But he wanted only the orthodox, to feel her against him, to kiss her mouth while he entered her body. She moved beneath him and murmured, but he knew enough about women to doubt she had an orgasm, although she was well aware when he climaxed, and then lay beside him, nestling.
“I would not like you ever to leave me,” she said.
“I hadn’t thought of ever doing that,” he told her.
Until tomorrow?
But when he awoke, tomorrow, it was to gaze at Anna, standing at the foot of the bed.
*
Caterina was apparently still in a deep sleep. Berkeley sat up, uncertain whether he might be about to die.
“John Smith,” Anna said. “I could not believe my ears when my servants told me someone by that name was here. Did you come to see me, or my daughter?”
Caterina had apparently not been asleep after all. Now she also sat up, pushing hair from her eyes. “He came to see you, Mama.”
“And encountered you.”
“He needs your help, Mama. He has lost everything, because of you.”
Anna regarded them both for several seconds. She was in every way exactly as Berkeley remembered her, even to the large droopy hat – but this had to be a new one, as she had lost the other in the escape from Seinheit.
“If you would care to get dressed, Mr Smith,” she said. “We can breakfast together, downstairs.”
She closed the door behind herself, and Berkeley looked at Caterina.
“Just tell her you love me,” she said. “And she will not be angry.”
Berkeley kissed her and got dressed, trying to remember if at any time in their Carpathian adventure he had told Anna that he loved her. He did not think he had; which would not, in the eyes of most mothers, provide the slightest excuse. But this was an unusual mother. And daughter.
He went downstairs to the dining room, where Anna was seated at the table pouring coffee.
“We thought you were coming in on the Belgrade train,” he said, lamely. But he was also curious.
“I decided to come early. On horseback.”
“Was that a sudden decision?”
“My life is composed of sudden decisions, Mr Smith.”
“Were you in danger?”
She smiled. “I was informed that there was a man in Belgrade, looking for me. I preferred to meet this man on my own ground, shall we say.”
“You mean Colonel Savos told you about me.”
“Colonel Savos, no. But I have friends in the police department, or I would not still be here. So tell me why you are really here.”
“What Caterina said was the truth.”
“And you came to me? I find that hard to accept.”
“I hate to admit it, but I came here because I felt you owed me something.”
“I do. My life. And you suppose the way for me to repay you would be to employ you? Are you not aware that most of those I employ wind up dead?”
“Including your own husband.”
“Including my own husband,” she agreed. “I would hardly call that adequate repayment.”
“You told me once, in justification of your actions, that you are fighting a war. I am a soldier. I know nothing but wars. Yours would appear to be the most justifiable war going, at the moment. There is also the fact that we know each other, that you know my capabilities. As for being killed, that is an occupational hazard, for a soldier.”
She gave him one of the long, appraising stares indulged in by her daughter. Then she asked, “Did you enjoy sex with Caterina?”
“Very much. I should explain—”
“Explanations for things past, things done, are usually a waste of time. It is the future that matters. I assume she told you about herself.”
“Yes.”
“And so, were you acting out of sympathy, or because the thought of that beautiful creature being repeatedly raped and beaten aroused you?”
“I was acting because I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and because I felt that she wanted it as badly as I. With respect, Anna.”
Another long stare. “Very well,” she said. “You will be married. Today.”
His head jerked. “Married?”
“Is it not the custom, even in England, that a man should marry a girl with whom he has had sex?”
“Ah . . .” Think, goddamit. But that was impossible at the moment. “Yes, it is.”
“So, then, would you not like to be married to my daughter? Then you could have sex with her every night, when you are here.”
“Yes,” he said. Shit, shit, shit, he thought. But had he ever been going to hand her over to the Austrians? “I think that would be wonderful.”
“Good. And do not worry about her mind. It is very strong. It has not suffered because of what happened.”
“Even if it has left her dedicated to killing Austrians.”
“It has left her dedicated to avenging her father, Mr Smith. As your life will now be similarly dedicated, as she will be your wife.”
*
“Is it permissible to ask, sir, exactly what is going on?” Lockwood said. “The talk below stairs is of a wedding. Your wedding. Today.”
“Yes,” Berkeley said.
“Sir?”
“I’m afraid I have got us into a right royal mess, Harry. I am to marry Miss Slovitza.”
“Miss Slovitza, sir.”
“That’s the one. We were caught in flagrante delicto by her mother, and I must pay the price. Not that I wouldn’t want to marry her, all things being equal.”
“But they aren’t, sir.”
“Oh, quite.”
“Can you . . . ah . . . complete our mission in these circumstances, sir?”
“No, Harry, I don’t believe I can.”
“Did you ever mean to, sir?” Revealing that Lockwood was far more perceptive than he appeared.
“I don’t believe I did, Harry. I’ve been playing it by ear, and hoping that something would turn up.”
“And so it has, by jingo. If you’ll pardon me, sir.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“So, are we going to make a run for it?”
Berkeley raised his eyebrows.
“Well, sir . . .”
“If we make a run for it, Harry, or if I make a run for it, I will in any event have failed in my mission, and may well find myself extradited to Austria on charges of murder. If I stay here, well . . . things may turn out.”
“How, sir? Apart from the girl, of course.”
“I really don’t know. I have been dealt a hand; I suppose you could say I dealt it to myself, and I must play it to the best of my ability. But there is no need for you to be involved. You have my permission to return to England. I have sufficient funds for that purpose. Once there, you had better report to the War Office that I have deserted, and then I would also like you to report to my parents.”
Lockwood considered. “And Miss Gracey, sir?”
Berkeley sighed. “Her too, I suppose.”
Lockwood considered some more. “I would rather remain here with you, sir.”
“Harry, that is damned decent of you, but I am about to become an anarchist. If you stay, you will become one too. I am not sure we will ever be able to return to England, but in any event, it will not be for a very long time.”
“There’s a shame, sir. But as you say, if it’s the hand we’ve been dealt . . .”
“Your family?”
“I have no family, sir.”
Berkeley considered. He most certainly did have a family. He would have to write to them. Would they understand? He doubted that they would. As for Julia . . . not to mention England, Home and Beauty.
He had never expected it to turn out this way. But at least he would have Harry. “Well, then, Harry,” he said. “Shoulder to shoulder, eh?”
“As always, sir.” Lockwood winked. “Who knows, I might get married myself, one of these days. They’re a handsome lot, below stairs.”
*
Berkeley understood that he was required to do nothing but remain in his room until six that evening when the ceremony would begin, but he was surprised to be visited by his bride in the middle of the afternoon.
He was a man who had always prided himself on his pragmatic approach to life, tinged of course with that romantic streak which was a definite weakness. Thus he had spent his time trying to rationalise his situation. He could remind himself that had he refused this mission, Gorman would probably have carried out his threat and despatched him to some remote and dangerous – if only from disease – corner of the Empire, where he would not have seen his family or been able to marry Julia in any event.
Was his present situation any different, save that he had accumulated a beautiful bride?
He could also remind himself that he had come here to commit a really dreadful crime, all in the name of keeping the peace between Great Britain and Austria. While all his instincts had pushed the other way. He had nothing against either the Austrian or the Hungarian people; most of those he had met had been charming and friendly. But the Hapsburg tyranny they had accepted and allowed to permeate their lives was about the most hideous regime in the world, after that of Tzarist Russia. Because it did permeate every aspect of their lives. The regime was based on an unholy marriage between a mind-deadening bureaucracy and a soul-destroying secret police. The people of Serbia could hardly be blamed for fearing their immense, greedy neighbour; the people of Bosnia-Herzegovina could equally hardly be blamed for taking the law into their own hands in their efforts to prevent themselves being swallowed alive.
Obviously it was not cricket to go around planting or throwing bombs amidst innocent people; the idea was abhorrent. But neither, he had felt more than once in the past, was the entirely British habit of sitting behind a machine gun flanked by repeating rifles and mowing down thousands of savages armed with spears who were only trying to defend their homeland.
Hardly acceptable thoughts for a British officer. Well, that was behind him now; and so was his oath of allegiance to King and Country. That was the damnable thing. But at least he could never be required to fight against them. He had not changed sides, only sidestepped the issue.
That was better. And now . . . he gazed at Caterina.
“Is it not bad luck, for us to see each other before our wedding?”
“On our wedding day,” she pointed out. “But we have already seen each other today, before we even knew we were going to be wed.”
He took her in his arms. While she was there, he had no doubts.
She turned back her head to look up at him. “I wish you to know that I am sorry.”
“Eh?”
“I wanted to have sex with you. I did not mean you to be dragged into a marriage you cannot want.”
“I do want it.”
“You wish to devote the rest of your life to this clandestine existence?”
“I am going to devote the rest of my life to you. If that means fighting the Austrians, then I am content. I only want you to say that you wish this marriage.”
“Of course I do.”
“A man you have only just met?”
She shook her head. “I met you long ago, because of what my mother told me. When you came, I realised that you were everything she had said of you.”
“And you can forgive me for having, well . . .”
Caterina smiled. “Had her first? Does that not create a bond?”
“Between you and her, or you and me?”
“Between the three of us. John. Is your name really John?”
The last, and perhaps final decision. But he had lived a lie long enough. “No,” he said. “Nor is it Smith.”
*
Anna was amused, when she in turn came to see him, shortly before the ceremony was due to begin. “Is your name really Berkeley Townsend?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“And do you wish this widely known?”
“I’d prefer not. But I did not wish to marry your daughter under an assumed name.”
“I do not know what to make of you, Berkeley. You are such an honourable man, and yet . . .”
“I am throwing in my lot with a bunch of murdering brigands.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that how you see us?”
“No. That is how my family and superiors in England will view the situation, when it becomes known to them.”
“But that will not be for a while yet, and in that time we may be able to accomplish a great deal. What name are you actually travelling under at the moment? Your own?”
“It was thought better to use a pseudonym.”
“Not John Smith again?”
“No. That is the name of the man the Austrians are looking for. My name is Walter Jones.”
“That is the name Savos knows you as?”
“Yes.”
“And you have travel documents for this Mr Jones?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That is excellent. Excellent. Walter Jones. Your bride awaits you.”
*
As the entire service was conducted in Serbo-Croat, Berkeley understood very little of it. He contented himself with responding to Caterina’s nods as their wrists were bound together and the priest placed his hands over them. Anna produced a ring, very old and somewhat ornate for a wedding band, but he placed it on Caterina’s finger and kissed her on the lips. She affected him as powerfully as ever, and she also seemed impatient.
But then she was away to dance, to be seized and whirled in the air by every man present while the guitars strummed and the guests clapped. Berkeley was also required to dance, with all the women in turn. They hugged him and kissed him and chattered at him and he did not understand a word they were saying. But at last it was over, and he was escorted to bed with his bride. For the second time that day, he thought. But this time she was even more responsive.
What have I done? he wondered, as he lay awake in the darkness, Caterina’s head on his shoulders, her scent clouding his nostrils. He was reminded of the Dracula story, as told by Bram Stoker, of the law clerk Jonathan Harker, sucked into a nest of vampires, beautiful and deadly. Harker, as he recalled the story, had resisted to the best of his ability, unavailingly. He had jumped in with both feet, enthusiastically. He wondered how soon he would have to pay the price.
Or was he actually the destroyer, come to root out a band of murderers, no matter how beautiful?
*
It was not a matter he could determine for at least a fortnight: a fortnight he wished would never end. It was, Berkeley thought, perhaps the happiest period of his life. He had torn up his past. He did not know if he had a future. But he had a very beautiful present.
Whatever the Austrians, or indeed the Serbians, might think of Anna Slovitza, she was popular, and therefore safe, in Sabac and the immediately neighbouring countryside. Autumn was now setting in and it was surprisingly cold; the fields were fallow. He and Caterina could gallop their horses across the open country, Caterina’s hair flowing in the wind. They could walk, too, the narrow streets of the old town, greeted everywhere by the locals, most of whom seemed to have known Caterina since birth. They could sit together in the library while Caterina painstakingly taught him the Serbo-Croat dialect, and he responded by teaching her English. They ate sumptuous meals, smiling at each other along the length of the oak table.
And they made love endlessly, with their bodies in bed, and their eyes and lips and fingers at other times.
Anna was often absent; and with her, the dark-visaged man, Karlovy, who had taken Berkeley prisoner when he had first entered the house. Only once did Berkeley raise the question. “Does your mother carry out her schemes
, even in winter?” he asked Caterina.
“More often in winter than at other times,” Caterina said. “There is more darkness.”
“And is she planning something now?”
“I do not know. She does not confide in me.” She gave a little giggle. “Perhaps you should ask her.”
Berkeley decided to let her come to him. And on the fifteenth day of his marriage he was awakened before dawn by Anna.
“We leave in an hour,” she said.
The Raid
Berkeley sat up, as did his bride.
“So soon?” Caterina asked.
“It has been planned,” her mother told her. “Berkeley’s presence is a bonus. Will your man accompany you?”
“He will wish to.”
“Then he will be welcome. Summon him and tell him to prepare.”
“I will come too,” Caterina said, getting out of bed.
“You will stay here,” her mother commanded.
“I must go with my husband.”
“You will stay here and wait for him to return to you.”
Caterina looked at Berkeley.
“That is the most sensible thing, my darling,” Berkeley said. Quite apart from the unbearable thought of her being hit or captured, he still hoped to prevent her from ever actually becoming a killer.
“Say goodbye,” Anna said. “You have five minutes.”
She closed the door behind herself.
Berkeley sat beside his naked wife, embraced her.
“You will come back to me?” she asked.
“I hope to.”
“She frightens me,” Caterina said, resting her head on his shoulder while he caressed her velvet flesh. “Sometimes I hate her.”
“Your business is to love – me. And your mother, to be sure.” He kissed her. “I must go.”
Berkeley rang the bell for Harry, but was already half dressed by the time he arrived. The valet studiously avoided looking at the bed, where Catarina had retired beneath the sheets.
To All Eternity Page 7
