Leonid and Sonja Liczak had already been shown into the reserved box, for it had not been considered desirable for them to attract curiosity by lingering in the foyer, and when the rest of their party entered they were standing near the door, well out of sight of the vast, murmurous concourse of opera-goers assembled far below them in the packed auditorium. Occupants of some of the other boxes possibly had a view of them, but so far they had attracted no attention, for Leonid, at least, was almost in shadow, and his female companion had so positioned herself that her own slender, exquisitely clad form was interposed between the interesting exile and the eyes of the inquisitive.
It was the first time Kathy had really had an opportunity to study at close quarters the woman who, she was assured, was to become Leonid’s wife, for Mademoiselle Liczak had kept the remainder of the party waiting for perhaps two minutes before they left the Villa, and by the time she made her appearance in the doorway Kathy had already been installed in the Jaguar. So now the necessary introduction was made, and Kathy felt the fingers of her right hand taken in the lightest possible hold, while a pair of beautiful but cool grey eyes surveyed her with what might possibly have been a slightly startled expression behind them, and the merest suggestion of a not very enthusiastic smile touched the pink, delicately moulded mouth of Sonja Liczak. She was wearing an extremely elegant creation of silver-grey lace, topped by a slim evening coat of the same material, and as her gloves and her small satin slippers were the colour of pearls, she resembled a kind of symphony in grey. Only her gleaming, jet-black hair, coiled into an elegant pleat at the back of her head, and that small pink mouth, provided anything in the nature of an effective contrast. But the overall effect was undeniably effective, and there was little doubt that she knew it, for after the one brief moment in which she had seemed to register something like surprise at the appearance of the English girl her lovely face resumed what was probably its habitual expression of mild complacency, and as she turned back to her princely escort there was a smile lurking at the back of her eyes which indicated that in her opinion he, at least, could have little interest in the charms of other women while she was present.
It was also necessary for Colonel Zanin to be introduced to Kathy, and as she looked into the Colonel’s kind, rather handsome face, and felt her hand taken in a firm, reassuring clasp, she felt herself relax a little. At least there was one member of the party, apart from Natalia, who did not fill her with disturbing sensations of confusion or resentment. And she could not help resenting Sonja Liczak, try as she would to tell herself that the other girl was exactly the right sort of wife for Leonid, and that in any case it was no concern of hers what sort of wife he selected for himself. An uncomfortable lump arose in her throat every time she permitted herself to think about the interview she had had with Leonid only that morning, and the moment when it had seemed as if the wonderful shining dream, which she scarcely dared admit to herself she had ever cherished, might be about to come true. Now, of course, she realized that, for Leonid’s own sake, she could not have allowed it to come true, but just for that one marvellous moment anything and everything had been possible ...
And now she knew that he had, after all, merely been amusing himself—or perhaps it was just that he was a little weak where such matters were concerned?—and as soon as the woman he intended to marry descended from her car at the door he had realized that the time had come to bring the interlude to a close. Or, at least, to put such entertainments aside for a while.
Tonight he was startlingly good-looking in full evening dress, and as he had even donned orders and decorations, and his bearing was suddenly, subtly more autocratic than usual, he seemed to Kathy remote and magnificent and a little strange. But her heart ached, nevertheless, as she looked at him, and she knew that whatever guise he appeared in he would always have the power to make her feel that her life was not really worth very much if it were not to be lived in company with him.
When he caught sight of her he simply accorded her a small bow, and a smile that as a greeting to his sister-in-law’s paid companion could not have been more appropriate. She had not really expected anything more, and confined her acknowledgement to an inclination of the head and a small, formal smile, but this demonstration of his indifference only served to rub salt into the wounds which had already been inflicted on her that day, and she felt slightly sick.
They were moving into the front of the box, for the overture was about to begin, and a vague stirring and whispering around and below them betrayed the fact that they had been recognized. The whispering grew into a noticeable hum, as heads were turned, and hundreds of eyes became focused on the royal box, and the conductor of the orchestra became plainly agitated. Those dedicated music-lovers who had come to hear an opera, and simply wished to give all their attention to that opera, were beginning to regard their more inquisitive neighbours with disfavour, and several upraised voices were to be heard requesting silence.
With unruffled composure, almost as if they had not noticed the effect which had been produced by their appearance, Natalia and Leonid took their seats, and Sonja Liczak and the Colonel followed their example. In the surrounding boxes, opera-glasses which had been raised and focused with unnerving deliberation were slowly lowered; and, in the auditorium, comment and speculation began to subside, and eyes were reluctantly turned back to face the curtained stage.
Kathy marvelled at the skill with which her employer and the Prince had handled the situation; she was sure that it was their calm, their very indifference, that had quietened those curious tongues so rapidly, and while from Leonid she would have expected little else, she was surprised that Natalia could, when it was necessary, appear so startlingly poised. She sensed that the ordeal, from their point of view, was as yet far from being over, but for the moment every voice in the building was hushed, for the Overture was about to commence.
The opera being performed was Rigoletto, and Kathy was glad, for, at least from the musical point of view, it was her favourite. Only once in her life had she been privileged to visit Covent Garden—on the evening of her sixteenth birthday, in the company of her father and a young girl cousin—but ever since her schooldays she had adored the work of the great Italian composers, and she realized that whatever else this evening might be, it was a musical treat of no mean order. Her seat was in a comer of the box, slightly apart from the others, and as the curtain rose upon Renaissance Italy she closed her eyes and prepared to lose herself in the majestic, melodious depths of Verdi’s masterpiece.
An hour later, feeling dazed, exalted, and rather out of contact with the world around her, she realized that the interval had arrived. The huge building was once again ablaze with lights, and everywhere there was movement. Colonel Zanin was bending over her, politely enquiring what she would like in the way of refreshment, and Leonid had also risen, and was standing behind Sonja Liczak’s chair. One of his hands was lightly resting on the dark girl’s shoulder, and as Kathy glanced at them she thought, with a sudden sharp pang, that they were a strikingly well matched pair. Her pleasure in the music was forgotten in the cold misery which washed over her like a tidal wave, and Colonel Zanin, waiting patiently to discover her tastes in liquid refreshment, was at last obliged to repeat his enquiry.
Recalled abruptly to herself, she looked up at him apologetically, and he smiled,
“You were far away, mademoiselle? In ancient Mantua, perhaps?”
“No—that is, yes. It’s a wonderful performance, isn’t it?”
“Enchanting. One finds it difficult—don’t you think?—to bring oneself down to earth again.”
But she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had followed the direction of her eyes, and that he was feeling more than a little sorry for her because the undeniably romantic figure of his friend had so obviously inspired in her a hopeless, schoolgirlish infatuation. An infatuation so uncontrolled that she could not refrain from casting jealous glances in the direction of any other woman he spoke to, even i
f the woman happened to be his fiancée—or almost his fiancée.
Feeling, suddenly, that she had to get away from them all, if only for a few minutes, she asked the Colonel to procure her the nearest possible thing to a straight lemonade, and then as he turned away from she her picked up her tiny, silvery evening bag, and slipped out into the softly-lit corridor beyond the door of the box.
Immediately she felt better, for the air, for some reason, seemed cooler in the corridor, and for a moment she stood quite still, savouring the sudden solitude, and the knowledge that she was, temporarily at least, out of reach of prying eyes.
And then she realized that she was not, after all, quite alone. Footsteps were advancing towards her along the corridor, and, as they drew nearer, they were slowing down.
“Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle!”
She turned her head, and found herself face to face with a tall, sandy-haired young man, whose appearance, it seemed to her, was unmistakably English. His blue eyes brightened perceptibly as they took in all the details of her own appearance, and he smiled rather engagingly. He also looked as if something had suddenly dawned on him.
“Isn’t it Miss Grant ... Miss Katherine Grant?”
“Yes ... yes, that’s right.”
“Well, that’s lucky. They said you might be able to help me.” He grinned. “And it’s always good to see a compatriot in a place like this.”
Her eyebrows puckered a little, and she stared at him rather blankly. She wasn’t in the mood for light conversation, and it was beyond her to imagine in what way she could be of assistance to him. But she waited politely for him to continue.
He had the grace to look very slightly embarrassed. “It’s just that I have to know the name of the other lady in Prince Leonid’s box. Apart from you and the Princess Natalia, that is. She ...” He hesitated, as if uncertain whether he ought to continue, and then added conspiratorially: “She’s his fiancée, I believe.”
Afterwards, Kathy could not imagine why she answered him ... why she told him anything at all. But at the time it seemed to her that he didn’t need to be told very much. Obviously, she thought, he knew for a fact that the strange young woman in the Prince’s box was the Prince’s prospective wife, and all he needed to discover was her name ... possibly in order to have some message conveyed to her. The very manner in which he spoke—as if the matter were extremely confidential, and only to be discussed with such privileged members of the entourage as herself—seemed to her to indicate that he was a reliable person who had received his information in confidence, but in a perfectly legitimate manner.
“She is Mademoiselle Sonja Liczak,” she told him, and even in her own ears her voice sounded oddly flat. “I could take a message to her, if you like.”
“No, thanks very much, but... The engagement will be announced pretty soon, I expect?”
“Yes, I expect so.” There was a kind of controlled eagerness in the young man’s face which puzzled her, and suddenly she felt vaguely disturbed.
But he evidently had all the information he wanted. “Thanks again,” he said, smiling at her quite dazzlingly. “I just wanted the name—for a friend.” A minute or two later he was gone, striding away briskly down the wide, crimson-carpeted corridor, and Kathy was left staring after him, and feeling very slightly troubled.
But she didn’t have time to feel troubled for very long, for suddenly the door of the box swung open, and Natalia emerged, on her way to repair her makeup in the powder-room. She had just seen a dress in one of the other boxes for the privilege of owning which she would apparently be prepared to make quite a few sacrifices, and as she laid a hand on Kathy’s arm and drew the English girl along with her she began to describe it in considerable detail. There didn’t seem much point in mentioning the young Englishman to her, and in any case there wasn’t a great deal of opportunity. When she had finished with the subject of the dress she began to talk about Colonel Zanin, and Kathy gathered that she was more than a little attracted by her brother-in-law’s closest friend. It had been noticeable all evening that the Colonel, for his part, found it difficult to take his eyes off Natalia’s delicate profile, while her pale, swinging hair and general air of helpless fragility quite obviously fascinated him. The fact that he was the same Colonel Zanin whose escort she had fled Paris to escape seemed to trouble neither of them. Now that she had met him, Natalia found it rather amusing to recall the lengths to which she had gone to avoid having such a delightful man as a travelling companion, and he himself clearly thought that her fears had been entirely comprehensible, and her method of reacting to them endearing rather than anything else. He was a bachelor, and came from an excellent family, and there seemed little doubt that before very long he and Natalia would be announcing the fact that they intended to get married.
Probably, thought Kathy dully, there would be a double wedding in the Karanska family, which would be nice for the newspapers.
She and Natalia returned to their box, where the other three had been awaiting them, and once again, as they all sat down, she drew her own chair very slightly aside, so that she was not obliged to talk to anyone. Colonel Zanin handed her the long, cool, sparkling drink she had requested, and she realized that, had he not been completely dazzled by the charms of one of the other young women present, he would not have allowed her to retire so completely into herself, for he was essentially polite and kind. But he was utterly under the spell of the princess, and Kathy was glad of it, for she didn’t think that, that evening, she could have managed to maintain a flow of light, normal conversation for any length of time.
Leonid had taken absolutely no notice of her—in fact, he was behaving as if she didn’t exist—and although in some ways this made things easier for her, it hardly did anything to lift her spirits. Although she knew so well that she could never mean anything in his life, it was hurtful to be shown that he could ignore her so completely—even his fiancée could scarcely object to his addressing one or two casual remarks to the English girl who was only there to attend upon his sister-in-law.
Once again the lights in the vast auditorium were dimmed, and the curtain slowly rose upon the second half of the famous opera. But by now she was developing a slight headache, and the music she usually loved seemed harsh and discordant. The story of Rigoletto, too, to which she had never previously paid a great deal of attention, now began to strike her as peculiarly repellent. She felt ridiculously nauseated by the spectacle of poor Gilda’s pathetic devotion to her somewhat unsavoury duke, and as she couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that there seemed to be several points of resemblance between the fictitious villain and Prince Leonid it was perhaps not surprising that she soon began to wish the performance would end.
And then, at last, it had ended, and for fully ten minutes the entire Opera House seemed to reverberate with the full-throated approval of a gratified Italian audience. The prima donna, who had certainly been excellent, was showered with bouquets and smaller floral tributes from all comers of the building, and she took numberless curtain calls, while the shouts of “brava” grew, if anything, more and more persistent, and Kathy felt that if she had to stand very much more of it she would scream. Her temples throbbed and ached almost intolerably, and she was terribly tired ...
Natalia turned and looked at her, and instantly her eyes registered concern. “Kathy, cherie, you are very pale ... It is the heat in this place. But when we are outside you will feel better.” She herself was looking rather radiant, and it occurred to Kathy that she had never seen her employer looking like that before. Of course, the unexpectedness of this evening out, after her spell in seclusion, had done a lot to cheer her up, but it was perfectly obvious that Colonel Zanin, still watching her in a hypnotized fashion, had done even more, and Kathy could not repress a small sigh. For some people, everything was so easy ...
They left their box before the applause had really begun to die away, in the hope that by doing so they might be able to slip out of the building almost unnotic
ed, but this small stratagem was doomed to failure. Their departure had been watched for and duly noted, and by the time they reached the foyer it was packed. As they descended the stairs a sea of faces was turned upwards to watch them, and camera flashbulbs exploded in all directions. The manager and his staff cleared a path for them with commendable speed, but just for a few moments they were actually brought to a standstill, and it was a little frightening. Kathy saw Sonja Liczak swallow quite noticeably, and turn pale, as the human mass surged around the foot of the staircase on which they stood, and then she glanced at Leonid, and realized, with a little shock that set all her pulses racing, that he was looking straight at her, Kathy. For an instant their eyes met, and she forgot all about the jostling crowd below, and even the photographers’ lights. Then he looked away, and as he did she saw that the people in the foyer were gradually being forced apart to let them through.
Outside, in the Piazza, the night air was startlingly cool and refreshing, and although the more persistent of the journalists and cameramen followed them out on to the steps their cars were waiting for them, and in almost no time they were being driven smoothly and almost silently away from the hectic scene at the entrance to the Opera House.
When they arrived back at the Villa, Kathy prepared to follow Natalia up to her room, but the other girl took a long, keen look at her pale, oddly strained face and ordered her to go to bed immediately.
“You had a headache this afternoon, didn’t you? I forgot—I’m so sorry, petite!” She looked thoughtful. “And we were going to have a little talk ... But,” more briskly, “we will have it in the morning, I think, for tonight you are fatigue, and so am I.”
Alone in her own bedroom, Kathy sank down on the stool in front of her dressing-table, and stared at her reflection in the huge crystal mirror which confronted her. She was very pale, and her eyes were enormous and shadowed, their natural hue darkened by the depth and intensity of the colour in her dress. Slowly, she unfastened the single row of pearls, a bequest from her grandmother, which had been her only adornment that evening, and she put them away quite methodically in the case in which she had always kept them. After that, she supposed she ought to be thinking about getting undressed, but somehow she didn’t seem to have the energy. The sooner she went to bed, the sooner the morning would come; and in the morning she would have to tell Natalia that she could stay with her no longer. Natalia was helpful and sympathetic—Kathy could not help wondering how much she had guessed, lately, about the English girl’s thoughts and feelings—but there would be nothing that she could do, except help her unhappy employee to return to her own country as swiftly as possible, and that was probably precisely what she would do.
The Breadth of Heaven Page 11