Sustenance (28 page)

“Isn’t that a bit unrealistic?” Szent-Germain could feel her attraction diminish as he moved a few steps farther away from her. “He knows you are alone in Europe, and he knows that in your profession, you will be required to be interviewed, at the least, so prohibiting you to be alone with a man is enough to keep you from gaining employment.”

“He says he is concerned for my reputation,” she said, color rising in her face again.

“Then he has a curious way of ensuring your protection,” he said.

Wanting to avoid any more discussion of the implications of being alone with a man, Charis remarked, “I’m having Stephen diMaggio install electronic locks on the doors and windows here, later today. I think this will reassure Harold when I send him some photos of the place, which he has insisted on seeing. He doesn’t want Arthur and David to visit me if my flat isn’t safe.”

“He preferred your apartment for safety?” Szent-Germain shook his head incredulously.

“I can only guess, and my guesses haven’t been very accurate where my husb—I really shouldn’t call him that anymore, should I?—Harold is concerned,” she told him, her face averted while she did her best to take on a serenity she did not feel. “As I said, I don’t understand him as well as I assumed I did.” An ill-at-ease silence descended between them. When she spoke again, it was in a different tone and manner. “Steve offered to do it for me, and I took him up on it.”

“DiMaggio should do a good job for you—he has access to all the military electronics, I understand,” said Szent-Germain, wondering as he did how many excuses Harold Treat might conjure up to refuse any visitation between Charis and her sons.

“Well, he
had
access, which is what got him into trouble,” Charis told him with a touch of chagrin. “But he tells me he can set something up for me that will do the trick, and I believe him. He’s one of those engineers who has the feel of their work beyond their knowledge; he could probably make a Mixmaster play the ukelele. He does better with machines than people.” She made a flustered gesture with one hand. “I notified Lord Weldon about it, and apparently it’s acceptable to him. His telegram in response to mine just said
Carry on.
”

Three days ago, Szent-Germain had sent a telegram to the manager of Eclipse Trading Company in Madras, asking him to send that telegram for him, which Khorbin Singh did the day before yesterday. Singh was dependable and rarely said anything about the requests he received from his employer. “That doesn’t astonish me.”

“Can you tell me about him?” Charis asked. “What sort of man is he?”

“Old title, old money,” said Szent-Germain. “Eccentric, as you guessed. Something of a wanderer.”

“You’ve known him a while?” Charis prompted.

“Yes; quite a long time.” He had created the alias in 1731, and had used that identity sporadically ever since, when he needed a name that was not in any way related to his own.

“Then it’s no surprise that he would pay attention to your advice. I imagine that is how he came to provide this place for me. I can’t imagine that he heard about my predicament from one of the Coven.” She glanced away and then back at him. “You must be how he found out about my situation.”

Szent-Germain concealed his appreciation of her astute guess, saying, “He told me, and not for the first time, he wanted someone responsible living here, and what he would expect of the tenant; I told him about you, about the books you have with Eclipse Press, and described the place you were living. He said he would look into it.” He disliked having to add to the fiction he had created, but to admit to being the owner would drive a wedge between them, which he wanted to avoid.

“Did you make any other suggestions?”

“You mean did I recommend any other Coven members? No; I don’t know them as well as I know you, and a few of them seem to be reasonably comfortable in where they are living. The Frosts require a very special place because of his … condition, so this would not have suited them, though it does well for you.” He ducked his head. “Was I in error? Are you upset that I gave him your name?”

She did not answer at once, and when she did speak, it was with a rueful smile. “No, you weren’t in error, though I’d bet that Tolliver Bethune would love this place. He’s just the sort who would adore the … the Frenchness of it all.” She studied him. “I wish I could figure you out, Grof.”

“Why is that?”

“I’d like to know why you took me under your wing. And don’t say you didn’t, because it’s obvious that you did.” She put her hands together, left hand over right hand. “From the time you talked to me in Copenhagen, you have supported me more than I had any reason to expect. You’ve been helping me on my second book for you, and well beyond what an editor would do. You’ve driven me all over the countryside to look at ancient ruins of convents, you’ve taken an interest in the Coven, and now you’re offering advice in regard to my husband and children. I’m more puzzled than you can imagine. Don’t get me wrong—I’m flattered and grateful, but I’d like to know why you do this.” She stopped talking, turning to him, waiting for what he would say.

He went to the windows, moved the filmy cotton curtains aside, and looked out on the busy street below, taking care not to address her directly. “When we first met, I liked your spirit. It takes strength to do what you have done, for whatever reason you have done it, and I admire that strength. You are also intelligent, and I admire intelligence.” He was also very much aware of how she used both these qualities to keep her distance from him without obvious rejection, and although this saddened, he admired her skill; had she known of his cognizance of her desire, he wondered if her reserve might have lessened.

“Is that why you said you’d be my ally?”

“In large part, yes,” he said, moving away from the window and toward the open double-doors that led to the dining room. “Is Lord Weldon including draperies for your windows?”

“I believe so, yes,” she answered.

“Very good,” he said. “These light curtains aren’t sufficient. You need something more substantial.”

“I guess that’s so,” she said, baffled by his change in subject.

“You’ll need towels for your bathrooms, and all the rest of it,” he went on, walking slowly toward the door to the kitchen. “What of cookwares? What, if anything, did Lord Weldon offer you?”

“I’m not sure. He said the furnishing would be complete, whatever that means. I suppose I’ll know by this time next week.” She moved around the room, taking stock of it in light of what Lord Weldon had pledged to do. “If he changes his mind, I suppose I can make do with the benches for a while, and the basics I brought from my apartment.”

Szent-Germain nodded his approval. “You see? This is what I admire in you.” He could sense her yearning for him, and her determination not to act upon it, so he stayed in the dining room. “There’s room enough for a good-sized dining table. You may want a buffet as well, and a china cabinet.”

“There is room enough,” she agreed. “And I’d like all those things, and chairs enough to make the most of this room. I should like to be able to accommodate eight or ten at table, preferably one with leaves, so that private dining won’t require megaphones in order to converse.”

He managed a brief chuckle. “An interesting image, indeed.”

She felt an unexpected spurt of laughter escape her. “Yes, isn’t it?” She continued to smile. “Do you want to see the rest of the place, or have you seen it already?”

“I have seen it, but not for some years, and then it was furnished to suit the tenants at the time. I don’t know what or how much of his stored furniture he has marked for your use.” He made a little bow. “If you would like to show me, I would enjoy seeing its bare bones.”

“That’s a good phrase for it,” she said, going out of the living room and into the corridor that led toward the bedrooms. There were French windows at the beginning of the corridor, giving access to the roof-top terrace; there were two large tubs of flowering bushes that blew in the afternoon breeze, but for the most part, the potted garden was neglected. “I may do more gardening now that I have a garden of sorts.”

“Flowers? Herbs? Topiary?” he inquired as he followed her.

“I don’t know yet. It depends on whether or not the boys visit me.” The sadness was back in her voice, and she walked slowly while she tried to restore her good mood. “The guest room is on the left, the master bedroom on the right; it has access to the terrace, and the full bath at the end of the hall. As you probably know, the guest bathroom is reached from the foyer, between the dining room and the kitchen doors. The door next to the study leads to the stairs to the lobby. The study is across the foyer from the dining room and kitchen, and looks out onto the terrace.” This recitation was without enthusiasm, as if mentioning her sons had taken the joy out of moving to this location. “Sorry. I’m a … little tired. I think I should lie down for half an hour or so. That way I’ll be refreshed when Steve arrives to install the locks.” She wandered back toward the living room.

“On what?” he asked, walking a couple of paces behind him. “The bench? How can that revive you?”

“I have the mattress I purchased when I couldn’t bear the lumps in the old one at my apartment. Madame Gouffre wanted to keep it because I was moving out before a year was up, but I refused, and since she wanted me gone more than she wanted the mattress, I was able to come away with it, along with her warning that I would not find as nice a place as she had. I’ve slept on it for the last two nights. It’s a little like camping out, but without the tent, or the countryside.”

“Speaking of countryside, how is your ankle?” He had noticed that she had begun to favor it; there was a slight hesitation in her walk. “How are you doing with it? I haven’t seen you use a cane in the last week or two.”

“Almost healed, I’d say, but still not quite where it should be. A sprain like that can take time to recover from.” She was startled that he had noticed the very slight limp that had started to bother her. “That’s what the nap is for.”

“Ah.” He would have offered his arm, but knew that would not help her to relax. “Then I won’t detain you. Get your rest. I’ll call back the day after tomorrow, in case you would like some help with your furniture.”

“You don’t have to,” she told him.

“No, I don’t. But what sort of ally would I be then?” He went toward the foyer, saying as he went, “I hope you will find this flat satisfactory, and that your stay here, for however long it lasts, is a pleasant one.”

“Very prettily said,” she told him and she pressed the button to summon the elevator. “I do like the clock; it’s a lovely present. And I meant it about the party. I will arrange it on a night that is convenient for you.”

“Get yourself properly moved in and then we’ll talk about it,” he said, hearing the elevator approaching. “If you will call my office when you have your phone number, and leave it for me, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she said, and reached to open the door of the elevator cab.

He stepped inside the small cab, which would accommodate three or four persons at most, and watched as she pulled the collapsible metal gate across; he shut the interior door and heard the buzz as she depressed the button to descend. As the elevator made its way downward, Szent-Germain spent the length of the ride trying to determine what it was about her desire that frightened her so much that she was unwilling to admit it existed. For a capable, educated woman, he found Charis’ obdurate blindness to the physical passion within her as puzzling as it was troublesome. She was not like Margrethe, who had known of her attraction to him, but saw it as sinful, and who was willing to admit her longing; Charis had no such compunction about her, yet she was as edgy in his company as Margrethe had been, more than seven hundred years ago. There was more of Tulsi Kil in Charis than there was Margrethe, or Rakhel. As he reached the lobby, he let himself out of the elevator, and nodded to the elderly woman who lived in the apartment next to the building’s kitchen on this ground level, then went out toward the rear of the apartment building, where his Delahaye was parked in the shadow of the newer apartment building next door. He caught a glimpse of a face in a second-story window as he got into his automobile, and for an instant, wondered if he were being watched. With that perturbing thought for comfort, he started the Delahaye, adjusted the choke, and drove away.

TEXT OF THE EX-PATS’ COVEN NEWSLETTER, TYPESET AND PRINTED BY WASHINGTON YOUNG IN PARIS, AND DISTRIBUTED TO COVEN MEMBERS ON MARCH 9
TH
, 1950.

THE GRIMOIRE

newsletter for Spring 1950

Washington Young, printer and publisher

Volume 3, no. 1

AS YOU CAN see, Grof Szent-Germain has allowed me the use of his third press for the purposes of bringing out
The Grimoire
. I have decided that Bodoni is handsomer than the typeface on the typewriter I have used in the past for mimeographing. This is a much more satisfactory style. If you disagree with me, you may tell me so at our next meeting, which will be on the third Friday of the month at the new flat of our member from Louisiana. There will be a buffet of Coq a Vin, aubergine with mushrooms, Spanish rice, and asparagus in lemon-butter, with coffee, tea, and wine. You are asked to give regrets only.

WE HAVE NEWS from the US that is of interest to all the Coven, not all of it welcome: Alger Hiss has been found guilty of perjury for failing to reveal his connection to the Communist Party. He is appealing his conviction, but it does not look as if he will win an acquittal. Klaus Fuchs has also been found guilty of providing British atomic secrets to the Soviet Union. Fuchs was part of the Los Alamos team, for any of you unfamiliar with the case. Harry Gold, who worked with Fuchs, is also headed to prison by the looks of it. At the other end of the scale, President Truman has authorized the Atomic Energy Commission to develop a hydrogen bomb for the US, in large part on the possibility that the Soviet Union may already have an atom bomb of their own. There is more fuel being added to the pyres of the witch-hunt currently under way in the US. Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin has been making some waves claiming that the government needs to conduct more rigorous pursuits of suspected and known Communists occupying sensitive positions in governmental agencies; he is claiming that there are hosts of Soviet spies in the US, going about their work unhampered. He has gained the support of the members of the HUAC and Army Intelligence, but his influence may spread. This reporter thinks that any return to the US for Coven members could prove dangerous as long as the political climate remains so extreme. From this point on, I believe we must be diligent in guarding the Coven as well as our relatives back home, some of whom may be pressed into taking the brunt of our absence. We have no reason to doubt that the FBI, like the CIA, has the names and addresses of everyone who is a blood relation, and is prepared to use that information to create pressure on our families and through them, on us. HN has already seen this with his sister’s children, who are in grammar school, but were harassed by the CIA, which is specifically chartered not to operate in the US. As the fear of Communism grows among the population of the US, and is encouraged by governmental action, incidents of intimidation are likely to increase.