Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (58 page)

'If Madame will please wait here?'

Senda nodded. Too nervous to sit, she paced the huge wine-
coloured oriental carpet. The wait was interminable.

Finally, her ears caught the distant but unmistakable sound
of approaching footsteps. Her skin prickled hotly, and she
forced herself to stand still, taking a series of rapid breaths to
ease her fluttering nerves. To stifle the painful cough which
always threatened.

The door opened and she turned slowly toward it, forcing
the same expressionless facade on her face she had used in
Russia when her path happened to cross Vaslav's in public.
Her 'public face', she had called it.

Count Kokovtsov entered the room.

The moment she saw him, her face drained completely of
colour.
What on earth!
she thought.
Where was Vaslav?
She
stifled the cry of disappointment before it left her lips.

Slowly he drew shut the door and turned to face her, his
expression reserved and aloof. 'Madame Bora,' he murmured.
He came closer, reached for her hand, and suavely raised it to
his lips. The pigeon-blood ruby adorning his long thin finger
glowed obscenely. His dark eyes glittered, and she suppressed
a shudder. 'It is a pleasure to see you again.' He regarded her
inquisitively. 'We . . . were afraid some tragedy might have
befallen you. It pleases me to see that it has not.'

She forced a smile she did not feel. All too fresh in her mind
was that terrible scene at the railroad yard when the Danilov
train had pulled out. The Count had deliberately turned the Princess's attention away from the window so that she could
not see Senda, and then he had stared back at her, his smile
triumphant and mocking. She reminded herself not to be
taken in by any display of sincerity on his part. He was a
dangerous man, not to be underestimated.

'And it is a pleasure to see you also, Count Kokovtsov. It
has been a long time.'

He nodded gravely. 'Nearly two years. That is indeed a long
time.' He motioned to a chair. 'Won't you have a seat?'

Senda tucked her long skirt beneath her before sitting down.

He lowered himself soundlessly into a chair facing hers,
his every motion somehow insectile, as if he were a giant,
poisonous spider.

'You are looking well, as always', he said mildly. 'You
always were beautiful.'

'On the stage it was a marketable commodity,' she said
modestly, lowering her eyes. 'Here . . .' Her voice trailed off
and she shrugged. Then she raised her head. 'And the Prince?'
She was succinct. 'How are he and the Princess taking their
exile?'

He was silent for a moment. 'Not well, I fear,' he said
slowly. 'It has made for some drastic changes. There is a sig
nificant difference between visiting a place by choice and being
forced to live there in exile.'

She smiled bleakly.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then heaved a
painful sigh. 'About the Prince . . .'

'Yes?' she asked sharply, sitting up straighter.

'He told me about your letter and your previous visit.'

She drew a deep breath and waited, her heart hammering,
her pulse speeding.

'I have tried to tell him repeatedly that exile does not necess
arily mean one has to lock oneself away. However—' He
sighed again and shook his head mournfully. A tight sad smile
hovered on his thin lips. 'I had hoped that you could be of
assistance.'

'Me?' Puzzled, Senda tilted her head to one side. 'How?'

'He is no longer the Prince you . . .' Mordka paused and
coughed delicately into a fist. '. . . you once knew.'

'Why?' she asked, suddenly alarmed. 'Is he ill?'

'His illness is not of the body, I fear. We have had a parade
of the finest doctors and specialists in all of Europe through
here. Their consensus is unanimous. The Prince suffers from
a malaise of the spirit.' Count Kokovtsov looked at her. 'He
will see no one.
No one.
I am truly sorry. This comes as a
severe shock to you, I can see. But believe me, Madame Bora,
it is what
he
wants. What
he
has ordered.'

Is it? she couldn't help thinking. She bit down on her lip.
He was describing a different man altogether, not the Vaslav
she knew. Could the Prince have changed so much? Or was it
a clever fabrication, another Machiavellian ploy by this arthro
pod of a man?

'These are trying times for everyone,' Kokovtsov said with
finality. 'The Prince and the Princess . . . myself . . . surely for you, also. You must understand, he will not see you.'

'I don't believe that. I cannot!'

'I have my orders. He will see no one. I will arrange for a
car to take you back.' She was hardly aware of Kokovtsov leading her out through the halls, back to the soaring foyer, past the curving marble staircase to the front door.

A million thoughts assailed her mind with hailstorm inten
sity. Had Count Kokovtsov spoken the truth? Or had she been
tricked? And now she was being pushed aside, hustled out—
and quickly.
Something was wrong at the château. Terribly
wrong.

Somehow, she just knew it.

She would have to find a way to get back in there, to con
front Vaslav face to face and see for herself. She could not,
would not,
take the Count's words at face value. He had
tricked Vaslav into leaving her behind in Russia. She certainly
could not trust him now.

Count Kokovtsov watched her departure from a second floor window. 'The bitch will be back,' he told himself in a low, sure
voice. His fingers drummed against the sides of his trousers.
'I only wonder what her next move will be.'
Unknown to him, so did Senda.

Chapter 26

Less than two weeks after Senda's second futile visit to the
château, the plan she had wracked her brains to create was
unexpectedly dropped in her lap.

It was Saturday, and Inge had spent the morning shopping. When she came back from bargaining at the open-air market, her breathing was laboured and her face was flushed beetroot
red and glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration from hurry
ing. 'Hello! hello!' she called, heading straight for the kitchen.
'I've picked up a very intriguing piece of news.'

'Well?' Senda demanded.

'One of the finest homes in the area is looking for part-time
help.'

Senda jerked. She turned around slowly to stare open-
mouthed at Inge, who was coming out of the pantry. 'You
don't mean—'

'You get three guesses,' Inge cut in, her cornflower-blue
eyes sparkling brightly.

'It couldn't be . . .' Senda could not bring herself to pro
nounce the name aloud.

'Now it's down to two guesses.' Inge smiled.

'It . . . it
can't
be . . .'

'It is,' Inge crowed triumphantly. 'The Château Gemini!'

The following Monday, Senda was back at the château, this
time as a part-time maid. Nobody had stopped her because no
one had recognized her—not the gatekeeper or the majordomo, not even Count Kokovtsov, who she passed twice in
the halls, her eyes and face demurely lowered. She had put all
her theatrical make-up tricks to good use. She looked dourly
plain, an effect increasingly simple to achieve: her features
had become austere and bony from the steady weight loss she
had suffered since the onset of her illness. She had powdered
her tell-tale hair nearly snow white, wore it pulled severely
back, and had added shading to her already too-hollow
cheeks. She looked like a gaunt, old woman twice her age.
She was virtually unrecognizable.

The following afternoon, she spent lunchtime walking in the parkland in front of the château. Just as she came out of the
cluster of trees that hid the château, she was forced to stop
and wait. Her path was blocked by an army of strutting, snowy
white peacocks crossing the drive, dragging their magnificent
plumes behind them. Between their persistent, ear-splitting
cries of
'Pf-ow! Pf-ow! ,'
she could hear an engine up ahead
coming from the direction of the gate. The noise grew louder
as it approached. Then she saw the source of the noise. A
huge open white touring car was rounding the curve, bearing
down on the peacocks. Not twenty-five feet away, the car
coasted to a halt to let the unperturbed birds by when—was it
possible?—or was she hallucinating?

Seated in the front of the phaeton was a tan-uniformed
chauffeur, his head crowned by a peaked cloth cap. And sitting
in the rear, flanked by Count Kokovtsov on his left and the Princess on his right, was her former lover, her protector!

She couldn't believe her eyes. 'Vaslav!' she screamed sud
denly, her voice reverberating with new-found strength. Her
hands clapped a rhythmic tattoo on her lips as she jumped up
and down.
'Vaslav!'

Hearing his name, he turned his head slowly.

She bore down on the car, racing toward it.

Count Kokovtsov leaned forward, rapping the raised glass divider with his knuckles.
'Drive, you idiot,
'
he shrieked at the
chauffeur.
'Drive!'

The chauffeur twisted around to face him. Even through the sounds of the idling engine, Senda could hear his every
word with crystal-like clarity. 'But the peacocks—'