by ILIL ARBEL
“These young ladies are very quick to assume I am about to arrest them,” said the inspector to no one in particular. “I needed your story. Now I am going to verify it with the store where you bought your cloths. Common police work, Miss Saltykov, and there is no need to feel like the heroine in the moving pictures.”
“Inspector,” said Madame Golitsyn quietly, “My niece had much trouble with police persecution in the old country. It is not surprising she would be afraid of you.”
“But we are in England, Madame Golitsyn. In this country, the police are meant to help, not to persecute anyone, and we expect our citizens to help us in return. Are you coming, Korolenko? No, I just remembered. You had your other business with Madame Koska. Good day, ladies. I will be back soon.”
When he left, Madame Golitsyn said, “I am taking Natalya home, Vera. Come, child, we need to talk.” Natalya followed wordlessly, for once not insisting she must complete her work. Madame Koska looked anxiously at her bent back and slow gait. The girl was terribly upset. “Of course, Annushka,” she said to the retreating figure of her friend. “Thank you, my dear. And keep her home tomorrow so she can get some rest. I’ll stop over to see you both this evening.”
When everyone left, Mr. Korolenko got up, closed the door of the office, and walked to the window. Looking thoughtfully out into the street, he pulled a plain envelope out of his jacket’s pocket and started turning it in his hands. Madame Koska waited, wishing he would get on with whatever it was so she could go and have some coffee.
“I made some inquiries on your behalf,” he finally said. “I hope you will believe me that it was done with good intentions.”
“I am sure it was done with the best intentions, Mr. Korolenko, whatever it was.”
“I wanted to know what happened to your husband, Madame Koska.”
“But you couldn’t, since he disappeared,” said Madame Koska, surprised. “They looked for him when he vanished and wanted to arrest him. They never found him. I had a feeling he left Europe to avoid them and told them so, and they did look in Constantinople, where so many Russians escaped to, but he was not there. They finally had a clue he went to Manchuria, but they could not pursue him there.”
“Well, they did not look in the right places,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I don’t want to shock you, but your husband is dead, Madame Koska. I got in touch with the proper authorities, and what I have here is his death certificate. Your husband was killed during the war. He was not fighting in the war since he was over the age limit; he was hiding in Switzerland. They are not sure who killed him, but they found his body in a hotel in Geneva.”
Madame Koska took the envelope and calmly opened it and took out the death certificate. Yes, it seemed correct, Grigory Koska, date, place, age…it all fitted. So logical of Grigory to escape to Switzerland, he probably had some money tucked away there, so many people did.
“Ah, well,” said Madame Koska, and laughed. “What is the etiquette for thanking someone for bringing you the death certificate of a husband who had run away from you?”
“You don’t seem upset,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“I am not,” said Madame Koska. “I never wanted to see him again. I wished him no harm, but whether he is dead or alive makes very little difference to me, Mr. Korolenko.”
“Unless you wish to marry again someday, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko quietly. “It’s not impossible that you might wish to do so.”
“Not impossible, but highly improbable,” said Madame Koska. “I do thank you, though, Mr. Korolenko. It’s always best to know the truth.” Was it really best, she thought to herself, did she really want to have that finality stamped on her long association with Grigory? She shrugged. What’s the use of brooding?
“I am not so sure about it being so improbable,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Do you really think I would ever trust another man after what Grigory had done to me, deserting me after embezzling and leaving me to deal with the legal results? I don’t think so.”
“Not all men are alike,” said Mr. Korolenko. “And at this stage in your life, you would be more careful as to whom you would choose. If I were in a better situation to do so, Madame Koska, I would have tried to persuade you to rethink your ideas of marriage.”
“Better situation? Whatever do you mean?”
“I am sure you are too practical and reasonable to look at a man who could not give you a better situation than you have already,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I was brought up to assume a woman must weigh her options carefully and never throw herself away on a man who does not have secure and comfortable lifestyle, position, and income…such marriages are for the young and imprudent.”
Madame Koska looked at him with exasperation. Surely he was not telling her that he was interested in her himself? She hoped not. He was certainly attractive and quite pleasant, but she did not want more than friendship. The thought flashed through her mind of how stupid men were in general. Comfortable lifestyle, position, income… No, she fell in love with Grigory because he was an adventurous soul, a man who cheerfully took risks, an exciting companion…but her face remained as impassive and calm as ever.
“Ah, well,” she said. “These are all idle thoughts, and we had a long and hard morning. I am sure you are tired…and we really should talk about the investigation, which is more important now than my late husband. May I offer you some lunch, Mr. Korolenko?”
I am glad you telephoned,” said Madame Koska. “I was going to telephone you. I am almost ready to leave, and I must see Natalya, Annushka. I am very worried about her.”
“You have every reason to be worried,” said Madame Golitsyn. “I am at a loss; I simply have no idea what to do. She had a real nervous breakdown, Vera. I understand her fear, but this is more, much more than I expected.”
“Did you tell her father?”
“Yes, I telephoned him and explained that I am keeping her with me for a few days.”
“Did you consult the doctor?”
“No, since just as I was going to do so, she began to feel better. She is resting now. She cried and cried…her nose is all red, and you know how I simply cannot tolerate red noses…”
“Something must be done about it,” said Madame Koska.
“About the nose?” said Madame Golitsyn.
“No, not just the nose. We must do something about Natalya’s state of mind. You see, the more she looks and acts like a frightened rabbit, the more the police will suspect her. We must do something about her level of confidence. This won’t do, having breakdowns… What can we do? Wait. I know. Annushka, I know exactly what to do. I’ll be over in about an hour and a half, two hours. Could you tell me what is Natalya’s shoe size?”
On her way out, Madame Koska stopped at the front desk and looked at Gretchen, who was getting up to collect her belongings and leave for the day.
“Sit down, Miss Van der Hoven,” she said, pulling a chair from the wall and sitting in front of the desk. Gretchen sank to her seat wordlessly.
“Miss Van der Hoven, I chose not to say anything in front of the inspector, for reasons of my own, but let me make something very clear. This is never going to happen again.”
“I am not sure what you mean, Madame Koska,” said Gretchen, growing pale under the gaze of the chocolate-coloured eyes that were flashing with anger.
“Then let me explain. Your foolish games not only endangered my life, my business, and my reputation, but they also implicated someone other than yourself in a horrible suspicion. You have caused Miss Saltykov to be a suspect in a police investigation.”
“I did not think…”
“Listen to me, my girl. I know you are terribly vorried about your father. You are in trouble, that is true, but people get in trouble, and people get out of trouble. I have been in serious difficulties in my life, but I did not allow my actions to create a hazard for someone else. You believe you can get avay vith anything, because of your beauty, your youth, and your connections. None
of these advantages matter when it comes to life and death situations. Youth and beauty vanish. Your connections and vealth would not save your father, or for that matter, yourself, if the gang decides you know too much. And you pitted your brains and scholarship against those who are both more intelligent and better educated than you are; by comparison to Mr. Korolenko and Inspector Blount, you are a mere child. The only things that matter in life, Miss Van der Hoven, are character and integrity. All the rest is mist and vapours.”
“I am so sorry…” said Gretchen, wiping her eyes.
“Obviously not sorry enough, because you are still not telling me everything. Vhat did you neglect to say to the inspector?”
“I don’t know what…”
Madame Koska rose from her chair and leaned over the desk. Her anger was no longer controlled, and the girl leaned back in terror as she gazed at the pale face marked with a red circle on each cheek and the burning eyes. “Stop lying, Gretchen. I have had enough. What are you hiding? You will tell me right now, or I am calling the police from this telephone on the desk. Now!”
Gretchen lowered her eyes. “It’s about my uncle, Madame Koska. But I did not think it had any connection… I really didn’t!”
“You fool! What makes you think you can judge if it has a connection? Will you ever learn that you have no understanding in this matter? What is it about your uncle?”
“He takes opium, Madame Koska. Every so often he goes down by the river to a place where other important people go, and he stays for a few days, smoking opium.”
Madame Koska stared at her wordlessly for a few seconds. Her hands, clasping the table, held it so tightly that the knuckles turned white. “A fancy opium den… Are you sure?” she finally said in a very low voice.
“Yes. I heard my aunt begging him to get medical attention so he would no longer need opium. I was not supposed to hear, but I did.”
“An opium den! This is beyond belief. Do you have any sense? Are you telling me you did not see that there may be a connection between your uncle, a habitual opium user, and the Eurasian gang, who sells opium?”
“I suppose you are right,” said Gretchen, sighing deeply. “I should have.”
“Do you realise you may be covering up for a criminal, even if he is your uncle? Anything else you kept to yourself?”
“No, honestly, that is all I know. And Madame Koska, I never meant to hurt Miss Saltykov. I like her so much! We are friends!”
“Very well,” said Madame Koska. “Tomorrow, don’t tell anyone about our talk. I’ll tell the police about it.”
“What will they do to my uncle?”
“Nothing that they were not going to do before, I presume. Watch him, and probably question him very soon.”
“So I should not tell him?”
“Gretchen, listen carefully. Don’t you dare tell him, do you hear me? It’s simply too dangerous,” said Madame Koska. “You have done enough damage. Just behave as normally as possible and we’ll see what happens tomorrow. Right now, I have to see Natalya. She had a nervous breakdown.”
“But why? She does not know anything about the gang or the brooch. She told me she had no idea which famous brooch it was, because there were so many that belonged to Catherine the Great, and were stolen by the Bolsheviks. Why is she so afraid?”
“I don’t know why,” said Madame Koska. “But one way or another, I am going to find out. Perhaps just because the police are watching her, since I don’t believe she knows anything. The police may think she is the person who attacked me, or at least his accomplice.”
“Madame Koska, one moment…do you want me to leave? Do you want to sack me? I can understand if you do.”
“I would have loved to sack you and you certainly deserve it, but I cannot do so in good conscience; I might endanger your life if I let you go. When I told the inspector you are staying, I meant it, since I believe that if you were to be dismissed, our lives would be in danger. The gang might suspect we both know too much. Our only chance is to behave as if nothing happened. You can leave now, I’ll lock up.” Gretchen nodded faintly, said goodbye in a whisper, and left. Madame Koska stood in the middle of the room, trying to overcome her agitation and restore her calm demeanour. Suddenly she put her hand to her mouth in shock as a terrible thought crossed her mind. She realised that during the conversation with Gretchen, her anger got the better of her, and she did not use her Russian accent.
Madame Golitsyn opened the door and stared at Madame Koska, who was half hidden behind several large boxes. “What are all these?”
“These boxes contain Natalya’s new personality,” said Madame Koska, and coming in, started arranging them neatly on the dining table. “Is she awake?”
“Yes. May I open one?”
“Yes, of course,” said Madame Koska. Madame Golitsyn opened a white and gold cardboard box and gasped. “Heaven have mercy…so that is why you needed the shoe size…” The two ladies were intent on the table, as Madame Koska started pulling some smaller boxes out of her handbag.
“Can I go in to see her?” she said, busily arranging the small boxes on top of the large ones.
“Yes, she will be glad to see you, but Vera, we have a problem. We are just the three of us here and she will wonder why we don’t speak Russian.”
“No, Auntie,” said a small voice behind them. “I know Madame Koska does not speak Russian.”
The two ladies turned around to look at Natalya, who was wrapped up in a dressing gown a few sizes too big for her thin body. “You know?” asked Madame Koska, taken aback.
“I have known for a while, Madame Koska. But you should never, ever worry about the possibility that I might betray your secrets. They will die with me, if necessary.”
“But how did you guess?” asked Madame Golitsyn. “No one else ever did.”
“Because I have heard the two of you talk on the phone. When you talk just between you, there is no reason not to talk Russian. So I understood. Besides, even though Madame Koska’s accent is perfect, I just sensed it.”
“You are a very clever young woman… I’ll explain the reasons for this charade some other time,” said Madame Koska. “Right now, we need to talk about you. I am sorry you were so upset, and we must prevent it from happening again.”
“I am afraid the police will want me again, Madame Koska,” said Natalya with a sigh.
“They most definitely will, but you are going to become confident, beautiful, and unflappable.”
“Like you, Madame Koska?” said Natalya, smiling faintly.
“If you think that is how I am, then yes, and thank you. Come to the table. You see, when you wore the lovely suit at our Christmas dinner, I noticed that you had natural elegance and that much can be done about it, but at the time, it was not terribly important. Now it is.”
She took a dress out of one of the boxes, and a pair of shoes out of another. “Put these on, dear,” she said. “And then, we are going to do some makeup magic. We are going to fix your nose so it is never red again, and put on rouge, so you are not so pale. The Rimmel for your lashes, that is only for the evenings, when you go out. You don’t want to put it on for work since it might hurt your eyes with the close work you do. You should not put on the kohl around your eyes, either, except at night. But this light rouge, and the coral salve, which is not really lipstick but only a touch of colour, you can wear all the time. And always, always have foundation and powder on your nose. The darker lipstick is for also for evenings, but I’ll have to show you how to put it so you have bow lips.”
“What about the hair?” asked Madame Golitsyn, entering into the spirit of the thing, “should she bob it?”
“Her hair is too beautiful to bob,” said Madame Koska. Natalya looked relieved. “Just look at these ash blonde curls…you have been hiding it all this time as you pull your hair so severely back… We’ll put it up in a soft chignon, with some curls escaping from it.”
Natalya took the dress and shoes and disappeared into the
bedroom, coming back looking like a transformed being. The banana-coloured afternoon dress was made of light, delicate silk that flowed over Natalya’s body, complementing her figure and hiding its thinness. The shoes, made of soft brown leather, enhanced her height, adding about two more inches. Madame Koska was surprised to see that she walked very well in them.
“Now please sit down, Miss Saltykov,” said Madame Koska. “We will wrap your shoulders with a towel…would you please get me a towel, Annushka, or a pillowcase? I don’t want to stain her dress as I work.”
Natalya shut her eyes and submitted to the foundation, rouge, powder, kohl, and Rimmel with the obedience of a child. After about twenty minutes, Madame Koska looked at her finished creation, nodded, and started brushing Natalya’s hair with long, upsweep motions. She raised the long hair in her hands, braided it very loosely, and knotted it into a simple chignon that was placed low above the neck. It could be fixed with just three tortoiseshell long pins to be perfectly secure. She pulled a few curls out, arranging them around Natalya’s face in a style that seemed entirely natural and casual. Opening another small box, she pulled out a pair of pearl earrings and fixed them in Natalya’s pierced ears.
“Now,” she said, removing the towel, “please look at yourself, Miss Saltykov.” Natalya opened her eyes and looked at the mirror. She gasped in disbelief and could not speak.
“But this is incomprehensible,” said Madame Golitsyn. “She is a beauty; how did this happen? Where was it before?”
“Annushka, fashion and makeup create the woman,” said Madame Koska. “Half the world’s beauties are perfectly plain…it’s an art.”
“I want to look like that all the time…” said Natalya, holding tightly to the mirror and looking at herself. “It’s not me, it’s someone else. Who am I?”