Tempting Fate (29 page)

“Then you
do
know something about him.” Once again Alfred’s eyes grew predatory.

Ragoczy shrugged. “In self-defense, you might say. You’re not the only one to recognize the name.” He turned toward the door to put an end to the conversation. “With your permission, I’ll convey your answer to Frau Ostneige.”

“By all means,” Maximillian said. “And let them know in the kitchen that we’re getting peckish.”

Alfred was not inclined to let Ragoczy leave so quickly, but could do little to detain him. “I trust we may speak further, Herr Ragoczy.”

“I doubt I will be staying very late tonight,” Ragoczy said, deliberately choosing to misinterpret his meaning.

“There will be other times, Herr Graf,” Maximillian promised blithely. “My sister will be having more of these evenings as summer comes on.”

“So we will meet again, Herr Ragoczy,” Alfred declared as the door closed between them. “I look forward to the day.”

Ragoczy had given orders in the kitchen and spoken to Otto before Gudrun descended from her room. He approached her at once. “I have taken the liberty of arranging for a part of the buffet to be served in the library, if you do not object.”

“Oh, thank you.” Gudrun had brushed her hair back into the soft coronet she had made of a single long braid, and she was entirely mistress of herself again. As a gesture of confidence, she had hung two long necklaces of pearls around her throat and bosom. She seemed more formidable now. Ragoczy studied her, knowing it would not be wise to have any but the most casual of dealings with her. Yet he felt his heart go out to her for her intelligence and courage, and he doubted he could leave her to the care of her brother. As Gudrun reached the bottom step, she saw the concern in Ragoczy’s eyes, and once again felt abashed. “I probably should not have let you persuade me to go upstairs, Herr Graf, but I could not resist the idea. You’ve been very patient with me. And to find a way to keep the men in the library from mixing with my other guests, that alone is more than I had any right to ask.”

“It’s nothing, Frau Ostneige.” He offered his arm to her. “You’ll want to go into the dining room, I think.”

“I suppose it’s best.” She made a last-minute correction to the fall of her petal-tiered skirt. “You’ll take supper with me?”

“It would be my pleasure to sit with you, but I have … dined recently, and I fear I am not … hungry again yet.” He recalled the young woman from Tegernsee he had visited earlier that evening. She had been wealthy, bored, and eager for novelty, quick in her passion, but with an unadmitted need that reminded Ragoczy somewhat of Estasia so many years ago in Fiorenza, but lacking the undercurrent of madness. He had been satisfied by her gratification, but was comforted by the knowledge that neither she nor himself had any inclination to meet again. Eventually he would want a more regular arrangement, but for the time being he was reasonably content to limit himself to those women seeking relaxation and brief adventure at the various mountain lakes in the district. He did not want to admit that such encounters were ultimately disappointing.

“Herr Graf, is there something wrong?” Gudrun’s question cut into his thoughts.

“No; nothing.” They had reached the door to the dining room and could hear the music and muted talk beyond it. Against his better judgment, he added, “You are going to call me Saint-Germain, are you not?”

The uncertainty disappeared from her smile as she reached to push open the door. “Yes. I am.”

Text of a report from the tutor David Bündnis to his employer, Franchot Ragoczy.

July 9, 1919

My dear Graf Ragoczy:

You have asked that I prepare an evaluation of the progress of your ward, Laisha Vlassevna, and it is my privilege to do so.

As you yourself have indicated, this is a gifted child with a great deal of native intelligence. I have not been able to ascertain how much instruction she has had prior to my tuition, but from what I have observed of her, she has spent a fair amount of time in the schoolroom. Her grasp of languages, while she claims to dislike such study, is excellent. I suspect that she has had such instruction before, although she claims that she does not recall any lessons whatsoever.

We have studied a little geography, and she has very much enjoyed learning the names of the various countries around the world. She has avoided asking any questions whatever about Russia, either historically or at present, and she has a marked aversion to discussing the Great War. When I have attempted to learn more of why she feels this way, she retreats into childish petulance. I have not been able to coax her out of such moods when they are upon her and she has said that she does not wish to be cheered at those times. I would be grateful for your suggestions on the matter.

Recently she has said that she would like to see a moving picture, and I have given her my opinion—that such entertainments are amusing, but of no lasting merit—and told her I would inquire of you whether or not you will permit her to attend a showing of such a thing, and what you would recommend of those moving pictures available for viewing. It seems that the Schnaubel children have occasionally gone into München to the motion-picture theatres there with their mother to guide and advise them. She told me that they saw an American film called
Birth of a Nation
a week ago, and are still talking about it.

Now that the political situation in München is more stable, it might be possible for Laisha Vlassevna to go there, properly escorted and supervised, for a day or so, and she could then have the opportunity to see more of the city and go into one or two of the shops. To finish off such an adventure with a moving picture would give her the entertainment she desires without making it the central attraction of such a jaunt. As you have told me that she is about eight years old, it is not unnatural for her to be increasingly curious. I offer my own escort, naturally, as well as informing you that Frau Schnaubel has invited Laisha Vlassevna to join her the next time she takes her children to the city. It is my belief that you would be wise to consider the offer, since your ward occasionally grows restless here, and although she does not complain, I am aware that she has a child’s longing for adventure as well as an active curiosity.

I have recently added numbers to our studies, and she has shown herself an apt pupil in this area, as well. As long as the use of numbers is a game, she does exceedingly well, but when it is a question of learning by rote or drill, then she does poorly and her thoughts often wander. She has been most responsive to numbers in relation to music, which she says is like a puzzle. If you have not considered providing her with lessons on an instrument, then let me recommend that you do. I am no judge of musical talent, but I am quite sure that if interest and devotion are important in that art, she will prove to be a most satisfactory student.

From what she has told me, her hours with you are most important to her, and I would caution you that when you travel, you be certain to contact her often. No doubt there will be telephone access to private houses here before too long, and then the matter will be simpler, but letters and telegrams might do a great deal to ease her fears. A child as young as she is, with so much tragedy behind her, is more easily offset than others. It is probably unnecessary to remind you of this, for everything she tells me indicates that you have a great sensitivity to her and her plight, but because of the sort of girl she is, it is possible that she has not mentioned her fears to you, and that you have come to underestimate them.

She is most enthusiastic about the pony you have bought her, and so far has been willing to do her stable tasks as you have instructed her. I have learned that if I cannot find her in the library or her suite, that she is doubtless in the stables with that pony. I feel I should mention here that I do not like the attitude of the groom, Farold Kufe, who is willing to criticize the girl but not to help her. If I knew more of horsemanship I would offer to spend time with her in that capacity as Well, but my experience with horses has been limited to giving a carrot to the ragman’s mare. You have spent a fair amount of time with her and the pony, so you cannot be unaware of her eagerness to excel as an equestrienne. She has said that she is often afraid that the whole summer will pass and she will not have had the chance for a gallop down the hill to the lake.

I have enclosed with this a number of Laisha Vlassevna’s essays, exercises, and examinations, so that you may review for yourself how advanced she has become. Under more usual circumstances, I would recommend that you enroll her in a good girls’ school in Lucerne or Salzburg, but in this case I doubt that course would be wise. Perhaps in a year or so the matter can be approached reasonably, but for the time being, the best I can say is that she is doing well in her studies, and when the time comes that she is ready to enter a more regular schooling, she will not be unprepared for the studies, no matter how much she may dislike the method.

You have requested that I confer with you about her new subjects, and that is most welcome. I am, of course, entirely at your disposal, and look forward to the discussion. In anticipation of that meeting, may I suggest that perhaps the biological sciences will interest her a great deal. I must confess that I have little skill in that area, but it may be possible to arrange something with Herr Vögel in Geitau. He is retired now, but at one time he was very well-known for his work in biology, and it may be he would be glad of an intelligent student as well as a few extra marks each month.

I have the duty and honor to be

Most sincerely yours

David Bündnis

4

Kriegskönigstrasse was a narrow lane off Türkenstrasse about halfway between the Alte Pinakothek and the Residenz; most of the buildings on it harked back to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, yet all were splendidly kept in spite of the recent upheavals that had beset München. The Bayerisch Kreditkörperschaft had its offices at number sixteen. The bank was small, select, and did not trouble itself with accounts of less than twenty thousand marks. It had been granted its charter by Ludwig I in the palmy days before Lola Montez, and over the years had a number of illustrious depositors listed among its accounts. It had come through the brief Spartacist government fairly unscathed and had only recently dared to open its doors once again for regular hours instead of appointments. The Bayerisch Kreditkörperschaft occupied three of the four floors of number sixteen, the last floor being the residence of three elderly sisters, rumored to be the last illegitimate offspring of Ludwig I.

On this drowsy August afternoon, activity in the bank was subdued. There had been two depositors in earlier to discuss the valuation and storing of certain valuable heirlooms, but for the last hour or so there was only the sound of the typewriting machines recently installed, and distant rush of traffic through the open windows.

Helmut Rauch had his office on the second floor, at the end of a long hallway, which was appropriate to so young a bank officer. He had spent the morning completing a report on the estate of a depositor who had been one of the victims of the May 1 atrocity. Even thinking about that wanton killing made him angry. It was bad enough that captives had been held, but that members of the Thule Gesellschaft should be shot—that was unthinkable. Now the work was done, the estate ready for the pronouncement of a judge, and in order for the heirs. He read over the last page critically and decided that it went well enough; the heirs would be satisfied and the Thule Gesellschaft would not be so obvious that those who were unfamiliar with them would recognize them. It was always better to be circumspect.

There was a diffident knock on his door, and Helmut Rauch looked up sharply. He had been so lost in reflection that he had not heard the approaching footsteps. “Yes?” he called out sharply.

“It is Schildwache, sir,” said a timorous voice from the other side of the door.

Herman Schildwache was his secretary, a quiet, self-effacing young man whose family had fled during the tenure of the Communist Spartacists. The secretary was the sort of man who was all but invisible. Though Rauch had seen him not more than an hour ago, he was at a loss to recall the man’s features. “Yes, Schildwache, what is it?”

“You have an appointment, sir. The gentleman has arrived.” When Schildwache tried to raise his voice, it became a bleat.

“An appointment?” He pulled out his pocket watch and was startled to discover it was already two-thirty. He gathered the will up and placed it in a leather brief file. “Very good. Show him in.” There was a calendar on his desk, and this he glanced at furtively, seeing only the name
Roger
on it. It was not a familiar name, and he frowned over it. He began to clear the top of his large oaken desk.

“Herr Roger, sir,” Schildwache said a few minutes later as he opened the door.

“It’s Roger,” the man behind him corrected mildly, using the French pronunciation. “Herr Rauch?” He proffered his hand. He was sandy-haired and middle-aged, with blue eyes and a curious stillness about him. “I’m the confidential servant of Franchot Ragoczy, of Schloss Saint-Germain.”

Being punctilious, Helmut gave Roger’s hand one firm downward jerk, then indicated the only other chair in the office before resuming his own. “What is the Bayerisch Kreditkörperschaft to have the honor of doing for Herr Ragoczy?” At the mention of the name, he recalled the large deposit that had recently been transferred to the BKK from the Schweizerbank in Zürich; the sum, he remembered clearly, was five hundred thousand Swiss francs, He did his best to smile at Roger.

“There is nothing pressing at the moment,” Roger assured him. “It is merely that my employer has been curious to learn whether or not the transfer was complete and to present the authorization of routine transfers of funds to his chequing account for the convenience of his household. He also has a few family treasures he would like to keep in your vault.” Roger did not mention that there was a formidable vault in the cellars of Schloss Saint-Germain that was doubtless as secure as the one in this building: Ragoczy of late had made a habit of placing certain valuables in the care of banks as a precaution. The bank-held treasures were both decoys and smokescreens for his real worth. He had investments and partnerships in more than twenty countries, many under aliases which afforded him a degree of protection. Roger was privy to most of them, but rarely revealed the extent of his knowledge to any but Franchot Ragoczy.