The Breadth of Heaven

by Rosemary Pollock

  By this time the following evening she might easily be in London and Leonid would have gone out of her life for ever.

  She lifted a hand to her head, and was just about to start uncoiling her hair when there was a tap on her door, and Rosa came in, looking distinctly apologetic.

  “Scusa, signorina, but the Signor Principe would like to talk to you.”

  Kathy stared at her, while her pulses began to race. Leonid wanted to talk to her ...?

  Her mouth felt dry, and her legs trembled uncontrollably as she walked along the corridor and across the hall to the library—the same library in which she had fainted on her first night in the Villa; the same library in which, that very morning, she and Leonid had begun to discuss something that just for a few moments it had seemed might be important to them both.

  And Leonid had said: “We will talk later.” Was that why he had sent for her now?

  But as soon as, in response to a somewhat harsh ‘Come in’, she had pushed open the door and entered the room, she knew that the man standing with his back to the marble mantelpiece was in anything but an amiable humour, and at the look on his face something inside her turned cold. He executed a small, stiff, continental-style bow, and indicated a chair.

  “You will please sit down, Miss Grant.”

  It was a long time since he had called her ‘Miss Grant’, but even without the abandonment of her Christian name his voice would have told her that he was very angry—and, apparently, with her.

  She made no attempt to linger by the door, but with a curious detached dignity walked slowly across the room, and obediently sank into the red leather chair.

  His eyes followed her, and as she looked up at him the expression in their inky depths was quite unfathomable.

  Then he turned away from her, and lit a cigarette. “I have just received a telephone call,” he told her. “From London.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, and appeared to be studying the tips of his sensitive, well cared for fingers. “It came from the editor of a newspaper called the Daily Courier. I was surprised, but I cannot imagine, mademoiselle, that you would have been.” He shot a swift glance at her, and went on: “I had not intended to announce my engagement yet, but obviously it was your opinion that the world should not be kept in ignorance any longer.”

  She gasped, and every vestige of colour remaining in her cheeks deserted them.

  Leonid looked at her, and his eyes were cold and black and unrelenting. “Apparently the Daily Courier had a representative at the opera this evening. But of course, you must know that. You very kindly granted him an interview, and the information which you gave him was so interesting that he naturally telephoned his head office at the earliest possible opportunity. He was quite a young man, evidently, and inexperienced. They had not expected him to ‘come up’, as his editor phrases it, with such a valuable story.”

  “Oh!” said Kathy, and the colour came back into her face in a revealing tide of crimson. “I didn’t think—I didn’t know—that he was a reporter ...” At first, she had scarcely understood what the Prince was saying; it had seemed to her that someone must have made a serious mistake. And then she had recollected the sandy-haired young Englishman who had spoken to her in the corridor, and she realized with painful clarity that she had indeed made a grave mistake. “I thought...” she began again, and then her voice trailed away, and she abandoned any attempt to make excuses for herself. She had done an unforgivable thing; she had betrayed all the confidence that had been placed in her, and in an unthinking moment had blithely given vital information to a man who she now realized had had all the appearance of a typical journalist.

  “Whatever you may, or may not, have thought, Miss Grant,” said Leonid unpleasantly, “you certainly seem to have been very definite in what you said to the gentleman from the Daily Courier. He told his editor that he was quite sure there could be no mistake. He had spoken to someone who was in a position to know the truth—Miss Katherine Grant, Princess Natalia’s English secretary.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kathy whispered, and looked down at her own tightly clenched fingers.

  “Well, I am glad that you are sorry.” His accent was much more noticeable than it usually was, and Kathy thought that never before had he seemed so alien and frightening. “My sister-in-law has been good to you, I believe—very good! She has treated you as a member of her own family, and I should have thought that to her, at least, you would have wished to be loyal. I, of course, have incurred your resentment.” His lips tightened, and he looked straight at her. “I thought you very pretty, mademoiselle—I still think you very pretty!—and unfortunately, as you realized, I have a weakness for pretty young women. I have to pay them some sort of attention! That did not please you, and no doubt you are quite pleased to have been responsible for placing me in a fairly embarrassing position.”

  Kathy looked up at him. “Oh, no, I—”

  He interrupted her. “Perhaps you do not think it an embarrassing position? Well, it is only embarrassing because Mademoiselle Liczak did not wish the announcement to be made quite so soon, but it was a little annoying to be obliged to explain the situation to a total stranger at this hour of the night!”

  “I—I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said again, and stood up. Almost every word he had spoken had pierced her like the blade of a sharp knife. She couldn’t think very clearly any more; but she did know one thing, and that was that she had to get away from the Villa Albinhieri within the next few hours. He was going to marry Sonja Liczak; he had only shown an interest in her because he had a weakness for ‘pretty young women’; and she wished with all her heart that she had never even seen Ransome’s hotel, for if she had never been a receptionist there she would never have met the cold-blooded arrogant man who was now staring down at her disdainfully from his position in front of the great grey marble fireplace.

  “I ... think I’d like to go to bed now,” she told him, wishing that she could stop the curious shivering sensation deep down inside her. And she added: “I’ll leave early in the morning. I’m sure Her—Her Serene Highness will agree that that is the best thing.” She didn’t know how she was going to manage it, but she would arrange things somehow.

  “My chauffeur will drive you to the airport.” He wasn’t looking at her, and with a numb feeling of shock she realized that he had no intention of suggesting that she didn’t need to leave quite so abruptly. Probably if she hadn’t suggested that she leave in the morning he would have done so himself!

  Just as she was about to open the door and escape, he spoke again. “I imagine I have your permission to convey your apologies to Mademoiselle Liczak? I feel strongly that you owe her an apology!”

  “Yes, of course. And do tell her that I ... hope she’ll be very happy—when you decide to announce your engagement!”

  She left the room swiftly, with her head held high ... but as soon as the door had closed behind her her shoulders began to droop as if beneath an insupportable burden, and it was all that she could do to get herself back to the temporary sanctuary of her own bedroom.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE following morning was wet and cold—for Italy exceptionally cold—and Kathy awoke heavy-eyed, and with a severe headache. But she knew exactly what she had to do, and as soon as she had consumed a cup of coffee—which was as much as she felt she could face in the way of breakfast—she lifted the receiver from the smart white telephone beside her bed, and contacted the British Consulate in Mirano. She asked if it would be possible to speak to Mr. Robert Markham, and in no time at all she was rewarded by hearing the reassuring, essentially English accents of the young man who had visited her shortly after she arrived in Italy.

  “Miss Grant!” He sounded positively eager. “I’ve been making all sorts of attempts to get in touch with you—I called at the Villa twice, but the first time I called the maid told me you were out, and on the second occasion she said you just didn’t want to see anybody. I thought it seemed pretty odd, actually, and I tried to get
you on the telephone, but that didn’t work, either. They haven’t been holding you prisoner in there, have they?”

  Kathy laughed, as he probably expected her to do, but it didn’t really strike her as being at all funny. She had known nothing about Robert Markham’s visits, or his telephone calls, and she wondered on whose instructions she had been kept in ignorance of them. It didn’t matter very much now, as it happened, but it was strange—and irritating.

  Nevertheless, for his benefit she thought up a reasonably plausible explanation which seemed to satisfy him, and then got down to the real reason for her getting in touch with him. He listened in silence, and then said, with quick sympathy:

  “Something must have gone rather badly wrong for you to want to leave so suddenly—if you don’t mind me saying so, you sound as if you’ve had just about enough. But you don’t have to tell me anything about it if you don’t want to. Look, at a guess I’d say you don’t want to have to ask any of the Karanskas for transport to the airport, do you?” Her throat constricting, Kathy admitted that she didn’t. “But I don’t even know how to find a taxi, you see ... if you could tell me where I could get one ...”

  “You don’t have to worry about a taxi.” His voice was brisk. “I’ll run you over to the airport myself, and then I can help you get your flight fixed up. It might not be easy to get a seat at such short notice, but I’d probably be able to arrange it for you.”

  “Thank you.” She was genuinely grateful. “It’s terribly kind of you.”

  “Well, I told you you could always rely on me, and to tell you the truth I’ve been worrying about you a good deal lately. I’d a feeling you might be needing help ...” There was no reply, and after a moment he went on: “There’s a flight leaving Genoa for London at about lunchtime. Could you make it in time, do you think? It would mean my picking you up at about twelve o’clock.” As there was still no answer from the other end, he spoke rather more sharply. “Are you there, Miss Grant?”

  “Yes ... yes, I’m here.” He thought that her voice sounded rather muffled; and decided that it was probably a bad line. “I’ll be ready at twelve o’clock.” Thinking swiftly, she added: “I’ll walk down to the main gate.”

  “Well, if you’d rather ... but are you sure? I mean, won’t you have a fair amount of luggage?”

  “No—no, I won’t have very much luggage.” She would arrive back in London with the clothes she had already possessed when she left London. Nothing on earth would persuade her to take any of the things she had bought with money paid her by the Karanskas. “And thank you,” she said again. “I didn’t intend to put you to so much trouble—I just thought you might be able to advise me.”

  “Well, if you want some advice I’ll do my best to give it to you ... when I see you. But don’t worry about your journey home. I’ll see to that.”

  After that, the morning seemed to pass very swiftly. She packed the one and only suitcase she intended to take with her, and then sat alone in her room, and waited. During the night, while she had lain awake, tossing and turning, for hours, she had decided that she couldn’t possibly face a farewell, explanatory interview with Natalia. As soon as she got back to England she would write her—but she couldn’t talk to her now. Fortunately, the Princess had given orders to the effect that she was not to be disturbed until noon, and by the time she felt able even to sit up and sip a cup of coffee Kathy would probably be well on her way to Genoa airport.

  She had been rather afraid that at any moment she might receive a message from the Prince, informing her that he, or his secretary, had made arrangements for her flight home, and although she was relieved when no such message came, she was also surprised. Leonid, she knew, had such a strong sense of duty ... she had always felt that, whatever happened, he would always be considerate. Especially to insignificant female employees upon whom he could scarcely find it worthwhile to vent his anger.

  But she had obviously offended him seriously—so seriously that he did not even intend to offer her any assistance where the question of her journey home was concerned ... despite the fact that the night before he had said: “My chauffeur will drive you to the airport!”

  At exactly twenty minutes to twelve, she picked up her suitcase, and took a last look around the bedroom she had occupied for the last three weeks. On the dressing-table she had left a note for Natalia, and one for her hostess, Signora Albinhieri, and she had also left a wad of travellers’ cheques, securely encased in a separate sealed envelope. They represented what was left of the advance salary she had received—quite a considerable amount—and she was heartily thankful that so much of it had been left untouched. At least she owed them nothing. She was leaving without giving formal notice to Natalia, but at least she had not robbed anybody of anything, and before she even reached London the Princess would know why she had left, and would probably feel that it had been the only course open to her.

  She managed to slip out of the house completely unobserved—which was fortunate, since she didn’t quite know what she would have said if she had encountered anyone—and it occurred to her, as she stepped out into the rain and erected the light umbrella which she was taking with her, that this was the second time since she became involved with the Karanska family that she had set forth on a journey in a stealthy and secretive manner.

  She proceeded down the drive at a fairly brisk pace, and by the time she arrived at the main gates it was still not quite twelve o’clock. As she stood waiting, rain dripped relentlessly on to her shoulders from the branches of the tall, dark cypresses guarding the entrance, and every so often she glanced nervously back along the winding, tree-shaded drive, half expecting to see the white Jaguar or the grey Mercedes come creeping soundlessly towards her perhaps with Leonid or even Natalia inside.

  But there was no movement from the direction of the Villa. Kathy began to shiver, and to wish that she had not been quite so determined to be on time, and not keep Robert Markham waiting. The road which ran past the gates was probably one of the busiest in Italy, and as she stood there heavy traffic roared past her in an unending stream. There were sports cars and buses, articulated lorries and even oil tankers, all apparently trying to get somewhere in the shortest possible space of time, and when the slightest hold-up was occasioned there arose from dozens of assorted motor-hooters the most ear-splitting cacophony of protesting sound that Kathy had ever heard in her life. The air was heavy with the nauseating smell of petrol fumes, and in addition to being cold and wet and decidedly miserable, she began to feel slightly sick.

  And then, quite suddenly, a very smart white sports car detached itself skilfully from the stream of north-bound traffic, and slipped inside the open Villa gates, to come to a standstill beside the forlorn figure of Kathy.

  “I say, I’m sorry.” As he spoke Robert Markham jumped out of the car, and took Kathy’s suitcase from her. “You must have been waiting for ten minutes—I daresay you’re soaked to the skin. But I got held up a mile or so back ... Get into the car.” He held the nearside door open for, her, and surveyed her in a worried fashion as she climbed inside. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to slip back to the house and change? We’ve a forty-minute drive ahead of us, and you must be feeling like a drowned rat—”

  “No, thank you.” Kathy shook her head. “I’m perfectly all right. I stood under the trees, and escaped the worst of it.”

  “You escaped the worst of it!” He grinned at her as he let in the clutch, and started to execute a cautious turn. “You’re wet through, and I’m really awfully sorry to have kept you hanging about like that.”

  They slid through the gates, and paused for just a few moments on the edge of the busy coast road. And then, as soon as an opportunity arose, they joined the frightening line of traffic, and were off on their way to Genoa. Robert Markham bent down and switched on the heater, then looked sideways at Kathy with a touch of curiosity.

  “I’ve booked you a seat on the plane,” he told her. “You’ll be back in London by s
ix o’clock this evening.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “It’s ... really awfully kind of you.” She added uncomfortably: “I oughtn’t to let you help me like this.”

  He smiled at her. “My dear, you could say it’s my job. I’m at the Consulate, and you’re a British subject ... a British subject in need of assistance. Not that this sort of thing is exactly part of the regular service, of course, but you’re rather a special case. And in any case, you’re not at all the sort of girl who should be alone and unprotected in a foreign country!”

  She smiled, and made an effort to look reasonably light-hearted, since she felt that the least she could do in the circumstances was to be a fairly amusing travelling-companion; and in any case, she didn’t want the Englishman beside her to guess at her unhappiness. If he did, he might begin to speculate about the causes that lay behind it, and since his grey eyes had the appearance of being decidedly shrewd he would probably make quite an accurate guess.

  He drove very fast, at times alarmingly fast, and it took considerably less than the forty minutes he had allowed to get them to the handsome modern airport at which Kathy and the Princess Natalia had landed—unexpectedly—three weeks earlier. She paid for her ticket, and he went with her into the departure lounge. By the time she had spent some ten minutes in the cloakroom, attending to her appearance, she looked considerably less bedraggled, but her bright hair, confined beneath a cream-coloured silk scarf, was still a little damp, and her small black court shoes were spattered with mud.