by ILIL ARBEL
“How about Natalya? I am sure you could trust her with the secret. She is trustworthy.”
“No, it won’t do. She will be working for me; people will notice the added connection, no. I need to find a discreet, good teacher who is not connected to the world of fashion. You know plenty of Russians, can you think of someone?”
“Yes, of course,” said Madame Golitsyn with a smile. “I know just the right person. He is of a very noble family, and was a priest. But he was dismissed from the priesthood after a romantic scandal…”
“Mon Dieu!” said Madame Koska, aghast.
“It was not his fault, really,” said Madame Golitsyn, smiling. “He was simply fawned over by the women. He used to be extraordinarily handsome when he was young, and he just succumbed to it. It’s all in the past. Of course he is older now, and very respectable. He makes his living teaching languages, Russian, French, German, Italian…”
“Very well,” said Madame Koska. “I would like to meet and arrange it with him. You are sure he can be trusted with the secret?”
“Absolutely,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Just don’t blame me if you fall in love. All his students do.”
Madame Koska laughed. “No, no, Annushka. He will fall in love with me!” she said, and the ladies giggled like two schoolgirls as they rejoined the party.
No trouble at all,” said Madame Koska. “I vill be over this afternoon at three, as you vish, Lady Victoria. Thank you for your trust in my establishment.” She hung up the telephone and walked over to the sewing room; everyone looked up from their work.
“Ladies,” she announced, “I have good news. Very good news indeed. Lady Victoria Ashton-Smith vants us to create an evening gown. A little later, she plans to order more garments. In other vords, a big part of her new vardrobe.”
The women nodded with appreciation. You never know with a new establishment, the first couple of years are dangerous. They trusted Madame Koska’s business sense, but still, if she failed, there were not too many jobs around, and her place promised to be good and steady—if it stayed in business.
“I have to leave here at two…someone vill have to answer the telephone.” She looked around and her eyes fell on Gretchen, who had nothing to do unless someone came for a fitting or to look at clothes. Gretchen would not go home, though, and preferred to stay all day and help out since, as she told Madame Koska, at home things were boring, but the atelier represented Life. And as she was always happy to fetch, carry, look under the table for lost buttons or beads, thread needles, and sweep all the bits and pieces of fabric and thread off the floor, Madame Koska did not have the heart to send her home. Besides, she had a new idea. She looked at the girl. Her amber-colored hair was carelessly tucked up, she was wearing a striped seamstress smock at least two sizes too big, and yet she looked as beautiful as ever.
“Miss Van der Hoven,” she said, “From now on, I vould like you to answer the telephone vhen I go out.”
“But, but…but that would be as if I am a vendeuse,” Gretchen murmured, clearly alarmed by the honor bestowed on her.
“So? I have seen you talking to people. You can talk to anyone. Come along into the front room.” Gretchen followed meekly.
“Look, Miss Van der Hoven, you have nothing to do until ve start the real collection and the big shows. Vhy not try to vork as a vendeuse? Of course you von’t deal vith money issues, you are like a baby vith money, but you can fix appointments in the book, and be nice to the clients on the phone, right?”
“Yes! I can!” Gretchen suddenly smiled with renewed courage. “Why not? I can talk! I like to talk!”
“Exactly…and it von’t hurt you to learn a bit of the business side. Of course, you are so beautiful that you vill probably marry soon, but just in case…no one is a mannequin forever, but a vendeuse, now this is a real trade.”
“I will have to wear nice clothes all the time, right, Madame Koska? Not the smocks?”
Madame Koska smiled indulgently. “Yes, you vill sit in the front, be nicely dressed, and vhen the ladies come in, you vill greet them politely.”
“I can do that! Yes!” Gretchen smiled. “Madame Koska, the telephone is ringing…shall I?”
“Yes, try it!”
Gretchen picked up the telephone. “Madame Koska’s Establishment,” she said sweetly and without the slightest hesitation. “May I help you? Yes, she is here. Who may I say is calling?”
Her manner is as polished as can be, thought Madame Koska, surprised. But she had no time to ponder since Gretchen handed her the receiver, saying quietly, “Mr. Korolenko, Madame Koska.” Madame Koska took the receiver, shrugging her shoulders and raising her eyebrows to indicate she had no idea who it was. Must be a potential supplier, she thought, since the all the clients were women, naturally enough. “Yes, Mr. Korolenko?” Gretchen left the room with utmost discretion. Yes, she would do very well, Madame Koska thought. The girl was carefully brought up, excellent manners…
“Oh,” said Madame Koska after listening for a second. “Just one minute, Mr. Korolenko. Let me shut the door…” The seamstresses heard her murmured conversation behind the closed door. After a few minutes Madame Koska opened it again.
“Ladies, I vill not be back in time to close up when the day is over, I have another meeting directly after the one with Lady Victoria. Miss Saltykov, vould you kindly close up and then drop the key in the mailbox in my apartment upstairs?” She disengaged the key from her chatelaine.
“Certainly, Madame Koska,” said Natalya, looking up from the blue-green, semi-sheer silk sleeve she was beading and holding her hand out to take the key. Madame Koska looked at the sleeve. “How utterly lovely, Miss Saltykov. These arabesques you are embroidering are simply flawless.” Natalya flushed with pleasure as the other women bent to look.
“Your skill is incredible, Miss Saltykov,” said one of them. “I wish I could bead like you. Why, these beads look like emeralds, the way you placed them against the silver thread…” Horribly embarrassed but happy, Natalya murmured that she would be happy to show her friends any little tricks they needed. Madame Koska smiled at everyone and then went to her office to get ready for her meeting with Lady Victoria Ashton-Smith, who was staying at her town house in London.
The meeting went very well, and all the little details were discussed. Lady Victoria wanted a dark crimson velvet dress, flowing in the newest style, shorter in front and longer in the back, and decorated with panels of beading and embroidery on the bodice. She would look very well in it, thought Madame Koska; it would set off her bobbed dark hair and pale complexion. They fixed a time for the first visit, to have the measurements taken, Madame Koska delicately mentioned the fee, which was graciously agreed to, and then took her leave, well pleased with her afternoon work. She went out and not even glancing at the bus she was accustomed to take, signaled a cab. Consulting a piece of paper she took out of her handbag, she told the address to the driver and they rolled away.
The cab stopped in a modest, unfashionable part of town. The houses had a certain atmosphere of faded glory, not exactly shabby but no longer first class. Still, they retained a special kind of charm that comes from older and mellower architecture. Madame Koska paid the driver and walked to the front door. Clearly Mr. Korolenko was not wealthy, but at least he lived in respectable circumstances. She rang the bell, and a woman wrapped in a big floral apron opened it. “Yes?” she said curtly, staring at Madame Koska’s elegant coat and hat.
“I am here to see Mr. Korolenko,” said Madame Koska.
“Second floor, on the right,” said the woman and stood aside. Madame Koska climbed the steep stairs. The stairway was badly lit, a slight odor of cooking lingered in the air, and from the apartment on the left she could hear squeaky voices of children playing or fighting. Madame Koska knocked on the door of the apartment on the right of the little landing and waited. No one came, but she heard a piano being played inside and assumed the player could not hear her. She waited for a break in the music and
knocked again. This time the door was opened instantly by a tall, middle-aged man wearing a shabby but well-cut tweed suit. “I am Madame Koska,” she said. “Ve talked earlier.”
“Oh yes, come in, Madame,” said the man and allowed her to pass in front of him in. The apartment had no foyer, and the door led directly into the drawing room. It was starkly furnished, but spacious, clean and neat. “Do sit down, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko, and pointed to the sofa. “I understand you want to learn Russian. I am a bit baffled since the way you speak, and your accent, are so very Russian already.”
“So Countess Golitsyn did not explain my situation?” asked Madame Koska.
“She said that you need to learn Russian as quickly as possible, and that I must be very diplomatic about it and not say a word to anyone.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Madame Koska. “And you vere not curious as to vhy?”
“Madame Koska, I don’t ask questions. I need to earn my living, and people learn languages for many reasons, some of them secret. If something happens to them, the less I know, usually, the better.”
Madame Koska nodded. She appreciated such discretion in her acquaintance. This man could be valuable… “You speak like an Englishman,” she said. “I do not detect any foreign accent. And yet your name is Russian. Vhat are you?”
“I am Russian. But being a linguist, I can usually speak with a clean pronunciation in all the languages I know. As for English, it is particularly easy for me. I learned it from my first tutor, an Englishman, at a very young age.”
“I imagine you held important positions in Russia, but here you vork as a language teacher?”
“What can you do, Madame Koska? One must survive. After the Revolution, men in my position cannot afford to be proud…but yes, I was a professor in Moscow. I am not of the nobility, but rather, upper class, professional family. We had to flee because of our connections with the nobility.”
Madame Koska drummed her fingernails on the sofa’s arm. “Yes,” she said. “I see.”
“You are uncomfortable about something, I can see that,” said Mr. Korolenko. “What is bothering you, Madame Koska?”
For the first time, Madame Koska really looked at him. He was a handsome man, tall, broad-shouldered, with strong features and dark brown eyes, probably in his mid-fifties. He looked intelligent and trustworthy. She decided to proceed.
“Yes, this is true, I am not comfortable revealing my secret to a stranger,” she said, “but I have no choice. You see, Mr. Korolenko, I am not Russian; it is all a façade. But my clients here must believe I am Russian, and unlike those in Paris, many of them vill vant to speak Russian to me. Their French is perfect, but they are not always comfortable with English, and vhen they meet another Russian, they vill revert to speaking their own language. So I must learn Russian as fast as possible.”
“But why did you pretend to be Russian in the first place? And if it was necessary, why not pretend to be French?”
“I started vorking in Paris with my husband, and he was Russian…it’s a long story, I’ll tell you some day. But the important thing is, can you do it? Can you teach me Russian, good enough to speak like a native, and do it in secret?”
“Of course I can. I developed a system of conversational studies that will get you speaking in a short time, but just in case, I will also teach you reading and writing. That might take a little longer but it would be less of a rush.”
“This is a good plan,” said Madame Koska.
“Where would you like me to meet you for the lessons?” asked Mr. Korolenko.
“I vill have to come here. I can’t allow you to be seen in my business or apartment.”
“Very well, it will be quiet here and no one needs to know. Many students come here.”
“Do they meet each other on the stairs, or vait until a lesson is finished? I’d rather not meet them.”
“You never will. I always make sure there is a half hour break between students’ appointments. Many feel exactly as you do,” said Mr. Korolenko. “So, shall we say twice a week?”
They settled on the terms and Madame Koska felt that he charged too little. She did not try to dissuade him from undercharging her, she rather fancied a bargain for herself, but the thought crossed her mind that she must talk to him about raising his fees. But not before they became friends, or it might offend him.
It was evening when Madame Koska returned home. Normally she would stop downstairs at the atelier, but since she did not have the key in her bag, having given it to Natalya, it would have meant going upstairs to her apartment, getting the key from her mail box, and going down again. She did not have anything pressing to do there. After all, writing Lady Victoria’s order in the books could be done the next day, and she felt rather tired. She took the key from the mail box and threw it in her bag. Deciding to just have some light supper and go to bed early, she changed into one of her elegant dressing gowns, which she always made herself since no one really knew how to set in the long, soft bat-wing sleeves, and wrapping herself in its silky warmth, decided to soak in a hot, lazy bath. Running the water gently over the Muguet de Bois bath oil beads she favoured so as to slowly extract all their scent, Madame Koska thought she heard some strange knocking sounds from somewhere. But they soon stopped and she relaxed into the warm water, thinking about the new collection she planned on creating and showing soon.
She had already purchased most of the materials. A complicated order since she meant to show both afternoon and evening attire, with perhaps even a few morning suits. Quite an eclectic collection, but the color scheme would unify it to a proper theme. She decided to call it Mistral, after the north wind that blew gray and lavender clouds over stormy skies. Everything would be in blue, purple, lavender and gray. The morning and afternoon outfits were to be elegantly tailored, but the evening dresses would flow over the body like water. They would be beaded with extravagant opulence; everyone would recognize the Russian touch superimposed over the Parisian elegance. She rolled the words on her tongue to see how they sounded. “Mistral: Madame Koska’s new collection.” Yes, it sounded romantic and exciting, which was the image she wanted to convey. Using blue irises, white calla lilies, and small lavender and purple hot- house anemones in the show room would complete the perfect color coordination. She closed her eyes, imagining the perfect scene, when the knocking sound resumed. Irritated, she got out of the bath and after putting on her dressing gown, went to the kitchen to eat some bread and cheese, accompanied by a glass of red wine.
Early in the morning, Madame Koska went downstairs to the atelier. To her utter amazement, the door was not locked, only closed. What was Natalya thinking? Why didn’t she lock it as she was asked? Opening the door, she gasped with horror. The place had been ransacked. Fabrics, beads, buttons, ribbons were thrown carelessly about, drawers were opened, cabinets emptied of their content. Staring in disbelief, she could not move or even think for about five minutes. Then she shook herself, strode purposefully to her office, and called the police.
“But Madame Koska, can’t you think of anything that was taken?” asked the police officer in disbelief.
“My office vas not entered at all, in my opinion,” said Madame Koska. “The safe vas not touched, I can vouch for that. As for the sewing supplies, the only expensive things here are the fabrics, and since I do not order wholesale yet, but strictly enough for each dress, I am certain that none vas taken. They are all here! The beads are bits of glass, no one vill vant them until they are embroidered into the dresses.”
“Even these little pearls?”
“They are slightly misshapen and very inexpensive, officer. Their value comes from the vork of embroidery. By themselves, they are no more expensive than glass beads. And anyvay, all the vials are here, I ordered only eight vials to start with, Miss Saltykov had already used two, and here are six.”
“And you say you heard knocks around eight o’clock and then again about eight-thirty.”
“Yes, about t
hat time. I noticed them but did not look for the source.”
“Indeed why should you,” said the officer. “In this big city, people are making all sort of noise all the time, of course…you could not know.”
“But I can’t make it out, I can’t understand it. Who vould risk discovery making this infernal noise, at an early hour of the evening, and then not steal anything? I vonder if I vas in mortal danger,” said Madam Koska, shuddering dramatically and wringing her hands. Unfortunately, there were no rings on them, since she came down to work, so nothing flashed. It irritated Madame Koska. She preferred to see some sparkle even during a police investigation.
“This girl, the one you told to take the key and lock up, where is she?” asked the officer.
“Miss Saltykov, come in,” said Madame Koska loudly. The seamstresses, in shock, were crowded at the door, blocked from entering by another officer. Natalya skulked in, looking extremely frightened, her eyes red with tears.
“Miss Saltykov,” said the police officer. “Did you lock the door last night, as Madame Koska told me you were supposed to do, or did you just close it?”
“I locked the door, officer. Really, Madame Koska, everything was done. I locked the door, went upstairs, and dropped the key in your mail box.”
“Did you go straight home?” asked the officer.
“No, I stopped at some stores, but did not buy anything. The book shop, I was looking for a book on English to study better speaking. They did not have anything I liked. And then I bought some fruit Aunt Anna told me to bring.”
“And then you went home?”
“Yes. And told everything to Aunt Anna.”
“I see,” said the officer and looked thoughtfully at the tall, thin, frightened woman who could pass for a rabbit in his book, particularly with her red eyes. He shrugged, probably feeling slightly defeated by this pointless robbery where nothing was taken. “Madame Koska, here is your key. I suggest changing the lock, for safety.”