Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (43 page)

'You pity me,' he snapped, turning away. 'That's not love. You're feeling sorry for me. You're only humouring me.
Patronizing me. You don't really want me. Not anymore.'

'But I
do.

'Then prove it.'

'P-prove it?' she stammered.

That crazy light was dancing in his eyes again. 'Make love
to me.' He waggled a finger for her to come closer.
'Now.
'

'Schmarya,' she begged, beginning to cry, 'don't do this to
us. I know you've gone through a lot—'

'You were the one who said it doesn't make any difference,'
he reminded her in a chilly tone. 'Now I want you to prove it.
You can start by getting undressed.'

A sudden cold fright chilled her to her very bones. 'You're
crazy!' she hissed. Her eyes holding his gaze, she started to
back away from him, edging carefully toward the door.

'So you don't really want to do it, do you?' He began to
take a step toward her for each of her steps backward. He
leaned his head toward her. 'This has all just been a lot of talk,
hasn't it?'

This can't be happening! she told herself. What's gotten into
him?

'Schmarya . . .' Her voice had taken on a warning tone.

Without warning, his hand flashed out and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head up and pulling her closer. Her scalp felt as if it were on fire, and she stifled a cry of pain.

He glared at her, his own face inches from hers. 'Now let's
see how much you love me,' he whispered, every word punctu
ated by a spray of spittle.

Her face suddenly drained of colour, and her unblinking
eyes were wide with fright. Her heart thundered so loud it was impossible for her to think. Then her trembling fear gave way
to icy anger. 'Let me go,' she demanded.

He burst into high-pitched, maddened laughter and tugged
harder on her hair.

She winced, but fought the impulse to flay at his arm. 'Schmarya, not like this,' she said quietly, gritting her teeth.
'It will only destroy what little we have left.'

'What's wrong? Do you want to get out of it already?'

She struggled to pull away from him, but he held tight. Then, still clutching her clump of hair with one hand, he
whirled her around, slashed his hand across her back, and tore
wildly at the pearl buttons of her dress. They popped from the
fabric, raining iridescently down at her feet and scattering over
the floor. Then he tugged her dress down to her knees and
attacked her petticoat with the same savage fury. When she
stood naked, her clothes gathered about her legs, he twisted
her around to face him. He fumbled with his drawstring.

Hatred blazed in her narrowed eyes.

'Are you through behaving like an animal?' she asked
coldly. 'I think it's time that I left.'

The fight had suddenly gone out of him, his demeanour now
that of a pathetic, broken man. She wondered whether he
would ever heal from this. He was silent while she slipped into
her clothes and put on her coat. When she reached the door,
his strangled voice stopped her. 'How long will it take to get
my papers in order?'

'A few days,' she answered stiffly. 'Perhaps a week.'

He seemed to consider that. 'All right,' he said finally, nod
ding.

'Schmarya . . .'

'I think you were right,' he said softly, tears streaming down
his face. 'I should leave as soon as possible.'

She stood there, her feet rooted to the spot, her hand frozen
on the cold door handle. 'Where will you go?'

He shrugged. 'Who knows? Palestine, probably.'

She nodded, her eyes immeasurably full of sorrow, her soul
implacably sad. Only after she shut the door of the room
behind her did she crumble. Forcing herself to move down the
hall, she cried for the loss of her first and only love.

Five days later Senda walked slowly toward the glass-
windowed front door of the hospital and looked out. Schmarya
was outside, gripping the iron railing as he awkwardly negotiated the front steps, his wooden leg swinging stiffly in an arc
with every step he took.

She didn't move. She could only stand motionless, her heart
pierced by a stiletto stab of pain as she watched his distorted
image through the wavy glass, watched yet another part of her
life draw to a close.

At least he'd agreed to flee Russia. At least his life would
be spared.

But at what a cost.

She sighed painfully to herself as he was helped into the
sleigh that would whisk him to the harbour and the ferry bound
for Helsinki from which he would go on to . . . where? Then the sleigh driver climbed up onto his seat, snapped the reins,
and the sleigh jingled off into the steel-grey morning.

Senda glanced down at the envelope in her hand. Schmarya had refused the money she had tried to give him to get beyond
Helsinki. He had stonily accepted the travel papers, the one way ticket across the gulf, and the sleigh ride. He wouldn't
take anything else.

For nearly an hour she stood there, unable to move, and
then she sank down onto a hard waiting-room bench. She had
always believed that their love could survive anything, that
they would weave their lives together to infinity and beyond.
But this was where their love had finally gone.

Chapter 18

The hot Crimean sun shone brilliantly, dappling the emerald
waters of the Black Sea below with millions of silver knife
points. Senda sat on the breezy terrace wearing a wide-brimmed ivory silk hat which matched the loose-fitting
brocaded tunic she wore over a long skirt of chestnut silk. She
watched Inge leading Tamara toward the steep steps cut into the rock leading to the tiny private beach below. 'Be careful!'
Senda called out.

Inge waved, acknowledging the warning. 'Are you sure you
don't want to come?' she called back.

'No, I have to stay close by.' Senda sat back, crossed her
arms behind her head, and gazed contentedly out over the
balustrade.

The breeze quickened, lifting the soft ends of her hair, curl
ing the hem of her skirt and tunic, raising the brim of her hat.

Paradise, she thought.

Oh, what a perfectly dreamy summer it was turning out to
be. She had loved Livadia from the instant she had arrived
seven days earlier. Inge had come on ahead two weeks before
that with Tamara, and she had looked forward to being
reunited with them. Naturally, their being together made the
vacation all the sweeter, but even had she been alone, Livadia
would have enchanted her. It was a stupendous natural set
ting, with spectacular craggy cliffs plunging into the warm sea,
lavish palaces tucked away among the flower-fragrant hills,
and strawberry-sheathed slopes where even a blind man had
to do little more than reach down to pluck a handful of the
luscious fresh fruit at random.

Now, relaxing in the sun, she knew it had been a good idea
to come. The past six months had been torturous, with hardly
a moment to herself, and now that she could relax, she realized
how much she had needed the break. Her ten performances
on the way from Moscow—five at Kiev, and then five at
Odessa—had been total triumphs. The two theatres had pulled
out all the stops for their august guest star, and it warmed her
to know that her reputation had preceded her.

She was abruptly brought out of her dreamy recollections
by the shrill ringing of the telephone inside the villa. For a
moment she turned around and stared at the house, unsure
whether to go in and answer it. At any moment, she was
expecting Vaslav's swift motor launch to round the little prom
ontory from the Danilov Palace, and then, while it docked at
the stone jetty of the neighbouring villa, she would have to
hurry along the footpath to meet him halfway.

She stood up and glanced down at the sea. The launch was
not yet in sight.

The telephone continued its insistent jangling.

She rushed inside to answer the shrill rings. 'Hello?'

It was Vaslav. 'I've been detained,' he said without pre
amble. 'Something has come up. I had better stay here and
keep trying to get in touch with the Czar. I've been trying to
reach him for some time, but he is on the
Standart.
The
Imperial family is taking their annual two-week cruise along
the Finnish coast, so it might be hours before I finally get him.
Don't wait for me; do whatever you want.'

So she would not see him today. Just as well, she thought.
She would spend the rest of the day with Tamara. But her curiosity had been aroused. She wondered what had happened. It had to be important for Vaslav to interrupt His
Imperial Majesty's vacation.

'It's something serious, isn't it?' she asked, a note of worry
creeping into her voice.

'It could very well be,' the Prince said cautiously. 'The
people I have spoken to are shrugging it off, but I am not so
sure that's wise. Which is why I have to get in touch with the
Czar. Someone has to apprise him of the serious repercussions
the incident might have.'

'Vaslav, what has happened?' she asked.

He paused, then said quietly, 'Archduke Ferdinand.'

'The Hapsburg prince?'

'Yes. The heir to the throne
...
or he was.'

'What do you mean?'

'He and his wife were assassinated in Sarajevo.'

'Oh, no.' Senda was startled. The news, despite his calm
delivery, caused a chill of dread to ripple along her spine. She
had a sudden premonition of chaos and death.

'What. . . what does this mean?' she whispered.

'That is what I have to talk with the Czar about. War is my
guess. Everyone else thinks not, and I'm afraid that is the opinion his advisers will try to push on the Czar.'