Solita and the Spies

by Barbara Cartland

  Her skin was dazzlingly white.

  Her eyes, dark and very large, were slightly tilted at the corners which gave her a mysterious, enigmatic look. Solita was certain every man would find her both fascinating and intriguing.

  She was magnificently dressed in a gown that screamed Paris in every frill and bow and its small train flowed behind her as she moved over the carpet like a wave of the sea.

  Her jewellery was as fantastic as she was herself. Emeralds glittered against the whiteness of her skin and the small tiara on her head made her look like a Queen.

  The Duke kissed her hand and the Princess said in a soft voice which only he could hear,

  “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “That is what I was intending to say,” he replied.

  As he looked into her eyes, he thought he could see the fire in them.

  Without meaning to, his fingers tightened on hers.

  Then the Princess said,

  “You have not met my brother, Ivan, and he has been greatly looking forward to meeting you.”

  The Prince, as the Duke had expected, was exceedingly handsome in a very Russian way.

  His hair was also dark and his features clear-cut.

  His high cheekbones and the darkness of his eyes were very Russian.

  “My sister was telling me,” he said to the Duke in perfect English, “how kind you have been to her and I am extremely grateful.”

  “How could anyone be anything else?” the Duke replied lightly.

  He led the Prince and Princess towards his guests and introduced them one by one.

  Solita was the last and, when they reached her, the Duke said,

  “May I present my ward, Solita Gresham, who has only just arrived in England from the Continent.”

  “Your ward?” the Princess questioned. “You have not told me about her before.”

  “It is a long story,” the Duke said hastily, “but, now she is here, I know she will enjoy herself.”

  “How could she do anything else, when she is with you?” the Princess murmured.

  The look she gave the Duke was very revealing and Solita glancing at him realised how infatuated he was.

  It was not surprising as the Princess was so beautiful.

  At the same time she longed to tell him that it was a mistake and that he should choose any woman than one with Russian nationality.

  Then the Duke was introducing Solita to the Prince.

  As she touched his hand, she felt almost as if she had a shock.

  The Prince was smiling ingratiatingly and his dark eyes appeared to be complimentary, but she told herself she was not being prejudiced when she knew he was dangerous.

  So dangerous that she felt as if she was touching a reptile.

  ‘How can the Duke be so foolish,’ she asked herself, ‘as to invite these people here?’

  Then she was aware that after what he had said to her he would be furious if she did not behave with propriety towards the Prince and the Princess.

  “Have you been in England long?” she asked the Prince, knowing it would be a mistake not to appear conversational.

  “On this visit only for the last three months,” he replied, “but I love England and look upon it as my second home.”

  As he spoke, Solita knew that he was lying.

  She was not quite sure how she knew, but an instinct which had never betrayed her told her that the Prince did not like England nor the English people.

  He was, however, talking animatedly to several of the ladies in the party, who he had met before.

  He was paying them compliments which appeared to delight them.

  At the same time he seemed to be on good terms with the Duke’s male guests.

  They proceeded into dinner, the Duke took the Princess on his arm. Solita was relieved to find that she was not sitting near either of the Russians.

  She was halfway down the table.

  Yet she could see through the gold ornaments and the displays of orchids that the Princess behaved very intimately with her host.

  She did not touch him, but the way she looked at him and he looked at her, Solita thought scornfully, they might as well be in each other’s arms.

  The man on her right was one of the Duke’s closest friends.

  He was clearly surprised at her sudden appearance and was extremely curious to know who she was and where she came from.

  She told him the truth.

  “My father was in the same Regiment as the Duke and saved his life. Then when I was orphaned His Grace promised to look after me.”

  “I am absolutely astonished!”

  His name, Solita learnt was Wilfred Denham, but he was known to everybody as ‘Willy’.

  “But, why?” she asked.

  “Because Hugo has never talked about you and I was in the same Regiment too.”

  “Then perhaps you knew my father?” Solita suggested. “His name was Charles Gresham.”

  “Of course I knew Charles Gresham!” Willy replied, “and you tell me you are his daughter?”

  “I am.”

  “Then let me say that if there is anything I can do for you – you have only to ask.”

  “Thank you,” Solita said, “but, why?”

  “Because your father was one of the most charming men I have ever met. He looked after all his young Subalterns from the moment they joined the Regiment and especially when they first came under fire from the enemy. None of us will ever forget him!”

  The way Willy spoke was so sincere that Solita felt the tears come into her eyes .

  “Thank you, and thank you too for – saying you will be – my friend. I am very much in need of – friends at the moment.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because for the past ten years I have been living with the Duke’s cousin in Naples, so I know no one in England.”

  “Looking like you do and being your father’s daughter, it is something you will not be able to say in a few months’ time,” Willy said firmly.

  After that, Solita began to enjoy the dinner and the party.

  The gentleman on her other side was slightly older and was, she discovered, having an ardent flirtation with the lady next to him.

  He spoke only a few words to Solita and then was drawn away possessively.

  Solita was, however, quite content to look around.

  This was her first dinner party in England and she wanted to compare it to those she had attended in other countries.

  For years she and the girls with whom she stayed had been too young to come down to dinner and they had therefore peeped at the guests either from the landing, when they arrived, or through the minstrels’ gallery when there was one.

  When she was seventeen, she and the daughter of the same age had been allowed to join the guests at dinner, but had to go to bed early.

  The Italian parties had been much the same as the Duke’s.

  Except, Solita thought, his was not so formal as the Italians, nor as animated as the French, who talked across the table.

  A number of people joined in the same arguments, their voices rising as they gesticulated with their hands, while the very air vibrated with the violence of their feelings.

  Perhaps she had been unlucky, but she had found the Spanish dinner parties were long drawn-out and often exceedingly dull.

  The parents of the Spanish girl with whom she had made friends were minor Royalty and she found protocol in Madrid strict and unbending.

  Looking round the table now, she thought the Duke looked very regal, but at the same time, human.

  She hated the idea of him being infatuated with the Russian Princess.

  She had to be honest and admit, however, that no man could be more handsome or dignified.

  It would also be impossible for anyone to look more beautiful than the Princess.

  And yet, though Solita knew it was because she was trying to find fault, she thought that the Princess’s beauty had something sinister about it
.

  “I am being imaginative,” she told herself and did not realise that she had said the words aloud.

  “About what?” Willy enquired, having overheard her.

  Solita answered him truthfully.

  “I was thinking about the Princess.”

  “And what do you think about her?”

  Solita remembered the Duke’s instructions and she answered,

  “She is very beautiful!”

  “I agree with you and she is a complete contrast to the English style of beauty, which is usually described as ‘like a rose’!”

  Willy spoke in a way that made Solita laugh.

  “I hope no one will say that about me!”

  “I think it is unlikely,” Willy replied, “because even though you are fair and blue-eyed, you are not typically English.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is difficult to explain,” he said, “but I think the flower you most resemble is the lily-of-the-valley or one of those star-shaped orchids which we are looking at now.”

  He put out his hand as he spoke and picked up one of the orchids that decorated the table. It was star-shaped and completely white save for two small pink spots on one of its petals.

  He held it up against Solita’s face and said,

  “Yes, I am right, that is what you resemble!”

  “I am very flattered,” Solita replied, “but I could never aspire to anything so unusual or so lovely.”

  “Now you are being unduly modest,” Willy teased, “and I am sure I am right.”

  He put the orchid down in front of her.

  When dinner was over and the ladies withdrew, Solita picked up the little orchid and carried it with her into the drawing room where they had met before dinner.

  She thought as she entered the room that the ladies, each in a different way, resembled a flower of some sort. The walked with their bustles moving with every step they took, their diamonds flashing and the exotic fragrance of their different perfumes emanating from them.

  Solita thought there was no description more apt.

  Then, as she looked at the Princess, she thought that, despite the fact that she was very lovely, no one could say she resembled a flower.

  She was more like a leopardess, beautiful in her own way, feline, graceful and at the same time, dangerous.

  ‘I hate her!’ Solita said to herself.

  She could see almost as if it was a picture in front of her eyes, her father leading his Platoon through the rocky terrain of the North-West frontier.

  The tribesmen had been waiting for them, hiding in the caves and behind rocks. They were equipped with Russian weapons and they were directed by Russian brains.

  The British had died from a volley of gunfire from which none of them could escape.

  ‘I hate her!’ Solita repeated to herself.

  Because she found it hard even to look at her, she moved away towards the window.

  She pulled aside a damask curtain and looked out.

  The stars were filling the sky and there was a young moon climbing up over the oak trees in the park.

  It was stunningly beautiful and Solita drew in her breath.

  ‘This is England,’ she told herself, ‘and this is where I belong.’

  Because it was a Friday evening, the party broke up early.

  “Tomorrow night,” the Duke promised, “I have a special entertainment which I think you will enjoy.”

  “Oh, Hugo!” one of the ladies exclaimed, “you are always so clever, you always think of something new and original to delight us!”

  “That is what I try to do,” the Duke replied, “but I have the feeling that it will not be long before I run out of ideas!”

  There was a cry of protest to say that was impossible and Solita noticed that the Princess did not join in.

  She was merely looking at the Duke with what she thought were hungry eyes.

  ‘She will devour him!’ she thought scornfully, ‘then he will learn too late what a fool he is!’

  Then Willy was at her side, asking her if she would like to ride tomorrow morning and saying that it was what he and the Duke usually did.

  The male guests often joined them, but the ladies nearly always preferred to stay in bed.

  “I would like very much to ride,” Solita said, “it is something I enjoy more than anything else.”

  “I had an idea that was what you would like,” Willy replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because your father was a brilliant rider and I would not expect his daughter to be anything else.”

  “It is so wonderful for me to be able to talk about Papa,” Solita said. “Aunt Mildred, who was the Duke’s cousin with whom I lived had never met him, nor had anybody else in Italy.”

  “What I will do,” Willy suggested, “is to find one or two of his friends and, when you go back to London, I will introduce them to you.”

  Solita gave a deep sigh.

  “I would love that and it is very kind of you to think of me.”

  “I feel a great many men will be doing that before you are much older!” Willy remarked. “Is Hugo planning to take you to London?”

  “He said that his grandmother would chaperone me there.”

  Willy smiled.

  “Well, then, you are in luck! She is the most delightful person and very broad-minded. I know you will be happy with her.”

  He paused and then added as an afterthought,

  “Until you are married.”

  “Why do you say that?” Solita asked.

  “Well, it is obvious – looking like you do that there will be a string of suitors for your hand.”

  “But, I have no wish to be married,” Solita protested, “not until I – ”

  She stopped, realising that what she had been about to say would have been indiscreet and so she lapsed into silence.

  “What were you going to say?” Willy asked.

  “It is something I should not say, so please forget it!”

  “I would like you to trust me.”

  “I do, but occasionally I say things that are very indiscreet and that would have been one of them.”

  “Now I am even more curious than I was before – ”

  Solita did not answer and fortunately at that moment somebody came up to speak to him.

  She told herself she must be careful, otherwise the Duke would be annoyed.

  She knew now, having seen the Princess and her brother, that she was even more determined than she had been before.

  Somehow, in some way, she would make the Russians pay for her father’s death and the treacherous manner in which it had happened.

  ‘I hate them, I hate them!’ she was thinking as she said goodnight.

  The Princess had given her only a cursory nod as if she was of no consequence, but Prince Ivan had said,

  “I have been unlucky this evening, Miss Gresham, in not having the chance to talk to you. Perhaps tomorrow the Gods, or rather you, will favour me!”

  He held out his hand as he spoke, but Solita pretended not to see it.

  Instead she curtsied and murmured,

  “You are very kind,” and moved hastily away from him.

  As she said goodnight to the Duke, he said,

  “Sleep well, Solita, and tomorrow I want to show you over The Castle.”

  “That will be very exciting!” Solita replied, “and thank you very much for everything.”

  He smiled at her and she walked upstairs behind two of the other ladies, wishing she could warn him not to become too involved with the Princess.

  She realised, however, that if she said anything against her the Duke would undoubtedly defend her hotly.

  He would also be annoyed at her for again expressing her hatred of the Russians .

  The maid, who had looked after her earlier in the evening, was waiting in her bedroom. She helped Solita out of her gown and hung it up in the wardrobe.

  “You looked lovely tonight, miss, and they was sayi
n’ downstairs as you’re the prettiest young lady as ever’s come to The Castle!”

  “Thank you, but I cannot compete with beauties like the Princess!”

  “Oh, her!” the maid said. “She’s beautiful, all right, but as ’ard as nails!”

  Although Solita knew it was not correct to discuss such things with the servants, she could not help asking,

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s the way she behaved with her lady’s maid, miss. She’s French and ever so nice, but she ’as an awful time with the Princess. Orders ’er about, she does, as if she’s dirt beneath her feet!”

  The maid sighed.

  “Them Russians be all the same – treats those beneath them as if they was serfs!”

  Solita was not surprised.

  She had read about the serfs and the cruelty they incurred from their Masters.

  She knew it was something that would not be tolerated in England.

  The maid, whose name was Emily, put away her satin slippers and tidied the room. Then she blew out the candles, leaving only one burning by the bed.

  “Is there anythin’ else you wants, miss?” she asked.

  “No thank you,” Solita replied. “What time does his Lordship go riding in the morning?”

  “Seven o’clock, miss – he goes out early!”

  “I will be riding with him and Mr. Denham,” Solita said, “so please call me at six-thirty.”

  “You’ll not be too tired, miss?”

  “No! I am used to getting up early,” Solita replied.

  “Then I’ll call you prompt and bring you a cup of tea.”

  Emily opened the door.

  “Sleep well, miss, and may the angels watch over you, as me mother used to say.”

  Alone, Solita snuggled down in bed.

  She expected to fall asleep immediately, then she realised she was missing the book she always read before she went to sleep.

  She looked around the room and realised that there could not have been a book in the trunk she had brought with her.

  Then she remembered when she had first come upstairs to rest the housekeeper had told her that there was a boudoir connected with her bedroom.

  She had been too tired to explore it then.

  Now she told herself there would certainly be a book she could read for perhaps twenty minutes which would send her off to sleep.