Sustenance

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Are you so certain he would be vindictive? Mightn’t he be relieved that you are in a position to care for yourself?” He asked the question gently, hearing her misgivings in her voice.

  “Oh, yes. I think he would. He’s already balking at the idea that the boys might visit me during summer vacation. He says it wouldn’t look right, letting them visit so soon after our separation, though that’s been going on since fall. He told me he would send his parents with them, but that might call the divorce into question, and that isn’t acceptable to him.” She went back to the bench and sat down. “I think he’ll use the boys to force me to conduct myself as he sees fit, and this—this place—isn’t part of his vision for me.”

  “Did you tell him about your apartment? How small it was, and how inconvenient?” He kept indignation and criticism out of his manner so that Charis would not feel that she had to defend her estranged husband.

  “Yes, I did, but he said he couldn’t afford to send me more money, so I would have to make the best of it. I told him about the state of the plumbing, and the condition of the walls. I even sent him some photographs, but he made no comment. You’d suppose he might make allowances for my situation, because I was in it in part to help him.” She put her hand to her face. “I’m beginning to think I never understood him, not really. I never thought he would put his career ahead of our marriage, because I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I take it that one of the reasons it took you two months to decide to accept Lord Weldon’s offer was that you supposed you would not be here long enough to make it worth his while to move you in,” he said, kindness in his steady gaze.

  “Was I so obvious? I thought I had—” She gave a little gasp. “If you guessed, the others might—”

  “No, they won’t, unless you decide to tell them. I haven’t mentioned your … arrangement with Lord Weldon to anyone: why should I? At best, I am a go-between in this, and there is no reason why I should impart your dealings with Weldon to others.” This was not quite the whole truth: he had discussed it in detail with his attorney in Paris, Hugues Curtise, who supervised Szent-Germain’s several aliases as well as his actual name and titles. “I will give you my Word that I won’t, if that would ease your concerns.”

  “I don’t know, I’m just nervous about the whole thing,” she said, sounding aggravated. “Something so unusual, you might bring it up with … oh, anyone.”

  “You may rest assured that I have not, and that I will not,” he said, his voice low and musical. He took a couple of incautious steps toward her, wanting to offer her comfort but aware of her attraction to him, and the tumult it caused within her. “Don’t let this dishearten you, Professor,” he recommended. “Your husband may still come to his senses, and realize that you have as much right as he to see your children. If Lord Weldon’s agreement with you improves your position in this regard, your husband may be trying to reduce your credibility in the eyes of the divorce court. He may be trying to blame you so that he can excuse himself for using you so unkindly. He may be embarrassed by his bad behavior, and it would not help to remind him of it, not at present.” He paused. “I gather you want the boys to come here, since returning home is not an option for you, and thus far, your husband is recalcitrant.”

  “I miss them so much,” she said barely above a whisper.

  “Do you have a relative who might be willing to escort the boys here? Someone your husband would approve?” He said this lightly, not wanting to add to her dismay, but trying to provide her with the means to arrange the visit.

  She swung around to look at him, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she said, much struck by his question. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Someone older, perhaps? Someone who isn’t immediately associated with you? If your husband is worried about turning attention on your separation, someone with a different last name, perhaps, would be appropriate.”

  “Why that?” She gave him a hard, perplexed stare.

  “To lessen the identification with you. Someone whom your husband would not perceive as working on your behalf. If you concentrate your argument on keeping the boys from close scrutiny by the Committee because of you, then your husband would not be able to claim you’re putting yourself above the welfare of your children.” He watched her as she took in his suggestion.

  “I don’t think the Committee, arbitrary as it is, would go after two kids,” said Charis. “And one of them crippled.”

  “They might, if they believed they could influence you through such devices,” he said, recalling what Hapgood Nugent had said about the surveillance of his sister’s children who were still in grammar school. “If you can provide an escort who is unexceptionable, it might be enough to convince Harold”—it was the first time he had spoken Charis’ husband’s name to her, and he could see surprise in her face—“to allow Arthur and David to come.”

  She nodded a couple of times, her thoughts moving swiftly in this more promising direction than the grim disappointment that had possessed her. “I have an aunt or two, and an older cousin who might serve well enough.” She took his hand impulsively without being aware of what she had done, but hoping to find solace in this simple contact. He remained still while she held it tightly. “At least it’s something to consider,” she said, abruptly releasing his hand as if her fingers had been burned. “Harold says that if I do anything to disgrace him, I won’t see our boys again.”

  “Do you know what he means by anything to disgrace him?”

  “No scandal, no politics, no speculation on his work, no problems with his colleagues, nothing that would reflect badly on him—at least that covers the basics.” She summoned up her nerve to go on, hearing her pulse quicken. “For example, he might not like me talking to you alone in this room.”

  “If you mean he assumes I would attempt to seduce a married woman in a room with nothing more than a rolled carpet and a pair of benches, he must have a very low opinion of me and those like me.” He smiled quickly, his countenance ironic. “This is not the time nor the place for such … um … shenanigans. That is the word, isn’t it?” He had heard it used during his stay in America twelve years ago.

  “That’s the word,” she said, a little breathlessly.

  He was aware of her disquiet, and said only, “You have enough demanding your attention; you need not fear unwanted importunities.”

  Charis sighed to cover her renewed confusion. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant about Harold’s disapproval,” she said, a bit stiffly, because she realized that perhaps it was, “but if he knew I was here with you alone, he would feel that I had compromised myself.”

  “Isn’t that a bit unrealistic?” Szent-Germain could feel her attraction diminish as he moved a few steps farther away from her. “He knows you are alone in Europe, and he knows that in your profession, you will be required to be interviewed, at the least, so prohibiting you to be alone with a man is enough to keep you from gaining employment.”

  “He says he is concerned for my reputation,” she said, color rising in her face again.

  “Then he has a curious way of ensuring your protection,” he said.

  Wanting to avoid any more discussion of the implications of being alone with a man, Charis remarked, “I’m having Stephen diMaggio install electronic locks on the doors and windows here, later today. I think this will reassure Harold when I send him some photos of the place, which he has insisted on seeing. He doesn’t want Arthur and David to visit me if my flat isn’t safe.”

  “He preferred your apartment for safety?” Szent-Germain shook his head incredulously.

  “I can only guess, and my guesses haven’t been very accurate where my husb—I really shouldn’t call him that anymore, should I?—Harold is concerned,” she told him, her face averted while she did her best to take on a serenity she did not feel. “As I said, I don’t understand him as well as I assumed I did.” An ill-at-ease silence descended between them. When she spoke again, it was in a different tone and
manner. “Steve offered to do it for me, and I took him up on it.”

  “DiMaggio should do a good job for you—he has access to all the military electronics, I understand,” said Szent-Germain, wondering as he did how many excuses Harold Treat might conjure up to refuse any visitation between Charis and her sons.

  “Well, he had access, which is what got him into trouble,” Charis told him with a touch of chagrin. “But he tells me he can set something up for me that will do the trick, and I believe him. He’s one of those engineers who has the feel of their work beyond their knowledge; he could probably make a Mixmaster play the ukelele. He does better with machines than people.” She made a flustered gesture with one hand. “I notified Lord Weldon about it, and apparently it’s acceptable to him. His telegram in response to mine just said Carry on.”

  Three days ago, Szent-Germain had sent a telegram to the manager of Eclipse Trading Company in Madras, asking him to send that telegram for him, which Khorbin Singh did the day before yesterday. Singh was dependable and rarely said anything about the requests he received from his employer. “That doesn’t astonish me.”

  “Can you tell me about him?” Charis asked. “What sort of man is he?”

  “Old title, old money,” said Szent-Germain. “Eccentric, as you guessed. Something of a wanderer.”

  “You’ve known him a while?” Charis prompted.

  “Yes; quite a long time.” He had created the alias in 1731, and had used that identity sporadically ever since, when he needed a name that was not in any way related to his own.

  “Then it’s no surprise that he would pay attention to your advice. I imagine that is how he came to provide this place for me. I can’t imagine that he heard about my predicament from one of the Coven.” She glanced away and then back at him. “You must be how he found out about my situation.”

  Szent-Germain concealed his appreciation of her astute guess, saying, “He told me, and not for the first time, he wanted someone responsible living here, and what he would expect of the tenant; I told him about you, about the books you have with Eclipse Press, and described the place you were living. He said he would look into it.” He disliked having to add to the fiction he had created, but to admit to being the owner would drive a wedge between them, which he wanted to avoid.

  “Did you make any other suggestions?”

  “You mean did I recommend any other Coven members? No; I don’t know them as well as I know you, and a few of them seem to be reasonably comfortable in where they are living. The Frosts require a very special place because of his … condition, so this would not have suited them, though it does well for you.” He ducked his head. “Was I in error? Are you upset that I gave him your name?”

  She did not answer at once, and when she did speak, it was with a rueful smile. “No, you weren’t in error, though I’d bet that Tolliver Bethune would love this place. He’s just the sort who would adore the … the Frenchness of it all.” She studied him. “I wish I could figure you out, Grof.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’d like to know why you took me under your wing. And don’t say you didn’t, because it’s obvious that you did.” She put her hands together, left hand over right hand. “From the time you talked to me in Copenhagen, you have supported me more than I had any reason to expect. You’ve been helping me on my second book for you, and well beyond what an editor would do. You’ve driven me all over the countryside to look at ancient ruins of convents, you’ve taken an interest in the Coven, and now you’re offering advice in regard to my husband and children. I’m more puzzled than you can imagine. Don’t get me wrong—I’m flattered and grateful, but I’d like to know why you do this.” She stopped talking, turning to him, waiting for what he would say.

  He went to the windows, moved the filmy cotton curtains aside, and looked out on the busy street below, taking care not to address her directly. “When we first met, I liked your spirit. It takes strength to do what you have done, for whatever reason you have done it, and I admire that strength. You are also intelligent, and I admire intelligence.” He was also very much aware of how she used both these qualities to keep her distance from him without obvious rejection, and although this saddened, he admired her skill; had she known of his cognizance of her desire, he wondered if her reserve might have lessened.

  “Is that why you said you’d be my ally?”

  “In large part, yes,” he said, moving away from the window and toward the open double-doors that led to the dining room. “Is Lord Weldon including draperies for your windows?”

  “I believe so, yes,” she answered.

  “Very good,” he said. “These light curtains aren’t sufficient. You need something more substantial.”

  “I guess that’s so,” she said, baffled by his change in subject.

  “You’ll need towels for your bathrooms, and all the rest of it,” he went on, walking slowly toward the door to the kitchen. “What of cookwares? What, if anything, did Lord Weldon offer you?”

  “I’m not sure. He said the furnishing would be complete, whatever that means. I suppose I’ll know by this time next week.” She moved around the room, taking stock of it in light of what Lord Weldon had pledged to do. “If he changes his mind, I suppose I can make do with the benches for a while, and the basics I brought from my apartment.”

  Szent-Germain nodded his approval. “You see? This is what I admire in you.” He could sense her yearning for him, and her determination not to act upon it, so he stayed in the dining room. “There’s room enough for a good-sized dining table. You may want a buffet as well, and a china cabinet.”

  “There is room enough,” she agreed. “And I’d like all those things, and chairs enough to make the most of this room. I should like to be able to accommodate eight or ten at table, preferably one with leaves, so that private dining won’t require megaphones in order to converse.”

  He managed a brief chuckle. “An interesting image, indeed.”

  She felt an unexpected spurt of laughter escape her. “Yes, isn’t it?” She continued to smile. “Do you want to see the rest of the place, or have you seen it already?”

  “I have seen it, but not for some years, and then it was furnished to suit the tenants at the time. I don’t know what or how much of his stored furniture he has marked for your use.” He made a little bow. “If you would like to show me, I would enjoy seeing its bare bones.”

  “That’s a good phrase for it,” she said, going out of the living room and into the corridor that led toward the bedrooms. There were French windows at the beginning of the corridor, giving access to the roof-top terrace; there were two large tubs of flowering bushes that blew in the afternoon breeze, but for the most part, the potted garden was neglected. “I may do more gardening now that I have a garden of sorts.”

  “Flowers? Herbs? Topiary?” he inquired as he followed her.

  “I don’t know yet. It depends on whether or not the boys visit me.” The sadness was back in her voice, and she walked slowly while she tried to restore her good mood. “The guest room is on the left, the master bedroom on the right; it has access to the terrace, and the full bath at the end of the hall. As you probably know, the guest bathroom is reached from the foyer, between the dining room and the kitchen doors. The door next to the study leads to the stairs to the lobby. The study is across the foyer from the dining room and kitchen, and looks out onto the terrace.” This recitation was without enthusiasm, as if mentioning her sons had taken the joy out of moving to this location. “Sorry. I’m a … little tired. I think I should lie down for half an hour or so. That way I’ll be refreshed when Steve arrives to install the locks.” She wandered back toward the living room.

  “On what?” he asked, walking a couple of paces behind him. “The bench? How can that revive you?”

  “I have the mattress I purchased when I couldn’t bear the lumps in the old one at my apartment. Madame Gouffre wanted to keep it because I was moving out before a year was up, but I ref
used, and since she wanted me gone more than she wanted the mattress, I was able to come away with it, along with her warning that I would not find as nice a place as she had. I’ve slept on it for the last two nights. It’s a little like camping out, but without the tent, or the countryside.”

  “Speaking of countryside, how is your ankle?” He had noticed that she had begun to favor it; there was a slight hesitation in her walk. “How are you doing with it? I haven’t seen you use a cane in the last week or two.”

  “Almost healed, I’d say, but still not quite where it should be. A sprain like that can take time to recover from.” She was startled that he had noticed the very slight limp that had started to bother her. “That’s what the nap is for.”

  “Ah.” He would have offered his arm, but knew that would not help her to relax. “Then I won’t detain you. Get your rest. I’ll call back the day after tomorrow, in case you would like some help with your furniture.”

  “You don’t have to,” she told him.

  “No, I don’t. But what sort of ally would I be then?” He went toward the foyer, saying as he went, “I hope you will find this flat satisfactory, and that your stay here, for however long it lasts, is a pleasant one.”

  “Very prettily said,” she told him and she pressed the button to summon the elevator. “I do like the clock; it’s a lovely present. And I meant it about the party. I will arrange it on a night that is convenient for you.”

  “Get yourself properly moved in and then we’ll talk about it,” he said, hearing the elevator approaching. “If you will call my office when you have your phone number, and leave it for me, I’d appreciate it.”