“And it does,” said Saint-Germain sardonically.
“Yes, it does—for the private power companies.” She dismissed this with a toss of her head. “That’s hitting below the belt.”
“That it is,” said Saint-Germain.
“You might as well put Lucky Luciano in charge of the FBI,” she said. “And he’s in prison, thank God.”
The waiter came back to the table bearing a tray with soup, a basket of bread, and a ramekin of butter, all of which he put down with ceremony. “Your Green Goddess salad—do you want it now, with the soup, or before your entree?”
“After the soup, if you please,” Rowena said as she picked up her spoon. “Thank you.”
The waiter went away to take the order of a couple who had been seated a few minutes ago.
“Is it to your liking?” Saint-Germain asked as she tasted the soup.
“It’s fine,” she said, without paying much attention to it. “I’ve had it before.” She waited a moment, then prompted, “Are you going to tell me about what’s going on?”
“Yes,” he said, speaking softly once more. He was grateful that no jukebox blasted out popular tunes, or radio program penetrated the conversations at the tables in the dining room. “When I left Oscar King’s office today, I’m fairly certain I was followed, as I told you.”
“Yes?” she encouraged him.
“I wish it weren’t the case, but I’m convinced that you should be on guard. If he is the man I think he may be, he is a very resourceful and ruthless piece of work, capable of horrible acts, and willing to employ all manner of methods to gain what he seeks. There’s no telling what this man will find out about me, nor what use to which he’ll put the information, or how he may obtain it.” He saw her suppress a shiver. “He isn’t von Wolgast, but he could be quite—”
“Dangerous?” she suggested, her golden eyes shining with angry tears. “No doubt. You wouldn’t be warning me if you thought he was harmless, would you?”
“No.” He took a long breath. “I don’t know for certain what peril this man represents, but I’d like you to think about taking precautions. If you have a pistol and you know how to use it, you may wish to have it handy.”
“I have a pistol and I know how to use it. I have a shotgun, as well. One of my father’s over-and-unders; it was one of the things I inherited.” She continued to eat her soup, saying nothing for a short while. “All right I’ll get them out of the attic, clean them, and load them. Anything else?”
“I hope I’m not crying wolf,” he confessed. “At the same time, I very much want this to turn out to be a tempest in a teapot.”
“Aphorisms for all occasions,” she said, and then looked at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that as it sounded.”
“No harm if you did,” said Saint-Germain.
“But I hate the notion of being frightened again,” she grumbled. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”
“For which I am deeply contrite,” Saint-Germain reminded her.
“Oh, it’s not your fault, not entirely. I have not gone out of my way to avoid you, in spite of the trouble you attract. You see, I would rather have your company than not, and, it appears, you collect enemies.” She sighed and worked some more on her soup. “Have you any more information about this fellow who may or may not be following you?”
“No, nothing more,” Saint-Germain said. “I’ve had time to think about it, and I still can’t tell if this is the man Oscar King mentioned, or if he is someone who is working for the White Legion.”
“Do you intend to try to find out?” Rowena asked.
“Certainly. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder every waking minute.” He could see she was still upset; he went on, “If I find out that this could make you a target, then I’ll keep away until I’ve—”
“But I don’t want you to do that,” said Rowena. “I want to spend as much time with you as I can, until you leave San Francisco. I know I’ll miss you dreadfully when you’re gone, and sooner or later, you will go.” She set her spoon on the charger. “I know you aren’t going to stay here, and not because you don’t stay anywhere for very long. You’re too caught up with what’s happening in Europe to stay away from it, as much as you say you want to. You’ll reach a point where you have to go back.”
He could not bring himself to answer her; he was glad to see the waiter and bus-boy coming with her Green Goddess salad.
The soup-bowl was whisked away on the charger by the bus-boy and the salad-plate set in its place by the waiter, a perfect pas-de-deux. “Would you like pepper, ma’am?”
“No, thank you,” said Rowena, and reached for her salad fork.
Saint-Germain waited until the waiter was gone, and then said, “It’s not my intention to leave, at least not for a while.”
“I know,” she said.
“But if it is prudent for me to keep to myself for the time being, I’ll do it, much as I would prefer to be with you,” he went on.
“I know,” she said.
“You may decide you’d prefer to leave the city for a time—go where you’ll feel safe, where you can be protected, for as much as I wish it were otherwise, I cannot protect you now. My very presence creates the risk I am trying to help you to avoid.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping still lower. “If I could spare you this and still remain close to you, I would, but, Rowena, it may not be possible.”
“Yes; I know,” she said patiently. “And I promise you, if it seems that I am in danger, I’ll consider everything you’ve said. And find an appropriate means of dealing with it. But I’m not yet persuaded that I have anything to worry about. How can this man find me—and why should he wish to? Oh, I’ll make sure I have new locks on my doors and windows, and I’ll alert Clara Powell that no one unknown to her is to be admitted to the house, under any circumstances, but I’m not going to leave the city simply because you suspect an unknown man might be following you. What kind of paltry woman do you take me for? I’m not going to fall apart because there’s a hint of sinister activities taking place around you.”
“It seems a remote possibility, on the surface.” Saint-Germain wished he could convey to her the nature of the trepidation he felt. “But such unlikely possibilities have a way of materializing, and I don’t want you exposed to anything that might … disrupt your life.”
“Having to change the locks disrupts my life,” she observed, jabbing her fork into the lettuce. “Having to protect myself disrupts my life.”
“For which I am sorry, but it is a small price to pay for safety,” he said, thinking he sounded far too prim. “You shouldn’t have any of this touch you.”
“But it touches you, and through you, it touches me. So I’ll resign myself to dealing with the potential consequences.” She moved her salad-plate aside, half of it uneaten.
“A good beginning,” said Saint-Germain, doing his best to look relieved. “I appreciate your candor, no matter what happens.”
“You’re very adroit,” she said, and signaled to the waiter to bring her main course; she dabbed her mouth with her napkin, and returned it to her lap. “I’m not easily scared off, Comte. I might have been when I was younger, but no more.”
Saint-Germain reached across the table and took her hand, his dark eyes fixed on her golden ones. “You humble me, Rowena.”
At that she laughed. “Why don’t I believe you?” she asked, expecting no answer. “That’s the last thing I’d want to do.”
“Ah.” Saint-Germain rubbed her hand once and released it. “I won’t embarrass you by making an effusive display in public.”
“No, certainly not,” she agreed. “You can do that later, when you take me home.”
TEXT OF A LETTER FROM MILES SUNBURY IN LONDON TO DOÑA ISABEL INEZ VEDANCHO Y NUÑEZ AT COPSEHOWE IN HAMPSHIRE.
43C Siddons Lane
City of Westminster
9 March, 1937
Doña Isabel Inez Vedancho y Nuñez
Copsehowe
nr. Briarcopse
Hampshire
My most dear Doña Isis,
I cannot thank you enough for the many kindnesses you have done me since my dreadful assault. Your presence has sustained me far more than anything the medicos have accomplished on my behalf. I am grateful to you for all you have done for me, your attention, and your help in my long weeks of recovery. It has been a terrible burden you have taken upon yourself, and you have borne it easily, as if it were no imposition at all, but instead a most welcome pastime, which is more than I am prepared to believe.
I don’t want you to feel that you must continue your ministrations—although I would be less than truthful if I didn’t own that I would want them continue—for you are a married woman, and I would repay you most shamefully if I allowed you to damage your reputation or compromise your conjugality through any act of mine. So, if you deem it proper that we discontinue our friendship, I will understand and respect your decision. A man in my profession too often sees how even the most innocent good-will can seem dalliance to those with such inclinations, and for that reason alone, I would urge you to reconsider your frequent visits and other signs of distinction you have been so good as to extend to me.
It has been one of the delights of my life to have you so diligent in your regards in my time of greatest need. Many another would have been willing to turn away, or not make any effort beyond a card or telephone call, but you have visited, have brought me delicious meals, have tended me, have sympathized with me, have bolstered me when I was discouraged, have comforted me when I was in pain. No one else has done so much for me, nor has anyone been so caring. I hope not to read more into this than your concern, but it has been more than simple courtesy, at least to me, that you have been willing to spend so much time with me. In such times as this has been, I realize I might be more inclined to become attached than I would under other occurrences, but I would be less than honest if I didn’t acknowledge that my emotions are now engaged in a way I never thought would be the case. If I have misconstrued your objectives in attending to me, I apologize and plead exigencies of circumstances to account for it.
The street in which I live was named for a famous actress. In her day, the King of England was asked if it offended him to see Sarah Siddons playing Queens, since she was a commoner, to which Charles replied that Mrs. Siddons was the only real Queen: all the others were imitations. I tell you this because I believe those sentiments can also be ascribed to you I am very much taken by the nobility of soul that frames your character. And, beyond all doubt, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I will be bereft to have you gone from my life, but it must be, or I will bring such rumors upon you as must eventually reach your husband’s ears and lead to a crisis in your marriage that not even my skills in court could mitigate.
It is difficult for me to discuss this, for I am very much confused. I am aware that you may not realize the extent of my affection for you. I may be laboring under a misapprehension in assuming that there is any connection beyond altruism between us; however I am certain that you will not continue to give me hope where none can possibly exist.
I have thought long and hard about this aspect of our relationship, and I am convinced that you have been unaware how our companionship might be interpreted by those with small minds and an inclination to create scandal. Before you put yourself in a more conspicuous situation, I think it would be most prudent for us to discontinue our luncheons and long afternoons together; I have progressed with my walking because of all you have done, yet it is just this generosity of spirit that has led to the environment of aspersion that has attached to our meetings. It is most distressing to me to contemplate the hours I will miss you, but I can see no other way to do you the honor you deserve than to sever our dealings now, much as I would prefer not to have to do so. I know you may not understand why I do this, but I assure you, it is for the best, for I would regret more than I could say bringing you any pain or opprobrium through any actions or words of mine.
Let me tell you that I am afraid some of the damage may have already been done. One of the men in chambers with me told me that his wife was very much shocked to hear I have been entertaining a married woman alone in my rooms. Try as I might to explain what you have done for me, and why, it meant nothing to him, nor, I must suppose, did anything he deigned to pass on to his wife. I am cognizant of how this is seen in chambers, but I know it would be inexcusable to have such calumnies go beyond this place.
I’m sorry that I have exposed you to such controversy as must accompany this letter. I would never injure you in any way, were it in my power to prevent it I am appalled that your generous acts on my behalf have redounded to your discredit and I assure you I will do all in my power to minimize the impact of my imprudence. It would be the most wonderful thing in my life to be able to continue our association, but I fear that is no longer possible, so I ask you to forgive me for addressing you in this way when I would so much rather talk to you face-to-face. But that, sadly, would lead to more speculation that can only bring you damage, which I am determined not to do.
Believe me,
Your most devoted,
Miles Sunbury
chapter four
Oscar King looked out of place in Carlo Pietragnelli’s damaged house; his three-piece pin-striped suit and meticulous linen shirt were strong contrasts to Pietragnelli’s work-clothes and heavy Hudson’s Bay jacket worn against the bustling winds; the living room was a patchwork of light and dark shadows, marking the destruction of the windows. The attorney surveyed the cardboard covering the shot-out panes, and shook his head. “Truly horrendous. I can see how you must be frightened. I would be, were I in your position. How many have you lost this way?”
“To this day?” Pietragnelli asked. “Seventeen in this house, nine in my workers’ cabins. I must suppose there will be more.” He put his hands on his hips and took up a pugnacious stance. “I will find them! I will make them pay!”
“And so you shall,” said Oscar King, glancing over at Saint-Germain. “You’re right; this is a most serious situation. The police are not doing their job in tracking down the culprits, from what you told me, Ragoczy.”
“No; apparently there are those in the Sheriff’s Department who are in sympathy with the assumed perpetrators, if not actually among their numbers, and as such, they are disinclined to act.” Saint-Germain saw Pietragnelli nod, confirming his remarks.
“My workers are being threatened now, as well. It isn’t just the shot-out windows. Two couples have taken their children out of school, because they are afraid they are no longer safe. That troubles me very much.” Pietragnelli indicated the parlor beyond the double-doors of the living room. There was a small fireplace on the far wall, and two settees facing each other in front of the hearth. “If you’ll come in and sit down, Signor King? And you, Signor Ragoczy?”
“Grazie,” said Saint-Germain, and went into the parlor immediately behind Pietragnelli.
King took a little more time to look over the damage he saw, and shook his head; when he spoke, his manner was slightly pedantic, as if he were laying out a case to a jury instead of speaking to an abused property owner. “Such a fine old house, to be treated this way. This building is historically important in the region and legitimately beautiful on its own account. Whoever is doing this has no regard for things of value, that is quite demonstrable.”
“It is an insult,” said Pietragnelli indignantly. “It should never happen. I am ashamed.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” said Saint-Germain. “You haven’t shot out your windows, nor have you done anything that deserves this.”
“Someone thinks I have, and I must know who it is, and put an end to it, or it all comes to me,” Pietragnelli countered, his face darkening. He pointed to four missing panes in the French doors, with cardboard taped in place of the missing glass. “I am appalled at this.”
“It is a horrible thing,” said King, c
oming to take a seat by the fire in the parlor, which crackled merrily, driving out the cold that rode on a biting north wind polishing the clear sky and setting the new leaves and grasses straining at their fragile bonds. “Ragoczy told me about your trouble, but I wasn’t truly prepared for this.”
“They no longer pretend they do not wish to be rid of me; they are blatant in their purpose, and make no effort to conceal their intentions,” said Pietragnelli. “The Leonardis want my land. They think I owe it to them, because I bought some of their plantations when their vineyard was failing, and they seek to serve the same turn they are convinced I served them. They resent me for being able to do it, and they want la vendetta—revenge upon me. They masquerade behind the White Legion—which is reprehensible enough—but it disguises their true intent.”
“You must forgive me if I find that a trifle unlikely,” said King, sinking down on the settee. “I know that men often find gratitude an intolerable burden, but still—to go to all this trouble, to deliberately ruin you…” He shook his head.
“They killed my neighbor Mr. Yoshimura. And now the Leonardis are purchasing his farm from his widow. They’re paying the lowest possible price, and Mrs. Yoshimura is in no position to refuse, nor is she inclined to hold out for a better price; she’s been scared by the way Yoshimura died. I have offered to pay her more than she has been offered by members of the White Legion, and to share ownership with her, so that she and her children can continue to earn money from it, but she’s too frightened. I’ve asked her to consider for another two months. I’ve even sent my men over to work the fields, so that she won’t have to take an even greater loss on the land.” He clapped his hands twice. “I can’t think of anything else to do that can help her.”
“If, as you say, she is frightened,” King began in a measured way, “then it must be supposed she is being coerced, and any contract entered into as a result of coercion can be declared null and void. She has the right to repudiate the agreement made.” He stared at the fire as if he could read secrets in it. “But she would have to be willing to bring a civil action against the Leonardis, and it may be she would not want to do it.”
Midnight Harvest Page 46
