Katerina's Secret

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Katerina—’

  ‘Oh, you’re my dearest love,’ she breathed, head back and eyes radiant. ‘You have brought me to life, you have given me days of sweetness. I used to sit day after day, looking at nothing and thinking only of the years long ago, and now, dear dear Edward, I’m thinking only of the years I shall share with you. I’m disastrously weak with love, quite close to falling down, yet so strong I could fly. Oh, how glad I am you did not marry Emily. You will propose to me now?’

  ‘Katerina, you must think – you can’t take an invalid for a husband, you need a far healthier man than I am, a man far more suitable in every way.’

  ‘Far more suitable?’ Katerina was visibly shocked. ‘Far more suitable?’

  ‘You’re not an ordinary person—’

  ‘Stop.’ She put a hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t say such things. I’d never marry a man because someone said he was suitable. Never, never. You must make no excuses for not proposing. You’ll break my heart if you do. Yes, that’s far more likely to do lasting damage to my health than anything else. Edward, I’m strong, I don’t have a weak heart. You know I don’t. And you’ve been wondering why I said I did. You’ve been thinking things. Edward, they’re all irrelevant, all things to do with my past. I’m here, with you, and my heart is beating madly for you. There, do you feel how it’s beating?’ She brought his hand to her warm, round breast, and a little sigh escaped her at the touch that was a caress. ‘Hold me. Put your arms around me, and you’ll know how alive and strong I am for you.’

  He put his arms around her, and again her body imparted its magical transference of vitality. He felt himself engulfed by the dreams.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said.

  ‘Edward?’ Her face was against his shoulder, her voice full of faint vibrations. ‘I want you to marry me, don’t you feel how I do? I beg you, propose, or I shall die a death from burning.’

  ‘Will you, then, will you marry me, my most lovely Katerina?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. I want to be with you – every day, every night – I shall care very much for you. Celeste is right, you must have a wife, and I must be the one. It is true you told her I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen?’

  ‘Quite true,’ he said, in wonder at the turn life had taken.

  ‘You’ll always think that, even when I’m old?’ she said.

  ‘Even when you’re very old,’ said Edward.

  ‘Edward, you will have to love me very much,’ she said, her arms lingering around him. ‘You must, because I’m going to ask a great deal of you. You must never ask questions. You must accept me only as you know me, as Katerina Pyotrovna – oh, but there’s nothing in all my years to make you ashamed, believe me. Whatever I tell you about my life you must accept, even though it may not be precisely true. Will you do that, my darling, will you take me as you know me now?’

  He might have said he knew her to be far more than Katerina Pyotrovna, that to him she represented a miracle. But he only said, ‘Nothing is important to me but you yourself.’

  ‘Edward, I am only as you see me,’ she said. ‘You must make no guesses and have no worries. We must go far away. Oh, it will be a joy, will it not?’

  ‘We shall find a quiet place, Katerina, and you must have no worries yourself. The man I think responsible for Dr Kandor’s death, is dead himself. He too was found at the foot of the cliffs.’

  Her eyes opened wide. She shivered. She thought of Sandro, who had declared to her that Boris Sergeyovich would not go unavenged.

  ‘Edward—’

  ‘No more, Katerina. You’ve borne enough. But I gave you that news so that you’ll know you can sleep safely tonight. And tomorrow.’

  ‘I must see Anna and Sandro,’ she said.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Edward.

  She smiled.

  ‘Yes, Edward. Tomorrow.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rosamund, Colonel Brecht and Mademoiselle Dupont were quietly conversing in the lounge.

  ‘The poor countess,’ said Mademoiselle Dupont, as Celeste brought the glasses of cognac Colonel Brecht had ordered for her and himself. ‘To have lost her doctor, to know that this other gentleman has died in the same way, and she with her weak heart. She’s bearing up, Celeste?’

  ‘Yes, mademoiselle,’ said Celeste, who would have preferred the Frenchwoman to know nothing about the countess. But it had got about, the fact that she was resident in the hotel.

  ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her myself,’ said Colonel Brecht, ‘but saw her enter the hotel with Edward early this evening.’

  ‘If you haven’t met her, Franz, how did you know it was she?’ asked Rosamund.

  ‘An assumption, Rosamund, an assumption,’ said the colonel. ‘I hope most sincerely the tragedies won’t bring on a serious heart attack. I have known of people retiring in apparent good health to bed, and failing to wake up.’

  ‘Oh, mon Colonel!’ Celeste was shocked, and Mademoiselle Dupont cast the German a pitying look.

  ‘That was hardly the most joyful thing to say, Franz,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘Ah – most stupid of me,’ muttered the abashed colonel.

  ‘I shall return to Paris,’ said Mademoiselle Dupont. ‘One cannot in all fairness be expected to relax in this atmosphere, delightful though your hotel is, Celeste.’

  ‘It’s as you wish, mademoiselle,’ said Celeste, who would quite happily have helped the Parisian lady on her way.

  ‘I shall retire to bed,’ said Rosamund, as Celeste departed, ‘the day has been quite gloomy. However, there’s always tomorrow. Life has its consolation in that there’s always tomorrow.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Colonel Brecht. ‘We shall take a brisk walk, yes?’

  ‘Shall we?’ said Rosamund.

  ‘If you insist,’ said the colonel.

  ‘I’m provoked into that,’ said Rosamund.

  Mademoiselle Dupont smiled faintly.

  Colonel Brecht coughed.

  Celeste could not sleep. She lay awake, tossing and turning. Poor Mama, so unhappy about Monsieur Valery, and about the police returning to the hotel. It was all so bad for the Corniche.

  And there was the countess, so mysteriously a lonely and troubled woman, and so enchanting. Edward simply must look after her.

  Celeste loved them both.

  It was so late. She must go to sleep or she would never get up in the morning. She turned and reached for the glass of water that always lay to hand on her bedside table. She found it, sat up and gulped thirstily.

  She stiffened. Her little bedroom on the ground floor was not far from the staircase. Someone was out there. The tiniest sound had reached her ears. Edward was wandering about? He could not sleep, either? But no, he would not wander about. He would take a tablet and try to relax.

  Madame – the countess!

  Celeste was out of her bed in a flash. Her eyes, used to the darkness because she’d lain awake for so long, needed no light. She opened her bedroom door very quietly, and just as quietly she walked on her bare feet towards the lobby, then turned to the left. Her heart was beating fast. She reached the door of Katerina’s room. It was open, just slightly. She pushed it wide. The darkness of the room was a momentary blackness before her orientated eyes pierced it.

  The bed was in upheaval. A body was striving and struggling. A dark, bending form and the glimmer of a white, smothering pillow rushed at Celeste’s eyes. The assailant was breathing hard, bearing down and down, but beneath the pillow and the bedclothes Katerina was fighting for her life, because life meant so much to her now. She was neither weak nor swooning. She was strong and frenzied, her smothered mouth open, her teeth tearing at the suffocating pillow, her hands wrenching at the jersey-sleeved arms that were like steel rods in their rigid pressure.

  Celeste screamed and hurled herself. The figure came upright and turned. A clenched fist struck Celeste on the temple, knocking her sideways. Celeste pitched to the floor. She screamed again, she came
up on her feet like a furious cat, ready to claw and rend. She saw the dark figure vanishing, not through the door but the open French windows.

  The bedroom light went on.

  ‘Celeste!’

  It was Edward, in his pyjamas, his face drawn and shocked. Celeste flung herself into his arms.

  ‘Edward – Madame – someone was trying to smother her – ’

  They turned to the bed. Katerina lay trembling, drawing painful breaths, her auburn hair riotous and disordered.

  ‘Katerina – oh, my God,’ said Edward, and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking hold of her hands.

  ‘Madame – oh, blessed joy,’ breathed Celeste, ‘he’s gone – you’re alive.’

  ‘Celeste,’ gasped Katerina, ‘oh, my brave and lovely one.’

  ‘My God,’ said Edward again, ‘what sort of care is this I’ve taken of you?’ He should have guessed Valery would have an accomplice. It was always work for two, this kind of work, the elimination of people.

  Katerina smiled. There were two people she loved. They were both here, both close. Relief that was blissful flooded her.

  ‘Celeste came,’ she said, ‘my sweet Celeste, my brave one. Celeste?’ She released her hands from Edward’s and put out her arms. Celeste bent and Katerina embraced her and kissed her.

  The hotel was alive with the sounds of disturbed guests. Madame Michel arrived in a woollen dressing gown. Edward crossed to the door and closed it. Celeste, bruised but as intoxicated with relief as Katerina, explained to her mother. A long sigh escaped Madame Michel.

  ‘This too?’ she said. ‘We are pursued by the devils of darkness. Holy Mary, deliver us.’ She crossed herself, regarding Katerina sadly and in shame. ‘Countess, what is to be done with such an hotel as this?’

  ‘Treasure it, madame,’ said Katerina, ‘for it holds my friends, and no harm has been done.’

  ‘Cognac,’ said Madame Michel. ‘Harm or not, cognac for you. Yes?’

  ‘And a little for Celeste,’ said Edward, bitter with himself for taking Katerina’s safety for granted.

  ‘Mama, I will get it,’ said Celeste, ‘while you talk to the guests.’

  ‘A burglar,’ said Edward, ‘may I suggest that, Madame Michel, an interrupted burglar?’

  ‘Yes, I will talk to them,’ said Madame Michel, and she and Celeste left him alone with Katerina.

  Edward went to the still open French windows and closed them. He sat down beside Katerina, who lay quite calmly, her hair a spilling mass of dark auburn, her eyes full of shadows. She reached for his hand, her fingers closing tightly around his.

  ‘What a self-satisfied idiot I was,’ he said.

  ‘A kiss, please?’ said Katerina.

  He kissed her, and she felt the warmth and the ardour of his lips, the kiss intense because of his relief that she had survived.

  ‘Thank God for Celeste,’ he said. ‘I should have guessed, I should have known, there had to be two of them.’

  ‘Celeste has been brave,’ said Katerina, ‘and God has been good. Do you see, Edward, we’ve been given life as well as love. Life together. I was determined not to die. I thought of you. I prayed. Celeste answered my prayers. You aren’t to blame, my darling. How could anyone have known?’

  He regarded her in new wonder. She had just escaped a torturing death. But her eyes were full of light now, her smile a caress. From where did she get her beauty and her courage? From whom did she get them?

  ‘I wonder at you,’ he said, ‘I wonder why, when there must be thousands of better men, you’re so set on me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m very set on you,’ she said, ‘you will never escape me, never. Edward, you must not put yourself down so much. You are the kindest of men, you are like Papa—’ She stopped. She went on. ‘I want you. I want you to love me. Will you marry me very quickly, please?’

  ‘I shall love you,’ he said, ‘I shall marry you.’

  Celeste came in with cognac for both of them. She sat on the bed and watched them sip it. She smiled. Her enchanting Madame was warm with colour. They had been kissing. Celeste was sure of it.

  ‘Shall I tell her?’ said Edward.

  ‘No, I will,’ smiled Katerina. ‘Celeste, Edward is going to marry me. He has taken his courage into both hands—’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Celeste flowered into bright joy for them. ‘I’m so happy for you, for both of you – there, I knew it, didn’t I? I knew you only had to meet, to see each other – oh, blessed Saint Mary, as Mama would say, I’m enchanted and overcome.’

  ‘I share that feeling,’ said Edward. Celeste kissed him demonstratively. ‘Celeste, you are truly your mama’s angel. Were both the hotel doors bolted tonight?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Celeste. ‘You insisted, and Mama has been very careful about that.’

  ‘The French windows can’t be opened from the outside,’ said Edward.

  Celeste stared. Katerina watched Edward out of eyes that were always drawn to him.

  ‘M’sieur,’ breathed Celeste, ‘Madame’s door – it was open when I came – it was open.’

  ‘And so, having been caught, my little chicken, and the hotel aroused, he escaped by the windows. Celeste, did all the guests show themselves?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Celeste.

  ‘Then, with you and your mama, we’ll check the bedrooms.’

  ‘Oh,’ gasped Celeste, ‘you’re pointing a dreadful finger, Edward – you’re saying one of the guests will be missing.’

  ‘Yes, Celeste. Shall we check?’

  ‘Edward,’ said Katerina, ‘look for a woman.’

  ‘Madame?’ gasped Celeste.

  ‘Her scent is still here,’ said Katerina.

  Madame Michel agreed to make the check. It meant disturbing some of the guests again.

  One was missing.

  The room of Mademoiselle Dupont was empty.

  Edward, remembering the peculiar relationship affected by Valery and the Frenchwoman, thought with hindsight that this had been the clumsiest way of covering their partnership. That they were French-speaking Bolshevik agents he had no doubt. Some Russians spoke French better than they spoke Russian.

  He asked Madame Michel to say nothing. He and the countess would, with regret, leave after the inquest on Dr Kandor. It was essential, and he begged Madame Michel to ask for no explanations.

  ‘M’sieur,’ said Madame Michel, ‘we’ve known you many years. It has been more than a pleasure. You have helped Celeste to become what she is by all the time you’ve spared for her, and all the kindnesses you’ve shown her. I am proud of my daughter, and I honour you, m’sieur. I will ask nothing of you except that you regard us always as your friends. The inspector is coming here tomorrow afternoon, to talk to everyone who had some small acquaintance of Monsieur Valery, There’s no reason why you need to be here, or the countess, for neither of you had anything to do with him at all.’

  ‘It occurs to me,’ said Edward, sitting with her in her little room, ‘that the inspector will concern himself primarily with the sudden disappearance of Mademoiselle Dupont, about whom the less said the better as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘But she should be guillotined, m’sieur, for what she tried to do.’

  ‘Well, it was a woman according to the countess. A woman is absent, one Mademoiselle Dupont. That’s all we know for certain. Let the inspector put his own interpretation on her absence.’

  Madame Michel managed a faint smile. That was almost piquant, she thought. More than one guest would be able to inform the police that Monsieur Valery had cast eager eyes at Mademoiselle Dupont, and that she had responded with quite contemptuous in-difference. Her unexplained departure would most certainly make Inspector Cartier concentrate on her, not for her attempt on the countess’s life, of which he would be told nothing, but in connection with Monsieur Valery’s death. Yes, it was piquant, almost.

  ‘No guests, m’sieur, are aware of what happened in the countess’s room.’

  ‘Tha
nk you, dear madame,’ said Edward. ‘I really think she should be spared questions when she’s already answered more than enough about Dr Kandor. I’ll take her for an afternoon drive, to Nice, I think, where perhaps we can apply for a special marriage licence.’

  ‘Marriage licence?’ Madame Michel’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘You see in me,’ smiled Edward, ‘the most fortunate of men.’

  ‘Is that true, m’sieur?’ said the astonished Madame Michel.

  ‘Quite true,’ he said, and stood up to receive her felicitations. She embraced him with romantic fervour.

  ‘I’m happy for you, most happy,’ she said, and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘So, a little afternoon excursion in search of a marriage licence. Entirely irresistible, m’sieur. Please, now, return to your bed. The countess has had a shock, but has borne it bravely. Mademoiselle Dupont, whoever she is, has gone. Nothing will be said by Celeste or me concerning her actions. We all have our secrets. Celeste is going to sleep in the countess’s room. So go to your bed in peace, m’sieur.’

  Edward took breakfast early. Even so, Colonel Brecht and Rosamund were in advance of him. No mention was made of Mademoiselle Dupont. Everyone was in blissful ignorance of her flight. Colonel Brecht, finishing his coffee, approached Rosamund with a diffident smile.

  ‘In thirty minutes, Rosamund?’ he said.

  ‘For our walk?’ she said.

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ said the colonel, and with a smile at Edward left the dining room. He paused in the lobby to look around.

  Rosamund took up her coffee and sat down at Edward’s table.

  ‘There’s a mystery, Edward.’

  ‘Oh, there are always mysteries, Rosamund.’

  ‘Do whisper a few words at least?’ she suggested.

  ‘Well, the burglar must have decided there were pickings to be had at the Corniche. Fortunately, Celeste was awake, and that disposed very quickly of the intruder. Not much of a mystery, I’m afraid.’

  ‘A burglar?’ said Rosamund. ‘Dear me. Two suicides and a burglar? We are living, aren’t we? La Roche is suddenly the centre of drama. Edward, my dear man, I’m not a simpleton, you know.’

  ‘Well, since you’re not,’ said Edward, ‘the reason why the countess and I have decided to leave next week—’