Sustenance (27 page)

“Not at all; it is part of an ally’s work to assist when needed in such situations,” said Szent-Germain. “Is there anything you would like me to do while I am here?”

“If I think of something, I’ll tell you,” she said, touching the scarf holding her hair in place.

“I trust you to do so,” he said, handing her a medium-sized package wrapped in colored paper and tied with shiny silver ribbon. “Something for a house-warming,” he added as she took it. “If it isn’t to your taste, let me know and I’ll replace it.”

“I have no doubt it will be fine,” she said, but made no move to admit him.

“I hope it will,” he said, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

In order to cover her emotion—it could not possibly be lust, she thought, not the way she felt in his presence; it had to be something cleaner, something untainted—she began to talk about the first thing to come into her mind. “I still can’t believe that Lord Weldon is willing to let me have this place for such a small rent. You didn’t talk him into it, did you?” she asked, holding the package with both hands. Looking down at it, she realized that just touching what he had touched exercised a disquieting flare in sexual need; she took several deep breaths to regain her composure.

“No; he was glad to have someone reliable living here, who would take good care of the place. An academic appealed to him. The Germans had it while they occupied Paris; they took almost all the carpets and furniture they didn’t ruin, and Lord Weldon would prefer that wouldn’t happen again, or that it not become an attraction for what you would call squatters. He is pleased to get some of his furniture out of storage—he’s found evidence of mice in the upholstery.”

“That’s … upsetting,” she said, at last giving him room to enter the foyer. “Do you think I’ll have to look out for mice?”

“Possibly, but not from the stored furniture; everything coming to you is in good repair, he’s explained to me; he had furniture for two other houses among his stored goods, so there is ample for your use,” Szent-Germain told her as he entered the foyer, recalling the time, a quarter century ago, when he had provided the flat to Irina Ohchenova and her new husband, Phillippe Timbres, to occupy until such time as they found a house to their liking; they had lived here for almost three years. This memory brought back a remembrance of Laisha, his ward, whose death still left him shaken; he gave Charis his full attention.

“But to furnish the flat for only a token additional charge…” She shook her head. “Is he a bit eccentric? So many lords are, aren’t they?” As soon as she realized what she had said, her cheeks reddened. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Grof.”

“I’m sure there are those who know Lord Weldon who find him eccentric; he’d take no offense at that description,” he said, for he had cultivated a certain well-educated dottiness as part of the Weldon persona. “Sometimes great wealth has that effect.”

She studied him, trying to decide how much of what he was saying she believed. After a second or two, she asked, “Should I open this now?”

“Well, it’s not set to explode, but—”

“Great!” She hugged the package. “It’s been a long time since I had a real present. This is a real present, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to think so,” he answered.

She sighed a little. “Thank you, then.” She sat down on the largest of the benches in the living room, and began to remove the paper with meticulous care, folding it carefully once she had all of it, then rolled the silver ribbon on her fingers as if it were embroidery floss. “I hope to have some place to put this in a few days. It’s not fragile, is it?” Inside the paper was a cardboard box; she lifted the lid.

“I wouldn’t recommend dropping it, but it’s sturdy enough,” he said, though she barely heard him.

“Oh, good gracious,” she said quietly as she put the box lid aside, then reverently removed the century-old clock from its bed of tissue paper, smiling as she looked over its superb craftsmanship. “How did you know I needed a clock?” She studied the clock. “It’s a coachman’s clock, isn’t it? I’m so glad to have it. Thank you, Grof. Thank you.”

“I didn’t actually know you needed one, but most people like them, and you may have more than one without appearing vainglorious.” His demeanor softened in response to her obvious pleasure. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“It’s wonderful,” she said, flushing slightly. “I haven’t had … oh, anything like this since I got here. Every gift since I came to Europe has been
useful—practical;
I feel like a scullery maid. Harold and the boys sent me what they called a CARE package for Christmas—Halo shampoo, Dr. Lyon’s tooth powder, scouring pads, dish cloths and dish towels, four bars of castile soap, Ivory flakes for laundry, even two large bars of Hershey’s chocolate with almonds. As if I couldn’t get things like that in Paris, and better shampoo and chocolate. They did it to remind me of home, I guess. I didn’t know about Harold’s problems with me then. Now I understand his gifts better.” She got up from the bench and took her new, elegant clock and put it on the mantelpiece. “There. Now it’s a proper living room.”

“Lord Weldon told me that the telephone should be working by tomorrow, and that he will not require you change the number; he hasn’t used it for himself in more than twenty years, but he’s paid to keep it active.”

“Tell him thank you, for me. Or I’ll write him a note and you can send it to him, if you would; I gather you know how to reach him.” She stepped back to admire the clock on the mantel. “Where on earth did you find it?”

“In Switzerland, of course. Where else does one get clocks?” He smiled to let her know he was being amusing.

“And so nearby, hardly more than a day away,” she marveled in an exaggerated way, while still gazing at the clock. After a dozen seconds, she went on in a more ordinary manner, “If I get my furniture by the end of this week, I’m hoping to give a party a week later, once the place is fitted out. Most of the Coven is going to help me get the furniture in, and arranged. The least I can do is throw them a party. But only if you can come. I want to invite the Coven, but since I wouldn’t be here without your Lord Weldon, it wouldn’t be right if you weren’t able to attend.”

“If that is what you want, I will be here. You have only to confirm the time.” He paused. “Have you decided what you want on the walls?”

“Paint or wallpaper, or do you mean art?” she asked, turning away from the clock at last. “I’ll set it later, I didn’t wind my watch last night—I am still getting used to my new surroundings, and it didn’t occur to me until quite late at night that I hadn’t—so I’m a bit fuzzy on simple things like that.”

“To answer your first question, I meant art. Or”—he blinked as if to shut out a very bright light—“mirrors.”

She laughed. “I can’t afford art, and mirrors would only make this place look bigger than it is, and that would disappoint the Coven—it would be too much like showing off my good fortune in finding this wonderful flat.”

“What is the trouble with that?” Szent-Germain asked, and held up his hand so he could answer. “You don’t want to appear boastful. That would vex the Coven.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “And I know with the divorce looming, I have to be very careful not to make it seem that I am taking advantage of Harold. That’s just the kind of thing that could ruin my position in the case, and making a great display of a place like this could be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You know as well as I that Julia Bjornson would have a lot to say about greedy women using divorce to feather their nests. And who knows what Harold would think.”

“Are you so certain he would be vindictive? Mightn’t he be relieved that you are in a position to care for yourself?” He asked the question gently, hearing her misgivings in her voice.

“Oh, yes. I think he would. He’s already balking at the idea that the boys might visit me during summer vacation. He says it wouldn’t look right, letting them visit so soon after our separation, though that’s been going on since fall. He told me he would send his parents with them, but that might call the divorce into question, and that isn’t acceptable to him.” She went back to the bench and sat down. “I think he’ll use the boys to force me to conduct myself as he sees fit, and this—this place—isn’t part of his vision for me.”

“Did you tell him about your apartment? How small it was, and how inconvenient?” He kept indignation and criticism out of his manner so that Charis would not feel that she had to defend her estranged husband.

“Yes, I did, but he said he couldn’t afford to send me more money, so I would have to make the best of it. I told him about the state of the plumbing, and the condition of the walls. I even sent him some photographs, but he made no comment. You’d suppose he might make allowances for my situation, because I was in it in part to help him.” She put her hand to her face. “I’m beginning to think I never understood him, not really. I never thought he would put his career ahead of our marriage, because I wouldn’t do that.”

“I take it that one of the reasons it took you two months to decide to accept Lord Weldon’s offer was that you supposed you would not be here long enough to make it worth his while to move you in,” he said, kindness in his steady gaze.

“Was I so obvious? I thought I had—” She gave a little gasp. “If you guessed, the others might—”

“No, they won’t, unless you decide to tell them. I haven’t mentioned your … arrangement with Lord Weldon to anyone: why should I? At best, I am a go-between in this, and there is no reason why I should impart your dealings with Weldon to others.” This was not quite the whole truth: he had discussed it in detail with his attorney in Paris, Hugues Curtise, who supervised Szent-Germain’s several aliases as well as his actual name and titles. “I will give you my Word that I won’t, if that would ease your concerns.”

“I don’t know, I’m just nervous about the whole thing,” she said, sounding aggravated. “Something so unusual, you might bring it up with … oh, anyone.”

“You may rest assured that I have not, and that I will not,” he said, his voice low and musical. He took a couple of incautious steps toward her, wanting to offer her comfort but aware of her attraction to him, and the tumult it caused within her. “Don’t let this dishearten you, Professor,” he recommended. “Your husband may still come to his senses, and realize that you have as much right as he to see your children. If Lord Weldon’s agreement with you improves your position in this regard, your husband may be trying to reduce your credibility in the eyes of the divorce court. He may be trying to blame you so that he can excuse himself for using you so unkindly. He may be embarrassed by his bad behavior, and it would not help to remind him of it, not at present.” He paused. “I gather you want the boys to come here, since returning home is not an option for you, and thus far, your husband is recalcitrant.”

“I miss them so much,” she said barely above a whisper.

“Do you have a relative who might be willing to escort the boys here? Someone your husband would approve?” He said this lightly, not wanting to add to her dismay, but trying to provide her with the means to arrange the visit.

She swung around to look at him, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she said, much struck by his question. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Someone older, perhaps? Someone who isn’t immediately associated with you? If your husband is worried about turning attention on your separation, someone with a different last name, perhaps, would be appropriate.”

“Why that?” She gave him a hard, perplexed stare.

“To lessen the identification with you. Someone whom your husband would not perceive as working on your behalf. If you concentrate your argument on keeping the boys from close scrutiny by the Committee because of you, then your husband would not be able to claim you’re putting yourself above the welfare of your children.” He watched her as she took in his suggestion.

“I don’t think the Committee, arbitrary as it is, would go after two kids,” said Charis. “And one of them crippled.”

“They might, if they believed they could influence you through such devices,” he said, recalling what Hapgood Nugent had said about the surveillance of his sister’s children who were still in grammar school. “If you can provide an escort who is unexceptionable, it might be enough to convince Harold”—it was the first time he had spoken Charis’ husband’s name to her, and he could see surprise in her face—“to allow Arthur and David to come.”

She nodded a couple of times, her thoughts moving swiftly in this more promising direction than the grim disappointment that had possessed her. “I have an aunt or two, and an older cousin who might serve well enough.” She took his hand impulsively without being aware of what she had done, but hoping to find solace in this simple contact. He remained still while she held it tightly. “At least it’s something to consider,” she said, abruptly releasing his hand as if her fingers had been burned. “Harold says that if I do anything to disgrace him, I won’t see our boys again.”

“Do you know what he means by anything to disgrace him?”

“No scandal, no politics, no speculation on his work, no problems with his colleagues, nothing that would reflect badly on him—at least that covers the basics.” She summoned up her nerve to go on, hearing her pulse quicken. “For example, he might not like me talking to you alone in this room.”

“If you mean he assumes I would attempt to seduce a married woman in a room with nothing more than a rolled carpet and a pair of benches, he must have a very low opinion of me and those like me.” He smiled quickly, his countenance ironic. “This is not the time nor the place for such … um … shenanigans. That is the word, isn’t it?” He had heard it used during his stay in America twelve years ago.

“That’s the word,” she said, a little breathlessly.

He was aware of her disquiet, and said only, “You have enough demanding your attention; you need not fear unwanted importunities.”

Charis sighed to cover her renewed confusion. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant about Harold’s disapproval,” she said, a bit stiffly, because she realized that perhaps it was, “but if he knew I was here with you alone, he would feel that I had compromised myself.”