TEN WEEKS EARLIER
“Clarissa, you shouldn’t have brought those naughty pastries—I want to gobble them all.”
“I couldn’t resist, when I saw them in Madame Renault’s window—they reminded me of that time in the Ritz.”
“I claim one of the pink ones.”
“Have them both.”
“How did the meeting go?”
“Your banker friend is an interesting fellow.”
“But you’ve met Yevgeny before, haven’t you?”
“Once or twice, though I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than half a dozen words until today. How do you know him?”
“I must have met him, oh, thirty years ago? Yes, the year before Hugo and I married. He was very young, but terribly handsome. He used to come here with the Romanovs every winter, and bring his family. His adorable wife, who was the size of a doll, would invite me to tea so their children could practice English. Two sons and a daughter. He was so proud of his family. And he doted on the girl. Now she’s the only one left.”
“Her lungs are bad, I heard.”
“Lungs? No, it’s her nerves. She was always a delicate thing, enormous dark eyes, pale hair. The most charming pianist. When the Bolsheviks came…you know. They were men, in a mob, and they were angry. They killed the boys and the mother outright, but when Yevgeny got there, the daughter…well, she was still alive.”
“Oh dear God.”
“But Clarissa, you mustn’t let him know that you’ve heard this. I heard it from Zedzed—the Count himself never tells people any of it. If the girl comes up in conversation, he says that she was away when her mother died, in a hospital in America. In fact, she only went afterwards.”
“How terrible.”
“I gather the poor child didn’t speak a word for years. The only thing that helped was getting her as far away from Russia as possible, and giving her as few reminders as could be arranged. He even managed to find a sanitorium that has only women doctors and nurses—for a long time, she couldn’t bear the sight of men, even her own father. He says she’s tolerating him more easily now.”
“That does explain some things about the man.”
“He is a bit of a puzzle. But he does have beautiful manners, and he could be very useful to you.”
“So I imagine. He has friends in all sorts of places. Although some of them, to be perfectly honest, I had hoped I was finished with.”
“You’re talking about Zedzed.”
“Oh, that nickname.”
“I think he liked how amiable it made him sound. But seriously, Clarissa, once he learns you’re here, he’ll want to see you. And you can’t possibly refuse him.”
“I will be seventy years old next May. One would think that a woman my age might have outlived her past.”
“Clarissa—”
“You’re right, dear. I’m merely grumbling.”
“You did know he was here before you got on the train in Paris. And you know that if he’s in Monaco, it’s impossible to avoid him.”
“I said I would see him.”
“Of course, he is married now.”
“He was married before. Several times.”
“This one is different. I’ve come to know her fairly well, and find her a much sweeter person than one would expect. And he, to all appearances, remains quite besotted with her, even after all these years.”
“Well, he’s bought her an entire principality as a wedding gift. That shows some affection.”
“Clarissa, you must take care not to—”
“Yes, yes, I’m being catty. I shall watch my tongue and treat Zedzed as an old friend. But that doesn’t mean I’ll go out of my way to see him.”
“I know. Still, the occasional snake in the garden seems to be the cost—”
“—of doing business.”
“—of living here, I was going to say. Like hurricanes in the Bahamas or earthquakes in California. When in Monaco, we do as the Monégasques. Oh, but speaking of doing business, I have something for you, Clarissa—two somethings. First, I found this the other day in one of my photo albums.”
“Good heavens, look at us. Look at your waist! Mine was never that tiny.”
“Mine wasn’t either, I couldn’t breathe.”
“What year is this? ’Ninety-two, maybe?”
“It must have been, because it was taken on board the White Ladye, and I stopped using her in ’ninety-three. This would have been February or March? During the Season, at any rate—and certainly one of the years your Mr Holmes was thought to be dead.”
“In Tibet, of all unlikely places. Still, it let me spend an entire year away from Baker Street.”
“Oh, but can you make out that necklace you’re wearing?”
“It’s—isn’t that the one?—”
“The very same! And that brings me to the second thing: le voilà—it just arrived this morning.”
“Oh, your agent found a buyer! And my, what an impressive stack of notes. You must take half.”
“Absolutely not. I’m more than comfortable here, my husband is generous. And after all, I was the one who had the pleasure of wearing the thing, all these years. Since you didn’t want your Mr Holmes to come across it in your sock drawer.”
“Wouldn’t that have been awkward! I’d forgot how handsome those diamonds were.”
“You shouldn’t have had me sell it. We’d have figured out something.”
“Good heavens, no. Diamonds are meant to draw attention to a smooth young neck, not to wrinkles and age spots. So bless you, my dear old friend, these funds will get me started nicely. And blessings on that sweet young man who gave it to me. He’d never have imagined what would become of his gift.”
“Would you have married the boy, Clarissa? If his father hadn’t been such a prude?”
“Probably not. I don’t think he really cared for women all that much.”
“He cared for you—clearly.”
“The necklace was by way of a parting gift. And I think a last gesture of rebellion against his family before he went off to marry the sweet young neighbour they’d chosen for him. He died fighting the Boers, did you know that? Such a nice boy. Such a lot of nice boys, who died too young.”
“We’ll raise a glass of bubbly in his memory, when you have a sitting room of your own.”
“I may have found one—Count Vasilev’s green-eyed young Greek boy wants to introduce me to his landlady. She has a small house to let, which looks nice from the outside.”
“I hope it works out. Do you think you will miss England?”
“Yes. And no. I’ll miss the people. Mary and Mr Holmes are the closest I have to family now—except for you, naturally. But I shan’t miss the winters.”
“Do you wonder how they are getting on without you there in Sussex?”
“Oh, I imagine by now Mary’s hired one of the women from the village. Neither she nor Mr Holmes care much about the state of the floors, but they will draw the line at eating Mary’s burnt offerings. The girl never did master the oven.”