Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (55 page)

Splaying her legs in a precarious stance for balance, Senda
began screaming and waving her arms frantically as she saw
the back of the Princess's neatly coiffed head sliding into view.
Then her heart surged as she caught sight of Vaslav's familiar,
unmistakable profile.

'Vaslav!' she yelled. 'Stop the train! Vaslav!'

Inge joined in the screaming. Vladimir leaned relentlessly on the air horn, filling the night with its raucous blare. Metal
train wheels clicked and roared.

Then a face filled the window, and Count Kokovtsov smiled
chillingly down at her, the fingers of one hand curling slowly
up and down in a wave.

'What on earth is that infernal racket?' the Princess asked
fearfully. She glanced at Mordka, her eyes lined with worry.
Is there trouble?'

'Nothing we need worry about.' The Count's lips tightened
and he swiftly loosened the tie-back curtains, drawing the vel
vet draperies across the window. 'But I suggest you do not
show yourselves. I believe it is a band of revolutionaries.'

'Then all is lost!' the Princess exclaimed in horror.

'No,' the Count said, shaking his head and talking loudly in
order to drown out the shouts and honks coming from outside.
If only the car horn continued to blare, he hoped; it drowned
out the voices.

'But if it is the revolutionaries—' the Prince began.

'We are just metres from the canal bridge,' Count
Kokovtsov explained. 'Once we cross it they will not be able
to follow. We will be safe.'

The Prince started toward the next window to look out. Mordka swiftly stepped in front of him to bar his path. 'It is
too dangerous, cousin,' he said solicitously. 'You have too
many responsibilities. We cannot afford for you to come to
harm. They might shoot, you know.'

'Vaslav, please do sit,' the Princess begged. 'I do not want
you to get hurt!'

The Prince hesitated, and Mordka held his breath.

Reluctantly Vaslav took a seat.

'You
can't
slow down!' Senda screamed. Disregarding any
thought of safety, she began pummelling Vladimir's head and
shoulders with clenched fists. 'Speed up, I tell you! We've got
to catch
up!'

Vladimir grimaced under her glancing blows, unable to
shield himself. Without warning, he hit the brakes so hard that
they locked. The car swerved, lurched, and finally skidded to a halt so suddenly that Senda nearly toppled over the wind
shield. She managed to grab it just in time. For a moment no
one moved. Then slowly each of them let out a deep breath
and began to test their joints.

'Whew! That was close.' Vladimir upended the champagne
bottle but it was empty. He scowled.

'Why did you stop?' Senda cried, tears of frustration stream
ing from her eyes. 'We were so close, damnit. So close.'

'See for yourself,' Vladimir said grimly.

She sniffled and looked to her right. The train was picking
up speed, steadily click-clacking across an iron-girdered
bridge. Then she threw a glance forward and sucked in her
breath. There were no more tracks at this end of the railroad
yard except for the solitary set of rails crossing the bridge. And
small wonder. The car's headlights shone out across black, brackish water. For a moment she could only stare.

They had come to a halt on a jutting embankment, and the
hood of the car hovered in midair. Four metres below was
water. Another half-metre and they would have plunged into
the icy waters of the canal.

It had been a close call.

She gazed after the departing train. Her throat clogged as
she watched the last box car disappear across the bridge in a
shower of sparks. Then the huffing locomotive sounded
fainter, was receding into the stillness of the night.

Slowly Senda sank down into the seat. Her face was ashen. Suddenly she felt the cold, empty numbness of defeat. 'What
do we do now?' she asked in a strained whisper. 'What do we
do now?'

She felt Inge reach across and envelop her in her arms. 'Now,' Inge said simply, 'we will just have to get to Geneva on our own somehow. If you taught me one thing,' she said,
her blue eyes sparkling, 'it is never to give up.'

Senda looked at her in surprise. 'I did?'

'You did.' Inge leaned back in her seat, folded her hands in her lap, and burst out laughing as Vladimir put the Hispano-
Suiza in reverse. 'I wouldn't like to do this again, but I must
say, I've never experienced anything quite as exciting as this
ride.'

Suddenly Senda joined in the laughter. Perhaps it was relief
after the close brush with death; whatever it was, it felt good
to be alive. Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

'Back across the Neva?' Vladimir called over his shoulder.

'No, to the ferry station,' Senda said.

'You're going to Finland? Well, I hope you have papers.
The Finns are sticklers for such things.'

'Papers?' Senda repeated dully.

'You know, documents. Passports. Things like that.'

Senda shook her head. 'No, we don't.'

'Then you'll find it easier getting papers in Poland. I heard
the Polish border is much more relaxed. I'd better take you to
the train station.'

'But slowly,' Senda begged as he shifted gears. 'Please drive
slowly.'

They arrived in Warsaw a little more than two months later.
The stop-and-go journey had taken its toll.

Senda took ill. At first she dismissed her coughs and bouts
of fever as nothing more than a cold she couldn't throw off. She had always enjoyed the best of health and wasn't too
worried. But when the coughs erupted from deep within her
lungs, and the fevers persisted, and her thick phlegm was
tainted with blood, Inge became alarmed. She insisted that
Senda see a doctor.

'No. No doctor,' Senda insisted weakly with as much
emphasis as she could muster. 'We can't afford one.' Sick as
she was, the incessant worries about money took precedence.

Inge did not argue. If this wasn't an emergency, she didn't
know what was. She put Senda to bed and waited until she
was asleep. Then she cut open the lining of Senda's coat,
where the yellow diamond sunflowers had been sewn, and
went out seeking the best jeweller in town.

So what if she only got a fifth of what the brooch was worth?
Now there was enough money to get them through another
few months—and to summon a doctor.

Inge knew her priorities, and Senda's health came first.

Dr. Buchsbaum was a short, gnomish man who despite his kindness was one to never mince words. 'I'm afraid the prog
nosis is not very good,' he told Senda with a frown. 'I'm not
quite certain yet, but I think it's safe to assume that you suffer
from pulmonary consumption.'

'Consumption!' Senda looked at him incredulously.

He nodded gravely and reached out a quieting hand. 'I'm afraid so. But given rest, care, and fresh air, it needn't be the
end of the world.'

Senda shut her eyes, allowing the dread to wash over her.
She hadn't been expecting good news, but
this!
For a moment she wanted to laugh hysterically. What irony! Just when they
had escaped the revolution unscathed, her health had to
deteriorate! More ironically yet, was she doomed to become
a real-life
Lady of the Camellias?
And how was she going to
care for her daughter . . . and for Inge
...
if she had con
sumption? What was she going to do for money? For Tamara's
future? A few months more, and the ring would have to be
sold too.

Long hours after the doctor left, Senda lay in her bed,
coughing up blood.

Tamara tugged at her arm and sniffled. 'Mama! Are you
going to be all right?'

'Of course I am, angel. I'm just a little tired.' Senda smiled
briefly. 'All I need is some rest. Even mamas need their rest
sometimes, you know.'

After Inge gently shooed Tamara out, Senda lay there,
weak and worried.

She needed help, and she knew of only one person who
could give it.

Suddenly, it was more important than ever that they reach
Geneva . . . and Vaslav. With her own declining health,
Tamara's future loomed large and uncertain.

Chapter 23

The Danilov estate outside Geneva was rivalled only by the
gargantuan palaces they had roamed about in Russia. More
moderate in scale and grandeur than their magnificent Russian
homes, Château Gemini was nevertheless the most splendid residence along Lac Léman. Set in a magnificent park of venerable trees and manicured statuary-decorated lawns which
sloped gently down to the edge of the lake, it afforded an
unrivalled vista of sailboat-studded blue water and spectacular
mountain ranges—the silver-peaked Alps capped with daz
zling dentures of blinding white snow. From the lake one could
catch a glimpse of the massive, nineteenth-century mansion
rising like a stone island from behind the thickly leafed oaks
and ancient conifers, but from land the view was severely
restricted because a cornice-crowned sixteen-foot-high stone
wall completely encircled the forty-six-acre park.

During the past five weeks, Senda had become increasingly and frustratingly familiar with the château. Now, once again
facing the imposing ornate gates topped with the gilded crest
of the Danilovs, she was reminded of that first time she had
stood here and rung the buzzer.

It had taken her two full weeks to track the Danilovs down
after she had arrived. The Prince and his entourage kept an
extremely low profile, and had she not had a sudden burst of inspiration, it might have taken much longer. Only when she
spied the golden domes of the Russian Orthodox Church
gleaming above the rooftops near the Musée d'Art et
d'Histoire, did she know her search was over. Expatriate Rus
sians flocked together like lost pigeons, and no matter how
high or low their social station, their lives invariably revolved
around the church.