Mission to Monte Carlo

by Barbara Cartland

  “You have never failed me, Father, and I need your prayers as I have never needed them before.”

  “You know they are yours.”

  The Priest blessed him and Craig felt as if the sincerity of it remained with him as he went back to the hotel.

  He was well aware that not only would he need Father Augustin’s prayers and the help of God, but the power of every religion with which he had ever associated himself if he was to save Randall Sare from the Russians.

  He was quite certain they would stop at nothing to extract from him the information they needed so vitally, and the stories of the tortures they used on prisoners were not only horrifying but, as Craig was all too aware, not exaggerated.

  As he dressed for dinner with the help of his valet, he was thinking frantically that it was surprising that having taken him prisoner they had not already left Monte Carlo for Russia.

  The only explanation he could think of was that they were expecting to obtain some more information on Tibet from Lord Neasdon.

  They would not be aware that what he knew was very little, but even a little added to what Randall Sare could tell them would give them a great advantage in their position that up until now had been ambiguous.

  “I have so little time,” Craig said to himself, not realising that he had spoken aloud until his valet replied,

  “You’re not late, sir, and anyway, few people are punctual in Monte Carlo.”

  Craig suddenly made up his mind.

  “Go and find out what is on at the theatre tonight!” he ordered and his valet hurried from the room to obey him.

  He came back to say that there was an opera, Faust, and Bellini was performing in it.

  Because the singer in question was very popular, Craig was quite sure that the Baron would be present.

  He therefore sent the valet back to engage a box and find out, without appearing to be too curious, who was in each of the other boxes.

  The man was away so long that Craig was just wondering impatiently whether he should go down to dinner and join his friends, when he appeared.

  “They’re very busy downstairs, sir, but I found out what you wanted to know.”

  He handed Craig a slip of paper on which was written a number of distinguished names, headed by Prince Albert of Monaco.

  Craig was only looking for one name and, when he saw it, he smiled.

  “Thank you,” he said to his manservant and left the room.

  *

  The interior of the Theatre of Monte Carlo was pseudo-Gothic as was the blue dome overhead with golden friezes, golden frescoes, golden shields, gold Goddesses, naked golden boys and golden Nubian slaves holding golden candelabra.

  It was said that, when Marie Blanc, wife of the man who had made the Casino at Monte Carlo a success in the first place, saw it, she commented acidly,

  “All this vulgar display of golden gilt will only serve to remind the customers how much they have lost at the tables!”

  Nevertheless the theatre had been a success since its inception in 1879 when the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt had recited at the Gala opening.

  Craig was therefore not surprised to find it packed, when accompanied by his friends with whom he had dined, he entered his box just before the curtain rose.

  He thought that the opera was brilliantly done, but he was really only interested in watching the man sitting alone in the next box.

  He did not have to be told that it was Baron Strogoloff for he was sitting in a wheelchair, in which he had been half-propelled, half-carried to a position from which he could see the stage most comfortably.

  The Baron looked like a large over-grown goblin and Craig, imagining him sitting with the Countess, thought they would be a perfect example of ‘Beauty and the Beast’.

  If he had gone on the stage just as he was, the Baron would have conveyed the horror that the Beast evoked in everybody he met without the need of make-up or props.

  Watching him, Craig noticed his claw-like hands with their large joints, the cruelty of his down-turned mouth and the sharpness of his dark eyes, which never left the stage.

  Bellini may have sung brilliantly, but Craig never heard a note.

  He was concentrating all his powers of intuition and perception on the Baron.

  When the interval came and his friends moved out of the box to talk to other people, he walked the few steps to the box next to his and opened the door.

  Immediately a man sitting just inside who had been out of sight, rose to his feet as if to bar his way, but quickly Craig passed him and went up to the Baron to say,

  “May I introduce myself? I am Craig Vandervelt and my yacht, The Mermaid, is in the harbour a few moorings away from your boat, the Czarina. As one sea-loving man to another, I am very anxious to have a word with you.”

  He knew as he spoke that the Baron was surprised, but then he said in tolerably good English,

  “I have noticed your yacht, Mr. Vandervelt. I hear it is new.”

  “Very new,” Craig answered, “and, as I have invented a new type of engine and some special lighting to be used at night, which I believe has never been installed in a sea-going vessel before, you can imagine I am curious to know if yours can beat me in respect of any new ideas.”

  He was speaking with a slightly exaggerated American accent, which was at any other time indiscernible.

  He also affected an eagerness and a slightly boastful bravado that he was certain the Baron would not miss.

  There was a little pause.

  Then the Baron asked,

  “What other new ideas have you incorporated in your yacht?”

  Craig reeled off a number of things he thought would interest and intrigue any other yachtsman and finished by saying,

  “I am hoping that the American Navy will adopt some of these inventions.”

  “This all sounds very interesting, Mr. Vandervelt,” the Baron admitted at length.

  “What I am going to ask, sir, although it may sound a little pushy,” Craig said with a deprecating laugh, “is whether you would like to come aboard The Mermaid and then show me the Czarina. To tell you the truth, I have never been aboard a Russian ship.”

  “You will find it very old-fashioned,” the Baron said dryly. “Russians are not very receptive to new ideas.”

  “That is not your reputation now, sir,” Craig replied, “either personally or as a country. We in America have been told that Russia is surging ahead when it comes to ships and guns and it is about time we looked to our reputation! After all we invented the Clipper!”

  “That is true,” the Baron agreed. “Well, Mr. Vandervelt, I shall be pleased to welcome you aboard the Czarina tomorrow.”

  “What I suggest, Baron,” Craig responded eagerly, “is that you have luncheon with me on The Mermaid and afterwards show me the Czarina.”

  “I am pleased to accept your invitation, Mr. Vandervelt,” the Baron replied. “You will not object if I bring two of my friends with me?”

  “No, of course not,” Craig smiled. “The more, the merrier.”

  He was quite certain from the note in the Baron’s voice that the men he brought with him would be technicians who could copy anything that interested them.

  The orchestra had returned and the conductor reappeared to a burst of applause.

  “That is a date, sir!” Craig said rising and holding out his hand. “I will expect you at one o’clock and I am mighty glad to have made your acquaintance.”

  He shook the Baron’s hand heartily and returned to his own box.

  He was conscious as he did so that his luck had once again not failed him and, as he had touched the Baron’s hand with his, he could understand only too well why the Countess was afraid.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On leaving the theatre with his party, they inevitably went to the Casino, and walked through the public part into the Salle Touzet, where Craig was hoping he would find the Countess.

  Already the room was filled with gamblers and,
as his party dispersed to the various different tables, he had a word with the Grand Duke and several other friends before he caught sight of the Countess.

  Once again she was spectacular, wearing a gown of peacock blue, which made both her skin and her hair seem dazzling, and ended round her feet in a swirl of feathers.

  There was no ornamentation except for one huge aquamarine, hung on a slender chain round her neck.

  The effect was sensational and she seemed to stand out even in a room filled with glamorous women as if she was a light in a dark sky.

  She was sitting at a table alone with Lord Neasdon and, as might have been expected, he was talking while she listened.

  Because Craig thought it was a mistake to approach her too obviously he went to the roulette table nearest to where they were sitting and pretended to watch the gamblers occasionally himself staking on a number.

  He kept turning over in his mind the puzzle as to why she was so afraid, but if, as he suspected, she was under orders from the Baron, it was not so surprising.

  Because she seemed so fragile and so ethereal, it was somehow impossible to imagine her co-operating with a beast like Baron Strogolof.

  Yet there was no doubt that she was spying for the Russians.

  If it was the Baron who had taken Randall Sare prisoner, then it was quite obvious that the whole of his problem in Monte Carlo emanated from him.

  Like a vast spider, Craig thought, he was spinning his web round those he had captured to entwine them like flies and it would be incredibly difficult for them to escape.

  Snapping out of his thoughts, he was suddenly aware that the money he had put on number nine, which was a number he often favoured, had accumulated twice and the croupier was looking at him enquiringly as to whether he would take his gains or let it run for a third time.

  Almost as if he asked fortune for a sign as to whether he would win or lose a very much more complicated game than the one in front of him, Craig indicated that his gains were to remain where they were.

  The croupier picked up the small round ball, spun it, and called without any expression in his voice,

  “Mesdames et messieurs. Rien ne va plus!”

  Several greedy hands reached out in a last desperate effort to believe that fate and fortune would smile on them.

  Then there was the dull click as the ball came to rest.

  The croupier said still in his expressionless tones,

  “Neuf, noir et impair,”

  Suddenly Craig felt sure he would be successful in the greater issue too.

  He picked up what he had won amongst the envious glances of those sitting at the table and walked to the cash desk to change the gold coins into notes, which he placed in the inside pocket of his tail coat.

  Then slowly, casually, he moved as if a magnet drew him back towards the Countess, debating whether he would speak to her and, if he did so, what he would say.

  He stopped on the other side of the same roulette table and now he was aware that Lord Neasdon was leaning forward, speaking urgently and undoubtedly in a more animated way than usual.

  One of the things Craig had learned when he was carrying out previous missions for the Marquis was lip-reading.

  He had taken lessons from a very experienced teacher in New York thinking it might at some time come in useful, although at that moment there had been no necessity for it.

  He had almost forgotten that it was something at which he had become exceptionally proficient.

  Almost without realising it, he found he could understand what Lord Neasdon was saying and moved a little further round the table so that he could see him practically full face.

  “Stop playing games with me, Aloya! My patience is exhausted and I will not longer be put off with promises of a tomorrow that never comes.”

  The Countess’s lips moved and, although Craig was aware that it must have been difficult for Lord Neasdon to hear what she was saying, he knew that she replied,

  “I-I dono’t know what to say – please – could you not – come to my – room and perhaps – talk to me?”

  “Talk? Who wants to talk?’Lord Neasdon asked aggressively. “I want you, Aloya, and you are driving me mad! You said yourself that we were made for each other! It is inevitable that you must be mine.”

  “I-I hoped,” the Countess said and her lips were trembling, “that you would be – kind to me.”

  “Kind?” Lord Neasdon asked, astonished. “Of course I want to be kind to you, but as a man I also want you and I have played your game long enough. Either let me love you tonight, or I will realise I am just being made a fool of and will leave Monte Carlo tomorrow.”

  The Countess gave a little cry that Craig knew was one of fear.

  “Oh, no – you must – not do that! I want you to stay – you must stay!”

  There was a complacent smile on Lord Neasdon’s face as he said,

  “Then what are we arguing about, my dear? I will make you very happy and tomorrow we will go to Cartier and I will buy you something beautiful to commemorate the beginning of what I know will be a long and very exciting relationship.”

  The way he spoke, the expression in his eyes and the smile on his lips made Craig feel a sudden fury that brought the blood throbbing into his head.

  Only the rigid self control which he had exercised over the years prevented him from going to the table and knocking Lord Neasdon down.

  Then, surprised by the violence of his feelings, he suddenly knew that he was in love as he had never been in love before!

  Because it was so amazing he could not for the moment credit that he was not imagining it.

  He knew that he wanted to protect the Countess, not only from Lord Neasdon, but from everything that was frightening her and making her tremble.

  Never in his long experience with women who had pursued him and with whom he had been infatuated to the point of being a most ardent lover, had he felt as he felt now.

  What was so astonishing was that it was for a woman whom he should have regarded with contempt as a spy for the Russians and a danger to everything he had fought for and risked his life for in the past.

  ‘I love her!’ he said to himself in wonderment and knew it to be true.

  There was nothing he could do until the situation became clearer than it was at the moment.

  But before he could rescue her from a brute like the Baron, he must first prevent Lord Neasdon from doing what he intended tonight.

  Almost as if he was being guided, he knew the answer to the first step, if nothing else.

  He walked towards the table and, as he reached it, said in a deliberately light tone,

  “I thought I should find you here, but I wish you had been with me at the tables a few minutes ago when my lucky number came up three times running.”

  As he spoke with a smile, he realised the Countess was looking up at him with an undoubted expression of relief in her strange eyes, while Lord Neasdon was obviously finding it difficult not to show resentment at his intrusion.

  “I suppose,” Craig went on, “I must celebrate my win in the usual manner. Will you have a glass of champagne with me?”

  “We have some already,” Lord Neasdon pointed out in quite a surly tone.

  “Oh, so you have!” Craig exclaimed, looking at the winecooler beside his chair. “So perhaps I should find our host of last night who I see at the other side of the room and thank him for a most enjoyable evening.”

  “I should do that,” Lord Neasdon said.

  Craig made as if to leave the table and then he turned back.

  “By the way, Countess,” he said, “I am hoping you will not be disturbed tonight.”

  “Disturbed?” she asked in a hesitating little voice, speaking for the first time since he had joined them.

  “I have just heard that the Rajah of Pudakota is giving a party in his suite at the Hotel de Paris. I do not know which floor you are on, but the Rajah’s parties are usually very noisy.”

  “
I am – on the – third floor.”

  “I have a feeling, although I hope I am wrong,” Craig went on, “that is the same as the Rajah’s.”

  He paused for a moment.

  Then he said with feigned anger,

  “I cannot think why people give parties in the hotel where they are staying. They have no consideration for their fellow guests. If I am at all disturbed, I am going to make a very strong protest to the manager tomorrow morning, and I hope, Countess, you will do the same.”

  “Y-yes – I will – if I am – disturbed.”

  “I don’t imagine that His Highness will have a band,” Craig continued, “but there will undoubtedly be people coming and going half the night and talking at the tops of their voices in the corridors as if nobody else exists.”

  “It sounds – very – disturbing,” the Countess said faintly.

  “It will be, I can assure you, but I am afraid there is nothing we can do about it until it happens.”

  “No – of course not.”

  He turned to the sullen nobleman and added,

  “You are lucky, Neasdon, to be at the Hermitage. Next time I come to Monte Carlo I think I shall try it. The trouble with the Hotel de Paris is that it is too popular.”

  He did not wait for Lord Neasdon to reply, but smiled at the Countess as he said,

  “Goodnight, but I am afraid I am being optimistic in thinking we have little chance of it being anything but a bad one.”

  He laughed as if at his own joke and moved away crossing the room to where he could see the Grand Duke smoking a large cigar and talking to Zsi-Zsi.

  He could only pray that, after what he had said, Lord Neasdon would be too nervous to force his way into the Countess’s room and at least for tonight she would be undisturbed.

  He talked to the Grand Duke and Zsi-Zsi for some time, deliberately standing with his back to the two people he had just left. Then, as if he felt in need of air, he went out onto the terrace, thinking the night air would cool his brain as well as his body.

  He walked to the stone balustrade to look down at the harbour.

  He could see the lights of the two Russian yachts very clearly and he could also see The Mermaid some moorings away from them.