At 6 pm, Pentecost Sunday, 30-year-old Laetitia Toureaux left the L’Ermitage dance hall in the Parisian suburb of Charentonneau. She hailed a cab and arrived at the Michel Bizot station of the Paris Métro at 6:24 pm. The second-class carriages were jammed with people who spent their holiday at the nearby Parc de Vincennes, so Laetitia bought a first-class ticket. Those waiting on the platform later said the first-class carriage appeared completely empty and Laetitia the only one seen entering it.
The train departed Michel Bizot at 6:27 pm. When it arrived 45 seconds later at Porte Dorée Station, the first-class car again appeared empty but when the six first-class ticket holders boarded the carriage, they were confronted by something from a nightmare. Slumped over in a seat by the exit was the blood-soaked body of a woman wearing a tailored green suit, white hat, and white gloves, the gloves stained red in her own blood. A cheap navaja laguiole clasp knife protruded from her neck, its seven-inch blade thrust through her jugular vein all the way to its hilt, severing her spinal cord.
Whoever wanted Laetitia Toureaux dead wanted it very badly.
When the police arrived they could make nothing out of the crime scene. There was no evidence of anyone being in the carriage with the dead woman. No one except Mlle. Laetitia was seen entering the first-class coach at Michel Bizot Station, and after the train pulled into Port Dorée Station, no one was seen getting out.
The detectives assigned that night to the case suspected they were investigating that once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.
The perfect murder.
The bullet struck Nika just above her left breast and dropped her face down onto the forest floor. Everything felt cool and wet; death did not seem so terrible after all. She then realized she was neither dead nor even badly wounded, and wondered how she could still be alive. She cleared her mind, controlled her breathing, and listened for the sound of footsteps coming through the grass.
Though she could feel the Hungarian-made FÉG 37M pistol under her right hand, Nika found herself lying in an awkward position. The Cagoule gunman could not leave it to chance she was dead and would need to come very close to check on his handiwork. He could fire several bullets into her from a distance to make sure she was dead, but the forests around Paris including La Compiegne had been tamed since before the reign Louis Quatorze. Neat little trails ran through them and people and even whole families lived within the forest: the shadow of the Depression still lingered over France. One gunshot might pass without comment. Two or three, much less likely.
No, he would come and make sure of her quietly. If she was lucky.
Nika lay perfectly still as she listened to the sound of labored breathing and boots swishing through the almost knee-high grass. Her mind was now perfectly clear: she would need to fire slightly higher than planned as his heavy breathing and the trod of his footsteps suggested he might be overweight and didn’t want her bullets smothered in layers of fat by hitting him in the stomach.
Nika had but one chance to correctly estimate how close he was to her but felt as if she had been laying there for hours and feared her limbs would stiffen in position when she heard him stop. She could feel his closeness and was about to fight for her life when a voice rang through the forest.
“Hey! What the hell you are doing there?”
Her assassin’s body would now be off-center if he answered. She heard his feet move in the grass.
“Casse-toi, sale gitane!” the Cagoule gunman bellowed. “It’s none of your damned…”
Nika rolled left onto her left side and fired four shots in quick succession. The hulking figure disappeared and Nika scrambled to her feet, gun at the ready.
Her would-be assassin lay nine or ten feet away. One of her shots had gone wide of the mark but one had hit him in the left shoulder, making him turn involuntarily towards her and the other two struck him in the chest. Nika delivered a coup de grace making certain he was dead, found the assassin’s gun, emptied it of bullets and threw it as far as she could then nearly doubled over from a searing pain above her left breast. She felt herself gently and now knew why she was still alive. She had put her parting gift from Abrienda, a silver cigar case, inside the left pocket of her jacket. The bullet that would have killed her was embedded in the cover.
Knowing Abrienda had saved her life.
“That was very nice shooting, mademoiselle!” she heard the same high-pitched voice shout and saw a man step out from behind the tree he had used for cover. He waved to her and emptied his pockets to show he was unarmed.
“I am glad you killed him. I planned to do it myself, talking to me that way – foiré! This is the Forêt de Compiègne. My people have been camping here since Henry IV gave us the brevet four centuries ago!”
He came forward slowly.
“You’re not one of us, though you’re a handsome enough woman to be. My name is Andrzej. I can easily comprehend why you wanted to kill him. Why did he want to kill you?”
Nika suddenly felt very tired. From the confines of a first-class carriage on the Paris Métro to the middle of a forest, it had been a long, eventful day.
“Monsieur,” Nika replied wearily, “I am afraid that is a long story and must be going.”
Andrzej smiled but shook his head. “You’re alone and forty miles from Paris. Our camp is less than mile from here. It’s best if you stay with us overnight and leave in the morning.”
“Merci, mais non,” Nika said firmly. “Others like this pig may be looking for me. Just show me the road to Metz and the German frontier, and I shall be grateful.”
The gypsy made a quick study of Nika in the moonlight and rubbed the sides of his chin.
“We’ll bury him. But, all things considered, the road to Valenciennes and across the border into Belgium is the better choice for someone wanting to leave France in a hurry.”
Nika stuck the gun inside her jacket then knelt and felt around to recover the unspent bullets from the assassin’s gun. “I threw his gun over there. You’re welcome to it.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Here are the bullets. And thank you.”
“Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle!” Andrzej exclaimed and gave Nika a stage bow. He took a few steps past her, bent over, and picked up the gun from where she had thrown it.
“I saw where it landed.” He loaded the gun, stuck it inside his jacket, and patted the bulge it made. “Et voilà—fair payment! Follow me.”
Andrzej put Nika on the road leading to Belgium. Safety was a little more than seventy miles away. She began to walk.
An hour later, a car came up behind her from the direction of Paris. Nika stopped, loosened the two top buttons of her jacket and gripped the handle of the gun within.
The car slowed and stopped beside her. It was an American model and the driver had to put it in park and lean over to roll down the passenger window. When he did, Nika saw the smiling face of a blond-haired man in his late thirties.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle!” he said, in heavily accented French. “Excuse me, but if you are in any trouble, I can take you wherever you wish to go.”
Considering his fresh, boyish appearance, his open manner and strange accent, Nika made the inspired decision to answer him in English.
“You are American?”
“Well, yes, I am!” he replied. “Must be the terrible accent. Gives me away every time. Did so during the war, too!”
His features softened. “Look, mademoiselle, I can see you’ve had a hard time of it tonight, but it’s madness for a young woman to be walking the road at this hour. My name is Buttrell Lawson. I flew for the French army in the war and am here for a reunion of my squadron. On my word as an officer and a Southerner, I mean no harm to you but I simply cannot drive off and leave you here like this. Please tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you there with no obligations. Believe me.”
“I need to get across the Belgian border… it’s not very far.” Nika replied and rebuttoned her jacket.
Buttrell laughed. “Belgium is where I’m going! I am spending a week touring the battlefields of the Hundred Days. We’ll be in Brussels in a couple of hours, okay?”
He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. “Front or back seat, your choice!” and held out his hand to help her in.
Nika smiled. “Thank you.” She stepped onto the running board and slid into the front seat.
“I don’t quite know what I would have done had you not come along,” Nika said after a few minutes of silence. “I was in a very bad state.”
“Mind telling me what happened?”
Nika paused for effect. “I ran away from my husband. He sent some men to bring me back. They caught me and were taking me back to Emile in Paris. I jumped out of the car while it was still moving, rolled down an embankment and hid there. They looked around but couldn’t find me in the darkness so gave up and left. I expect they will tell Emile I fell out of the car, broke my neck and they left me in the woods, which is at least half the truth.”
“You were crazy lucky!” Buttrell said, smiling to himself. “I don’t think I’ve heard of a girl so lucky. Brave, too.”
Nika looked at herself in the car’s rear-view mirror. “If Abri could only see me now.”
“Abri? Who is Abri?”
“My stepsister. Short for ‘Abrienda’. Forgive me; my name is Nika Molnar. I am grateful to have met you tonight.”
“I am pleased to meet you, too.” Buttrell replied. “‘Abrienda’… I knew a girl by that name once. It’s not exactly commonplace.”
“What about yourself?” asked Nika, eager now to change the subject. “I never met an American before. Are they all like you?”
“Yes… most,” he said, smiling in the darkness. He sensed his lovely passenger’s nerves were stretched rather thin by whatever occurred that night and decided to abandon any more lines of questioning.
“If I had something to drink, I’d offer it to you. Would you like to listen to some music instead?”
“Yes, please.”
“Might take your mind off the past few hours. I like this station—it only plays French chansons d’amour.”
“It’s my favorite music, too, unless it’s your Cole Porter.”
“Really? Porter’s aces!”
They drove for several miles, listening to the music.
Nika was surprised how easily she could adjust from horror to relative serenity in so a short time. This mildly disturbed her until she heard something coming from the radio she remembered.
“I know that song! I heard it yesterday in a bistro in Montmartre.”
“No better place to hear it.”
“You know the name?” Nika asked.
*“‘Parlez Moi d’Amour’.* The chanteuse is Lucienne Boyer. It’s maybe six or seven years old.”
“It’s very beautiful.” Nika said, and Buttrell nodded. “There’s an English version in the States, but I prefer it in French.”
There was a pause as they both listened. “It reminds you of anyone?” Buttrell asked.
“Yes… it does,” she replied smiling.
“Me too,” Buttrell replied.
“You said you fought in the war?”
“Yes. Ever hear of the Lafayette Escadrille?“
“No,” Nika admitted. “I’m Hungarian. We were on the losing side.”
“I’ve got nothing against Hungary. A lot of Hungarian families in my hometown back in the States. I’m sure it was hard on them.”
“We lost a lot in the war,” Nika said. “Hungary, I mean. Were you famous, your Escadrille?”
“Kinda famous, at least to the folks back home and to the French. After the war I flew in China for a warlord or two, then again for the French in the Escadrille Cherifienneer against Abd el-Krim in the Rif.”
He looked at Nika and laughed. “What can I say? I like to fly and I like to fight. From the look of things, you seem to have had a busy day but don’t worry, your ex-husband can’t have any idea where you are now, and Brussels is only a couple hours away. Do you have your passport and other papers?”
“Yes. Those at least I still have on me.”
“Along with the Convincer stuck in the left inside pocket of your jacket,” Buttrell added dryly.
Nika looked straight ahead, figured out what he meant, and smiled again. “Yes… that, too.”
Buttrell glanced at her. “Doesn’t look like you got much else. Got any money?”
“Barely a sou.” Nika confessed.
“No problem. I can give you whatever you need. Just send it back to me when you’re able.”
“Thank you. I just need to get to the Hungarian Embassy in Brussels and I can repay you. Or… are you expecting something else in return?” Nika said.
Buttrelll grimaced. “Like I said, there’s no rush. And I’m not that kind of guy.”
“I am sorry,” Nika said and meant it. “That was ungrateful of me. I’ve been around bad company too long. You are very generous and a gentleman.”
“Think nothing of it. Besides, haven’t you heard? All Americans are millionaire bankers, cattle barons, oil magnates, or soldiers of fortune who lose all their money then win it back and more playing cards.” Nika laughed.
“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard. Meeting you tonight, I see it could be true. Which one of those are you?”
Buttrell laughed. “Close to the last, very far from the first.”
In Brussels, Buttrell happily paid two nights for Nika at the Metropole Hotel where he, too, was staying and gave her enough money to attend to her immediate needs. He informed Nika he was driving to Waterloo next morning but to let him know if there was anything else she needed when he returned.
Next morning Nika contacted Viktor through the Hungarian Embassy and he ordered the embassy’s financial department to extend her carte blanche. By 8:05 that evening, having bought a new ensemble and paid visits to one the city’s premier antique shops and a record store, Nika was relaxing in a private sleeper on the only train going to Budapest.
At about the same time, Buttrell returned to his room in the Metropole. Waiting for him was the money he had given Nika in a neat pile beside a French sapper’s sword from the Napoleonic Wars. A note was tied to the hilt:
“A sword that once belonged to the gallant French army under Napoleon now belongs to the equally gallant American soldier who saved the life of a strange girl on the road from Paris…never to be forgotten. Vive l’empereur! NM.”
“Congratulations!” Viktor said tossing a Parisian daily across his desk to Nika, then handed her the coffee the office boy had just brought them. “You’re in all the papers. Or rather, your exploit is.”
“Murder on the Metro… how melodramatic,” Nika said, commenting on the newspaper headline.
“Deloncle has sent his deep apologies. He assures us it was not on his orders. One of his men went rogue and planned to turn you over to the police instead of taking you to make your train in Frankfurt.”
Nika laughed in derision. “And you believe him?”
Viktor dropped three cubes of sugar into his cup. “You were there, not me. Do you?”
“As you say, I was there. If he wanted to hand me over to the police, he wouldn’t have tried to do it forty miles outside Paris in a forest.” Nika replied. “It’s ridiculous.”
“For the now, it suits us to believe him.” Viktor lit a cigarette. “It was a remarkable piece of work you did in Paris, much harder than what you managed in Barcelona.”
“Not a soul noticed you come or go. You’ve learned a lot auf der Walz, as our goosestepping friends would say, and became a fine agent, though where you also learned to render yourself invisible in the process is something I missed. Please explain in detail how you managed this affair. It shall be for my eyes only, after which I shall lock it away and keep it for future reference.”
Viktor needed to explore one final track. “Might there have been anything of a personal nature to explain Deloncle’s behavior?”
“Nothing,” Nika lied. “Everything was strictly business between us.” Viktor smiled. “Well, that’s a refreshing change.”
…She had met Deloncle again for breakfast the morning of the 16th. He had sent flowers to Nika’s room every morning, and every afternoon she gave them to the hotel staff to do with as they pleased.
“Surely it is not because you object to being sent here to kill a woman?” he asked that morning.
“No.” Nika curtly replied.
“Then I cannot think of any reason why you should say ‘no’ to my proposition,” Deloncle continued.
“I can think of an army,” she said, “but let us start with the fact you are married. The somewhat pale circle near the bottom of your ring finger suggests to me that you removed your wedding ring well after the last time you washed your hands.”
Deloncle flushed. “You don’t know to whom you speak. Remember, this is Paris, not Budapest!”
Nika finished her coffee, opened her compact and checked herself in the mirror. “More the pity for me, if all Parisian men act like you. Anything between us will be strictly business; the thought of a romantic liaison with you is simply too, too droll.”
Viktor put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “Nika, under no circumstances are you to seek revenge upon Deloncle. This would compromise plans I have for the future. We shall appear to accept his version of events and wait for the best time and manner to settle your account, understood?”
“Yes, Viktor,” she replied.
…Nika rose from the table and tossed her napkin on the table. “Monsieur, this time you can pay the bill.” She leaned over and tapped him twice lightly below the knot on his tie, saying in a voice used only in the most intimate of confidences, “And monsieur, I never fuck a man who, when I look at his cravate, I know what he ate for breakfast. Au revoir.”
“Yes Viktor.” Viktor mockingly replied.”Nika, that is an order.”
“I said I would not. I don’t even know how I could if I wanted to, which I’ve told you I don’t.”
“And I want you to move out of that slum you’re living in. It dishonors your father’s memory, his daughter living like that.”
Viktor hoped he had at last hit the nerve he sought. “You are right. I think it is time I abandon the Bohemian lifestyle I appear to live.”
Viktor laughed. “What a wonderfully ironic thing for you to say!”
“It’s not entirely ironical,” she said. “After all, you don’t consider Abrienda completely ‘Bohemian’, anyway.”
“Nevertheless,” Viktor persisted, “I should think it would be difficult having her pay a lengthy visit to where you live now, true?”
Nika knew she was nearly beaten over the matter but had a final card to play. “True. I will start looking for a new place once I receive a raise in salary. Do I need to repay you for the money the embassy in Brussels gave me?”
“No. It came from a slush fund I established expressly for such emergencies.”
“Had I known that I would have asked enough to get me into a new apartment,” Nika said.
Reaching into his desk drawer, Viktor took out an official-looking, sealed envelope and handed it to Nika.
“Open this. Or I can tell you what’s inside because I wrote it. As you know, our special section does not have rank per se, but there are now only five people, including myself, above you in authority. It’s possible I have promoted you too quickly. If so, the damage is already done. Anyway, congratulations again… and will rescind your promotion the day after you leave on an assignment without Sergei, understood? Now, you have a month or two free before I come up with something useful for you to do for your country. Do you plan on being places where there’s a Hungarian Embassy?”
“Vienna, then Prague. I’ll be leaving for Vienna after I settle into my new flat.”
“Why Vienna?” Viktor inquired.
“After Abrienda attended the pitiful wedding of the new Duke and Duchess of Windsor in France, the Duchess invited her to join them in Vienna, where they are going to spend part of their extended honeymoon before visiting Germany sometime in October. Yesterday Abrienda telegrammed and asked to meet her there.” Nika paused for effect.
“And I am.”
Viktor paced the room. “That is very interesting. It’s rumored the former king is pro-German and had a hand in preventing Britain from responding when Hitler invaded the Rhineland.” He stopped his pacing and looked out the window.
“Your father was a great historian and you’ve inherited his love for it. I, too, as it happens am an avid student of history. I should suppose you’ve heard of the Jacobites?”
“You know I must have,” Nika replied in a tone of impatience. “My father was writing a history of the Jacobites in Europe when he was killed. The work was finished by a colleague.”
“We may be seeing history repeat itself, only this time in reverse; first as farce, then as tragedy, with Nazi Germany taking on the role previously played by Bourbon France and the hapless Duke of Windsor taking on that of the Young Pretender, Charles Stuart.”
Viktor crossed the room and dropped into his chair. “I knew your relationship with your little amatrice de tartare would be useful. So, as it turns out, I do have an assignment for you, which is to get back to Prague as soon as possible and keep her company if she is invited by the Windsor’s to accompany them to Germany. What is implied of course is you get her to persuade the Windsor’s to ask her to go in the first place.”
“I know what you are going to say next, Viktor.” Nika assured him. “‘Just think, Nika, you will be combining business with pleasure!’ or something equally witty.”
Viktor rolled his eyes. “I would never say anything that jejune, though I might think it. Check in with me via our embassies in Vienna, Prague, and then hopefully Berlin each Monday.” He paused.
“By the way, do you and the miniature Mata Hari go to Mass?” Nika was a little surprised by the question. “Yes, every Sunday.”
“And you with her.” he continued.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Umm… I wonder what you two must speak about in the confessional?”
“Viktor,” Nika said archly, pretending to be angry. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.”
“Go on, get out of here.” he answered with a waved his hand. “Enjoy Vienna, Prague, or wherever else you two like to cavort. But I shall be expecting some good news this coming Monday, no matter where you are.”
She took the stairs to the ground floor, Nika suspected the merciless verbal coups de couteau she could not resist giving Deloncle was likely what nearly got her as dead as Laetitia Toureaux. “Still, it was worth it,” she said aloud to herself “‘Audace, plus d’audace, toujours d’audace!’”
Sergei was waiting for her in the foyer. He had also been away on assignment in the wilds of Ruthenia, and when he saw Nika fiercely in a rare show of emotion and Nika give a sharp cry of pain from where the bullet stopped by the cigar case had bruised her.
“You were hurt!” Sergei said.
“I slipped getting on the train in Brussels. It’s nothing.”
“Why did you go to France without me?”
“Because I knew you hated French cuisine? I’m sorry… I am just so happy to see you. Have you ever been to Vienna?”
“Because I knew you hated French cuisine,” he replied, imitating Abrienda’s higher-pitched voice. “You’re beginning to sound like that little Czech girl… or whatever in Hell she is.”
Nika took his hands between her own. “I honestly did not think I would be in danger or would never have gone without you. I am going now to find a new apartment… will you help me?”
Nika did not need to search long, as Viktor put one of his many associates in touch with her who found Nika a flat in Budapest 5.
“Ai-ai-ai!” Mrs. Lachmann wailed as Sergei hefted box after box of books down the stairs. “How I shall miss my little bird!” She kissed Nika on both cheeks, then pulled her aside.
“My final word of advice… be smart and marry that one,” she said, pointing upstairs where Sergei was getting another box of books. “He’s an awesome brute, but he’s in love with you and would make you a strong, loyal, and protective husband—oi veh! Who would give you trouble with him around?”
She marveled at the size of the box Sergei was bringing downstairs balanced on his shoulder without complaint.
“Obedient, too!” she whispered.
“Thank you, really, but he does not love me in the way you think.” Nika replied.
“This is the last,” Sergei grunted as he passed by shouldering another heavy box. Nika’s eyes stung with tears. “Thank you… you will see me again, soon and often.”
She handed Mrs. Lachmann her key. “Goodbye, mommellah… you were more of a mother to me than my own.” Nika kissed her on both cheeks, turned and walked quickly out the door.
Tears streamed down the woman’s face. “Yasher Koyech, Nika,” she said to the empty doorway.
The morning drive to Vienna was one of the rare times Nika did not fall asleep. She and Abrienda had not seen each other since shortly before she left for Paris. Abrienda had had to travel for extended stays in Switzerland and then in Sweden attending business affairs and Viktor had a seemingly endless series of thankfully mundane tasks for her to perform after she returned from Paris.
She ached to see her again.
Nika used the journey to Vienna as an opportunity to tell Sergei as much about her time in France as she thought the truth would bear without prompting further explanation.
“You broke your promise to me… that you would never do anything dangerous without me there to protect you.”
“Sergei, I told you I did not think it would be dangerous. I did not break my promise, but you are right I should have had you with me—even Viktor told me that yesterday. I will not do it again. Ever.” There was silence.
“Sergei?”
“I told you long ago, I cannot be alive if you are not. You must outlive me. I will believe you if you now swear on the life of your little strange-looking Czech friend. Only then will I be certain.”
“I swear, Sergei.”
“On her name. Say her name,” he insisted.
“I swear… on Abrienda’s life.”
Nika could see Sergei scowling in the rear-view mirror.
“I wish you had never met her. She’s bad luck.”
There followed an uncomfortable silence Nika was eager to dispel. She wanted to be unreservedly happy when she saw Abrienda again.
“Abrienda and you are the best things that have ever happened to me,” Nika replied.
As Viktor explained to Nika early on in her career, when you live a life in which lying to people is a daily necessity it feels good to occasionally tell someone the truth, adding, “So long as you don’t make a habit of it.”
Sergei remained silent for about five minutes. “You have one of those small mirrors women carry?”
“Yes, Sergei… why?”
There was another pause. “Your lipstick is a mess.” he said and Nika smiled. “I best fix it, then.”
Nika arrived in Vienna early so she could secure a room in a hotel near where Abrienda said the Windsor’s always stayed and still be waiting on the platform at Sudbahnhof station for the afternoon train from Prague. As the train pulled into the station, Nika saw Abrienda laughing and waving through the compartment window, then disappear and after a few more agonizing minutes saw her dance her way down the steps of the sleeping carriage with two porters struggling behind, leap onto the platform and run into her arms.
“Stepsister!“ Abrienda shouted loud enough for everyone to hear and kissed Nika on the lips. Nika thought she would have a heart attack.
“Do that again, stepsister mine, and we’ll scandalize all Vienna!”
“We won’t have been the first ones in its history to do that here! Is Alexander Pushkin waiting for us?”
Nika laughed, “Yesss!” She stepped back and looked at Abrienda. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you! We have a room at the Hotel König von Ungarn, two-minutes’ walk from where the Windsor’s are staying.”
“Brilliant!” Abrienda replied. “We join them for lunch tomorrow… just us!” and climbed into the backseat after Nika. She looked into the rear-view mirror and smiled.
“Good morning, Sergei Arkadyevich,” she said in Russian.
“Good morning. How did you know my patronym?”
“Would you believe me if I say it was a lucky guess?”
“No.”
Abrienda gave up for now. “The King of Hungary Hotel? How nearly apropos.”
“I couldn’t find one named ‘The Almost Queen of England Hotel’ so chose next best.” and her fingers just managed to touch the side of Abrienda’s left breast.
Abrienda smiled continued looking straight ahead. “I can barely wait, either.”
Lying in bed together, Nika did not say much about how she’d spent the months they’d been apart, Instead, she begged Abrienda to tell her about the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor.
Abrienda rolled on to her side and took a cigar from her case. “Join me?” “I will have to take one of yours,” Nika said, feeling a brief frisson of fear. “My case went missing somewhere in Romania.”
“Nika, no!” she said. “I am so sorry. How did you lose it?”
“I may not have lost it,” Nika answered. “I spent most of our time apart in Bucharest, so was probably stolen.”
“Let me buy you a new one here to celebrate our reunion,” and Abrienda leaned across the bed and kissed her.
“Good. I was getting tired of carrying the cigars in the pockets of my jackets,” and Nika resisted the temptation to touch the spot where the Cagoule bullet would have entered her chest had it not been for her lover’s gift.
“So, tell me about the wedding.”
“It was… sad,” Abrienda answered. She rolled over on her back and stretched. “I’m so glad you don’t wear clothes to bed. It’s a disgusting, filthy habit, like wearing shoes or slippers in the house.”
“I began sleeping naked after my mother died,” Nika said. “And agree with you on everything else. You going to tell me about the wedding or not?”
Abrienda rolled over again on her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. “As I said, it was sad. There were very few guests. Wallis said she had few European friends and almost none of the British ones dared to come out of fear of not being invited to the next royal tea party. And of course, there was no one there from the royal family.”
“The duke looked pathetic. He constantly shifted from one foot to the other, didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, and was always fussing with his tie. There were more servants at the wedding than guests.”
“Sounds…” Nika let her voice trail off and shook her head.
“Yes. It may have been the most uncomfortable day of my life. I felt sorry for Wallis. I could see how disappointed she was, yet what could she do? She had to go through with it. British Pathé was there and filmed the whole sorry affair.”
“Yes, I know!” Nika said, suddenly. “I went to a cinema in Bucharest just to watch newsreels of the wedding but didn’t see you—I was so disappointed! What happened?”
Abrienda sighed. “If you watch closely, you’ll notice a piece of film appears twice. It replaces a piece cut out of the film of me congratulating Wallis and the Duke. You know…” and as she had once before, took her index fingers and drew back the skin from around her eyes to either side. “Wallis later told me they didn’t want someone who looked like me in the shots. Pity, too. I executed a very nice curtsy. I practiced the whole day before.”
She sat up on the bed. “I must give the duke credit. He apologized, saying it was a ‘shameful’ thing for them to do. Oh well, ‘No help for it,’ as the British would say.”
Nika’s heart bled for her. She didn’t seem to be upset over it, failed to understand how she could not, and admired her strength and lack of self-pity.
“Wallis looked like she’d rather have been almost anywhere else.”
Abrienda laughed. “She speaks very differently when with her non-English friends. More natural. She can be very funny. ’Just look at this pathetic spectacle, Abri! I mean, look at it! And look at these English women! Who wears a fur shoulder wrap in June? I do wish she’d stop playing with it and tie that dead rabbit around her neck or let it fall on the ground and leave it for the local gamekeeper to collect! There’s poor David, bobbing around like a cork in the ocean… and I’m supposed to wear a smile through all this? I need a drink! Let’s you and me get one or twenty!”
“I truly feel sorry for her. Even though Edward dotes on her, I think she will be very lonely and unhappy.”
“What’s the Duke like?” Nika asked.
“Still weak, shallow, intensely boring,” Abrienda said. “But that’s something you can determine for yourself tomorrow. For now—en garde, Richelieu!”
It took Abrienda and Nika exactly four minutes to walk from their hotel to the entrance of Die Drei Husaren—The Three Hussars—long the hotel of choice for the former Wallis Simpson and the former Edward VIII, now Duke and Duchess of Windsor and the nearest one to Vienna’s Great Cathedral of St Stephan which was just around the corner. The hotel was small, and when Edward and Wallis stayed, they booked all the rooms in advance and left them unoccupied or parceled them out as gifts to their friends. The Duchess made such an offer to Abrienda but she declined for fear it might advertise her relationship with Nika. Abrienda told Nika the duke only expected British subjects to do him honors; a relaxed “informal formality” was his preferred style.
The hotel doorman showed them in and to the restaurant where the Duke and Duchess were already seated. Edward rose and greeted them, a winning smile on his face.
“Hello Abri!” Wallis said. “Don’t worry, you’re not late; the duke and I are just early! And who might this splendid creature be?”
Abrienda laughed. “You must mean my stepsister, Miss Nika Molnar.”
The duke took Nika’s hand. “Molnar? Would I be speaking to the daughter of the late Professor Benedek Molnar?” he asked in perfect German.
“You are, indeed, sir,” she replied in English, and the “sir” did not feel at all strained in the charming presence of the duke. “You are familiar with my father’s work?” switching back to German.
Edward smiled. “Only by neglect. My history tutor demanded I read your father’s books on the Punic Wars, but I’m afraid I never did. He even complained to the King about it. ‘What?’ my father said. ‘Why are you stuffing the boy’s head with a lot of French history?’” and Edward laughed so generously it would have relaxed anyone who heard him.
Edward’s inability to appreciate her father’s scholarship hardly surprised Nika. The depth of his ignorance and lack of cultural references were well known. Abrienda told Nika the story how one of the then Prince of Wales’s mistresses tried to improve his mind by giving him a copy of Jane Eyre to read but after a month or two returned it to her unread. “I can’t get on with this at all— can’t get on! Who are these ‘Bront’ people, anyway?”
The duke helped the ladies with their chairs and the waiter brought coffee.
“You might not know this, Miss Molnar, but my late father was often given to saying the most extraordinary things in public. Once, the king was visiting the manufacturing plant of an old and rather famous maker of toy soldier – named W. Britain, oddly enough – and the manager premiered for HRH the company’s figures for the coming year. These included a curious set representing a traditional English village. ‘But where’s the village idiot?’ the king asked.”
‘Excuse me… where is the ’what’, Your Majesty?’ the manager asked.
“The Village Idiot, man, the Village Idiot! Every English village has one, so you can’t truly call your new set ‘Traditional English Village’ unless you include a figure representing a Village Idiot!” The poor man really didn’t know if His Majesty was serious or not but he was, you see? HRH was about to leave when he turned round, sought out the manager again, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Shouldn’t be too difficult to find a good model for one—plenty still around, you know!’ That was my father, Miss Molnar.”
“Good God, David, you do tell the most boring stories. Keep it up, and you’ll put these two girls back to sleep before they’ve even had breakfast!”
“Yes, Wallis,” the Edward said sheepishly, then like a little boy who’d been scolded seeking comfort, looked up under his eyelids at Nika and asked, “But you liked my story, didn’t you, Miss Molnar?”
“I did, sir, truly I did!” she replied, laughing.
The duke turned to his wife with a look of triumph. “Hah! There you are, Wallis… Hungary has spoken!”
Wallis tapped at the folded newspaper resting on the table. “Abri, the French police still haven’t caught the fiend who murdered that poor girl in the Paris Metro. There’s a new article about it here. ‘French Police No Closer.’ Well, I, for one, am not surprised by that! Had that sort of thing taken place in America, or even England, they certainly would be by now!”
“At least those ridiculous stories about who sabotaged the Hindenburg have been knocked off the front pages,” the duke commented.
Nika appeared puzzled. “I’m sorry? What murder?”
Wallis handed Nika the paper. “It was in all the French newspapers. Put a bit of a damper on the wedding. You see, this young woman… what was her name, Nika?”
“Laetitia Toureaux.”
“Yes, that’s it. She was found in her seat on the Paris Metro with a nav, a nava…”
“Navaja laguiole,” Nika said.
“A what?” asked the duke.
“A navaja laguiole, sir. A kind of clasp knife common to the Massif Central in the south of France. The shape of the handle is made to resemble a woman’s leg, and the fastening pins on the handle form the sign of the cross. It’s the weapon of choice for French criminals.”
The duke smiled. “What singular company you keep, Miss Molnar, to know something like that!” the duke said teasingly.
Abrienda had read the story and pretended to drink her coffee as studied Nika over the rim of the cup.
“Anyway!” Wallis continued, “The knife was found sticking out the side of the girl’s neck! There was no one in the compartment when she got on, and no one was seen getting off at the next station. No witnesses, no clues, nothing!”
Abrienda felt a sudden chill. “I wonder if they will ever catch the man who did it.”
“How do you know it was a man who killed her?” Nika asked.
Abrienda fixed Nika with her anthracite eyes.
“I don’t.”
“The French always have such horrific crimes involving women!” Wallis exclaimed. “Those monstrous Papin sisters, killing their mistress and her young daughter by gouging out their eyes! Must be some inherent moral flaw in the French character that makes them do these dreadful things.”
“Well, whoever did this one is a master of their craft,” the duke opined. “Such a ghastly century, after starting with such promise.”
The arrival of breakfast interrupted the conversation until Wallis asked, “Well now… how in the world did you two get to become stepsisters? I mean, Abri, your father married a Japanese countess, yet Nika’s father was this Professor Molnar, who was Hungarian, correct?”
“My father was close friends with Nika’s father from the time of the Austro-Hungary. When the Communists killed Nika’s family, she came to live with us. We grew up together, shared the same room, and consider ourselves stepsisters, in spirit if not in flesh.”
“That explains it all very nicely, Wallis,” the duke said and turned to Nika. “I am terribly sorry for your loss. The Communists are the bane of the civilized world. Only one man in Europe seems to know how to deal with them effectively.”
“Who might that be, sir?” Nika asked. Edward looked surprised.
“Why, Adolf Hitler, of course. In fact, I anticipate meeting him in person when we visit this coming October.”
“A personal invitation to visit Germany was sent to us in Paris by Hermann Göring,” offered Wallis. “I suppose Herr Hitler felt an invitation from Göring would upset the British government less than if it came from him personally.”
“In all events, I will certainly meet Herr Hitler,” the duke assured her. “He is a great leader. The Nazis achieved in four years what the slipshod democracies of Britain and France have failed to do in nearly twenty. I can’t be squired around the country by the President of Germany’s Reichstag without paying at least a courtesy call on its Führer und Reichskanzler, can I?”
“It would be ridiculous!” Wallis chimed in.
Edward continued to focus his attention on Nika. “I want to do all I can to prevent another war in Europe. A meeting with the chancellor, though I am certain the British government will strongly disapprove, would be part of that effort. I believe there are many ways Great Britain and Germany can the work together to secure the peace and wellbeing of Europe while at the same time containing the Bolshevik beast. As for Herr Hitler’s attitude towards England, did you know he hosted a meeting of reconciliation between British and German soldiers who fought on the Western Front, as he did himself?”
Wallis was not amused by the attention her newest husband was showing her friend’s stepsister. “Ladies, we will be having a little soirée next week. There will be a lot of other simply fascinating people attending, so you both must come, right, David?”
“As rain, Wallis,” he replied.
When they left the Three Hussars, the weather being glorious, the couple decided to indulge themselves in some Viennese gemutlichkeit. They found it at an open-air pub in the park near the military museum. They ordered beer in heavy Maßkrug glasses, and the atmosphere was jovial but not rowdy. A few tables away, two men were engaging in a friendly Maßkrugstemmen to see who could hold his full beer glass at arm’s length the longest, friends laughing and shouting encouragement.
“This is excellent,” Abrienda said as she put down her glass. “The best black beer is brewed near my hometown and there’s an outdoor pub, near my house and nicer than this one near the entrance to the Pro Bono. We’ll go next time, good?”
“Fine with me, so long as you don’t invite your chums the Windsor’s along,” Nika replied.
“I thought the duke was very charming towards you,” Abrienda remarked and took another drink from her mug. “Even flirtatious. I also think Wallis is jealous. Still, I can’t help liking them, no matter what they say or how much they bore me.”
“So, I told the Prime Minister, ‘If you commit British forces to oust German troops from the Rhineland, which is nothing more than marching into their own backyard, I will abdicate. Do you understand? I will abdicate!’ And what if Hitler wishes to unite Austria with the Reich? What outcome could be any more natural, or any less our affair? Indeed, one could almost say it is inevitable!”
The “little soirée” Wallis invited Abrienda and Nika to attend turned out to be more like a coming out party for the new Duke of Windsor. There were drinks after dinner and the English expatriate community was much in evidence along with any amusing Englishmen who happened to be passing through. Among these was Noel Coward, assiduously paying court to the Duchess and Abrienda kept her company while Nika wandered about the room, bored.
“Well, Duchess, I will tell you the key to success,” Coward said. “Essentially, clothes. Once I had a hit, I immediately went to Lesley & Roberts. ‘The trouser should shiver on the shoe but never break,’ I remember old Roberts saying, and when I went through the door at Lady Colefax’s in my new Savile Row suit, I knew I was going to make it. Once you get the clothes right – and they must be dead right – all the rest will follow.”
“Tell us, Noel, is that true for women as well as men?” the Duchess asked, fishing for a compliment.
“Of course, Duchess,” and Abrienda sensed a certain amount of contempt in the way the playwright pronounced her new title. “Perhaps even more so.” He looked around the room. “Unfortunately, there are only two truly exceptionally well-dressed ladies here.”
He took a drink and sighed. “Neither of them is British, sad to say.”
“Tell us, Noel, who is the other one?” Wallis asked.
He looked at Wallis, perplexed. “The other one?”
For Coward, the evening was now a complete success. He made a quip at the expense of the Duchess of Windsor that would be told and retold throughout the British world and would be able to dine out on for a good three month, maybe even four.
“One is gliding through the room like Cleopatra’s Barge at Tarsus, though doubtlessly with more grace.” He raised his glass to Abrienda. “And it takes great courage to wear a pantsuit to an affair like this… Coco Chanel?” Abrienda smiled. “Yes. She made it for me, including the hat.”
“How about the cigars?” Coward asked.
“Those were my idea,”
“Oh… so you are that Abrienda de Soza.”
“You mean, as opposed to the other ones?” she replied with mock innocence and Wallis laughed.
“Ohh… touché, my dear,” Coward replied. “Tell me, do you happen to know that lovely vessel floating about the room?”
“You mean my stepsister?”
“Really? I don’t see a strong resemblance.”
“That’s because she’s my step sister, Mr. Coward.”
Coward smiled, nodded, and finished his drink. “Duchess, if you don’t mind, I will call it an evening. Ladies.”
“So, did you enjoy meeting Mr. Coward?” Wallis asked after he left to say his goodbyes to the duke. “He’s considered a great wit. In England.”
“Is he? Were he considered a great wit in France, then I’d be impressed. I don’t care much for ‘great wits’ wherever they are from. Their reputation is built upon making people look foolish or stupid who are not as worldly or intellectually gifted as they are but usually have achieved far more in life.”
“Well, he certainly had no luck with you tonight,” Wallis said. “Also, thank you. Now, tell me how long you have been friends with that Coco Chanel?”
Nika had been wandering around the room without purpose when she found a coign of vantage from where she could watch Abrienda for a while. Nika thought she looked so beautiful sitting next to the Duchess. She was perfectly happy to watch her from different points in the room when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
“Ah, there you are, Nika! Please join us!” It was the duke and in good spirits.
“Miss Nika Molnar, allow me to introduce Count Gian Galeazzo Ciano, 2nd Count of Cortellazzo and Buccari. Miss Molnar is the daughter of the late Professor Molnar of Hungary.”
Count Ciano took Nika’s extended hand and gave a slight bow. “Daughter of the only non-Italian historian who could write about our noble ancestors with authority. I am honored.”
“I was just having something of a laugh at the Count’s expense. It seems that… shall I tell her, Count Ciano?”
Ciano gave the duke a sideway glance of apprehension. “Since you have started, sir, and if you feel you must, though perhaps the young lady won’t find the story drole enough to be entertained…”
“Unlikely, Count Ciano,” Nika interrupted. “The Duke of Windsor already knows how much I enjoy his stories, especially concerning kings and village idiots.”
Count Ciano looked somewhat confused but Edward laughed. “Bit of a private joke, Count. So, you remember, do you? Well then, as I just told the Count, this American chap I met named Messersmith informed me a German train has crashed in Austria full of with munitions from Italy! I advised the Count that since his father-in-law has brought the Italian railways up to snuff, maybe he could lend his expertise to his Austrian neighbors!”
The duke laughed, and Ciano and Nika politely seconded him.
“That Is funny, sir!” Nika said. “What do you think of the idea, Count Ciano?”
“If you think it has merit, Miss Molnar, in the morning I shall send Il Duce a memorandum suggesting it.”
“The British government is quite put out that I have accepted the invitation to visit Germany and be Hitler’s guest in Berlin. They even got Winston to send me this telegram.” He reached into his suit pocket.
“Allow me. ‘My dear Edward,’” the duke began, employing for their amusement a poor imitation of the man who had stood by him during his struggle to marry Wallis Simpson and remain king.
“I take this moment to confide in you how much it grieves me how blithely you dismiss the deep concerns expressed by this government and your closest friends, who in both cases only wish you well about your proposed trip to Nazi Germany and meeting with its ‘Führer’. For you to be seen, in effect, embracing the man whose entire policy is to weaken the Western democracies may well leave a stain on your reputation for all time.”
“Hah!” the duke exclaimed and returned the telegram to his suit pocket. “If my brother and his ministers ‘only wish me well’, why then do they skimp on my allowance and refuse to afford Wallis the honors she deserves as my wife?”
“It’s all the trouble Hitler’s having with the Jews that has Winston upset,” he continued. “He’s too obliging to the opinions of his Jewish friends… Sir Ernest Cassel, Lord Rothschild and the rest. It’s a failing he inherited from his father Sir Randolph, who once said something to the effect his only real friends were Jewish!”
Count Ciano listened without comment, and the duke now focused his attention on Nika. “All Chancellor Hitler is doing is trying to release the German people from the bondage of Hebrew finance. Here, Miss Molnar, let me explain it to you this way.” He asked her to hold up her right hand, then intertwined it with the fingers of his own.
“This is how the Jews control not only Germany but all Europe and America as well. What Herr Hitler is trying to do is free us from their grasp,” and slowly pulled his fingers back, one finger at a time. “First, Germany, then Austria, then hopefully your country, then mine.”
“That is… a unique way of explaining it,” Count Ciano remarked.
“Thank you, Count.” The duke was about to continue when he saw Wallis motion to him and excused himself.
“Do you like Vienna, Miss Molnar?” Ciano asked.
“Yes, I do. There is much here to like.”
“Have you ever been to Italy? No? Well, should you ever visit, please consider me at your complete disposal.” Ciano looked about him, then withdrew his cigarette case from his suit pocket and offered Nika a cigarette. “May I ask you a question that may sound intrusive, perhaps even rude, though not meant to be?”
“I don’t believe you capable of offending me, Count Ciano. Please ask your question.”
Ciano smiled. “You are a close friend of the Duke of Windsor?”
“Not really. I know him through my stepsister, Abrienda de Soza, who is a friend of the Duchess of Windsor from before the abdication of her husband.”
“I see. Miss de Soza is lovely, in an exotic way. You make a stunning couple. I believe your stepsister is from Czechoslovakia, or ’Czecho-Germano-Polono-Magyaro-Rutheno-Rumano-Slovakia’, as my father-in-law likes to call it.”
“She is indeed. It makes for spirited discussions between us.”
Count Ciano studied his cigarette. “You are beautiful and yet suspect you are far more than you seem.”
“Really, Count? If I study that long enough, will I be able to see that as a compliment?”
“It was meant to be,” Ciano assured her and puffing on his cigarette, considered his next words carefully.
“As you may have noticed, the duke is very indiscreet. It might be wise if his true friends advised those even closer to the him that he be more prudent in what he discloses.”
Ciano twirled his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “Naturally, I knew about the train mishap, yet now wonder how the person who told the duke knew of it. That appears to me to be the important question. Does it appear that way to you?”
“Why should this be of interest to me?” Nika asked.
“Had the Americans broken the code Italy employs to send communiques between Rome and its embassies abroad, that could be one way?”
“Indeed, Count Ciano but again, why should I be interested in this?”
“Normally, you shouldn’t,” he said with an elegant wave of his cigarette hand. “As you might imagine, Miss Molnar, in my position, a great deal of information comes my way, much of it completely indecipherable at first. For example, I have received reports on a variety of remarkable events beyond Italy’s borders that appear unconnected but share one common denominator, that being the presence of a so far unidentified woman of considerable charm and beauty who from her accent is suspected of being from Central Europe, possibly Hungary. Since we have no name, the incredibly romantic Germans have started calling her Morena, after a character in the Russian opera being performed in Barcelona when she made one of her more, how shall I describe it, ‘dramatic’ appearances?”
Ciano paused and established eye contact. “Would you be offended if I confess to believing I am speaking tête-à-tête with ‘Morena’ this very moment?”
Nika coolly met his gaze. “I am not at all offended, Count Ciano, since I am not the woman you speak of. However, were you correct, wouldn’t it also be very ‘indiscreet’ of you to say you think I am she?”
Nika drew deeply on her cigarette and exhaled. “After all, though we are both Catholic, this place is not a confessional, nor am I a priest.”
Ciano laughed. “To be indiscreet in front of a beautiful woman? Bella not a crime, more of an occupational hazard.” Something drew Ciano’s attention away for a moment. *“Mi scusi, signorina Molnar.* It appears a member of my party is having difficulty explaining something to our host. It has been a great pleasure, Miss Molnar. I look forward, indeed expect, to see you again,” and with a short but courteous bow the count excused himself.
Nika crossed the room and came up behind Abrienda, who was discussing haute couture with the new duchess. She placed her fingers lightly on Abrienda’s shoulder, who looked up at Nika with a mock expression of wide-eyed innocence.
“Oh, it’s you. Having a nice time with Count Ciano, are we?”
Nika leaned over and said in Czech, “All I am having is the urge to get out of here and make mad love to you. What do you say to that, Miss de Soza?”
Abrienda rose abruptly. “It appears my stepsister is feeling ill and must leave.”
Wallis looked Nika up and down, then smiled sympathetically. “Well, family must come first, I always say. Thank you both for coming. and see you again soon!”
The women retrieved their coats and found Sergei waiting patiently outside.
“You think she suspects?” Nika asked as they climbed into the backseat. Abrienda shook her head.
“She doesn’t suspect. She knows.”
Nika fell on the bed backwards and kicked off her shoes. “Frankly speaking, I’m happy we were not invited to be part of Windsor’s entourage on their trip to Germany,” she said. “The duke is among my least favorite ex-kings.”
“I was invited, darling, but Wallis thinks her husband a bit too fond of you. She’d told me she’d be happy if I could accompany them, ‘Unless it would be impossible to be apart from your dear stepsister for so long, if you take my meaning? Not that it would bother me in the slightest, of course, if such a thing were true!’”
“I replied I didn’t ‘take her meaning’ but had to decline nonetheless, saying I couldn’t accept an invitation anywhere that did not include you and needed to return to Prague. As for meeting Herr Hitler, I could forgo the honor.”
Nika put her hand in Abrienda’s. “What will become of us, Abri?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I do know whatever it is, it will be unusual.”
Five months after the Windsor’s returned from visiting Germany, Hitler marched into Austria. There was no meaningful opposition.