This Rough Magic

by Heather Graham

  The inspector looked at Jon. Carly could have sworn that a slight sheen of perspiration broke out on Jon’s brow, but he spoke smoothly and with a certain impatience. “Jasmine, Inspector. Jasmine Michaelson is Ms. Kiernan’s sister. You’ve met her.”

  “And you say that your sister has disappeared?” the inspector asked Carly.

  “She isn’t here,” she replied flatly, staring at Jon Vadim. He returned her stare, then gave her a slow smile.

  “I have told Carly that Jasmine just isn’t here. I believe that she went on to Paris, but I don’t know.”

  “How can you possibly be worried about Jasmine!” Tanya said with exasperation. “She goes where she likes when she pleases!”

  “But she wrote to me!” Carly protested. “She said ‘Please come’! She said that she needed me!”

  The inspector sighed. Geoffrey, whose mummy wrappings were peeling by now, came over to Carly and put his arm around her. “Jasmine is incredibly independent, you know,” he reassured her.

  “Yes, but she was involved in this party—”

  “Jasmine involves herself in many things and then leaves them,” he said quietly.

  Carly bit her lip, wondering if Geoffrey might have been one of those “things” that Jasmine had involved herself with and then left behind.

  “You said your sister sent you a letter,” the inspector began again. “You don’t by any chance have it, do you?”

  “Yes!” Carly said. “It’s in my little evening bag. I left it upstairs in Tanya’s room. Shall I get it?”

  “I’ll go,” Tanya offered, then grimaced. “You don’t know the place that well yet. I’ll—”

  “Never mind,” Jon said, interrupting her. “I’ll send the maid.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a moment later a maid appeared. After he spoke to her quickly in French, she bobbed a little curtsy and left them.

  “Now, let’s get back to the coachman, shall we,” the inspector said. “Count Vadim, did you leave here this evening alone to find Madame Kiernan?”

  “Alone,” Jon responded flatly.

  “We followed him quickly,” Tanya said indignantly.

  “‘We’?”

  “Geoffrey and I.”

  “And you were always together?”

  “Well, no, of course not. We were searching,” she explained.

  “And what about Alexi?”

  “I came after the two of them,” Alexi himself answered.

  “So you were alone, too.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Which of us would want to kill a coachman!” Tanya protested.

  The inspector threw up his arms. “All right. That is all for this evening.” He wagged a finger at Tanya. “But something more is going on here than the pathetic murder of a poor servant. I will find out what it is.”

  “Inspector,” Jon Vadim said sharply, “I’m sure Tanya is every bit as distressed as the rest of us.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the inspector said wryly.

  Tanya flushed. “Well, of course I’m upset. I just don’t see where any of us can possibly be involved.” She smiled sweetly at the inspector. “Aren’t you going to warn us all not to try to leave town?”

  “You like American Western movies, too,” he said appreciatively. Then he sighed as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. “But yes. That, miss, goes without saying—oh, here we are!”

  The young maid had knocked softly and stepped just inside the door, holding out Carly’s green velvet purse. “Thank you!” Carly said, stepping forward to accept her bag. She opened it. Her passport was still there, her wallet, her compact, atomizer, lipstick and traveler’s checks. The letter was not in her purse.

  She stared blankly at the inspector. “It isn’t here.”

  “Are you sure you had it with you?” Jon asked smoothly.

  Carly stared at him but found it difficult to read anything in his golden wolf’s eyes. Had he taken the letter? she wondered. He hadn’t left the room.

  But maybe he’d asked the maid to take it. No, he couldn’t have done that, either. All of them had been present when he’d sent the maid out.

  “I’m sure I had it with me,” Carly insisted coolly.

  Jon shrugged.

  “Perhaps it was lost in the accident,” the inspector suggested.

  “Yes, perhaps,” Carly murmured. She kept staring at Jon Vadim, who smiled in return.

  “Well, I will certainly look into your sister’s whereabouts,” the inspector assured Carly. “And if anyone has information, I am available, and I will appreciate any assistance. Count—” the inspector clicked his heels together and inclined his head “—I will see myself out.”

  Jon Vadim nodded. The inspector left, and they all remained there, silent. Then Tanya leaped to her feet. “Damn! The band has quit playing.”

  “It’s four a.m.,” Geoffrey said. He made a grimace to Carly, who sat beside him on the rich leather sofa. “You throw quite a party, Jon.”

  “I’m going to bed,” Tanya said. She stared around the room, almost as if she challenged them to stop her. Her cat eyes narrowed on Jon, but he wasn’t even glancing her way. “A wonderful party!” she sniffed. “I wind up accused of murder!”

  “I guess we’re all accused of murder,” Geoffrey said.

  Jon waved a hand in the air dismissively. “No, it’s just the inspector’s way. Who knows? We are a dramatic people.” He smiled at Carly. “This land was English when Henry II owned half of France and a dozen other properties. But we people are more French than anything else. We like passion and a sense of the theatrical. The inspector has to look everywhere. But someone from the village probably did bear the poor coachman a grudge.”

  Jon himself didn’t believe what he was saying, Carly realized. His striking features were drawn into a pensive frown, and she was convinced that he thought that the inspector was right about one thing at least—the coachman had been killed to hurt the Vadims. Seeing the count there, distant, an air of casual command about him, Carly longed to go to him. Primeval instinct threatened to send her over to him to run her fingers over the planes of his face.

  She was angry with him, too. She suspected him of somehow having stolen her letter. She wanted to know where her sister was and what he was hiding. She had to remember these things and resist his all-consuming magnetism.

  “I need to get back to the hotel,” Carly said.

  “No!” Tanya protested. “You can’t go back to the hotel. It’s so late. You must stay here!”

  “I’m sure that I’ll be perfectly safe—”

  “You will be safe,” Jon said. “You’ll stay right here.”

  Carly started to shake her head. She couldn’t stay here. Being in the same...castle with him, even for a night, had to be dangerous. To her soul.

  “I really can’t stay,” she insisted, “I don’t have any of my things—”

  “We have everything you might desire for the night,” he said. “You must stay.”

  She wanted to protest just because he was so firmly denying her her wishes. But Geoffrey was up, taking her hand, patting it. “Carly, be reasonable. It’s very late, and it’s been a traumatic evening.”

  “Big damned deal!” Tanya said with exasperation. “Come on, and be a good little lamb. Let’s get some sleep! I have plenty of things here for both of us.”

  Carly didn’t appreciate the idea of being a “good little lamb,” but she didn’t want to be obnoxious.

  “Carly, please,” Jon insisted. “It would be best if you stayed.” His amber eyes were upon her. She knew he was trying to be courteous, but it didn’t sound as if he was asking her to stay. He was telling her.

  “You can take the room right across from mine,” Tanya told her, assuming it was all arranged. “I know it’s been cleaned; the maids were in there this afternoon.”

  “Perfect,” Jon Vadim agreed softly.

  “Well, then...” Geoffrey kissed Carly’s cheek. “We can talk tomorrow.
I’m going to bed, too. Good night, Tanya, Alexi, Jon.”

  “I had best go home,” Alexi said. He, too, kissed Carly’s cheek, and then Tanya’s. He winked at Carly. “I will be back.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of forgetting to include you on any excursion,” Tanya assured him sweetly. “Right, Jon?”

  “Sure.”

  “Come on.” Tanya tugged at Carly’s hand. “I’ll get you settled. Good night, all.” Carly found herself looking back at Jon Vadim. There was a slight self-satisfied smile on his lips now. Their eyes met for a moment. Carly felt as if she should deny something, but he didn’t say another word to her; he just watched her as she and Tanya left the library.

  The castle was a large place, Carly thought as Tanya led her along. If Tanya weren’t with her, she would be lost. Tanya must have been reading her mind, for she said, “It’s not so bad. Just get your sense of direction from the mountains, and you’ll know what you’re doing. The terrace and the stairs are east. See?”

  They came back to the terrace. The last of the guests was gone; everything was in disarray. “It will be all picked up by morning,” Tanya murmured.

  Carly saw the moon, which was still bright and full.

  When they reached the stairway and then Tanya’s room, she told Carly, “I’ll just get you a toothbrush and toothpaste—oh, a nightgown. Then there’s tomorrow. Is a denim dress okay?”

  “Whatever,” Carly said. “Thank you.” She watched the beautiful “cat” as she moved around the room. Tanya was such a mass of contradictions. What was her part in all of this?

  “Where did you meet Jon Vadim?” Carly asked casually.

  “On the Riviera, several years ago,” Tanya answered, then offered Carly a grimace. “I thought he was gorgeous at first. But he has a serious streak in him. I met a French wine baron at the same time, and the wine baron seemed the better deal.”

  “But you’re still friends.”

  Tanya laughed. “Jon tolerates me. I have some money of my own, and I am interested in some of his charities. And he has some fascinating friends.”

  “Nothing romantic—between the two of you?”

  “I thought there might be. But then...”

  “But then what?”

  Tanya looked at Carly and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Carly tried to get her to speak, but Tanya refused to answer. “Nothing, honestly. It just isn’t the right chemistry. And he’s different lately, anyway. More serious than ever. And hard.” She shivered. “He frowns so much now that he even looks different. But he is a good friend. And that inspector had no right giving him such a bad time.... Now, how’s this? Do you have everything you might need?”

  “Yes, everything,” Carly said gratefully. “It’s very nice of you to do this for me.”

  “It isn’t anything at all.” The other girl smiled. “Jasmine should have been here.”

  Carly paused. “You do know her, and you really aren’t worried about her?”

  Tanya shook her head. “You know your sister, too. You shouldn’t be worried.”

  “Do you know why she left?”

  Tanya shrugged. “Oh, I think she was mad at Jon. As I said, he’s been different lately. Movement is one of Jasmine’s fortes—if she was in a bad mood, running off to Paris would have been no big thing for her.”

  “Maybe,” Carly murmured. “Anyway, thank you very much.”

  “Sure. Now, go to bed. Get some sleep. And please, lock your door, Carly.”

  “Are you afraid of something?”

  “No! Honestly, I’m not. But that poor man was killed, so it would make sense to play it safe, right?”

  Tanya led the way again, then opened the door across the hall. It was a beautiful room, but quite Gothic, Carly thought. It was huge, with a fireplace, a canopied bed, a writing desk, and plush chairs before the fire. There was a giant armoire in one corner, and the windows were covered in a soft gauze. “That door leads to the bath,” Tanya advised her.

  Carly was tired enough to crash headfirst into bed and stay there, but a bath sounded nice, too. The bathroom, which looked as though it had been installed sometime during the twenties or thirties, was beautiful. The big tub and porcelain sink were constructed in a Deco design. The floor was covered with tiny black and white tiles, against the back wall was a full-length mirror. Carly forgot that she was tired, cried out in delight, and started to run a bath.

  “Well, I can see you’re happy,” Tanya said from the doorway. “Just don’t forget—lock your door.”

  Carly nodded to her. “Thanks—very much, for everything. Good night.”

  Tanya left her. Carly found some bubble bath on a rack at the end of the tub and poured it into the bath, stripped and climbed in. She wrapped her hair above her head and lay back, letting the heat sink in as the bubbles covered her.

  It had been one hell of a night, she decided. When she closed her eyes, she could still see Jon Vadim, tall and striking in his swirling black cape, his eyes eclipsing all else. She remembered how he’d held her, and she felt her blood heat up. It was insanity, she chided herself. She’d just met him. Yet maybe it was time she threw all caution to the wind. If her sister had no interest in the man, there was nothing to hold Carly back.

  She started suddenly. She hadn’t locked the bedroom door as Tanya had urged her to. She could swear that she heard someone out there now, in the bedroom.

  She twisted around and stared at the bathroom door, a scream rising in her throat. The crystalline knob was turning....

  “Tanya!” she called. “Is that you?”

  Silence answered her cry. Carly leaped up, dripping and reaching for a towel. She ran to the door and threw it open. No one was there. She looked around the room. It seemed untouched. She closed her eyes, trying to recall. Had she put her sister’s letter back into her purse when she’d been in the carriage? She was so certain she had. Had someone slipped upstairs earlier to steal the letter?

  And had someone just been in her room, watching her, looking for...something?

  “I’m losing my mind in this place!” she whispered.

  She toweled herself dry, then slipped into the aquamarine nightgown and robe Tanya had given her. The set was satin, long and very sexy, with slits up one side of each garment. As she tied the belt, she met her own eyes in the mirror above the dresser. She was pale. Ridiculously pale.

  And wide awake. It had to be five a.m. and she was desperately tired. But she would never sleep.

  She decided to find the kitchen, or the bar. Hot cocoa or brandy or Scotch—she didn’t care which one she found, as long as she could get her hands on something.

  Carly left the room and quietly closed her door. She went down to the first floor. The terrace had already been cleaned. The moonlight was waning, and just a hint of the sun could be seen on the horizon. A sunrise here would be beautiful, she thought.

  She entered the lower hallway, then discovered that she was hopelessly lost. She turned around to locate the sun. She was certain that Count Vadim would keep something in the library, which had been along the western hallway.

  She was proud of herself when she found the right door and threw it open. But then a soft “Oh!” escaped her, for the library was not vacant. Jon Vadim, minus cape and costume, was sitting behind his desk. He was in an elegant smoking jacket, studying some papers. On the desk were a crystal decanter and a shot glass of the honey-colored liquid that filled the decanter.

  “Carly,” he said, standing, when he saw her. She almost backed away from the door. His gaze was warm, his rueful smile compelling.

  “I—I couldn’t sleep,” she told him.

  “Would you like some brandy?”

  “Uh—no.”

  “Oh.” He came around and leaned against the desk, idly folding his arms across his chest. “Then you’re just prowling around the house?”

  “No! Of—of course not.”

  “Then you were looking for a drink.”

  She sailed into the r
oom, feeling like a fool. She wasn’t afraid of him; it was just that things were just moving too quickly between them. He was very sophisticated. It wasn’t that she was naive; he was just so arrogantly confident that she felt she needed to keep her distance. She was just too willing to fall for his charms, when there was every reason for her to mistrust him.

  She circled the desk and found a second glass for the brandy upon a tray on a table nearby. She poured herself three fingers of brandy, willing her hands not to tremble, and made a soft sound of annoyance as she spilled a few drops upon the lace mat beneath the tray.

  Jon Vadim approached, took the brandy from her fingers and set it down, and mopped up the mess with his handkerchief. “I would have been delighted to pour you a drink.”

  “Thank you.”

  She tried to smile, wanting to appear controlled and casual. “You’re still up. You’re up...very late.”

  He grinned at her wickedly. “Ah, but I’m a night person. Tell me, Carly. Are you usually up so late?”

  “Until morning? No, I’m not.”

  “But you’re adaptable.” It was a statement, not a question. The count drew his own conclusions, she saw.

  “Adaptable. But not easily led.” She spoke with assurance, though she felt very little of it. At that moment, she thought, she would probably follow him anywhere.

  “Common sense is a great virtue,” he said.

  Yes, and she usually had lots of it, she thought. What was happening to her here, she didn’t know. He was laughing at her, she realized, but it seemed to be a tender laughter. She smiled. “Yes, it is a great virtue.”

  “But not much fun.” He lifted his glass to hers, stepping in front of her. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.”

  She swallowed the brandy. Her heart was beating a thousand times a minute. She was certain he could see the pulse that raged against her throat. What was this? she wondered in a moment’s panic. This hypnotic man could steal souls. She wanted to run, and she wanted to fall into his arms.

  “Well...” She smiled, setting down her glass. “I think I could probably sleep now.”

  From somewhere far away she heard the baying of a dog. Then, too, came the haunting sad, slow strains of a violin playing a waltz.