Katerina's Secret (10 page)

‘It has some virtues,' she said, and her smile was richly warm. Edward felt a sense of wonder that any woman could be so exquisitely beautiful when afflicted with such a fragile heart. Her hair was magnificent, her sky-blue dress a silken lightness that caressed her willowy figure. It was fashionably short, the hem flirting around her knees, her white silk stockings lending a gleam of enchantment to her shapely legs. Legs had become unveiled. That was because fashion had become inspired.

Celeste looked on. She was in a little wonder
herself. The two of them seemed to have forgotten her already, and the delicate flush on Madame's face was surely because she was sensitively aware that the meeting was out of the ordinary.

Edward broke an electric silence.

‘Celeste has told you I'm an insular man, I suppose,' he said.

‘That you come from an insular country, England? Yes.' Katerina Pyotrovna's lashes flickered. ‘I should call you Mr Somers, not Monsieur, of course.' Her warm voice became vibrant as she went on. ‘You spoke of pictures. Life is never without pictures, is it? There are new ones every day, making yesterday's quickly out of date. But they're never forgotten, however old they become. They turn into our treasured memories.'

‘One or two are hidden away,' said Edward.

‘Yes, one or two,' she said, and shadows brought clouds to her eyes. ‘Mr Somers, you and I have something in common, I believe.'

‘If you mean neither of us is allowed to dash madly about, yes, we have that in common, Countess.'

‘Yes. But you aren't parading gloom, and I refuse to.' She could have said that while his limiting factor was his poisoned lungs, hers
was the compulsory restriction of the high walls.

‘Well, there's still a great deal of pleasure to be had, isn't there?' said Edward. ‘Invalids hang on to life with more determination than the healthy.'

‘And our doctors are even more determined on our behalf than we are,' she said. ‘Is your doctor full of do's and don'ts?'

‘My doctor,' said Edward, ‘rarely departs from don'ts.'

Celeste was positive now that they'd forgotten her. She did not mind. It was absorbing to watch them, to sense they were searching for words, the right words, the light and conversational words.

‘Tea will be served at three thirty,' said the countess. ‘You will stay for that, Mr Somers, won't you?'

Celeste found a way into the proceedings then.

‘Oh, I assure you, madame,' she said, ‘Monsieur Somers won't go until he's had his tea. I'm afraid that's what comes of being incurably English.'

‘Well, I am incurably—' Katerina Pyotrovna checked herself. ‘Yes, I must admit to being incurably Bulgarian, and so I also enjoy tea.'

‘The Bulgarians are tea-drinkers?' said Edward. Catching sight of hoops in the lawn, he asked, ‘Countess, are you set up for croquet?'

‘Croquet isn't forbidden in France, is it?' she said.

‘I hope not,' said Edward.

‘Mr Somers, do you mean you would like to play?' she asked, showing animation. ‘You'd prefer croquet to a discussion on Bulgaria?'

‘I am, of course, eager to hear why it's racked with instability.'

‘I'm quite willing for us to defer to the importance of croquet,' she said.

‘Well, I'll tell you, Countess, croquet is the one outdoor game I can manage, and I am, therefore, fanatical in my pursuance of it.'

She saw the humour in his eyes, the hint of laughter, and felt a responsiveness that quickened her. Of all things, she liked a sense of humour in a man. She liked it excessively in this man.

‘Then away with Bulgaria,' she smiled, ‘for I too can manage croquet and am probably even more fanatical than you are. We'll play, shall we, if Celeste will allow us? Will you, Celeste?'

‘I shall be content to watch,' said Celeste, and meant it. She loved them both, and neither of them knew how much she wanted
them to love each other. She was a born matchmaker.

‘This is going to be delightful,' said the countess. ‘Celeste, there's lemonade on the terrace table.'

‘Then I'll watch from the terrace table while swimming in lemonade,' said Celeste.

A few minutes later, the countess and Edward were in earnest competition on the lawn. Edward, clad in a brown blazer, cream trousers and white cricket shirt, looked distinctively English. The countess looked vitally involved. Amid the click and clack of struck croquet balls, she was alive with laughter and enthusiasm, and with alternating cries of triumph, anguish and protest.

‘Mr Somers! Oh, shame on you!'

‘All in the game, Countess.'

‘No, no, I am Katerina Pyotrovna – and see where you've sent my ball, you dreadful man.'

‘A rather well-struck thump, I thought.'

‘A brutal croquet, sir – oh, I shall pay you back. Ah, now see what comes of your abominable thump. You're wired.'

‘I see I've missed my shot, yes.'

‘You have. Now I shall show you, with this ball.'

‘Um – the other one, I think, Countess.'

‘Never. I'm going to play this one.'

‘Well, what are rules, Countess, when the game is so electric?'

‘Stand back, sir. I'm going to roquet your blue ball.'

They were talking in English. Celeste spoke it well herself. It was a necessity in an hotel which received many English visitors. Celeste smiled as she listened to the repartee. Madame was sparkling, almost radiant in her enjoyment of her duel with Edward, who did not seem able to take his eyes off her except when he was making his shots.

A cry of triumph winged its way into the air.

‘There, a roquet! Now I shall take my turn to thump.' Katerina Pyotrovna placed her red ball against his blue one, and put her foot on her own ball. Her lifted, silken-clad leg gleamed. Her eyes were intent, her mallet poised, her lips parted. Her mallet struck. Edward's blue ball sped yards over the lawn, far from the hoop he was attacking. Katerina laughed in delight.

‘That's done it,' said Edward. ‘No quarter will be given now, not an inch, no, by Jove, not an inch.'

Shaping to strike her red ball through the hoop, two yards away, Katerina lifted her head
and smiled at him. The light poured over her face and burnished her hair. Everything to do with the joys of life was in her eyes.

‘Oh, you are going to engage grimly?' she said.

‘Ferociously,' said Edward.

‘Good,' she said, ‘I'm game.'

This little remark was so English that he said, ‘Are you sure you're Bulgarian?' It was not a question, it was a comment, made with a smile and without seriousness, but Katerina's long lashes swept over her bright eyes and she bent her head again to her shot.

‘We agreed to defer the Bulgarian question,' she said. She smote. The ball travelled smoothly and accurately, passing through the hoop. She looked up again, smiling in delight. ‘There, what do you think of that for grim ferocity?'

‘Intimidating. Play on, Countess.'

The game continued in its infinite variations. The mallets struck and smote, and Celeste watched the animated countess battling against the measured deliberation of Edward. Croquet was a mystery to Celeste up to a month ago, when the countess had begun to teach her. She knew enough about it now to follow the course of the duel, and to know when the countess,
claiming a lady's privilege, bent the rules to her own advantage. To Celeste, it seemed that croquet as played by the countess and Edward produced definable vibrations of pleasure that had nothing to do with who was winning.

Edward, achieving a roquet, thumped Katerina's yellow ball a good twenty yards.

‘Oh, you beast!' Katerina was not a woman then, but an indignant, anguished girl. ‘You dreadful creature!'

‘No quarter, not an inch,' said Edward.

‘Oh, now my temper is up, sir.' But she was laughing, laughing, and from a window on the upper floor of the villa Dr Kandor observed her with a little frown. He had not seen her in such enjoyment since the Revolution. But he must not worry so much. This could do no harm. She had not a single streak of deviousness in her. She would do nothing and say nothing that was indiscreet. She wanted only a few friends, friends they could both trust, and the pleasure of occasionally seeing them. It could do no harm, making a friend of this man, who had been gassed in the war. She would be guilty of no foolishness. He must allow her some contact with selected people. He and she, of course, had seen this man before. An Englishman. Harmless. Unless—

She had never been in love, never known a man.

Dr Kandor, observing her enraptured, drew his brows together.

Edward was increasingly fascinated. There she was, wholly exquisite, the essence of beauty and vitality, a slender but shapely delight. She had a weak heart? Impossible. There was no one else around apart from himself and Celeste, no servants, no doctor, no nurse, no companions. The pink-tinted villa, quite beautiful, was as quiet as if it held no living soul. No one came out to cast a solicitous eye over her, to suggest she must not overdo things. Overdo? She was a creature of vitality, as fluent as quicksilver, making him in his measured application feel very old.

‘Mr Somers?' She had her eyes on him, the faint flush back on her face, and he realized he was staring at her. ‘It's your strike – oh, I'm sorry, perhaps you've played enough – I'm afraid I forgot that you—'

‘No, I'm fine.' He looked round as a little bell rang on the terrace. Someone had at last appeared, a broad-bodied woman in a servant's outfit.

‘There, tea is served,' said Katerina, ‘and I'm ready for it, aren't you?'

‘After such a ferocious contest? Yes,' he said.

She put down her mallet.

‘It isn't important, is it, that the game isn't finished? It's the participation, isn't it?'

‘It's the fun,' said Edward.

‘Oh, yes,' she said like a breathless girl. ‘Thank you – I enjoyed it so much.'

‘So did I,' he said.

They walked together over the lawn and up the steps to the terrace, where Celeste rose to greet them. With the enthusiasm of a young lady who had played her own self-satisfying part in bringing them together, she said, ‘Oh, you had such a good game, didn't you?'

‘Thumping,' said Edward.

‘Celeste
,
did you see how belligerently he engaged every time he struck a roquet?' said Katerina. ‘I'm exhausted from travelling first after one ball, then the other.' She sank into a chair. She did not look exhausted. She looked vividly alive. ‘Tea,' she said. ‘Now everything is perfect, isn't it?'

Anna had set out the tea things from the tray, and the table was laden with china, glasses, teapot, dish of lemon slices, sugar bowl, tea knives and a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

‘Cucumber sandwiches?' said Edward, his face warm from the sun.

‘Yes, that's right, isn't it?' said Katerina. ‘Cucumber sandwiches are correct when the English take their tea at this time? I asked Anna to prepare some, and she's done so. She's also supplied you with a cup and saucer.'

‘And she's bringing milk,' said Celeste. ‘I asked her to, for Edward. Madame, you don't mind that I asked her?'

‘No, child, I'm glad you did. Everything must be just right. Celeste, you may pour. Mr Somers has worn me out.'

Celeste looked worried.

‘Madame, oh, you aren't faint? Should Dr Kandor be called?'

‘No, no, sweet girl.' Katerina laughed. ‘I'm exhilarated, not faint. It's Mr Somers we must concern ourselves with.'

‘Not a bit of it,' said Edward. ‘I shall devour the cucumber sandwiches with healthy relish.'

Celeste poured the tea the moment Anna came out with the milk. The servant took a good look at Edward, found nothing about him that offended her and went back into the villa.

Edward, drinking tea and consuming sandwiches, felt himself a man dwelling in the magic of a perfect afternoon. The sky was a deep blue, the sea full of lazy ripples, the terrace a haven
of warmth. Celeste talked, winding her own spell around the day, and Katerina listened and smiled. Memories filled her eyes because of the girl's youth and innocence. And when Edward turned his smile on Celeste, Katerina cast fleeting glances at him. His thick hair was a little loose from activity and the sun had tinted him with brown. He reached his third cup of tea.

‘Oh, you are like my family of loved ones,' she said. ‘They drank oceans of tea at a sitting. Celeste has told you of the family my father served?'

‘Celeste is always a library of information,' said Edward.

‘She's exactly like the youngest of my family,' said Katerina.

‘The family were noble Bulgarians?'

A little hesitation before Katerina said, ‘Yes, of course. I call them my family because that's how I felt about them. The second eldest daughter was closest to me. She was my age. Each of us was a shadow of the other, you see. We shared every secret.'

‘Madame, she was as beautiful as you?' enquired Celeste.

‘Celeste, Celeste, how can I in all modesty answer that?' said Katerina. ‘But it's true, of
course, that one's shadow is identical. We all had such happy times, such rapturous years.'

‘You and your shadow, Countess, and the rest of the family,' said Edward. ‘What happened to them?'

‘Happened?' The question seemed to startle Katerina.

‘Well,' said Edward, ‘I presume that at some time you and your parents left this household.'

‘Yes. Yes.' She looked at her hands, studying them with care. ‘It was the war. The war separated so many people. And it was never thought that Bulgaria would oppose Russia's cause.'

‘That affected the fortunes of this family, Bulgaria joining the war on Germany's side?' said Edward.

‘The war affected everyone and everything,' said Katerina. Her inspection of her hands coming to an end, she surveyed what was left of the cucumber sandwiches. Two remained on the plate. ‘Celeste, another sandwich?' Celeste shook her head. ‘They're not a success?' said Katerina.