Pierre felt the red mist thicken, and bubble, until the fury, the rage consumed him. He turned to Natasha.
“You are a traitor! You are a liar! You are not worthy of me! You do not even know my name! I was never Pyotr . . .”
Sophie gave a little shriek; Tom shoved his mother behind him and clutched at a poker.
And Pierre suddenly realized ... he’d screamed in Russian....
And now Katherine was screaming, in Russian, back at him.
“You are mine, you are mine, you are mine! I am your woman!” She rushed at him. “I am your woman. . . .”
He started to swear that he would kill her, that he would choke the life from her.
But nothing came out. There was a hissing. Just a hissing. And then he saw the first spatters of red.
Sophie screamed. Tom lunged for Natasha. And then the pain . . .
Pierre, Pyotr,Vladek . . . he reached up . . . he felt the hole in his neck, saw the stiletto in her hand. Long, sharp . . . it was made of gold, and sparkled with diamonds.
Katherine had used the knife as a hairpin. In his agony, Pierre wondered wildly just how long she’d waited. Had she always known this moment was going to come?
He tried to scream. No sound. He thought of Giles, Mathilde, Aud. His father . . .
Blood, blood. It hurt. So bad . . .
“Papa!” Tom yelled. “Papa, Papa!”
His son caught him; he felt Tom’s fingers on the wound, his palm . . . desperately, fruitlessly trying to patch a cut throat. He held Tom’s eyes. . . .
And in his last seconds, he registered, with surprise, that there was love—real love. And for one moment,Vladek was sorry . . .
He could not speak. But he looked into Tom’s eyes.
For that one moment, Vladek returned his love, asked for his forgiveness.
And then he died.
Katherine, Natasha, wrenched herself free from Sophie’s grip; covered in Pierre’s blood, she wailed, keened, like the cry of an animal in pain, floating up from her very soul.
And then, before anyone could stop her, she took the knife, and her hands, in their last moment of strength, drove the slender blade straight into her heart.
When the police finally left, it was after three in the morning. Hugh had raced over and had stayed by Sophie’s side.Tom did not want to be parted from her. They had sat, in a knot, at the end of the room, watching the medical examiners come, watching the corpses go out, answering the endless questions.
Judy hovered in a corner of the room, by herself. She occasionally brushed her hand over her eyes—obviously weeping.
Sophie kissed her son on the cheek.
“Are you all right for a moment, darling?”
“I’m fine.” Tom struggled to smile; he was hollow-eyed with grief, but Sophie knew that in the end, he would be okay. He had come to the last few months a boy, and left them a man. He would survive this, too. “I’ll go to bed soon. And in the morning I’ll call Polly.”
“All right.” She hugged him. “I’ll be back.”
Sophie walked across the polished oak floorboards to Judy.
“I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute,” Judy said courageously, tilting her chin upwards. “I’ve got a mobile. The police impounded his car—I’ll call for a cab.”
“No need. Richard will drive you wherever you want to go.” Sophie gestured towards the French doors. “Would you like to get some air for a moment? It’s not too cold outside.”
Judy looked at her, surprised; Sophie saw the tear streaks down her chin.
“Yes. Thank you.”
She followed Sophie out onto the terrace and sat with her on the Victorian wrought-iron bench, piled with tapestry cushions, under the loggia. The harvest moon was low now, but still bright; it shone through the clouds.
Judy spoke first.
“I know I owe you an apology.” She sighed, bitterly. “I really thought I loved him, if it makes any difference.”
“So did I, at one time. The difference is that you truly did love him. So did Katherine—or whoever she was.”
Judy shook her head.
“No,” she answered. “We never knew him. I never did, anyway. I loved an idea. He wasn’t that idea. But by the time I discovered the truth it was far too late. I clung on to that romantic ideal for so long that I utterly lost myself. Katherine might have known him better, but she had the same disease, worse. It’s not love; it’s obsession.” She sighed. “You and your husband have love.”
“Yes, we do.” Sophie smiled, and blinked away tears. “I understand, you know. I forgive you—for what that’s worth. There’s no bitterness here. I think we’ve all had enough of hate and rage.”
“Oh, God, yes,” Judy said. She drew her shoulders back. “I think I guessed he’d killed Gregoire—even when he was acting. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. It had been so long. By then, Pierre was the focus of my life. A goal, not a real person.” She shivered. “He’s gone, and it’s like waking up . . . coming out of a fog.”
“What will you do?”
For the first time, a slight smile appeared on the younger woman’s face.
“Start fresh,” she replied. “I’ve learned a lot. Sell the apartment, go back to New York. Now that I don’t have this weighing me down, I feel like I could do—almost anything. I’m going to start my own business.” She grinned. “Maybe even fall in love—with a nice single guy.”
“I think we can do anything we put our minds to.” Sophie smiled back at her. “I really do.”
“Me too. Something else we have in common.” Judy stood, straight and confident. She extended her hand to Sophie, who shook it. “I wish you well.”
“And I you. If you’re ready, Richard’s waiting on the drive. He’ll take you home.”
“Thanks. Goodbye,” Judy said.
“Goodbye.” Sophie watched as Judy, her old rival, left, head held high. Suddenly she felt a great sense of peace.
She sat there, alone, looking down towards the lake under the moonlight. Sophie wasn’t sure how long—after a while, a strong hand descended on her shoulder. She turned round; it was Hugh.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Tom went to bed.”
“He’ll recover. He’s strong; I know him.”
Hugh sat down next to her and put his arm around her.
“You know I love you,” he said. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“None of us did. But it was Pierre’s choice. And Katherine’s.”
“Shall I drive us back to the hotel?”
“No; I’ll stay here tonight.” She kissed him, lingeringly, on the lips. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I believe in forgiveness, and mercy, and love—and our family.”
Something in her tone caught Hugh’s ear. He pulled away from her, his eyes searching her face.
“Maybe it’s a strange time to tell you.” Sophie passed a hand over her belly, gently, caressing it. “But this is an end, of sorts—and now it’s a beginning, too.”
“My God—you don’t mean . . . ?”
“Yes I do. I’m pregnant,” she said, and leaned into him and kissed him again, deeply. Hugh’s arms enfolded her.
“Let’s not move,” he said, after a minute. “This is the greatest moment of my life. Let’s just sit here forever. What do you say?”
“There’ll be even better ones, soon. From now on, everything is going to be wonderful.” Sophie sighed with sheer joy. “Although I do love the moonshine on the lake. I love how it sparkles.”
Hugh kissed her again, and led her back into the house.
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Sparkles Page 55