The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  He sighed. There was no use in trying to talk his father out of it. Once Count Ivan made up his mind, that was the end of it. There was no turning back. The words came to his lips almost before he knew he had spoken them. “I am not going with you.”

  Now it was his father’s turn to be surprised.

  ***

  Later that week Sergei sat uncomfortably on the edge of the chair across from the desk in the room that used to be the office of Dax’s father. In a way it was hard for him to realize that less than a year ago he and Dax had gone to classes together. In the months since his father’s death, Dax seemed older, somehow matured.

  “So you see,” Sergei said, “I’ve got to find a job.”

  Dax nodded.

  “And there’s really nothing I can do. That’s why I came to see you. Perhaps you could think of something I could do. I know how busy you are; that’s why I hesitated.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” Dax did not tell his friend that actually there wasn’t that much to do. There still weren’t many people interested in Corteguay. The only thing that had really changed was his social life; suddenly he was in great demand for parties. There was something attractive to the French about a young man whose only qualification for the job as consul was an international rating in polo.

  “We’ll have to find something for you,” he said. He smiled at Sergei. “I’d give you a temporary position in the consulate but I’m going home next month. El Presidente has decided on the new consul.”

  “I thought—”

  Dax smiled. “It was only temporary. Until el Presidente could find the right man.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sergei was more interested in his friend than in himself.

  Dax shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. El Presidente has written that he has plans for me but I don’t know what they are. Perhaps go to Sandhurst as he had planned. I’ll find out once I get home.”

  The two young men were silent for a moment. “Perhaps you’d like to come to Corteguay with me?”

  Sergei shook his head. “Thank you, no. I would not feel right in a strange land. I wish to stay in Paris.”

  Dax did not press it. “I understand. I will keep my eyes open. Should I hear of anything I’ll get in touch with you right away.”

  Sergei got to his feet. “Thank you.”

  Dax looked over at him. “I have some money I can spare if you need it.”

  Sergei looked down. Five thousand francs. His hand itched to pick it up but he was too embarrassed. “No. Thanks,” he said awkwardly, “I have enough to manage.”

  But he was angry with himself as he left the consulate. The ten francs he had in his pocket would barely last him until tomorrow. And already the landlord was screaming for his rent. Without thinking, he walked all the way to the hotel where his father used to work. Then he suddenly realized, and stared up at the familiar building. Why had he come here? His father no longer guarded the door, he could no longer give him the money he used to ask for.

  He walked across the street to a café and sat down in the back row under the awning. He ordered a coffee. He nursed it while he considered which of his friends might be most likely to have something on, a party or even cocktails, where he could unobtrusively get something to eat.

  A voice interrupted his reverie. “Sergei Nikovitch?”

  He looked up. The man standing by the table was familiar. Then he realized that it was the bell captain from the hotel across the street.

  “Hello,” he said, unable to remember the other’s name.

  Without ceremony the man sat down. “What do you hear from your father?”

  Sergei considered him coldly. For a moment he was tempted to get up and leave. The fellow was too damned presumptuous. Then curiosity got the better of him. He would not have had the nerve to sit down unless there was something definite on his mind. “Nothing.”

  The bell captain shook his head. “I do not trust the Germans. I told your father not to go.”

  Sergei did not answer. He knew very well that the bell captain had done nothing of the sort. He wouldn’t have dared. His father would have squashed him like the insect he was.

  A waiter came by. “Two cognacs,” the bell captain ordered grandiosely, then turned back to Sergei. “And how is it with you?”

  “All right.”

  “Have you found anything yet?”

  Damn him, Sergei thought, there are no secrets in this town. “There are several propositions I am considering.”

  “I was thinking about you only today.” The bell captain was silent while the waiter put down their cognacs. “I was wondering if Sergei Nikovitch was doing anything.”

  Sergei looked at him silently.

  “If he isn’t, I thought, there is perhaps something that I can arrange. If only while you are making up your mind about the many offers.”

  Sergei picked up his drink. “Na zdorovie.” At least the worm had the manners not to say what he must obviously know to be a fact. That Sergei had nothing at all to consider.

  “A votre sante.”

  It was Sergei’s turn now to express an interest. If he did not, that would be the end of it. He felt a little better with the warmth of the brandy in his stomach. “What was it you had in mind?”

  The other lowered his voice. “As you know there are numerous tourists in the hotel. Among them many rich ladies alone. They are embarrassed to go out at night without escorts.”

  Sergei’s voice interrupted. “You are suggesting I become a gigolo?”

  The bell captain held up a protesting hand. “Heaven forbid! These ladies would never entertain a gigolo; they are of impeccable social standing. They would never consider going out with anyone who was not their equal—or better.”

  “Then what is it you are suggesting?”

  “Some of these ladies are interested in meeting the right people. They would be most generous toward anyone who could introduce them into the correct circles.”

  Sergei stared at him. “Is that all?”

  The other shrugged his shoulders expressively. “Anything more would be up to you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sergei said. “Where do you come in?”

  “I will arrange the introductions between the lady and yourself. For this I will get fifty percent of what you receive.”

  Sergei took another sip of his cognac. The bell captain would certainly get a fee from the ladies for the introduction. “Twenty-five percent.”

  “Agreed.”

  Immediately Sergei regretted his generosity. The bell captain probably would have accepted ten.

  “There is one in particular,” the bell captain continued. “She has been in the hotel almost a week. This morning when I brought her the American papers she spoke to me again about such a possibility. If you are interested, she is in the lobby now.”

  Sergei hesitated. It was probably the other way around. He was to be brought around for her approval. His lips tightened. For a moment he was tempted to tell this pimp of a peasant to go to hell. Yet the screams of his landlord still echoed in his ears. He got to his feet and unconsciously straightened his tie. “Perhaps. But only if she appeals to me.”

  “There she is,” the bell captain whispered as they entered the lobby, “the red wing chair in the corner.”

  The woman looked up just as Sergei turned, and a feeling of surprise ran through him. She was not old at all, in her late twenties or early thirties. He had always thought it was only older women who required the attentions of a gigolo. Her eyes were a very dark blue and they looked at him steadily. He felt his face flushing as he turned his eyes away.

  “What do you think?”

  “Does it matter?” Sergei asked. Then he saw the puzzled look on the man’s face. “All right. It might turn out to be amusing.”

  “Bon. She is very nice. You will like her.”

  “Is she married?”

  The bell captain looked at him indignantly. “What kind of a man do you think I
am? Would I be fool enough to have you waste your time with a single woman?”

  14

  Mrs. Harvey Lakow had two children in boarding school, four million dollars left her by her parents, and a husband who was convinced that if he left the country that summer Roosevelt would find a way to ruin his business.

  “I can’t go this year,” he had said. “Nobody knows what idiotic thing that man in the White House might do next.”

  “What can he do? And even if he should, we’d still have enough money.”

  “You don’t seem to realize there’s a depression,” he had replied irritably. “He wants to turn everything over to those damn unions.”

  “And you’re going to stop him?”

  He got to his feet angrily. “Yes, by God! At least he’s not going to get my business!”

  She was silent. It wasn’t his business. Not really. Her father had founded the company many years ago and had taken Harvey into it when they were married. When her father had died she had inherited the stock and automatically Harvey had become president. But somehow all that had conveniently been forgotten.

  “I’m going down to the office.”

  “And I’m going to Paris. Alone if you won’t come with me,” she had said, suddenly making up her mind.

  “You won’t enjoy yourself, you don’t know a soul there.”

  She had waited silently for him to offer to go with her. But he never had and after one week alone in the Paris hotel she thought about what he had said. She was not enjoying herself. She was alone in a city where a single woman was nothing.

  She looked at herself in the full-length mirror as she stepped out of her bath. She was thirty-eight years old and though her figure did not have the firmness of her youth she did not look her age. Her breasts were still firm, thank goodness. They had never been overly large so they did not droop from their own weight, and her tummy was almost flat.

  But it was her eyes that were her best feature. They were large and a dark blue that shone with a luminosity of its own, an inner fire that time had not wholly dimmed. Suddenly, and without reason, they filled with tears. Angry at herself, she snatched up her robe and wrapped it around her, walked into the living room just as a knock came at the door.

  “Entrez,” she called, reaching for a cigarette.

  It was the bell captain. “Your papers, madame.” And seeing her struggling to light her cigarette, he quickly struck a match.

  “Merci,” she said, blinking her eyes rapidly.

  But he had already seen the tears. “Will madame require the car for this evening?”

  She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. There was no place a woman could go alone. It would be another lonely dinner in her suite. She did not even enjoy eating in the large dining room by herself. The bell captain looked at her shrewdly. “Perhaps madame would be interested in an escort for the evening?”

  She stared at him, ashamed of her thoughts. “A gigolo?”

  He caught the faint look of distaste on her face. “Of course not, madame.”

  She thought of the gigolos she had seen and of the women they accompanied. Somehow you always knew. She could never bear to have people looking at her like that. “I will not have a gigolo.”

  “I would not dream of such a thing, madame. But there is a young man in the hotel who has seen madame. He is most interested in meeting her.”

  “A young man?” In spite of herself she felt flattered. “Not a gigolo?”

  “Not a gigolo, madame.” His voice lowered to a confidential tone. “He is of royal blood.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  The bell captain spoke quickly to take advantage of her indecision. “If madame happened to be in the lobby I could arrange to be talking to the young man. If madame approves, I could then arrange the introduction. If not”—he shrugged his shoulders—“the young man will respect madame’s wishes despite his disappointment. He will trouble you no further.”

  Although she had already made up her mind that she would not go down to the lobby to see the young man, she found herself taking extra special care with her makeup. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were large and darkly blue and shining with a light that had not been there for a long time. She felt young and excited. I’ll be just looking, she told herself as she closed the door behind her; I’ll look and then go away. Surely there’s no harm in that.

  She began to feel the fool sitting there in the lobby. She was certain everyone knew exactly why she was there. She looked at her watch and decided to wait ten more minutes. She was just on the verge of getting up and returning to her suite when the two of them came in.

  He is young, was her first startled impression. But then she remembered having read somewhere that Frenchmen preferred women older than themselves. He’s very tall, was her second. His six foot three seemed even taller standing beside the short bell captain, and his broad shoulders and dark unruly hair did give him a regal look. She guessed his age at about twenty-four. But it was partly her own age that caused her to overestimate. Sergei was actually not quite twenty.

  His dark eyes swept the lobby looking for her. Suddenly their eyes met and she saw him flush. The bell captain wasn’t lying, she thought in surprise; only a man who really wanted to meet someone would blush like that.

  When he turned his eyes away, without thinking, she nodded to the bell captain. In the same moment, overcome at her audacity, she fled to the elevator.

  ***

  She had never had an affair during all her marriage and it was because of this that there was an air of unreality surrounding them. Time had been suspended, and if it was not love at least there was romance. Now, three weeks later, she met Sergei at the door with a letter in her hand.

  Sergei realized it was over and he felt a regret because he had come to like this quiet, intelligent woman very much. “It is time for you to go?” he asked, accepting a drink.

  She nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tonight then we will have to see all of Paris which you have not yet seen. We will be out all night.”

  She was silent for a moment. “I have seen enough of Paris.”

  He put down his drink and held out his arms. She came into them quietly, and he found her cheeks were wet with tears. For a long time they sat silently. The day faded and night came and street by street the lights came on all over the city.

  After a while she stirred. “I’d better order something. You must be starved.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Silence fell again and they looked out at the twinkling lights. “Paris is lovely at night.” He didn’t answer.

  She stirred in his arms. “I was never young,” she said. “I know that now.”

  “You will always be young.”

  “Now I will, thanks to you.”

  “I will take you to the boat,” he said suddenly.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It is better to get used to being alone on the boat train.”

  “I shall miss you.”

  Her eyes were dark. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  “But at least you are going home to your family, to those you love.”

  “And you?” she asked. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know. My father wishes me to join him in Germany. I don’t want to go but—”

  “You mustn’t go!”

  He shrugged. “It is something to do. It is better than hanging around Paris doing nothing.”

  “No, it’s wrong. What the Nazis are doing is dreadful. You must not become a part of it. President Roosevelt says—”

  “Your President is Jewish,” he said, interrupting. “My father writes that his name is really Rosenfeld, and that he is allied with the Communists.”

  She began to laugh, and then saw the puzzled look on his face. “You remind me of my husband. He goes around repeating stupid things like that.” Then she saw the hurt expression on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, instantly contrite, �
�but you know it’s not true. I mean about the President being Jewish.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You must find a job.”

  “Where? Who would hire me? There is nothing I can do.”

  She sensed the peculiar desperation in him and drew him down to her. The quick male warmth of him reached out and engulfed her. Later, much later, she whispered to him shyly, “It was me you wanted to meet that day in the lobby? Not just anyone?”

  He sensed her need. “Yes, it was you. From the moment I first saw you.”

  It was five o’clock in the morning but the bell captain was waiting as Sergei came out of the hotel. “Well? How much did she give you?”

  Sergei stared at him a moment, then negligently, almost carelessly, took the check from his pocket. The other grabbed it and gave a loud whistle. “Do you know how much it is for?”

  Sergei shook his head. He hadn’t even looked. “Five thousand dollars!”

  Sergei didn’t answer. He was still thinking of the woman he had left in the room.

  “You must have a cock of steel.” The bell captain laughed vulgarly. “You must have screwed her out of her mind.”

  Sergei looked at him. It wasn’t that at all. He knew why the check had been so large. It was so that he could remain in Paris and not have to join his father.

  The bell captain drew closer to him. “Was she any good? Some of these Americans are made for it.”

  Sergei looked at him coldly.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, tomorrow she will be gone. There is another woman in the hotel who has seen you in the lobby. When she asked I told her you would be free after today. She would like you to join her for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Abruptly Sergei walked away. The bell captain looked after him, still holding the check in his hand, and called, “She wants you to wear your dinner jacket because afterward you are to escort her to a soiree at a friend’s house.”

  15

  Dax looked up from the letter. “It seems we are not to go home after all.”