The Clairvoyant Countess (26 page)

She nodded. “Yes—
yes,
” she said eagerly, “I will. And thank you.” And then, startled, she asked, “Why do you suddenly look like that?”

Because,
thought Madame Karitska sadly,
there is no happiness for you ahead—not yet, not yet,
and she opened the door for her. “Take care, my dear,” she told her, and
then called after her. “And don’t you dare underestimate that talent again!”

Closing the door she sighed, for this was when it became difficult, being clairvoyant. It was one thing to have told Pruden a year ago that his destiny lay with a woman with very pale blond hair; it was another to foresee cruelty, and possibly violence, for people she met only casually.

After a few minutes of thought she picked up Betsy Oliver’s sketch, locked the door behind her and mounted the stairs to see her young artist landlord. “Kristan?” she called at his door.

“Open,” he said, and she walked in, wincing a little at the painting mounted on his easel. His clothes, as usual, were daubed with paint, even his beard had flecks of green, but although she disliked his work—as he knew by now—he had studied in Paris as well as New York, and his work had begun to sell.

“
More
snakes,” she said with a sigh, looking at the painting on his easel.

“My dear Madame Karitska,” he said, “snakes and serpents have been the most hated, most worshiped of creatures on this planet. In history they’ve been symbols of good, evil, immortality, healing, fertility. Snakes are the
signature
of my work. And,” he added with a boyish smile, “they have begun to sell, and for good prices. What can I do for you?”

“If the young woman who sketched this comes back,” she said, showing him Betsy Oliver’s sketch, “what can I suggest to her?”

He leaned close to look at it, not touching it with his paint-stained fingers. He said flatly, “I hate her—at
once
I hate her; she draws better than I ever could.”

Madame Karitska smiled. “Yes, but if she returns, Kristan? She has no confidence, no money.…”

He sighed, and then with a shrug, “Then you’d better send her up to me. I have connections; I will even do my best to conceal my envy—my outrage—at such spontaneity.”

Madame Karitska leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, and left.

By Dorothy Gilman

Published by Fawcett Books:

CARAVAN

UNCERTAIN VOYAGE

A NUN IN THE CLOSET

THE CLAIRVOYANT COUNTESS

THE TIGHTROPE WALKER

INCIDENT AT BADAMYÂ

THALE’S FOLLY

THE BELLS OF FREEDOM

THE MAZE IN THE HEART OF THE CASTLE

GIRL IN BUCKSKIN

The Mrs. Pollifax series

THE UNEXPECTED MRS. POLLIFAX

THE AMAZING MRS. POLLIFAX

THE ELUSIVE MRS. POLLIFAX

A PALM FOR MRS. POLLIFAX

MRS. POLLIFAX ON SAFARI

MRS. POLLIFAX ON THE CHINA STATION

MRS. POLLIFAX AND THE HONG KONG BUDDHA

MRS. POLLIFAX AND THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE

MRS. POLLIFAX AND THE WHIRLING DERVISH

MRS. POLLIFAX AND THE SECOND THIEF

MRS. POLLIFAX PURSUED

MRS. POLLIFAX AND THE LION KILLER

MRS. POLLIFAX, INNOCENT TOURIST

MRS. POLLIFAX UNVEILED

Nonfiction

A NEW KIND OF COUNTRY