Katerina's Secret

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘How long will you give me before you break my heart?’ she said sadly.

  ‘It will have to be as short a time as possible,’ he said. ‘But your heart will mend. You have the pride and resilience of an empress. You were born to be an empress.’

  Katerina walked slowly away. Prince, the Alsatian, followed her, tail wagging.

  Chapter Eleven

  Edward, fresh from a bath, sat wondering why a beautiful woman with a weak heart had not had an attack at a moment that had been horrifying. He penned the note she had asked for.

  Dear Katerina,

  I’d like, if I may, to accept your invitation to see you tomorrow. The pain of being on a hiding to nothing at croquet will be indistinguishable from pleasure. I hope very much you’re suffering no delayed shock from this afternoon’s unpleasantness. No one could have been calmer or braver. I salute you.

  Sincerely, Edward.

  He was in the hotel garden a little later, regarding the flushed evening sky and the onset of twilight. Anxiety beset him. He knew himself totally committed to Katerina’s well-being, and he was certain other people weren’t. He himself could not have been the target of that murder attempt. It had to be Katerina. Mystery encompassed her existence.

  The evening was autumnal. Celeste arrived. He had ordered a Pernod.

  ‘M’sieur – Edward? I’ve served your aperitif in the lounge. It’s too cold for you out here.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘It will be, in just a few minutes,’ she said. ‘What has happened to your car? Jacques said it was damaged, so I looked. Such a mess. I’m worried that you had an accident while you were out with Madame.’

  ‘I brushed a wall. Another car took up too much of the road. But it’s only the fender. I’ll take it into Nice tomorrow to get it fixed. If your kind mama will allow, would you like to come with me? We’ll leave after breakfast and be back by lunchtime.’

  ‘A ride to Nice?’ Celeste’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, how good you are to me. I’m enchanted.’

  ‘If your mama can spare you, be enchanted,’ said Edward.

  ‘To Mama,’ said Celeste proudly, ‘you’re as irresistible as you are to me.’

  ‘I don’t think that can be strictly true. By the way, I’ve a note.’ He handed it to her. ‘Can you get Jacques to deliver it this evening?’

  ‘Oh, but yes,’ said Celeste, seeing to whom it was addressed. ‘Heavens, the profusion of billets-doux – I’m overwhelmed.’

  ‘Do try, my little chicken, not to be overwhelmed to the point of expiring,’ said Edward. ‘I must go and find my Pernod. I think I need it, Celeste. Did you, incidentally, mention to anyone that I was taking the countess for a drive this afternoon?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Celeste, ‘I’d never disclose details of your trysts with Madame.’

  ‘Let’s go in,’ said Edward.

  Rosamund and Colonel Brecht came out to meet them as they approached the French windows of the lounge.

  ‘You’re so often together, you two,’ smiled Rosamund.

  ‘Oh, we are devoted, madame,’ said Celeste with her air of ingenuousness. ‘Tomorrow morning we are driving into Nice.’

  ‘Nice? How tantalizing,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘Ah – would you like a visit to Nice some time, Rosamund?’ asked Colonel Brecht in his diffident way.

  ‘Join us tomorrow morning,’ said Edward, ‘and I’ll drop you both at the shops and pick you up later.’

  ‘You really are a dear man,’ said Rosamund, ‘thank you. Did you enjoy your outing today? Franz and I are both curious to know what your mysterious countess is like.’

  ‘Oh, you scattered the news around that I was taking her for a drive, did you?’ said Edward lightly.

  ‘I mentioned it to Franz, since it was rather an event,’ said Rosamund. ‘Do tell, Edward, what is she like? You and Celeste seem to be the only people who have met her.’

  ‘She’s very good at croquet,’ said Edward.

  ‘Croquet? Croquet?’ Rosamund arched her eyebrows.

  ‘She is charming, madame,’ said Celeste, ‘and very beautiful.’

  ‘Charming, beautiful and also mysterious?’ said Rosamund. ‘Then you must have had an exciting outing, Edward.’

  ‘Momentous,’ said Edward.

  They entered the lounge, the meeting place of guests who liked to enjoy an aperitif or two before dinner. Celeste closed the French windows and drew the velvet curtains.

  ‘M’sieur,’ she said to Edward, ‘there is your Pernod, on the corner table.’

  ‘Celeste, may I have a dry vermouth, please?’ said Rosamund.

  ‘Ah, yes, and for me,’ said Colonel Brecht.

  Celeste departed. Rosamund looked around. There were three other guests present, the silver-haired couple and Dr Bush, the American.

  ‘Where’s the voluble Mademoiselle Dupont?’ asked Rosamund.

  ‘My information,’ said Colonel Brecht, ‘was that she had gone into hiding to escape Monsieur Valery.’

  ‘Such is life,’ said Rosamund, ‘and such are its perversities, that a woman who can’t do without the company of men finds herself pursued by the one man she has no interest in. I shall recommend to Monsieur Valery that he continues his pursuit. Doggedness and persistence may yet bring him victory.’

  ‘I have a feeling that too close a pursuit is more likely to bring him a thick ear and a black eye,’ said Edward.

  Celeste brought the drinks, mixed by Jacques. There was no bar in the Corniche. Hotel bars were an innovation, imported from America, and known only to the grander establishments so far. Madame Michel saw to it, however, that drinks were always available to her guests.

  Edward sat quietly thinking.

  ‘Shall we – ah – take dinner together for once, Rosamund?’ suggested Colonel Brecht, no doubt encouraged by the fact that yesterday they had shared a table for lunch.

  ‘For once – ah – I’m agreeable,’ said Rosamund gravely, ‘but it must be understood, as is the way at this charming place, that the custom of individual tables shall remain generally inviolate.’

  ‘No, it would not do to find oneself taking breakfast every morning with a talkative person,’ said the colonel.

  ‘I don’t consider myself talkative,’ said Rosamund, ‘especially at breakfast.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of you, no, no,’ said the colonel. ‘You are entertaining, not talkative.’

  ‘I’ve a soft spot for men who are quick to make amends,’ said Rosamund.

  Edward smiled. Rosamund and Franz Brecht had achieved rapport.

  The night was still. The moon, fading but still huge, cast its silvery light. The dog’s pointed nose lifted, its ears pricked. It came to its feet. It did not bark, but trotted silently around the side of the villa from its kennel. It padded over the lawn. It stopped, hackles rising. It moved again, fast, bounding towards the little gate in the high wall.

  It barked ferociously as it hurled itself at the gate.

  On the other side of the wall, feet retreated in haste. The ground, strewn with pine needles, whispered as someone began to run fast.

  Katerina awoke.

  So did Dr Kandor. He put on a dressing gown and went out to quieten the dog, and to stand and listen.

  He heard nothing. But he knew someone had been there.

  Nice was always at its best in autumn. The heat of summer could sometimes be trying. The warmth of a friendly autumn could be mellow, and that, combined with the sea air, provided perfect conditions for anyone with affected lungs. Edward could never be persuaded, however, that Nice was preferable to La Roche.

  He put Rosamund and Colonel Brecht down in the Promenade des Anglais at a little after ten o’clock, and promised to pick them up at noon. Rosamund looked distinctly picturesque in a powder-blue costume and blue cloche hat. The colonel looked handsome in a light grey suit and panama hat. Rosamund intended to take him round the shops, and the colonel appeared uneasy, as if he thought he would be expected to gaz
e at window displays of French lingerie. It was quite possible that Rosamund meant to ensure he would do precisely that.

  Indeed, he soon found himself sharing her observation of an exquisite French corset, black and trimmed with lace.

  ‘Enchanting,’ said Rosamund, ‘and so kind to one’s figure.’

  ‘My dear lady, I am of the ignorance total about such things.’

  ‘Then it’s time you were educated, Franz.’

  ‘We aren’t going in?’ he said a little hoarsely.

  ‘You don’t care to?’ Rosamund regarded him thoughtfully. ‘The assistants, you know, are always so much more interested when a lady is accompanied by a gentleman. You’re expected, when in France, to do as Frenchmen do – give your advice and opinions on a prospective purchase.’

  ‘I’d almost prefer to find myself accidentally locked up with Mademoiselle Dupont.’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ said Rosamund sweetly. ‘She has such a good figure and such ravishing ways.’

  ‘Himmel,’ breathed the colonel.

  ‘I’m only teasing,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘I am relieved.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ exclaimed Rosamund as they turned to walk on.

  ‘You’ve forgotten something?’ said the colonel.

  ‘I’ve just seen something,’ said Rosamund. ‘On the other side of the street. Look.’

  The colonel looked. On the opposite side of the wide boulevard Mademoiselle Dupont was sauntering and window-gazing. In a white dress patterned with black polka dots and a white hat, she was attractively symbolic of the graciousness of Nice.

  ‘One can’t fault her appearance,’ said Colonel Brecht, ‘or complain about her being here.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that,’ said Rosamund. ‘Look there.’

  He followed her eyes. Coming along the pavement was Monsieur Valery, his slight figure nattily clad in a cream suit and a brown trilby hat on his head. His walk was brisk, his air perky and inquisitive, as if he was looking for someone. He saw Mademoiselle Dupont and darted quickly up to her. She turned. Distinctly, her reaction at seeing him was cold. He spoke to her. She drew herself up and made an angry gesture. She walked away. He followed her, catching her up and persisting with his importunities.

  ‘There, he’s anchored himself to her,’ said Rosamund, ‘and she so prefers Edward, and Edward so prefers Celeste and the mysterious countess of the Villa d’Azur. Come along, Franz.’

  The colonel still had his eyes on Monsieur Valery. He was frowning.

  ‘Idiot,’ he muttered.

  ‘Come along,’ said Rosamund, ‘there’s a shop ahead which specializes in the most delightful creations.’

  ‘Not – ah – dear lady, not – ah – ’

  ‘No. Men’s clothes. We’ll see if there’s anything there which will suit you. A dashing spotted bow tie, perhaps.’

  ‘Bow tie? Bow tie of the spots? Rosamund—’

  ‘Come along, Franz,’ said Rosamund yet again, and was laughing as they went on their way.

  ‘M’sieur, yes,’ said the works foreman, ‘a new fender.’

  ‘Fitted by twelve o’clock?’ said Edward.

  ‘Certainly, m’sieur, certainly,’ said the foreman of the comprehensive motor garage which specialized, among other things, in attending to the needs of the various British cars that found their way into Nice.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Edward, and dropped a French banknote into the man’s hand. He was accorded a smile of Gallic appreciation. ‘I wonder if you could help me with another matter? I’m interested in the car which damaged mine and didn’t stop.’

  ‘The scoundrel, m’sieur, should be reported to the police.’

  Celeste opened her eyes wide. Edward had told her he brushed a wall.

  ‘The car in question was a black Citroën saloon,’ said Edward, ‘and suffered a damaged bonnet and wing. It hasn’t been brought here for repairs?’

  ‘No, m’sieur, I can assure you it hasn’t.’

  ‘I’d like to trace it, without the help of the police.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the understanding foreman, ‘to come face to face with the miscreant, m’sieur?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘M’sieur, I’ll make telephone calls, to other garages. When you return for your car, perhaps I’ll have some information for you.’

  ‘It’s possible, of course, that the driver may not have brought it to Nice for repairs.’

  ‘I’ll make some calls, m’sieur.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Edward.

  ‘Oh, this is disgraceful,’ said Celeste as they left the garage, ‘you did have an accident when you were out with Madame. It’s deplorable of you not to have told me.’

  ‘We all have our regrettable moments, my infant.’

  They strolled in the sunshine, Celeste in a pale yellow frock and straw hat. She looked young, buoyant and pretty. She also looked indignant.

  ‘Edward, I’m ashamed of you,’ she said. ‘Such a terrible shock for my Madame, to find herself in a car accident. Her heart, did you think of her heart?’

  ‘I’m always thinking of her heart, Celeste. Fortunately, she remained calm and unshocked. Celeste, has it occurred to you that she may not be confined to her villa because of her heart? Has it occurred to you that she isn’t being protected from physical stress, but something else? The accident was no accident. The other car tried to batter us over the edge of the road and over the cliffs.’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be true!’ Celeste was appalled.

  ‘It is true, I’m afraid. But keep it to yourself, my sweet little friend. Promise?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Celeste, ‘but how can anyone want to harm the countess? She’s so sweet, so gracious, so kind.’

  ‘I wonder where her husband is?’ said Edward thoughtfully. ‘Or is there a husband? She wears no ring. What became of the Count of Varna, if there is a Count of Varna?’

  ‘Stop,’ gasped Celeste, ‘it’s too much for me.’

  ‘Shall we walk a little more slowly, angel?’

  ‘Oh, a thousand pardons, m’sieur, I’m going too fast – but I’m agitated, you see.’

  ‘Let’s continue on to the Imperial. Then we can sit and drink coffee in the sunshine until it’s time to go back to the garage. That will be enough exercise for me, since I’m due to play croquet this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, you are going to visit her again?’ said Celeste. ‘Again? Then how happy I am for you, and will pray that rose petals will fall around you both.’

  ‘Rose petals?’ he said as they entered the broad tree-lined promenade.

  ‘Always at weddings there should be rose petals,’ said Celeste.

  ‘Was there ever such precociousness?’ said Edward. ‘There’ll be no wedding, you terrible child.’

  ‘But where there is love—’

  ‘Where there’s a very fertile imagination, you mean. I’m no man to make a husband, Celeste.’

  ‘Oh, such gloom,’ declared Celeste, shaking her head. ‘How can you be so poor in spirit? That isn’t like you at all.’

  They turned into the spacious forecourt of the Imperial and found themselves a table. A waiter hastened up, pulling out a chair for Celeste, into which she sank with the feline grace of a girl young and free-limbed. Edward ordered coffee. The sun poured brightness over the face of Celeste and warmed his lined features. Celeste thought she would like to kiss him. He was not to know that her precociousness hid her love for him. She spent the busy summer months looking forward to autumn and winter, when she knew he’d be there. Sometimes frost nipped the ears early in the morning, and sometimes he spent hours writing in the quiet of his room. She had fervent hopes for him, but she viewed the long slender talons of Mademoiselle Dupont with jealousy and horror. It was the countess she had her eye on for Edward, because she could not think of two people who would look after each other better.

  ‘I’ve just thought,’ she said, leaning forward to whisper. ‘If that other car tried to push you of
f the road and to send Madame to a fearful death, the person driving it must have known she was going out with you.’

  ‘Yes, Celeste, that’s quite a thought.’

  ‘Ah, m’sieur.’ The works foreman greeted Edward cordially. ‘All is ready.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Edward, and inspected the new fender. ‘Excellent. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes, m’sieur. The car you spoke of was returned to Heriot’s this morning. It was hired from them by a gentleman who signed himself Henri Lascalle of Lyons. He left money to pay for the damage.’

  ‘I’m greatly obliged,’ said Edward and handed over another banknote.

  ‘A pleasure, m’sieur.’

  Edward settled the bill. On the way to pick up Rosamund and Colonel Brecht, he said, ‘Celeste, when we get back to the hotel, could you find out if there’s an Henri Lascalle of Lyons listed in the telephone directory?’

  ‘You’re very optimistic, Edward. I don’t think there’ll be any Henri Lascalle of Lyons, or a telephone number or an address.’

  ‘How shrewd you are, young lady. But we’ll check, shall we?’

  They picked up their friends. Rosamund and the colonel seemed satisfied with the time they had spent in Nice. The colonel was carrying a small packet and a dainty striped box tied with ribbon.

  ‘I’ve bought a delicious negligee,’ said Rosamund, when the car was under way, ‘and Franz has bought a tie. I helped him select the tie, but he refused me any help at all with my purchase.’

  ‘So should I have done,’ said Edward.

  ‘We aren’t living in the time of Victoria,’ said Rosamund, ‘and we are, after all, in France.’

  ‘I have suffered the ordeal frightening,’ said Colonel Brecht.

  Celeste smiled. Mama had said that Madame Knight was leading Colonel Brecht by the nose, and that his nose was having the time of its life.

  But although some things were amusing, it wasn’t anything but deadly serious to know that someone had tried to kill Edward and the countess. Edward could not possibly have imagined it, unless he was oversensitive about Madame.

  There was no Henri Lascalle in the Lyons telephone directory. Edward thought it might, therefore, be a good idea to go into Nice again as soon as he could and ask someone at Heriot’s for a description of the man.