Katerina's Secret (14 page)

‘Yes, little one, but you're not to assume she and I are anything except friends.'

‘No, m'sieur, of course not. I'll go away now and let you compose your loving answer to her.' She went off, humming a song.

Edward retired to his room to write his reply to Katerina. He was delighted, he said, to know the car drive was on, and would pick her up tomorrow afternoon at two thirty, if that was convenient to her. He sent her his regards and best wishes.

When Katerina received his note, she read it with care and then put it away with the previous one he had sent. It was a family tradition, never to destroy any correspondence. Tradition aside, she wished to keep his little notes in any case.

Mademoiselle Dupont, meeting Edward as she descended the stairs on her way to lunch,
detained him with a smile and a few words.

‘Edward, I do wish you would spare some time from your writing in order to save me from being bored to death by Monsieur Valery.'

‘Is he a bore? He seems a quite affable gentleman.'

‘Oh, he's affable enough, yes, but he has no conversation.'

‘I don't shine myself, mademoiselle. At least, no one has ever said I do.'

‘But you are such a good listener. I implore your sweet consideration of my woe.'

‘Your woe?' Edward smiled. ‘Well, I'm listening. Or, if you wish, join me for tea on the lawn this afternoon. It's lunchtime now.'

‘You can offer no more?' Mademoiselle Dupont sighed theatrically.

‘I must get on with my writing.'

‘Tomorrow I should like to escape, to go to Nice, perhaps,' she said. It seemed an obvious invitation for him to drive her there.

‘A taxi can be hired, mademoiselle. Myself, I'm taking a friend for a drive.'

‘Ah, Rosamund, no doubt.'

‘No, another friend of mine.'

‘Alas,' sighed Mademoiselle Dupont, ‘this is a most depressing day.'

‘I think you'll find lunch will set you up again,' said Edward.

‘May I join you, Edward? Thank you. Marie will set a place for me at your table. How nice. Lunch at least will be a congenial hour.'

Celeste, who shared the dining-room duties with Marie out of season, was so disenchanted with the sight of Mademoiselle Dupont lunching with Edward that the looks she cast him were singularly pointed. Mademoiselle Dupont, however, enjoyed her lunch very much, for her captive audience had a more intelligent ear than certain other gentlemen. Or so she assured Edward. Monsieur Valery, sitting alone, seemed resigned to the fact that the lady from Paris had no preference for him. His ready smile was more soulful than cheerful.

Rosamund and Colonel Brecht, also sharing a table now that their compatibility had advanced, provided Edward with glances of sympathy, but truth to tell he was able to absorb Mademoiselle Dupont's monologues quite painlessly. She had his ear, certainly, but his mind was on Katerina.

Someone else was also interested in her. Someone with a telescope.

Edward began to worry. He must talk to her tomorrow afternoon.

They had not been going for more than five minutes before she was patently exhilarated.

She was out. She had left her high walls behind. She was actually out, and with a man considerate and kind, a man of gentle humour who belonged to the world she had not known for years. The open car was a creation of engineering magic, pursuing a steady course in the direction of Monte Carlo. She had wanted to go that way, she had told him, not Nice. Well, they could get to within sight of Monte Carlo in an hour, Edward had said.

She was a picture, he thought. From her securely fitted hat depended a veil, a full veil. To keep the dust out, she said. Veils no longer being a fashionable accessory to any kind of outfit, except mourning black, hers gave her an outmoded Edwardian look that to him was neither incongruous nor unsuitable. It turned her into an enchanting picture of a bygone age of grace. She wore an oatmeal-coloured costume, and on her lap was a folded coat to wear if the weather became fresh.

But it was balmy at the moment. The warm breeze flirted around them, and the Bentley took the winding road unhurriedly.

‘Oh, this is lovely,' said Katerina.

‘The pace suits you?'

‘Yes. I shouldn't want you to drive fast. Not because I don't think you could be as dashing with a car as men like to be, but because at this speed I can observe everything at my leisure. Edward, how kind you are to me, helping me to forget my sadness.'

‘Sadness?' he said.

Under the veil, her eyes clouded.

‘Oh, because of my heart,' she said lightly.

‘Are you sure it's only your heart condition, Katerina?'

‘Yes. Of course. Yes.'

A car, coming up at speed, closed on them, and Edward, as soon as a straight stretch occurred, pulled well over to allow the driver to overtake. The car passed them with a roar, a closed black French car, and so near them that metal almost touched.

‘Clown,' muttered Edward.

‘A wild one,' said Katerina, watching the car pull away from them.

‘We could catch him up and eat him,' said Edward.

‘Could we?' Katerina sounded as if the idea excited her, as it did.

‘You'd like us to?'

‘Oh, yes – but – '

‘Yes, but we won't,' said Edward. ‘Once the challenge would have fired both of us, and we should have charged headlong after the idiot, but we must run at a walking pace now, you and I.'

‘Oh, I don't mind at what pace we pursue this outing,' said Katerina. ‘You've no idea how I'm enjoying it. I feel as if the whole world is opening up to me. I'm actually seeing it come to life.'

What she was seeing were the changing views of the coastal drive, which in truth were all very similar, and no grander than the vista she saw each day from her villa. It was what she was feeling that mostly affected her. She was exhilarated with a sense of freedom, and the sweet pleasure of being with Edward. The sea on her right came to her eyes like gently swirling pools of blue, lapping at sandy coves far below. The rocky coastline, with its varying levels, was filled with the flora of the Mediterranean. Pines, myrtles and wild olives sprouted amid maquis and garigue scrub. Broom, gorse, lavender and rosemary proliferated, and the aromatic scents were carried on the breeze in extravagant abandon.

Edward drove as he had promised to, carefully. In any case, it was impossible to
attain any consistent speed on this winding, hilly road, with frequent hairpin bends to negotiate and a dizzy drop on their near side. The French drove on the right, not on the left. Further, it was necessary for him to avoid any situation in which his physical control of the car would be subjected to sudden effort and stress. That could bring on the kind of attack that would lay him low. And since the main purpose of the drive was to give Katerina a leisurely outing, there was no reason to hurry. The little principality of Monte Carlo lay ahead, and they might just have time to drive around it before returning.

There was little traffic now that the summer season was over. A car was still a luxury to most people.

‘Would you like us to park the car in Monte Carlo and look at the shops?' he asked.

‘Thank you, Edward, but no,' she said. Dearly she would have liked that, but definitely she could not risk it, even with her veil. There were exiles in Monte Carlo, as well as Nice, and some exiles had eyes sharp and inquisitive.

Motoring around a long bend, with a rocky, shrub-covered descent on their right, the sea far below, they heard a car behind them. It was approaching fast. There was nothing else
visible on the road, nothing coming towards them, but even so Edward did not intend to signal the car to overtake. The bend made it far too risky. So he gave no signal, nor did he draw the Bentley closer to the edge. But he heard the car accelerate, and he knew it was going to chance the manoeuvre.

‘The idiot – if anything is on its way round the bend—'

The car, a black saloon, roared alongside them, powering hard. Edward sustained shock and Katerina drew a hissing breath, for the car was dangerously close. Worse, it was angling, cutting in on them. It happened so fast, the powerful burst of speed, the violent assault on the Bentley and the angled thrust, that catastrophe loomed. The black saloon was a hideous menace, threatening to batter them off the road, over the edge and down to the rocks and the sea below.

But Edward, holding his line, although his offside fender was being mangled, pulled sharply on his handbrake. The Bentley shuddered to a crash stop. The black car, deprived of its prey, shot towards the edge in front of the Bentley and was brought back from the brink of suicide by a lightning spin of the wheel which sent it careering to the
other side of the road. It straightened up, harshly scraping rock, and roared away. It was the same car that had overtaken them fifteen minutes previously. It showed no number plate, not now. It had obviously stopped some way back in a side road, and the driver, who had since shown his intentions to be murderous, had waited there for them to pass and then got on to their tail again.

Edward sat, breathing painfully.

‘That was not very friendly,' said Katerina, and if her body was still stiff with tension, her voice was remarkably calm.

‘Not very friendly? My God,' said Edward, ‘it was murderous. Katerina, are you all right?'

‘Thank you, yes, Edward. I've known other unfriendly people – during the— During the war. I think you saved us by stopping as quickly as you did.'

‘The only thing I could do.' He drooped over the wheel, fighting to pull air into his lungs, which seemed in tortured rejection of it. She put a hand on his arm.

‘Edward, are you in pain?'

‘No.' He wheezed. He felt like an old man, ancient and bronchial. ‘A little—' He coughed. ‘A little short of breath, that's all. Give me a moment.' He wheezed again, his lungs fiery.

She looked at him, at his bent head and his open mouth. She felt in pain for him, a pain that came from knowing there was nothing she could do to ease him.

‘Rest as long as you like,' she said softly. ‘You are a dear friend, I think, and when you feel better, perhaps we should turn round and go back.'

He was racked, suddenly, by a fit of coughing. When it subsided, he lifted his head, and his thin face looked ravaged.

‘You think, Katerina,' he said with an effort, ‘that farther on he may be waiting for us, whoever he is?'

‘We should go back, don't you think so?' she said, her expression unreadable behind her veil.

His lungs began to take in air.

‘Katerina, who are you?' he asked. Only by the grace of God was she still alive instead of lying smashed and dead on the rocks below.

‘I am Katerina Pyotrovna of Varna,' she said quietly, ‘but the best of my years were spent with the family my father served.'

‘No, Katerina, that's not the reason why you're shut up in your villa.' A car passed them. The driver glanced at them, but did not stop
to ask why their offside fender was mangled. ‘Why are you shut up?'

‘Because the peace and quietness of the villa are good for my condition.'

‘Did you feel, a few moments ago, that you were near to heart failure?'

‘Yes, Edward, I did.'

‘Katerina—'

‘Please,' she said, touching his arm, ‘you must always believe what I say, and you must not ask questions. I am still alive—'

‘Still?'

Behind the veil there was a ghost of a smile.

‘Yes, I'm still alive. Because of you. You were so quick. Your beautiful car became a great heavy weight, quite immovable. I am glad and grateful you are my friend. But let us go back.'

‘I'm worried about you, and very concerned. Someone with a telescope has been watching you in your garden.'

Katerina stiffened.

‘You've seen him?'

‘No, but I'm sure he's been up there, up amid the trees on the other side of the road. I must ask questions. Why would anyone want to train a telescope on you?'

‘People can't always be understood, Edward.
People do very odd things. I would like—' She hesitated.

‘What would you like?' he asked, his breathing easier by far now.

Again there was a glimpse of a faint smile.

‘I would like you to call tomorrow and play a peaceful game of croquet with me. Edward, is that a little demanding of me, to ask more of your time from you?'

‘There must be no more outings?' he said.

‘Oh, yes, I would so like that,' she said, ‘but for the moment— Edward, will you think about tomorrow and send me a note if you can come?'

‘I can promise you now that I'll come.' Another car passed. Its swish made them both jump a little.

‘Edward, I'd like to have a note from you.'

‘Sometimes, you know,' smiled Edward, ‘you're no older than Celeste.'

‘Well, Celeste is very sweet,' she said.

‘We'll go back,' he said, ‘though we can't turn here.'

He restarted the car and they went slowly along the road until they found a place where he was able to turn and begin the drive back. They were both quiet. Edward was thinking about the driver of that black saloon. Had
he simply been a maniac? If not, why had he done what he had? His deadly action had been aimed at Katerina, almost certainly. Edward's thoughts raced. How could the man have known it was Katerina in the Bentley? No one knew he'd been taking her for a drive, except Celeste. And Rosamund. He had mentioned it to Rosamund, his outing with the countess who lived at the Villa d'Azur, and Rosamund had been a little teasing.

He felt a gloved hand on his arm, and a warm pressure.

‘Thank you, Edward, for everything,' said Katerina.

A strange sadness afflicted him. He loved her.

She knew she must tell Dr Kandor, and did. They sat in a room that looked out on to the terrace and garden, and the doctor, frowning, tugged at his beard.