Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (42 page)

Chapter
17

'And if I don't want to leave?' Schmarya's voice was low.
'What happens if I decide I like Russia?'

They were alone in the empty examining room. The doctor
who had adjusted Schmarya's new wooden leg had left several
minutes earlier.

Senda took a deep breath and forced the words out of her
lungs. 'In that case, he says he won't be able to help you.'

He turned his back on the hospital window. 'The Prince
this,' he grunted irritably, 'the Prince that. Suddenly the two
of you are as thick as thieves.'

She blushed and bit down on her lip. 'I'm only trying to help
you,' she said. 'Is there something wrong with that?'

'And him? I suppose His Highness,' Schmarya said sarcasti
cally, 'wants what's best for me too?' He leered at her.

'Why shouldn't he?'

'I'd like to know what he's getting out of being so damned
helpful! Doesn't it strike you as suspicious?'

'Suspicious?' she repeated softly, gazing down into her lap.
'Why would it?'

He stalked the length of the room, the wooden leg thumping
stiffly on the floor. The left leg of his hospital pyjamas had
been cut off several inches below the crotch in order to facili
tate the bulky leather straps and buckles of the prosthesis. The
ugly contraption was bare and Senda winced as she looked at
it. Somehow the leather boot which encased the bottom part of the artificial leg made it even worse, somehow obscene. As
if it were a travesty of a real leg.

'Stop playing games with me!' Angrily Schmarya kicked out
at a chair with his prosthesis and sent it toppling on its back.
'You think I've lost my brains along with my leg?'

Senda cringed. It occured to her that this was no longer the
Schmarya she had known and loved. The Schmarya she had
given her heart so selflessly to had died three days after the
ball, and it seemed as if an even angrier—and more pitiful—
man had taken his place.

She wriggled forward on her chair and clasped and
unclasped her hands in agitation. 'Schmarya, can't you be reasonable?' she urged. 'Must you always be so pig-headed? Why . . .
why
are you unwilling to see that this is for the best?
All you'll have to do is travel to Finland and wait for me there.
It's just a hundred and thirty kilometres across the gulf. I'll follow with Tamara in a few days' time and join you. From
there we can go anywhere we want—Europe, England, Amer
ica, even Palestine! What's so difficult about that?'

He scowled. 'All I want to know is, why can't we leave
together?'

She shut her eyes and sighed. 'Because . . . because it's . . .
well, it's
easier
this way.'

He gave a bark of a laugh. 'In other words, we've got to
sneak out of the country separately because His High and Mighty doesn't want us to be together, is that it? Because he
wants to come between us. He's hoping to keep you here.
That's what you're really trying to tell me, isn't it?'

She bit her lip and hesitated. Vaslav had never put it that
way, but she had to admit that it
was
an unspoken tactic on
Vaslav's part. What other reason would there be for the gown,
the ball invitation, the apartment, and now the house? Why
would he have pulled so many strings to get Schmarya trans
ferred from the jail to the hospital? She was realist enough to
know that he hadn't done any of these things to satisfy any
altruistic urge. He wanted her. It was as simple as that. And he'd had her—several times now. She had two necklaces and a diamond-and-aquamarine bracelet to show for it. Yes, he wanted her. Wanted her all to himself. Yet, when Vaslav had
told her that Schmarya must not remain in Russia much
longer, his argument had made perfect sense. Altogether too
many legal papers had been filed against him. So many news
paper articles had involved him, had virtually passed sentence
on him. If it had merely been an arrest report, that could easily
have been mislaid and destroyed. So, too, if it had been the
police who had caught him. But the Okhrana? The secret
police? They were virtually a law unto themselves. She knew
it had been no easy matter for Vaslav to have Schmarya trans
ferred to the hospital, stolen, as it were, right out from under
their fingers. Even here, in the hospital, the Okhrana regularly
came to check to make certain he had not escaped.

But
if
Schmarya managed to get to Finland—with Vaslav's
help, of course, since the necessary travel papers had to be in
order—then he could travel on from there.

And if he was stubborn enough to stay in Russia? Then he would have to face the music, and it promised to be a far-from-pretty tune: in all likelihood, the melody was certain to
be a death song.

She sighed deeply to herself. The ice she was treading was
treacherously thin, and if she made one wrong move it would
be Schmarya, not her, who would inevitably face disaster. His
blood would be on her hands as surely as if she'd killed him
herself.

She had to make him see the light. Somehow, she had to
cut through his deliberately naive baiting. There was no time
to waste on that.

But his accusation had hit all too close to home. Although
she railed against his suspicions—he was totally wrong in
assuming she wanted him out of her way—she had to admit he
had been right on one count.

She did not dare jeopardize his chances for escape by letting
Vaslav know she was planning to flee as well. Under no
circumstances must Vaslav suspect that. For if he did, she was
certain that he would not be willing to help Schmarya.

'Well!' Schmarya had been watching her silently, and now
he stomped toward her with his ungainly gait, his weight on
his good leg. He looked down at her. 'Is that question so
difficult that you've got to
search
for an answer? I would think
a simple yes or no would suffice.'

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. 'It . . . it was never
discussed,' she said stiffly.

'You make me sick!' he said contemptuously.

She flushed and pressed her lips tightly together.

He began to stomp madly around the room, his wooden leg
thumping. 'I must admit, it's a fine little plot the two of you
have hatched. I'm damned if I stay, and I'm damned if I leave.'

'Why is that? I think it's all rather simple.'

'Why?' He stopped pacing and stared at her. 'Because if I
leave first, then you won't have to follow me, will you? You
can always stay behind, be detained for any number of con
venient excuses.'

'That's not true!' she cried heatedly, jumping to her feet. 'I
will
follow you.' She shook her head in disbelief. 'Schmarya,
what's happened between us that makes you not want to believe me? I'd go to the ends of the earth with you!'

His lips curled into a grim smile. 'Why would you want to
do that?'

She held his gaze, her eyes growing moist. 'Because I love
you,' she whispered simply.

He threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'That's
rich!' he sputtered. 'By God, that's really rich!'

She stared at him. 'I don't understand what's so funny,' she
said quietly. 'Would you care to share the joke?'

The hysterical laughter died in his throat. 'You want to hear
a joke, I'll tell you one!' His eyes became narrowed slits and
he fumbled with the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms, yank
ing them down. There was only a small bandage taped to his
groin now, since his wound was healing, but it emphasized
the terrible loss he had sustained. 'There,' he said hoarsely.
'There's your joke.'

She laid a hand on his arm. 'That's not everything,
Schmarya, and you know it,' she said softly. 'So we can't have another child. We don't
need
another child. Tamara is all we
need. She gives enough love to last us several lifetimes. And
she needs and loves you. You don't know how terribly she
misses you. She asks about you all the time. I wish you'd at
least see her. Why make her suffer for something she's far too
young and innocent to understand?'

He turned away from her and pulled the trousers back up.
'And you?' His voice sounded strangled. 'What does this do
to
your
needs?'

She shrugged. 'What about them?'

He whirled on her. 'Tell me that this doesn't make a differ
ence,' he said bitterly, gesturing at his groin.

She shook her head. 'You know it doesn't,' she said quietly.
'I love
you,
Schmarya . . . not just a piece of your anatomy.
I love everything about you.' Her voice broke.

She thought: I must be patient with him. I must show only
my love for him, never pity. Then perhaps in time the anguish
which racks him so relentlessly will lessen, and the healing
process can finally begin.

She knew she was making excuses for him, but didn't he
deserve them?

'Schmarya, listen,' she said urgently. 'What's happened has
happened. I know it's unpleasant—'

'Unpleasant!
That's a slight understatement.'

She sighed again and started over, her voice a little stronger.
'I know it's dreadful, but much as we'd like to, we can't change
what has happened. What we need to do now is to deal with
it, to cope with it and try to rebuild our lives and prove we can
go on despite everything. Can't you see we have to? For both
our sakes, and Tamara's. Schmarya,
please.'
The words came
out in a rush. 'We have to go on living! You must believe me
when I say what they did to you hurts more than anything that
has ever happened to us.' Her vision blurred with tears. 'But
the way I feel about you?' She shook her head. 'It doesn't
make a bit of difference. If anything, I love you all the more.'