Tempting Fate (61 page)

“Papa, what’s that?” She was pointing to the fluid he had mixed.

“It’s for plant growth. My special secret, Laisha.” He lifted the jar. “I make it up in large batches, very concentrated, then I dilute it and use it to help new plants grow. I’ve got a good supply of it at Schloss Saint-Germain. I use it on the roses and my herbs.”

“But what is it?” She knew that his garden was much-admired and had often been surprised to see how much finer his flowers were than others in the neighborhood.

“A secret; I told you.” He stepped back. “Now, go along and take your bath. We’ll have to leave for the Cabrinis before too long. And perhaps you might want to dress a bit more à la jeune fille? I don’t mind your clothes, but unless you wish Gaetano’s mother to be even more worried about him than she is, it might be wise to take the time to be a bit less … adult.”

“I’m not a child,” she said, not quite hotly.

“Laisha, I am quite aware of that, but neither are you quite a lady of the world. Your moiré dress with the lace trim would be ideal—not too young, but not as worldly as that outfit you’re wearing.” He smiled his encouragement at her.

“I don’t intend to be dowdy, or a fairy-tale miss!” Her hands were on her hips and she had that familiar combative stance that he had seen several times in the last few years.

“Of course not,” Ragoczy said at once. “You will look completely charming, which you are, and at the same time you will not have to deal with Madame Cabrini’s sharp tongue. You remember that the last time we visited them, Signorina Voltatempo had a most uncomfortable time of it.”

Laisha swallowed once and relaxed. “I remember. But she wouldn’t do that to me, would she? Since I’ll be there with you?”

“You must recall that her son has been coming here making calf’s eyes at you for some little time. If you arrive in your grandest clothes, she will think that you are attempting to snare him, and she will defend him. Yes, I know,” he went on without giving her a chance to interrupt him. “You wish to present the best appearance you can, and that is unobjectionable; but in this instance, you will find it better to consider the wider ramifications of your actions. This woman is not the sort who will be capable of accepting you on face value, or dress value.”

“But there’s no reason for her to be that way,” Laisha said, trying to sound as sensible and grown-up as possible. “I’m not going to … to
seduce
Gaetano.”

“That may be, but she will not believe it, particularly if you wear that dress.” He took a rag from the pocket of his smock and wiped his hands fastidiously. Earth, he thought, might be necessary to him, but slovenliness was not. “Go on, my child. And do not look daggers at me, please: when you are an old, old lady, you will still be my child and I will call you that.”

“Will you be … alive when I am an old, old lady?” Some of the awe she had known earlier returned, and she held her breath for his answer.

“As alive as I am now,” he promised her.

“And will you be an old, old man?” She could not imagine him wizened and bent, walking with a cane. He would always be straight and impressive, graceful in his movement, compelling in his manner, she was certain of it. He wore an invisible mantle, she thought, for he was the most regal man she had ever seen. To see him reduced in any way—he would not be Ragoczy.

“I’m an old, old man already.” He touched her shoulder lightly, to turn her toward the conservatory door. “Go on. If you don’t dawdle over your flowers, you will have time for a good, long soak. Lisa will help you dress, should you wish it.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, obeying him at last. When she reached the door, she turned in the hope of having the last word. “I’m not going to be compliant about my clothes forever, Papa.”

He laughed outright, one of his rare, free laughs. “Heaven forfend. I didn’t think you would be.”

She raised her chin, to let him know she was miffed, but there was a smile on her lips that gave the lie to the tilt of her head. She made a crisp turn on her heel and left the conservatory, followed by Ragoczy’s mirth.

On her way to her room she determined to avoid the hall where Gaetano’s flowers were, but as if of their own accord, her feet guided her there. She stopped before the luxurious display, smelling the perfume they exuded, entranced by their prettiness. That. Gaetano would want to give these to her! Her mirror told her that she was too tall and gangling to be worthy of such a gift, but Gaetano had insisted that she was wholly perfect, and that it was the flowers that were honored, not she. At the time she had very nearly laughed, and now she was glad that she had controlled herself. She picked one of the half-opened roses and cupped it in her hands. It might be, she conceded, that Ragoczy was right. If she flaunted herself, it would not be her, but Gaetano who would bear the brunt of Madame Cabrini’s wrath. He would be the one who would have to listen to those scornful words. She turned toward the stairs slowly, and mounted them in thoughtful silence.

Ragoczy lingered at his tasks for almost half an hour, and finished putting all the seedling pines into the tubs where they would grow for the next five years. He liked gardening, although he rarely took the time to indulge in it. Most of the time he devoted to his research, his reading, and his music. He had acquired the skill in those tranquil years when he had presided over the Temple of Imhotep. Those days, the temple itself, were long vanished, but the interest remained with him, a tenuous link to those distant times. The chiming of a clock in the hall warned him that it was time to dress, and he left the conservatory for his rooms reluctantly, the smell of the plants still in his nostrils.

By the time she came down from her room, Laisha had taken Ragoczy’s advice to heart. Her dress was of a subdued copper, and cut to compliment her lanky frame. It was wholly appropriate to her age. Her shoes had little heels, but only the severest critic would find fault with them. She carried a beaded bag in one hand, and ecru gloves.

Ragoczy was waiting for her, suavely elegant in a magnificently-tailored tuxedo of heavy silk. His shirt was pin-tucked in the front, his silver-and-ruby studs were discreetly impressive, his silken bow tie was properly and splendidly black. If there was anything in his ensemble that could be criticized, it was the thickened soles of his evening shoes. He took his daughter’s hand, saying with an approving nod, “An excellent compromise. I give you full credit. That’s a beautiful frock, and you look lovely, but there is nothing precocious about it. Madame Cabrini may gnash her teeth, but she cannot snipe at you.”

“Would she try?” Laisha asked so sweetly that Ragoczy felt uneasy for a moment.

“My child, she is your hostess. Don’t press her too far.” He started toward the door. “Have you a scarf for your hair, or should I put the top up?”

It was a beautiful dusk, with the sunset just starting to fade, going from gold to a bronze-green, to sterling silver. The air smelled of myrtle and thyme. Laisha looked up at the powdering of stars overhead and said, “I’ve brought a scarf. Leave the top down. I want to let the whole night rush over me.”

Ragoczy held the door of the new Isotta-Fraschini for Laisha, and when she was seated on the blonde leather upholstery, he closed the door with a flourish, and went around to the driver’s side. “We may have to have the top up coming back, but for the moment, Laisha, it will be as you like.” He started the automobile and drove off down the long, sloping drive toward the newly-paved road.

Laisha was leaning back, her butterscotch hair brushing the polished rosewood that trimmed both the front and rear passenger compartments. Her scarf was a fine tissue of amber silk which did little more than contain her hair. She searched for the constellations that Ragoczy had taught her the year before, and felt faintly smug that she could recognize so many of them. As the Isotta-Fraschini rolled past the tower of an old church, she turned to Ragoczy. “Papa? Do you know what I’d like?”

“Not at this instance, no,” he replied.

“I would like to learn to fly an aeroplane.” When he said nothing to this, she went on. “Wouldn’t you like to soar through the air, chasing the birds? I think it would be the most wonderful thing in the world, to be up there. Cities would be like toys, wouldn’t they? And people like ants.”

“It is a long way to the ground,” he remarked enigmatically.

“Of course. That’s the thrill of it,” she told him, then went back to staring at the sky.

By the time they arrived at the Cabrini villa, Laisha was almost dozing, an enchanting half-smile on her lips. She looked up with a start as Ragoczy brought the Isotta-Fraschini to a halt in the courtyard of the Cabrini home. Dusk had closed in around them, and the afterglow in the west was darkening steadily.

Arcibaldo Cabrini himself came ambling out of the high, carved door to welcome his guests. “Che fortuna!” he called out, raising his hand in a negligent greeting. “We were wondering when you’d get here.”

“Are we late?” Ragoczy asked as he closed the door to his automobile and went to open the door for Laisha.

“Not really, but you know how impatient my wife becomes when someone is expected.” He was tall and saturnine, with a deceptively lazy manner. “Come in. We’re having dessert in the loggia.”

“I’m sure Laisha will be delighted to join you. I must decline, but I’m sure you understand that no discourtesy is intended.” His Italian was excellent, as were most of his languages, but there was a faintly archaic sound to his phrases, unlike his German, which was rigorously contemporary. In all his various tongues he had a slight, unidentifiable accent that had baffled more than one expert, and Cabrini was no exception.

“You’ve explained your customs to me before, yes, yes. But I have yet to detect the source of this. I have heard Italian spoken by men from all over the world, including, once, a Japanese, and you sound like none of them.”

Ragoczy approached his host, Laisha at his side. “You must enjoy your puzzle, Signor Cabrini, to take such pains with it.”

“Naturalmente,” he said with relish. “And your so-charming ward. A great pleasure to have you visit us, Signorina Laisha. Doubly so, for now Gaetano may spend an evening at home, for a change.”

Laisha did not know how to react to these words, but she felt Ragoczy’s warning touch on her arm, so she smiled politely. “I am sorry to have deprived you of him, Signor Cabrini.” Her Italian was oddly pronounced, but passable. “He has been a pleasant companion during our stay in Verona.” She was rewarded by a quick, admiring smile from Ragoczy.

“My wife tells me that he haunts your villa. Don’t let him take advantage of your hospitality,” Arcibaldo Cabrini warned her with a teasing wag of his finger.

“Your boy is always welcome,” Ragoczy said as they went through the doors of the villa. He had chosen his words carefully, so that Arcibaldo would not construe the relationship between Laisha and Gaetano as more serious than it was.

“He is growing up,” Arcibaldo sighed. “You will discover that as well, Conte. One year they’re bouncing balls in the nursery, and the next they are driving automobiles and taking university examinations.”

“I have some intimations of that already,” Ragoczy agreed, and looked around to see Giacinta approaching. “Buona sera, Madama Cabrini,” he said, and bowed over her proffered hand.

“And to you, Conte. We were very pleased to hear you would visit us.” She was an imposing woman, one given to plum-colored dresses and massive necklaces. Tonight she was formidably arrayed, in an astonishing gown of dark rose peau de soie with gold spangles and a number of heavy gold bracelets as well as impressive earrings of amethyst and gold. “Good evening, Laisha. My son tells me that he spoke with you earlier today.”

“He did,” Laisha said at once. “He brought me some beautiful flowers.” She thought that she sounded absolutely vapid and inane, but she saw a faint, frosty smile form on Madame Cabrini’s wide mouth.

“Gaetano is a thoughtful boy,” she murmured as she started away down the hall. She had not gone far when she added, as if it were an afterthought, “Oh, Conte, by the way, we’ve had the piano tuned just yesterday, and I am anxious to hear it played properly. I’ve been told you’re an expert on the instrument, and no doubt you would enjoy the opportunity to play. When one is traveling, it is not often that such a treat is possible.”

“You don’t have to, if it is an imposition,” Arcibaldo put in with an apologetic lifting of his hands.

“How could it be that, my dear?” Giacinta challenged him, her voice colored by a shrill obstinacy.

“I cannot thank you enough for thinking of me,” Ragoczy said to Madame Cabrini, turning slightly to give a philosophical wink to Laisha, who had to stifle the giggle that threatened to burst out of her.

With a smile of triumph, Giacinta led her guests into the loggia, where the family was gathered, confident that while her guardian was playing, Laisha would have no time for her oldest son.

Text of a note from Gudrun Ostneige to Graf Franchot Ragoczy.

Wolkighügel

June 2, 1925

Schloss Saint-Germain

My dear Graf:

I have just been told of your return yesterday, and wanted to welcome you back at my first opportunity. You have been gone six weeks, I know, but it has seemed much longer, for every day I had thoughts of your many kindnesses to me.

This morning I recalled our pleasant walk, and the consideration you showed me. At that time I was not in a position to appreciate how much your suggestions meant to me. Since then, I have reexamined my attitudes, and I have discovered that I would very much like to learn more of you.

If you find that you have some time free of an evening, perhaps you will be kind enough to share it with me? I am aware that with the passing of time, you, too, may have reconsidered the matters we discussed, and if that is the case, I will not trouble you with any request greater than an hour of your delightful conversation. However, if there is more you would want, I believe it might be attainable. As I see it, nothing you might wish is beyond reason.