He turned towards Henry Hardcastle’s Jeweller & Silversmith, which seemed to offer everything from regimental mess plates to wedding gifts.
‘Antique silver is this fellow’s specialty. I’ve spent many an afternoon staring into these windows.’ She smiled.
‘You obviously liked it here.’
‘Oh, I did. I was a creature of winter, and coming from Czechoslovakia the cold didn’t trouble me. The city oozed history all the way back to the Romans and the Vikings, the Normans, the Tudors … it’s a historian’s playground, really. And I was anonymous. I could start my life again, plus culturally England was so different that there were no reminders of my past. Especially not a German accent or a swastika in sight.’
He smiled sadly. ‘So maybe you could be persuaded to remain in England?’
She leaned into him against the spring chill. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Don’t stay just for a while. Stay forever.’
Katerina sighed. ‘Nice thought.’ The light reflected from the silver in the windows lit her face in all of its exquisite angles but highlighted the bruising she’d done her best to conceal. It hurt his heart to see it, but he was glad that the fracture was thin and hadn’t depressed the sweep of her elevated cheek structure he admired.
‘Marry me, Katerina,’ he said.
The words slipped out before he could consider what he was suggesting. It was a rush of emotion but not a hollow one. He’d kept his romantic nature in check for too many years. Now there was a reason to let go.
Her head whipped around in disbelief. She’d heard the expression ‘the world stilled’ and for the first time she understood it and experienced it in a situation that was not about her demons but genuine delighted shock. She felt her lips part to respond but words failed her. She frowned; she needed to be sure she’d heard him right and so she replayed his question in her thoughts.
‘I mean it,’ he reinforced. ‘I don’t want you to ever leave me and I don’t want to be with anyone else. You’ve killed Lothario.’
She stared at him in a mix of shocked bemusement. ‘Edward, you hardly know me.’
‘I know more about you than any other man alive and I don’t need to know more to believe we should be together for keeps … I … well, for pity’s sake, Katerina, I love you. I need you.’
A helpless smile broke and it felt like sunshine arriving into night. Perhaps it wasn’t right to feel this happy and yet she couldn’t deny the wave of pleasure that moved through her like a tide surging to the shore.
‘Shouldn’t we talk about what we’re not talking about first?’
‘No. Nothing you say will change my mind. What happened occurred two decades before I knew you. You were a teenager and had suffered more than most adults ever will in a lifetime. I want us to put it away and never talk about it again.’
‘My darling, we must talk about it. In fact, we are going to talk about it today, but it might be easier if I just show you.’
‘Is that why you brought me here?’
She nodded.
‘All right. We shall confront whatever you want but give me an answer first. Will you marry me?’
He was summer in every sense to her winter. ‘Yes,’ she said, hardly daring to believe this was happening. ‘I would love to be your wife, Edward.’
He gave a brief whoop of joy that made her grin like a loon. ‘I want to marry you immediately. This month! I want to hear you called Katerina Summerbee. I mean this with no disrespect to your family but perhaps the sooner you disconnect with the dark past, the easier it will be for you to look forward.’
She nodded; it was harsh but it was a kindness that he had aired what had often floated around her mind about cutting free of death, of rape, of murder … of survival. She needed to become a new version of herself, an open individual who shared her world with others and let her heart be filled with life. Edward was her chance for all of this.
‘How does next week sound?’
The thrill through his lovely features amused her further and he held her shoulders as she laughed. ‘Kiss me. Seal it. Or I refuse to move,’ he threatened.
With no care for tutting observers, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him briefly but with such tender affection he could never be mistaken that this was real.
‘I love you,’ she whispered and regarded him through misty eyes. ‘We’ll celebrate properly later.’
‘On our squeaky guestroom bed,’ he murmured and they shared the intimate laugh of lovers as they opened an umbrella against the new drizzle and headed across the slick paving stones of Minster Yard.
‘Come on, we can’t be late,’ she urged.
Inside, shaking out their brolly and slightly out of breath from hurrying, they stepped, not quite on tiptoe, down the grand cruciform design of the York Minster.
‘Widest Gothic nave in England. Look at this magnificent sweeping chancel with its vast ceiling.’ She sighed with pleasure to see the vaulted design overhead, a pale background with its ribs picked out in gold. ‘I’m humbled by the beauty of Christian churches.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before, not even as a child when we travelled north. This is stunning.’
‘We have seats reserved,’ she whispered and guided Edward past the choir screen of stone that depicted regal figures. ‘Fifteen kings of England from William I to Henry VI.’ She cut him a grin. ‘Just say if you’re bored.’
‘No, I can see how this all thrills you. Besides, how could I be bored listening to you, my fiancée?’
Katerina enjoyed the sound of that word, and squeezed his gloved hand.
‘But, I’m just wondering why we’re here?’
‘To hear the organ recital,’ she said, suddenly distracted by looking for their seats.
Other church visitors were finding places in the pews, whispering to one another.
‘How did you swing this?’ Edward murmured as she led him up the small stairs and into the choir stalls.
‘All will be explained,’ she said, gesturing for him to be seated.
He did so, removing his coat and gloves, giving a soft sigh that said he was glad to be off his feet after all the walking around old York.
‘This is a lovely idea, actually,’ he murmured just above a whisper. ‘When do you reveal why, though?’
She lifted a single eyebrow at him with an expression of mystery.
‘Because, my love, any day of the week I can take you to a superb organ or choral recital in London. We don’t have to come up to the freezing north to do this.’
‘We do, though,’ she assured him.
‘So secretive. Will I be pleased?’
She frowned. ‘I hope so.’
They shifted their knees as apologetic people squeezed by them to sit in the same carved choir stall, which stepped up across three levels.
‘Now.’ He drew a low breath. ‘I have an admission.’
She raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
‘I have a secret to share with you too. In fact, I’m so excited to do so, it’s bursting out of me and I reckon on top of the news that you will marry me I could now sing soprano with the choir if asked.’
She chuckled, hushing herself for fear of their jolly conversation being frowned upon by purse-lipped couples feeling they were disrespecting the cathedral’s atmosphere. ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered. ‘What secret?’
‘Later. Coming to York this weekend made it awkward but I couldn’t hang on to my surprise a day longer, so it’s required some organisation, but I can tell you we’re meeting someone at Terry’s later.’
She nodded. ‘I know it. Why there?’
‘Well, I’m warned that Betty’s can be horribly busy and noisy while Terry’s seemed like an easier – but still central – place for this person to come to. I doubt he knows York at all.’
‘He? Daniel?’
‘No. I spoke to Daniel last night, actually. He’s back in Paris – didn’t spend long in Wales but
is returning shortly. Sends his love. Impresses for you not to dwell on stuff.’
‘Why did you speak to him?’
Edward tapped his nose. ‘Be patient. In your words, all will be revealed.’
Other voices hushed and theirs fell silent too as the choir of St Peter’s School filed in. This was the revered Chamber Choir from the famous school.
‘You’re going to tell me something about the schoolboys now, aren’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘only that Guy Fawkes attended their school. Fourth oldest school in the world, I gather. Did you know this glorious cathedral was once a simple church of wooden structure back in ad 627?’
He looked at her in wonder as she nodded back.
‘Today it has the highest proportion of medieval stained glass of any cathedral in Europe and its rose windows – the ones you admired – they’re known as the Heart of Yorkshire.’
Again they had to become silent as it appeared proceedings were soon to begin, but Katerina had another, far more pressing and heart-squeezing reason to fall quiet and still. She instinctively looked up towards the Grand Organ above the quire screen at a row of vertical pipes, resplendent in rich colours and glittering with gold that the choir stall candles picked out. She looked for a soft glow emanating from where the organist sat and she saw a shadow pass across the space.
There he was! He turned, looked for her and a crooked smile lifted at one corner of his mouth, disappearing as quickly as it came.
Over the next hour Katerina was lost in the music; it didn’t matter to her that she was in this Christian cathedral. She had long ago subscribed herself to being part of the church of the world. Religion had no divide any more for her; she was convinced that prayers could be offered anywhere, any time, and that lives would be judged by their actions, not on how many times they were seen in their places of worship. The soaring voices of the choirboys lifted the audience to cheering point by the end of the concert but still the proper English clapped politely but loudly for the angelic, pink-cheeked youngsters who made her flesh goosepimple with joy at their high, haunting notes. But it was the rousing pipes of the organ, whose notes she could feel booming through her chest, that she came for. Only three years earlier the organ had been renovated so its massive sound could reach out more widely into the nave and she felt that effect now, marvelling at the agile fingers and feet of the organist as he pulled out the stops and worked the pedals to make her teary.
Afterwards, they stamped their feet outside the minster as people rushed to find warmth after locating their family members.
‘We’re waiting why?’ Edward bleated. His nose looked as though it had turned red with the frosty night air, although the light was too low for her to be sure. She grinned at it and then she saw who she was waiting for, passing beneath one of the lamps around the front court of the cathedral. He raised a hand and hurried towards her. She knew she was ambushing poor Edward once again but it was easier to show than tell.
Katerina caught her breath. He looked like a man suddenly; these last three months since she’d seen him, a change had occurred. How could she have missed it? Even the once fluff-ridden chin seemed to have settled into the shadowy outline of a real beard. So he would be shaving properly now. Emotion choked her. He was lankier, broader, and his once white-blond hair had darkened to nut brown, which he’d allowed to grow past his ears. And he was wearing the sweater she’d bought for him in Paris that day she’d met Daniel at the gallery – it seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only a fortnight.
‘That lad seems to know us … you, I mean.’ Edward looked at her, puzzled.
‘It’s him we’re waiting for.’
He arrived, his smile faltering at the realisation that Edward wasn’t just a passer-by.
‘Peter,’ she said, her voice breaking on his name, and uncharacteristically threw herself at the young man and hugged him tightly, stroking his long hair, kissing his stubbly cheeks, staring into those eyes ringed with a navy outline. ‘My handsome Peter.’ She finally pulled herself away and looked at the puzzled Edward.
‘Peter, I’d like you to meet the man I told you about. He’s very special and important to me. This is Edward Summerbee. Edward, this is the organist we’ve been listening to.’
‘Good grief. You were amazing. What a sound, especially that rousing number that led us out.’
The younger man’s pale eyes reflected the smile that showed small, neat teeth. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir. Yes, we’re given free rein on what to play when the audience is leaving and I always enjoy playing something they recognise and feel like singing along or clapping to,’ Peter said, extending a hand that was long, his handshake deliberate.
‘Well, I’m impressed. Good to meet you, son. Mmm, firm grip. Do you play rugby?’
‘I do, sir. I prefer cricket, though.’
Edward nodded as if to say Fair enough. He cut a look back at Katerina, waiting.
The moment was here. She let go of her final secret. ‘Edward, Peter is my son, named for the brother I adored who died.’
Edward’s happy, interested expression faltered. He seemed to want to speak but no sound came out; it was obvious that he was struggling to process what she’d just said and for a heartbeat or two she regretted springing the surprise.
‘Your son? But …’
Peter cut her a look of soft recrimination. ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said generously – as usual – giving her a chance to explain. ‘I just need to catch Mr Clarke.’ He shot the last few words at Edward, who could only nod.
She nodded too without looking at her child, her gaze firmly on Edward, who had blanched in his shock. Peter extricated himself from the tension that had formed around his mother and her companion like a rubber balloon, stretched to its limit.
‘You said you —’
‘I lied.’ She shivered but not from the cold. ‘I couldn’t let Rudy know his son was alive.’ She filled in the blanks for Edward. ‘He was born in 1942 after we fled the hospital. I told you Otto made sure I got to Switzerland safely. Mrs Biskup came with me. She delivered Peter for me. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing … I was only just fifteen by then. We discovered I was probably four months pregnant by the February and so we had a deadline to get me out of Czechoslovakia. The attempted assassination of Heydrich gave us an impetus to go sooner rather than later. Luckily, I barely showed. We stayed in Switzerland until the end of the war. We found our way into France as refugees and Mrs Biskup and Peter remained an hour or so north of Paris, while I worked in the city, until Peter was four. I decided I would give him the very best education money could buy but in a place no one like Ruda Mayek would think to look. I thought if Peter grew up with an English accent, he would be less conspicuous.’
‘Does Peter know who his father is?’
She shook her head. ‘Nor will he ever know, nor that he has stepsisters … for their sake as much as his. I told Rudy what I did to hurt him in the only way I knew how. I told Peter his father was my nineteen-year-old sweetheart killed just before our wedding during the war.’
‘He resembles Mayek.’
She nodded. ‘It used to be more obvious and I had to fight that repugnance daily, but look at him now – his hair colour has changed irrevocably and even his eyes are now far darker than Rudy’s.’ She squeezed Edward’s arm for emphasis. ‘He is also nothing like his father in character. He’s finishing law at Durham but he won a special organ scholarship through school – he’s been playing since he was a little boy, learning on a small upright that Mrs Biskup’s local priest had in his home. Music is in Peter’s soul, as it is in mine. I think he’ll choose to follow his music but if he chooses the law …?’
‘Then he’ll have me,’ he finished for her.
Her eyes watered at his generosity. ‘You’re not upset?’
‘No. How could I be? Surprised, shocked, definitely relieved and slightly unnerved.’
‘Unnerved?’
&nbs
p; ‘That you love another man as much as you do me.’ He smiled, recovering himself. She knew his excuse was simply a cover but she also knew Edward would find his way through this knot. His next words confirmed it. ‘But that’s my problem, not yours. He seems a fine young man and I know now how you survived all of your pain.’
She nodded. ‘My life this past twenty years has been about Peter. Raising him, keeping him safe … I completed some study in Switzerland to complement my passion, which properly qualified me to get my role at the Louvre and that meant I could earn sufficiently and independently to give him the life I wanted for him. I can’t help who his father is … was … but neither could I hold his birth against him. I loved him with all of my heart from the moment I held him, in spite of how he came to be.’
‘You amaze me with all this love you’ve kept hidden and still you were able to say those horrible things to Mayek about the boy you love.’
‘Pure hate helped me to do that. If it were to anyone else I could not have spoken about Peter in such a terrible way. But while I knew I could never end Rudy’s life, I knew I could kill his evil spirit, and I forgive myself for using the child I love with all my heart to do so. Peter will never know. You, Daniel, me – our secret. From childhood I was aware that Rudy wanted a son so badly that it felt empowering to make that dream come true and then destroy it in the next breath. I don’t regret it, Edward, but I don’t ever want Peter to discover my ploy. Will you keep my secret?’
‘Of course,’ he soothed, hugging her. ‘Does he ask about his father?’
‘He used to. Not any more. Will you be all right about this?’
‘Katerina, I love you, which means I want to know everything about you but I’m now wondering how Peter must feel about you having someone else.’
‘We’ve talked about it over the phone and we’ll talk more, I’m sure. The truth, though, is he’s happy for me, especially now he’s moving into adulthood and carving out his future. He must be feeling relieved that the burden of being the sole focus of two women is about to ease. Besides, he needs a man in his life. I can’t think of a finer one.’
The Pearl Thief Page 45