glances or provocative pouts of her lips as almost every other woman in the room was doing.

  He looked around and saw La Belle Otero, one of the most famous courtesans in the whole of Paris, making the men with whom she dined, sit spellbound as she talked to them.

  They raised their glasses again and again to drink her health and undoubtedly promised that sooner or later they would add to her famous and priceless collection of jewels.

  When he had first seen her, Craig had thought it was impossible for any woman to be more alluring and he had not been surprised when he had learned that the cupolas on the corners of the new Carlton Hotel at Cannes were shaped to resemble La Belle’s breasts.

  At another table sat La Juniory, who had commissioned a bed made in the shape of an enormous conch shell, and Gaby Delys, the toast of Paris, whom he had seen earlier in the day and who was as usual festooned in pearls, each string longer and more valuable than the last.

  But all these women paled beside the beauty of the Countess Aloya and Craig found himself wondering what there was about her that made her unique.

  He told himself, after studying her for some time, that it was not only her features, her unusual eyes or her hair, which she swept back in the elegant, but simple style made famous by Dana Gibson, but something else too.

  There was, he thought perceptively, something deeper, something that emanated from her almost as if she was surrounded by the aura of her own personality.

  Anyway, as far as he was concerned, she was as brilliant as if she was enveloped in light.

  It might be, he told himself scornfully, that he was intrigued because of what the Marquis of Lansdowne had said, yet he found it difficult all through the long meal that followed to take his eyes from the woman at the next table.

  He was determined to meet her and he thought it was far too long to wait until the next evening to find out if Neasdon had taken the bait offered to him by the Grand Duke and bring her to the party at his villa.

  But try as he could, when they all went on to the Casino, he found it impossible to find anyone who could introduce him to the unknown Countess.

  He thought of walking up to Neasdon and saying that the Marquis of Lansdowne had told him they would meet in Monte Carlo and introducing himself. But that was something he had no wish to do.

  But he could not think of any other way of talking either to Lord Neasdon or to his companion.

  They were in the Salle Touzet at the Casino, but Neasdon did not gamble nor did she.

  Instead they sat at one of the tables talking to each other or drinking champagne but, although Lord Neasdon had obviously a great deal to say and took a long time in doing so, neither of them seemed particularly animated.

  As Craig moved around the room talking to friends, pretending to watch what numbers came up on the roulette tables or standing behind those who were playing baccarat, he thought he had never been so frustrated or so helpless.

  In the past every Social problem had seemed far easier. In fact he could never remember wanting to get to know somebody, especially a woman, without it happening almost before he thought of it.

  Although he went very near to the Countess at times, he was aware she never once raised her eyes to look up at him or any other people in the room.

  She merely appeared to be listening attentively to Lord Neasdon, occasionally speaking to him, sometimes making a gesture with her left hand.

  ‘What can I do?’ Craig asked himself and felt like swearing when half an hour after midnight he saw the Countess rise to her feet.
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  Lord Neasdon obviously expostulated with her, doubtless begging her not to retire so early, but she moved insistently towards the door and Craig unobtrusively followed.

  She obtained a black velvet cape from the cloakroom woman, placed it round her shoulders and walked ahead towards the door.

  Again, because he could not help himself, Craig followed and, as she went down the steps and out into the moonlight, he saw her raise her face up towards the sky.

  He saw the long line of her white neck and he thought, although he could not be sure, that she wished upon a star, as women have done since the beginning of time.

  Then with Lord Neasdon still muttering, she walked quickly towards the lights of the Hotel de Paris and disappeared up the steps through the door into the reception lounge.

  Craig, without even thinking that he should have said goodnight to his host and hostess, walked after her at a discreet distance.

  By the time he had reached his own floor, he was not surprised, although he thought he should have been, to see the Countess walking alone ahead of him as she had done earlier in the day.

  Even as he went into his own suite, he heard her door close decisively.

  It was then he told himself that whatever her association with Lord Neasdon might be, he was not her lover and, what was more, it was unlikely that he would join her later.

  Craig felt sure of this because he had sent his valet downstairs to find out if Lord Neasdon was staying in the hotel.

  The valet had returned with the information that his Lordship was in fact at L’Hermitage, which was a little higher up the town and the next most important hotel in Monte Carlo.

  In his own suite, Craig stood for a moment thinking.

  Then, as if his instinct told him what to do, he walked through the communicating door of his sitting room into his bedroom and opened another almost identical door that led into the empty room, which communicated with that of the Countess.

  He was well aware that the door, both on his side and hers had been locked by the staff and would only be opened if they asked for the key.