Katerina's Secret

by Mary Jane Staples

  He looked at himself in the mirror. He knew he could not be called handsome or vigorous-looking.

  He left the hotel, started his car and began to motor to Nice. It was still very much on his mind, that incident on the road. In Nice, he found his way to Heriot’s, the car dealers. He went to the office of their hire department. The manager was extremely helpful, giving him a description of the man who had hired a saloon car, a black Citroën, four days ago, and brought it back damaged. It had struck a wall, apparently. The description was of a man of medium height, in a grey suit and hat, clean-shaven and aged perhaps thirty, perhaps a little more. That could have been anybody. No, there were no distinguishing features.

  Edward wondered if he had been expecting details of someone he knew. Such an expectation had to be absurd. Did he, in the back of his mind, have a vague image of Dr Kandor, the impassive, unreadable Bulgarian? That had to be impossible. Yet the doctor had passed the incident over lightly, with a suggestion that the driver of the other car must have been drunk. He had given the impression that it was worth neither discussing nor enquiring into.

  Edward thanked the car-hire manager and left. He called in at the municipal library and asked to see some dictionaries.

  He was very thoughtful when he came out.

  The word kulak was Russian. It meant a peasant more affluent than others. It meant a peasant who was the proprietor of a small amount of land.

  He motored back to the Corniche, arriving in good time for lunch. Celeste, catching sight of him on his way to his room, went to the reception desk to get the letter that awaited him in its pigeonhole. She took it to him.

  ‘M’sieur, another one,’ she said, ‘another billet-doux. It was delivered two hours ago, so I’ve brought it at once, even immediately. Shall I wait while you write your reply?’

  ‘Thank you, little angel, but if an answer is required I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Celeste, ‘you must have a few minutes to yourself while you count the kisses Madame has sent.’

  ‘Terrible girl, be off with you.’

  Celeste laughed as she departed. Edward read the note.

  Dear Edward,

  I am distressed. Why have you not called? What have I done? Are we no longer friends? Have I taken up too much of your time? If so, you must forgive me, but do please let me hear from you. Are you unwell? I pray not. I am ever and always your friend. Please remain my friend too.

  Katerina.

  What an idiot he was. Perhaps any man who was still a bachelor at thirty-five was unimaginative about women and their feelings. She had had to spell out the obvious, that she was entitled to expect some initiative from him. He sat down and wrote in profuse apology for his shortcomings, and declared he would call on her this afternoon. He hoped, he said, that she would not set her dog on him for his thoughtlessness. He gave the letter to Celeste, who asked him if he would like Jacques to take it now, before lunch.

  ‘I’d be very grateful,’ he said. She called Jacques, gave him the letter and the porter went at once to deliver it. Edward expressed pleasure at such service.

  ‘There’s lobster for lunch, m’sieur,’ smiled Celeste.

  ‘Lobster as well as service invaluable?’ said Edward.

  ‘For you, yes. Oh, Mademoiselle Dupont asked for her place to be laid at your table. I told her that could only be arranged with your permission.’

  ‘Well, I don’t mind. Let her share my table.’

  Celeste, ignoring that, said, ‘Why did you go into Nice this morning?’

  ‘To ask a few questions.’

  ‘M’sieur,’ she whispered, ‘no one could really wish to harm Madame. It must have been an accident the other day.’

  A thought struck him. The unhelpful description from the helpful manager related to a man who had called twice, once to hire the car and then to bring it back. It would not have been a brief meeting on either occasion. Something better than a vague description should have been possible. Had there been collusion for a financial consideration? A further visit to Nice was called for.

  ‘Where did you get to this morning, Franz?’ asked Rosamund over lunch.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Colonel Brecht, studying his lobster salad with keen interest. ‘A long walk. Very satisfying.’

  ‘Are you related to Houdini?’ asked Rosamund.

  ‘Houdini?’

  ‘I’ve noticed your disappearing acts lately.’

  Colonel Brecht swallowed lobster, then cleared his throat.

  ‘Ah – I enjoy walking,’ he said, ‘and I wish to take care.’

  ‘Take care? Of what?’ Rosamund was amused.

  ‘That I do not come to bore you. You are a charming lady, a kind and interesting companion, while I am a man of limited social graces. I am – ah – what would be the word?’

  ‘You’re thinking of stodgy, perhaps?’ said Rosamund.

  ‘What is stodgy?’ asked the colonel.

  ‘Indigestible,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘Himmel – it’s as bad as that? I am indigestible?’

  ‘I don’t think so, no. Nor should you. Next time you go walking, ask me to go with you. I also enjoy it – more so with an escort.’

  ‘You really are most kind, most charming,’ said the colonel warmly.

  ‘Oh, I’m always at my most gracious when there’s lobster in front of me,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘Edward – oh, how nice.’ Katerina put out both hands in glad welcome, and Edward took them. ‘Your little note was such a relief to me – I thought you simply must be unwell. But here you are, and quite yourself, and getting very brown.’ Her eyes were warm, her hands pressing his.

  ‘And how are you, Katerina?’ he asked, wishing himself equipped to be much more than a friend to her.

  ‘How am I?’ She smiled very brightly. ‘Oh, much better now that I know you haven’t set me aside.’

  ‘Set you aside? Katerina, that’s preposterous.’

  ‘Oh, I can be very preposterous when I’m upset,’ she said.

  Edward saw Dr Kandor on the terrace, the Alsatian beside him. The dog, ears pricked at the advent of Edward, came down the steps and trotted up to him. Edward stroked its ears.

  ‘Try biting me, old boy,’ he said, ‘I’ve upset your mistress.’

  Katerina smiled, hiding emotions critically sensitive. He was not to know how little time she had left here. Despite the doctor’s presence, she put her arm through Edward’s and walked to the terrace steps with him. Boris had warned her not to show herself in the garden, not to make herself a target for anyone on that ascent beyond the road. Someone capable of trying to murder her in a car was just as capable of shooting her.

  ‘Edward, shall we sit and talk?’ she asked.

  ‘That shouldn’t be too painful,’ he said.

  She laughed, but emotionally. She wanted the afternoon to be endless, she wanted a looming midnight flight put off for ever. They sat at the terrace table, while Dr Kandor strolled thoughtfully around the garden, hands behind his back and pipe between his teeth. The Alsatian lay beside Katerina’s chair, nose between its front paws and tail lazily thumping.

  They talked lightly, of inconsequential things. Edward went along with her smiling mood, but sensed it hid a seriousness. Although Dr Kandor did not come up from the garden, his presence seemed to Edward to have an inhibiting effect on Katerina. She did not mention croquet, and since he was quite content to sit with her and observe her, he said nothing himself about a game.

  But she did suddenly say, ‘Perhaps we can play croquet next time you come – perhaps tomorrow? That’s not too soon? You could come again tomorrow?’

  ‘Indeed I could,’ he said. ‘I’ve yet to chalk up a win.’

  ‘But Edward,’ she said, ‘who will remember which games were won, which were lost and which were unfinished? I shan’t. I shall only remember how well we were matched, and how the afternoons never lasted long enough.’

  He thought again how faultless her English
was, and, in its way, how oddly dated. Most other English-speaking women would have said, ‘Darling, who cares about points? Points are so boring, so utterly tedious, don’t you know. Do get me a drink, sweetie.’ What he did not think about was what her words implied, that soon there would be no more croquet, only the memories.

  Anna brought out the tea tray. Dr Kandor came up to the terrace.

  ‘May I join you?’ he asked in his grave way.

  Over tea, he took up the conversation, interesting himself in Edward’s work. His questions were keen and Edward was responsive. His answers led to a discussion on the events that had brought the war about. His own view was that it was due to Austria– Hungary’s mistaken belief that she could go to war with Serbia and treat as a bluff the Russian Tsar’s declaration to side with the Serbians.

  ‘It might have been a war exclusively between Austria and Serbia, if the Tsar had kept out. His intervention brought Germany in to support Austria, and that brought France in because of her treaty with Russia.’

  ‘Is it your opinion, then,’ said Dr Kandor, ‘that Tsar Nicholas was responsible for making the war such an extensive and calamitous one?’

  Katerina sat tense and silent, her eyes on Edward.

  ‘No, that’s not my opinion at all,’ he said. ‘Austria must take most of the blame because of misguided recklessness. Germany must take some for her invasion of Belgium. The Tsar’s armies were the least well equipped to fight a full-scale war. The Tsar was decisive in his loyalty to the Slav nations, but indecisive in all else, it seems. He was a homely man, not a warrior.’

  ‘You will excuse me, please,’ said Katerina in a shaking voice. She rose to her feet and disappeared into the villa.

  ‘I must apologize,’ said Edward. ‘I’ve either bored her or distressed her.’

  ‘The war, Mr Somers, was unkind to all of us,’ said the doctor. ‘Please allow the countess her distress, and make no mention of it when she returns.’

  ‘I’d like to talk about the incident on the road,’ said Edward. ‘I’m sure it—’

  ‘It was frightening, of course,’ said Dr Kandor, ‘but an accident, undoubtedly. I’m sure you have no enemies who’d wish to kill you, and who would want to harm the countess? Some of the wild people who live in Nice or Monte Carlo were almost certainly responsible. Many of them fill themselves with wine, then climb into their cars and make lethal weapons of them. You and the countess were fortunate. No more need be said of an incident she’d like to forget. She won’t wish to hear us talking about it when she rejoins us.’

  ‘Do you know your villa’s been watched by someone with a telescope?’

  ‘The countess told me you’d mentioned that,’ said Dr Kandor imperturbably. ‘Did you see the person?’

  ‘I’m certain I glimpsed the telescope. So did another guest at the hotel.’

  ‘Mr Somers, who would be interested in us, except some unfortunate individual with a sick curiosity?’ said the doctor.

  ‘Or someone with a murderous intent?’ said Edward. ‘That was no accident on the road, Dr Kandor. The driver was no drunken idiot, far from it.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Somers,’ said Dr Kandor, ‘but you are worrying unnecessarily. Hostile intent is out of the question. I am an innocuous man, the countess the most inoffensive of ladies. Ah, here she is.’

  Katerina, reappearing, approached the table, and not for the first time Edward was fascinated by her almost regal elegance and grace.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as she sat down. But she did not explain why she had absented herself. ‘What are you talking about now?’

  ‘Little nonsenses,’ said the doctor.

  ‘Then continue, please,’ said Katerina, ‘for I’m addicted to little nonsenses. Intellectual discussion is all very well, but put four intellectuals together for a whole week and you wouldn’t hear a single laugh from any of them, from the time they begin their learned conversation until the time they finish – if they could finish. Do you agree, Edward?’

  ‘Among intellectuals,’ said Edward, ‘I’m so out of place I creep away to look for someone like Celeste.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Katerina warmly.

  ‘One acknowledges the infectiousness of the young,’ said Dr Kandor.

  ‘One acknowledges that professors spread wisdom,’ said Katerina, ‘but it’s people like Celeste who spread joy and light.’

  Dr Kandor demurred.

  ‘One cannot compare the high spirits of youth with the wisdom of the learned,’ he said.

  ‘I can,’ said Katerina. ‘Love is far more precious than wisdom.’

  They talked on for a while, then Dr Kandor consulted his watch.

  ‘It’s after five,’ he said.

  ‘You mean it’s time for Edward to go,’ said Katerina.

  ‘I mean it’s time for you to take a little rest,’ said the doctor. He did not object when she walked down to the gate with Edward.

  ‘Edward, you will call again tomorrow, please?’ she said. ‘You can spare the time from your writing?’

  ‘Without any effort at all,’ he said, hiding with a smile the longing he had for her, just as she was hiding all she felt about the moment when she would know she would never see him again. ‘We’re to play croquet?’

  ‘We shall play croquet, yes,’ she said, ‘and enjoy another memorable game.’

  Tense, she gave him her hand. He pressed her warm fingers. Hers clung tightly for a brief moment. He wondered if he was wrong in thinking her eyes misty.

  ‘Katerina—’

  ‘Yes?’ She was very emotional.

  ‘Take care,’ he said.

  They had known each other such a short time. There were all the years before, all the years of the future, and what they had given each other was invested in the fleeting moments between.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Katerina.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Edward.

  When he had gone, she rejoined Dr Kandor.

  ‘You told him nothing, I hope,’ said the doctor.

  ‘About our leaving? No,’ she said. ‘But, oh, Boris Sergeyovich, anywhere except America. America is on the other side of the world. It’s too far. Switzerland, perhaps, or Italy – why not?’

  ‘Too close,’ he said. ‘I must decide and you must accept.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’ she said.

  ‘You can’t refuse, Katerina Pyotrovna, you know you can’t.’

  ‘Take care in how you regard me,’ she said, ‘for I’m becoming desperate.’

  ‘Are you in love?’ he asked, perturbed for once.

  ‘That is nothing to do with it.’

  ‘It’s everything to do with it. Katerina Pyotrovna, you shouldn’t have left the table, you shouldn’t have shown such agitation. Your friend is an intelligent man. He will think about what he was saying when you rushed away. He will find a connection. You were very agitated.’

  ‘You may have grown a suit of armour, Boris Sergeyovich,’ she said, ‘but I have not.’

  ‘Nothing has been accomplished, comrade,’ said number one.

  ‘I beg to differ,’ said number two. ‘We’ve at least identified them, both of them. There can be no mistake about her, you agree.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘As to further action,’ said number two, ‘you must concede there are difficulties. Especially as we have strict orders not to lay ourselves open to arrest.’

  ‘I’ll make my own concessions, comrade, and do my own thinking. Let me point out we’re risking security by making contact as much as we do with each other.’

  ‘We must compare notes,’ protested number two.

  ‘The birds are to be disposed of, comrade, or they’ll fly away.’

  ‘I’ve looked for opportunities every day.’

  ‘Look again.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rosamund, entering the village the next morning to go to the shop, smiled as she saw the upright figure of Colonel Brecht outside its door. He was talking to
someone, a man in a dark suit and hat.

  ‘May I get to the door, Franz?’ she said as she came up.

  Colonel Brecht, startled, spun round. Rosamund’s smile was sweet.

  ‘Ah – I had no idea,’ he began, then tugged his moustache and said, ‘but you are just in time to help this gentleman, perhaps. He’s trying to find his way to a village called Le Maqui.’ He turned to the man, whose face was square and dour. In French he said, ‘It’s correct, you wish to know the way to Le Maqui?’

  The man lifted his hat to Rosamund.

  ‘If you please,’ he said in accented French.

  ‘Can you help, Rosamund?’ asked Colonel Brecht. ‘You know this part of France better than I do.’

  ‘Le Maqui is only a few kilometres,’ said Rosamund. ‘Continue through this village, m’sieur, and when you reach a little road on the right you’ll find it will lead you to Le Maqui.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the dour-faced man and strode purposefully away.

  ‘The villagers could have helped you, Franz,’ said Rosamund, indicating the elderly inhabitants playing their habitual boules on the triangle.

  ‘I was about to recommend that,’ said the colonel, ‘just at the moment when you arrived. You’re shopping?’

  ‘If I can get through the door, yes,’ smiled Rosamund.

  ‘Ah, your pardon, dear lady,’ said the colonel and moved aside. ‘Ah – have you come to buy handkerchiefs?’

  ‘I think I mentioned I was in need, and they have the prettiest lace ones here.’

  ‘Then permit me, please,’ said Colonel Brecht, and fished out a small wrapped box from his pocket. ‘I could not resist hastening down to buy them for you. The gift you will accept, I beg?’

  ‘So that is why you disappeared again.’ Rosamund accepted the box very graciously. ‘How could I say no to such charming generosity? I’m overwhelmed! Dear me, how nice you are. I shall now give you the pleasure of escorting me back to the hotel, where I left Mademoiselle Dupont trying to seduce Edward from his work. If you care to accompany me, we may be able to take her off his hands.’