Autumn Leaves

by Tessa Lunney

  “Hold on.” I heard him chatting to Mavis at reception. “Now that I’m sitting in Mavis’s warm seat, I am. Fire away.”

  “Has Fox been to Paris recently?”

  “My man has, but he didn’t mention his boss.”

  “Ask him. I’m told Fox flies here regularly. It would explain… things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as how he knows what I’m doing when I can’t see any watchers.”

  “No beggar boys? No young men reading newspapers?”

  “As almost nobody flies, it’s so bloody expensive, it didn’t even occur to me that he could. Or would, just to spy on me.”

  “Like a jealous lover?”

  “Too close to the bone, Bertie.” I swallowed against the nausea of this thought. “Anything else to report? How is your man?”

  “He says he doesn’t want to talk about politics in the bedroom. But he can’t stop himself, so he goes into my little kitchenette and speaks about it there instead. He fulminates on the inherent moral righteousness of parliamentary democracy anchored by a monarchy. I tease him, of course, and take the side of the Communists, or nationalists, or anarchists, or absolute monarchists, whoever I can, really. It’s a wonderful way to see in the dawn. He’s hardest on the Communists. He hates them and all the internationalist anti-hierarchy they stand for. He’s most ambivalent about chaps like Mussolini and his nationalists, says they can be worked with, doesn’t see them as much of a threat.”

  “Quite the chatterbox.”

  “Like an undergraduate who’s just lost his virginity.”

  “Keep asking him about Mussolini. Read up on fascism so you can ask him some pointed questions. What is Mussolini doing? Does Britain support him? What about German Fascists? And so on.”

  “That might take a bit of time. He’s away at the moment.”

  “Where? A flight to Paris?”

  “He never tells me. I just search his pockets for matchboxes and coasters and then I know he’s been to Dublin or Rotterdam or what have you.”

  “How lucky you are that he’s so careless.”

  “It’s why I chose him. That, and his bedroom eyes.”

  “One more thing—see if you can find out anything about a Cassius. Some of Tom’s static suggests that Fox has a brother.”

  “Now there’s a thought to freeze the blood. Ah, must dash, Himself has returned to the office and we have several overdue meetings. Call me after the ball. I want all the breathless first impressions.”

  I lingered by the cigarette vendor, smoking slowly and scanning the crowd for Delphine. She saw me but pretended not to, her head raised a little higher as she called out her wares, until she stood by me.

  “Two boxes please.”

  “I have run out of your favorite brand, mademoiselle. But if you come with me, I can find some for you.” She led me to a secluded corner next to her little bag of belongings. She handed me a box of matches from her bag; the girl was a natural.

  “So, Delphine, what did you see?” I put the money in her hand immediately and she stood a little straighter.

  “No one else like me was following you. I asked one or two of the other sellers outside the museum, but they hadn’t seen you, they were looking at the tourists. When you came out, I saw one man watching you and your friend until you got in the taxi, then he walked away.”

  “What did he look like? How did he act?”

  “You can tell if someone’s watching. He smoked and pretended to look around but his body was always toward you and your friend. He was just kicking the cobbles until you came out and then he was very careful about looking casual.” She let herself smile a bit at my murmured encouragement. “He had white hair, a very nice suit, beautiful shoes, so shiny and a deep red color, he smoked a black cigarette… it’s the truth, mademoiselle!”

  I must have looked angry as she suddenly bristled.

  “I believe you. I just wish it wasn’t the truth.” White hair and black cigarette, beautiful suit and shoes—could that be anyone but Fox? If so, had Fry lied to me or had Fox flown here without his knowledge? Was he going to turn up here, at the station, at my apartment?

  “Are you sure he didn’t follow us?”

  “You got in a taxi and he walked the other way.”

  “Very good, Delphine, I’ll need you again soon.” I looked her up and down. Her face was expectant above the rags she wore.

  “I’ll come to the station tomorrow to get you those boots. I can’t have you work for me in these ridiculous clogs. Fair?”

  “More than fair, mademoiselle.” Her pallor receded as she curtsied and moved away to sell more of her matches. I hoped she kept some of the money for proper food and a warmer coat. I hoped whoever was watching us left her alone, but if it was Fox, then the hope was in vain.

  25

  “lady of the evening”

  Apparently, I needed diamonds. This was Theo’s excuse for not meeting me in Montparnasse, for oh-so-gently insisting that I meet him at his apartment and travel with him, Felix, and Irène to Chanel’s ball. He assumed I didn’t have any diamonds, but his assumption was only partly correct. My diamonds were my mother’s and were kept in a safe in a London bank, along with the money from the sale of her house. So, it was true that, in Paris, I had no diamonds. If I was going to wear diamonds, I would need to borrow them from his sister. I could think of worse fates.

  A dress, however, was another matter. Balls in Montparnasse meant wearing whatever you could afford, from sumptuous velvet to your only paint-stained trousers, and sometimes both. That would not do for Chanel. Neither would actually wearing Chanel, that would be too sycophantic by half, and wearing Chanel’s rivals would only irritate her. Something from my mother’s wardrobe would have been perfect, a high-necked long-sleeved floaty stripey piece of nonsense from before I was born, but none of those had survived the turn of the century. After meeting Fry and Delphine, I had gone straight to my neighbor, a seamstress with deft fingers and an eye for the modern, and paid her extra to whip up something for me tout suite.

  Odile did not disappoint. After only two fittings she presented me with my gown, gloves included, and even helped me to dress. I had to wriggle into the black silk sheath, it was cut so close to my body, done up with only three buttons over my buttocks at the bottom of a very low back. Over the top of this was white silk gauze, so fine it was almost transparent. On the gauze Odile had embroidered constellations, not merely stars but their precise pattern in the northern French sky, “I got it from a book, mademoiselle, the designs were so pretty.” She had been doing this work on her own, waiting for the right commission. All she had to embroider for me were the long black gloves that had phases of the moon from elbow to wrist in silvery white thread.

  Theo rushed downstairs to greet me before my star-patterned shoes had even emerged from the taxi.

  “Isn’t this against protocol, Theo? Shouldn’t you wait for me to be announced?”

  “But how could I let this slice of heaven stand in the street?” He kissed me three times on the cheek. “You outshine us all, of course.”

  “You don’t look half-bad in a tuxedo.”

  “I had enough practice before we left Russia. So many balls.” His sigh somehow conveyed both impatience and sadness. I squeezed his hand as we walked upstairs.

  Felix looked as royally dashing as I would have expected, especially as his tuxedo jacket was white. Irène wore white to match him, a long floaty gown that stopped at the ankles, with drapes to and from the wide waist sash. They each had one black pearl object, a pin for Felix and a necklace for Irène.

  “My mother’s,” said Felix. “She knew her jewels.” He kissed his wife. “Please be quick, Irène. There are only so many ways I can try to convince your brother to join me and Edouard in our cause.”

  Champagne was pressed into my hand as we walked through the apartment to Irène’s room. The place was a museum to Art Nouveau, all green and gold with red wood carved in curves. Her dressi
ng room was no less lush, dark pink like the inside of a rose or a wound. Her maid placed the jewels on me, selecting them out of a chinoiserie box, while I sat at her dressing table in front of an enormous gilt-edged mirror. First came a hair slide with tiny diamonds in a pattern of stars. Then, on a black velvet choker, a big clear stone. I had never really been excited by diamonds, but this one was so perfect and pure, it seemed to contain all the light of the sun as it sat against my skin.

  “You mustn’t mind Felix when he talks politics.” Irène spoke to my reflection.

  “I don’t. I enjoy it.”

  “Thank you, Nadya.” She dismissed the maid. “It’s so hard for him, after all he’s done for Russia, for the monarchy. And of course, the news of our cousins… Would you…” Her eyes were wide and concerned. “Theo won’t listen to me. He needs to give up that taxi-driving. Felix will support him. You agree with me, I’m sure.”

  While I was wearing enough jewelery to feed Montparnasse for a decade, I thought it best to pretend I did.

  “Felix wants Theo to join him in his politics. It will be good for Theo. Our cousin, Dmitri Pavlovich, is part of the group; Felix assures me. Our brother Nikita is too.”

  “I’ll speak to him.”

  “If you would. He listens to you.” And the second clause, though I don’t know why, hung in the air. “You’re welcome here anytime, naturally.”

  I wasn’t very grateful for this afterthought. I just smiled and followed her back to the champagne.

  * * *

  It turned out that Theo’s cousin, Dmitri Pavlovich, had found Chanel a ballroom that belonged to a Russian princess. Black and white marble tiles lined the floor. The walls were white, without a hint of gold or silver, not even on a window latch or door handle. Across this unrelenting pallor hung silky black banners from the ceiling like storm clouds. Vases held white roses and macabre black ones. Black lacquer chinoiserie screens, patterned with pale cranes or peonies, stood strategically around black chairs. All the drinks were white, served by waiters dressed entirely in black; they were even masked. The only warmth in the scene were the candles. The ballroom had no electricity, so the golden light and heat from hundreds of candles made the room glow. In the center was Coco Chanel herself, all in black, in a dress shorter than everyone else’s, hair shorter than mine, and a ring with single huge black diamond that positively sang of luxury, rarity, and pain. Dmitri Pavlovich was next to her, a proper host. On closer inspection I could see black cats embroidered on her dress, stretching and moving with feline precision, even down the chiffon train that extended from the back of her gown. She smiled lazily, her eyes calculating; I could see how perfect the dress was for her. I imagined how she would have purred against Dmitri Pavlovich, exciting him with an occasional flash of claw.

  “Kiki Button,” she said. “The blonde Australienne. Yes, I’ve heard of you and not just from Theo.” She looked me up and down. “Heavenly,” though she couldn’t have sounded more disdainful if she really was a princess. “You’re our only exotic, Mademoiselle Button.”

  “I’ll place myself on a plinth, then, and be part of the entertainment,” I said, but her responding laugh had a cruel tinge.

  The masked band played a mixture of sweet jazz, music hall, and dance classics from the last decade. Food on the supper table was all monochrome too—white grapes in gin jelly, black caviar, oysters, white fish in white sauce, blackberry tart, blackcurrant jelly, slices of white fruit that you couldn’t tell if it was apple, pear, or melon, until you put it in your mouth. I watched the other guests come in. The men invariably wore black tie, making Felix stand out in his white jacket. The women in black wore white boas and shawls, while those in white wore dramatic black belts and black chokers, all looking like chess pieces on the dancefloor. At one point the waiters served black cocktails made with a licorice liqueur, and the whole room smelt of lollies. I made mental notes of everything, I said yes to every dance, I smiled until my face ached.

  As I was being led off the dance floor, Theo caught my eye and nodded toward his brother-in-law. Felix was laughing too hard with a couple of pasty-faced men, all guffawing in a way that reminded me forcibly of my father. Theo came over and whispered in my ear.

  “These are his princes, you know, his ‘good men.’ The ones who’ll change Europe.”

  “Will they speak to me?”

  “Kiki, ma chérie, everyone will speak to you.” Theo grabbed two martinis from a tray and slid in next to Felix.

  “Of course, Eddy will be in charge of the organization,” said a tall man with a narrow chin. “I mean, we’re not secretaries!”

  “Exactly!” said a dapper one through his lisp. “We’re soldiers.”

  “We’re soldiers of civilization,” said Felix and the other men toasted the sentiment. “Ah, please allow me to introduce my brother-in-law, Prince Feodor Alexandrovich.”

  “Please, call me Theo.” I could see by the way he shook their hands that their handshakes were weak to the point of condescension. “And this is Mademoiselle Kiki Button.”

  “You’re soldiers of civilization,” I said, suppressing a shudder as they kissed my hand. “Whose civilization?”

  “Whose? There is only one civilization.”

  “Western civilization.”

  “European Christian civilization, as we’ve taught to savages all over the world!”

  “The savages appear to be in your own backyards,” I said. Felix wagged a finger at me.

  “Kiki,” he smiled as he raised his eyebrows, “don’t be cheeky.”

  “It’s my job.” I smiled too and just as falsely. “But are you serious? Who else is in your civilizing army? Who is your commander? Surely not Denikin.”

  There was a lot of bluster and nonsense after I mentioned the name of the commander of the defeated White Russian Army. They started talking about his charm, the look in his eye when he spoke to his men, the rumble of his laugh; he did not sound like the “tempestuous leader” of the mission clues.

  “You sound like you knew him personally.”

  “Of course we do!” said Dapper Lisper. “Don’t you know who we are?”

  “Well, I might do if I knew your names.”

  More bluster and wet kisses on my hands as they exclaimed their apologies. Theo looked embarrassed, though whether for them or by them I couldn’t tell. Felix looked amused.

  “Roman Petrovich.” This was Narrow Chin.

  “He’s our cousin,” said Theo.

  “Distant cousin,” said Felix, “but close ally. They both are. Roman introduced me to Edouard, actually.”

  “Edouard was at my wedding last year. He needed special dispensation as someone not of royal birth.”

  The men shook their heads as though they were far more modern than such rules and strictures.

  “I’m Prince Gottfried of Hohenlohe-Langenburg,” said Dapper Lisper. “Well, my father is the prince, but I’m the heir… though exactly what I’ll be the heir to in a few years is under question.”

  “Which is why we’re here,” said Felix.

  “So… who is your commander?” I asked. “Edouard?”

  “Goodness, no!” Gottfried snorted. “I haven’t even met him yet. I heard he’ll be at the next gathering.”

  “He might be at the next gathering,” Roman corrected him. “But I think this… movement, if you will, has no leaders. We are the leaders, it’s our birthright. This movement is simply to return us to power.”

  “Like the White Army?”

  “The White Army was undone by the peasants. This is a movement of princes.”

  “The Fascists, yes?” I pretended ignorance. “But… the fascist leaders aren’t princes, are they? I didn’t think Mr. Mussolini was a nobleman.”

  “Oh no, he’s rabble!” said Gottfried.

  “Vulgar man,” said Roman, “But useful. After the Cossacks betrayed us, we have to use what we can to restore Europe to order.”

  “And who we can, Italian tradesmen, German
clerks,” said Gottfried.

  “And there are some proper German men,” Roman smiled at Gottfried, “for all their being on the losing side in the war, who know how Europe should be run.”

  “I’d love to come to your next gathering.”

  They looked at me with suspicion and condescension.

  “If Theo comes, he might like to invite you,” said Felix.

  “I believe Edouard is bringing some princes to the next gathering who still own their lands,” said Roman. “Polish and German.”

  “And French? English?” I asked. They laughed; bugger.

  “They don’t own land,” said Gottfried. “Not real land, not like we do.”

  “Did,” said Theo quietly, but they ignored him.

  “They think politics is beneath them, that it’s for factory workers and paupers,” said Roman.

  “Especially the English. They think the channel protects them from ideas.” Gottfried scoffed.

  “It’s probably why Sasha likes it there,” said Felix. “That’s the big brother Romanov. An heir, perhaps, if there was a throne to be heir to.”

  “There will be.” Roman frowned.

  “Yes, there will be.” Felix sniffed, then held out his glass to a passing waiter. “Ah, champagne! I was beginning to think this wasn’t a real party.”

  “Of course it’s a party! We’re here,” said a handsome face; he looked like Theo.

  “Nikita!” Felix exclaimed, “You came after all!”

  “I insisted,” said the woman at his side.

  “My brother Nikita and his wife, Maria,” said Theo with a big smile, “And this is Mademoiselle Kiki Button.”

  “Ah, the blonde Australienne!” said Nikita. “Dimka will be happy to see you.”

  “He’s here?” said Theo.

  “Here!” and Nikita waved to a young man bounding in the door. And thus, with bubbles and kisses in French and English, politics was banished. I was properly launched into the world of Russian princes in Parisian exile. As Felix winked at me, all I could think of was how Bertie would squeal with delight.