Jim draped one arm around the bass and flicked the music on the stand. “You’re the wrong color to play gospel like that.”
“A Baptist is a Baptist is a Baptist. It’s not my arrangement, though. Stan Rollins stuck it in.”
“He must have known you could do it.”
“Twice a week he offers to make me a star.”
“Twenty years ago he could have done it.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“How is he?”
She shook her head. “Not good. He was doing arrangements for a rock group,”
Jim looked at her in disbelief and from the depths of a jazzman’s soul said, “Gawd.”
Jessica shrugged. “He says it’s a living.”
A chastened Stefan emerged from the shadows at the back of the club and walked toward them. It would never do to let him become morose and embarrassed about the day’s events. She moved quickly.
“Ah, Stefan. Great. We’re just at the point where we have to have you. We’re going to do something a little different tonight.” She handed him a sheet of music. “Now follow us along until I yell at you, as I’ve been yelling at everyone else for the past half hour, and then wail. OK? It’ll be clearer as we go along.”
She swept him forward with her enthusiasm and by the time they had run through the arrangement two more times, he was as excited about it as the rest of them.
“I must call my friends. They should not miss this! I must go now. All right? Some sort of break, yes?”
“Some sort of break, yes. We’ll see you tonight. I think we’re ready.”
He flew out the back door, free, for the time being, of love’s shackles. Karl looked at Jessica,
“You are a very wise woman.”
“Hold that thought,” she said a trifle grimly. “I may need to hear that again.”
The rest of them drifted off to pursue their regular activities until it was time to perform and Jessica went back to the hotel to await the arrival of Alexander Carson. Known to his amused colleagues as Alexander the So-So. When Ray had remonstrated with her for hanging the label on the poor kid, she had grinned ferociously.
“I never talk behind his back.”
“I’ll bet he wishes you would.”
“My dear, if Max has plans to groom the kid for the Hill, he’d better learn to deal with remarks a great deal more wounding that any I could make. Besides, deep down, I really like him. That will not be true of Congress. I consider myself a one-woman annealing force. Forging tempered steel from those all too clay feet.”
“That will be a feat, no pun intended.”
“None taken, lambchop. The elements in the process may be faulty, but the basic idea is sound. If he’s going to be another Max, he’s going to have to live with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Me, in other words.”
“I hope he’s getting combat pay.”
“Get away, you silver tongued devil!”
She waited all afternoon, but Sandy Carson didn’t come. She rested and did her nails and tried to think of some way to get to Rila Monastery without taking the Russians with her. And the Bulgarians. It did look as if she’d have to take Sandy. If he showed up. Which he would. The way her luck was running. Maybe she could stake him out in a field somewhere as a diversion and make her way to Rila in solitary splendor. On the wings of a dove…when she got this lightheaded it was time to go eat. She went back to the rooftop restaurant and her view of the rear of the liberator’s horse. It was a warm evening and she sat on the terrace looking down at the evening strollers. Sofia was still a walking town; Bulgarians promenaded in the evenings. Mothers and fathers, arm in arm, holding a child or two by the hand. Bulgarians were not given to large families. Resources had long been scarce and nearly all the families Jessica had met or seen in her second trip had been small. To see a family with three children was rare. But they were close knit and the fathers seemed to spend more time with the children than in most countries. It was not unusual to find grandfathers in the park in midmorning with an infant or toddler in tow.
There was a coffee bar on the ground floor of the hotel and many young people gathered there. They were a curiously innocent group, fascinated by western ways, music, clothes, but intensely Bulgarian at the same time. Jessica found them very touching. She was also amazed at their political interest. She couldn’t imagine her teenaged nieces or nephews listening to an hour-long speech by any politician. Yet, she had seen a group of Bulgarian teenagers giving rapt attention to a holiday speech by a member of the ruling council. Of course, being in the Balkans might tend to make you more aware of political forces and their immediate effect on your life,
She sat over her coffee until the sun had gone down and a chill wind drove most people from the terrace. She went back to her room and picked up a light jacket for her walk to the club.
The performance that night was particularly successful. They got what amounted to a standing ovation for their rendition of “A Song for You.” They had several other numbers which they added to their rapidly expanding repertoire, and by the end of the second set they were all feeling very good indeed.
Since finding Ray’s body, Jessica had not found it comfortable to go back to her dressing room between sets. Instead, she usually sat at one of the tables on the periphery of the room. The others would greet their friends and join her from time to time. Tonight, however, she had a friend of her own to greet.
“It’s my day for National Security,” she grinned as Ilya approached the table and sat down beside her.
“You’ve gotten better,” he said.
“Nowhere to go but up,” she replied.
“You were wonderful when I last heard you.”
“You were prejudiced.”
“I still am.”
“I certainly hope so. I need all the help I can get.” She nodded toward the group standing around the bandstand. “I’ve got a lot of help from those people. They’re extremely good.”
“You work well together, that’s obvious.”
“It is, isn’t it? We’ve been together a very short time, but we work as if we have always known one another. It’s very satisfying.”
They sat quietly, looking about them at the patrons. Finally Ilya said, “Has it changed much since you were here last?”
She gave it some thought. “Yes. It’s more prosperous than it was in those early post-war years. The people haven’t changed. They seem as warm as ever. I miss some things, though. The last time I came, a horse drawn cab brought me from the train station. That was lovely. This time I had a Balkan Ttourist car from the airport. Very efficient, but rather lacking in romance. I have very mixed feelings about progress, however, so you’ll have to disregard my complaints.”
He sat looking at her for a moment without speaking, then appeared to make up his mind. “There is a place which I wished to show you when you were here last. Do you remember when we were in Pomporovno?”
“The ski area?” He nodded. “Yes.” She said, “I remember.”
“It is some miles from there. Could you go there with me tomorrow?”
“Clear to Pomporovno? I’m a working person, Colonel. I can’t just traipse about the country all day and sing all night.”
“Yet, I believe you went to Istanbul,”
“For my sins,” she groaned,
“What time?” she sighed as she saw the familiar expression of hurt appear.
“Nine-thirty?”
She groaned again. “You all are determined to make an early riser out of me, aren’t you? Do all Bulgarians get up at the crack of dawn?”
He laughed. “Nine-thirty is midmorning to a farmer, Jessica.”
“I rarely grow anything but older. And the earlier I rise after working all night, the more quickly I age.” She held up her hand as he started to speak. “I’ll be there. Just pick me up at the hotel. Try to see that you’re not followed by any of my fans, will you?”
He grinned. He had heard of Stefan’s exagger
ated concern.
“You can hardly blame the boy for being smitten by your charms.”
“How long ago did you leave New York? That’s a very contemporary line, Colonel Christov. I have to sing again. I can only take so much of this rich talk before I have to work it off.”
“Shall I wait and see you back to the hotel?”
“My dear, it’s your town, but that would seem unwise to me.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll see you in the morning then.”
The next morning found them flying down a highway through the countryside, whizzing through small villages with exquisite private gardens, and out again among the state fields. Which were a good deal less exquisite. Unkempt looking in fact. She said as much. He grinned.
“Human nature does not always conform to state wishes.” He pushed the accelerator down a little harder.
“You may be able to defy the laws of Bulgaria, dear heart, but the laws of gravity are a little more specific.”
“We must change cars after we get into the mountains. The roads are not nearly as good, and we will not make such quick progress.”
“We’re all grateful for small favors. Ilya, do you know the Minister of Culture? One of my friends runs an art gallery and would like to arrange an exchange.”
“You’d like me to introduce you?”
“Yes. Don’t you know the Minister of Culture?”
“I’m married to her.”
It was her turn to laugh. “You do like to keep it in the family, don’t you? How old did you say your boys were?”
“Seven and nine.”
“And they just loll around the house with no government post?”
“They are at school.”
“Well, you could make one of them Minister of Education.”
“My wife is very well suited for her post. She was an art historian, for many years,”
“How many years?”
“Two or three.”
“Oh well, then.”
“You do not understand the Bulgarian system.”
“Oh, I think any reasonably adept chimpanzee would understand.”
What she did not understand was why he put up with this kind of guff from her. After all, it was none of her business and she did just wonder why he didn’t say so. It could only mean that he couldn’t afford to offend her and she wondered why. She didn’t put much stock in the starry eyed theory. In her experience, people didn’t throw it all away for love that often. Ilya hadn’t gotten where he was by being that kind of fool. Looking back, she could see that he had been both careful and discreet, even in the first rosy glow of their affair. It wasn’t only pride that had kept him from proposing through an interpreter, but a shrewd awareness that it wasn’t a good idea to let anyone else know too much about your business. She had been pleased by it then, it would have been very easy for him to show her off as a trophy, and looking back, she admired it even more for its long view. So he kept his eye on his goal. Good—so did she. It might be wise to find out just what his goals were, nonetheless.
They rode on for some time in silence. Jessica loved the countryside in Bulgaria. She had loved it twenty years ago, and she found all her admiration returning. It was as if you took the most interesting aspects of several American states and mixed them all together in an area about the size of Iowa. The charming little town of Vidin, on the Rumanian border, was on the Danube, not far from some fascinating caves and rocks reminiscent of the Badlands in the western United States. Sofia was surely the only capital city in Europe or the United States that had a mountain large enough to be used for skiing within the city limits. The Valley of the Roses was fascinating for its crops, although she had found it to be one of the least beautiful of the areas she had visited. But the little towns of Turnovo, perched in ancient splendor on the cliffs above a river, or Melnick, the smallest town in Bulgaria, were bits snatched out of time. Bulgaria also had parts of two mountain ranges running through it, the Rodopes Mountains being particularly impressive and containing some fine ski areas. She cherished particularly warm feelings for the seacoast. One of the happiest days of her life had been spent with Ilya on a beach on the Black Sea. She sighed. It was a long time ago.
They changed cars in Plovdiv, the cultural capital, according to those who lived there, of Bulgaria. It, too, was an ancient city, the locale of many of the archeological finds which had resulted in the Thracian Gold Exhibit in museums around the world. It was a very cosmopolitan and civilized city and she would like to have lingered, but Ilya was in a hurry. “The road gets much worse after this. We must go on.”
So they changed to a four wheeled drive vehicle and began the climb in the mountains south of Plovdiv. Ilya was concentrating on the driving, which had, indeed, gotten much worse, and Jessica drifted off into reverie again. The air was cold around them now as they climbed, although the sun was shining. A swift current stream ran beside the road which was surrounded on both sides by pine forests. The air was clean and invigorating. She leaned back, sighing in contentment. He looked over at her.
“Are you happy, Jessica?”
“Right now, or in general?”
“I hope you are happy now. But you seemed sad last night. At least you sang the blues with real conviction. Have you had an unhappy love affair?”
“Besides you, you mean?” She laughed and touched his shoulder. “Sorry. You haven’t known many blues singers, have you? It is possible to have the blues because your man has done you wrong. But it’s more likely to be because the laundry hasn’t returned your towels or the phone company has charged you for someone else’s call to Tutsia, or because the power is off and you have to walk up twenty-one flights. Less gut than gout. Or maybe I’m getting old.”
“Ne, ne, you’re not old.”
“You only say that because you’re getting old with me! I rather like it. I enjoy being mellow. I really suffered when I left Bulgaria the first time. I couldn’t get that low again. Even if I wanted to.”
“That is sad, in a way.”
“No doubt. But it has its advantages. For every loss, there’s a gain, if you’re wise enough to see it.”
He did not seem convinced.
“This is not a very good road,” he said as she bounced around freely and tried to hang on.
“Funny thing—I’d suspected that.”
“It gets worse—which is why we changed to this heavy duty vehicle.”
“Oh. I thought we were traveling incognito.”
“We are.”
“You don’t want to be seen with a shady lady?”
He grinned and wiped twenty years off his age. “I could always be keeping you under surveillance.”
“This is true. Just don’t take your eyes off the road to do it,” she gasped as they hit a particularly deep hole. She looked out the window. “I love these mountains. They remind me of Northern California.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Yes. They’re getting on, of course, but my mother still does six impossible things before breakfast,”
“I would like to know her.”
She chuckled. “She’d love you. She wouldn’t trust you, but she’d love you! Is your uncle still on the farm?”
“No. He died four years ago. His sons are still there. You met the eldest, remember?”
“Of course. The day we went to the farm and spent the afternoon toasting each other in mastika. You might have warned me.”
“Blame it on the interpreter,” he said drily,
“Sure! I’d have accused you of ulterior motives, but …”
“But you went sound asleep. I had to wake you up.”
“That part I remember,” she broke in. “It’s the hours in between that are a little fuzzy. Only an iron determination not to disgrace you enabled me to walk out of there! A half bottle of mastika on an empty stomach is fairly potent. Where are we going?”
“It is an interesting building. A little off the beaten track.”
“It was built by a Turk during the occupation. He was a local ruler and he had no great trust of his colleagues. There are some very interesting features to the house. It is very large—a small palace really. It is called Agushev Konak.”
Finally they arrived at the end of the unpaved road. He swung the jeep-like vehicle behind a rock. “It is open to the public, but it is wisest not to advertise our presence.”
“Would you like me to wear a false nose?”
“No, but a muzzle might be nice.”
“Oh,” she said in delight, “He fights back!”
He grinned and took her hand. “Just walk a little behind me, the path is treacherous.”
“It’s not the only thing. You like your ladies humble, don’t you?”
“How would I know?” he said in mock despair.
They came into a clearing and the building loomed before them, large and mysterious looking. It was very Turkish, white stucco with rounded towers at the corners, windows framed in tiles. They climbed up the slope and went in the front door.
“The Turks built to last, didn’t they? With their backs covered. You know, I’ve always felt they got a bad press.” She shrugged. “You come into a village, you cut off a few heads, and right away everybody badmouths you.”
He grinned. “No one is perfect.”
“Right.”
“There is a caretaker who is around somewhere.”
“I feel as if I’m trespassing,” she shivered slightly.
It felt very isolated.
“Does that bother you?” He was amused.
She looked a little abashed, “Oddly enough, you know, it does. Rather a drawback, at times. I have a sense of turf that would do honor to a terrier. I don’t like people on mine, and I don’t like stepping over onto theirs.”
“Well, think of this as my turf.”
They moved into a large room with seats built in around the walls in the Turkish manner and a beautifully carved ceiling. “There is something very interesting about that ceiling,” Ilya said. “I want you to go upstairs and stand in the second room on the right. And listen.”
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