Tempting Fate (46 page)

“Will you have some with me?” Laisha asked, brightening in spite of herself.

“Not this time,” he responded, adding inwardly,
or any time.

“What about dinner? Enzo is sure to say I shouldn’t have sweets now.” She fell into step beside Roger, looking up at him with the quiet intensity that was so much a part of her.

“Enzo is not master in this house. And he loves to make desserts. I’ll deal with him if he objects.” There was a short flight of steps leading down to the kitchen, an oddity of the building left over from the days when it had been more of a fortified strong-house than a Schloss, when a bake house had stood where the gardener’s shed was now and a high stone wall had enclosed most of the stableyard and back garden, and cabbages, onions, and potatoes grew there instead of peonies and roses. The only feature that had not changed was Ragoczy’s extensive herb garden, and it, with the other plants, was lost under the snow.

The kitchen was large and warm. A commercial refrigerator hummed in one corner and a modern stove with six burners squatted in the center of the floor, a polished copper hood over it. Enzo DiGottardi stood by the chopping block, trimming the fat off a leg of lamb. His long white apron was nearly spotless, and he whistled through his teeth as he worked.

“Good afternoon,” Roger said as he held the door for Laisha to enter.

“To you as well, Signor Roger,” he answered before beaming at Laisha. “My Principessa has come to see me.”

“There aren’t any Princesses anymore,” Laisha declared impatiently.

“But of course there are,” Enzo said as he set the leg of lamb aside. “There is a Queen in the Netherlands. There is a Princess or two in England.” He crossed his arms and looked down at her. “What do you want of me, fanciulla?”

Roger answered the question, sensing that Laisha would not be willing to banter with the cook this afternoon. “A cup of your excellent chocolate and a slice of the kirshkranz.”

“But dinner—” Enzo began, as predicted.

“We still don’t know when it will be served. If there is any difficulty, I will answer for it.” Roger drew up one of the high stools to the long counter where Enzo prepared the occasional formal meal that was served to guests at Schloss Saint-Germain. “There you are, Laisha.”

Laisha climbed onto the stool while Enzo wrapped the leg of lamb in waxed paper and put it into the refrigerator. Then he set about assembling the ingredients for his chocolate. As he warmed the cream-rich milk, he talked, apparently expecting no comments from either Roger or Laisha. “You must warn the Conte,” he began, “that the price of food is still rising. That leg of lamb was three hundred twenty marks, half again as much as it was a year ago. It doesn’t seem like much, you know, a few extra marks here and there, but in very little time … I have heard that steps are being taken to control this, but how is it possible? Every man wishes to have his bit of profit, and if he must pay fifty marks more for a bottle of wine, then when he serves it to his diners, he will charge seventy more for it, or he will close his doors.” The milk was near simmering and he took it off the burner and dropped into it shavings of dark, bittersweet chocolate. After a moment he began to stir this with a wooden spoon. “You probably heard that Frau Ostneige dismissed one of her staff for stealing? He was taking food, naturally, and selling it again. We’ll be seeing more of that. I told that heathen Nikolai that we’re fortunate to have an employer who is well enough off that he can accommodate these prices. You may be certain that Frau Ostneige cannot. Most of the nobilità here have the same trouble. You wait, a year from now, when the costs of things may have risen by half again, there will be fewer servants in the Schlosses and not as many guests at the resorts at Tergensee and Starnbergersee. And it is possible that the prices may go that high. There are those who say it isn’t going to happen, but I am not as sanguine as they. You may think that I have become alarmed over nothing.” He added a few drops of vanilla to the chocolate. “Every night I thank my blessed guardian angel for bringing me here, to Schloss Saint-Germain. When I see the peril of others in my profession, and then I look about me, at these marvelous electric lights and the refrigerator, at the stove which runs on gas instead of wood, and I recall that the Conte has been willing to guarantee my employment, then I know I have had the most remarkable fortune. Here I had been afraid that no one would wish to employ a Swiss like me. Italian-speaking Swiss are not well-loved here. But luckily the Conte is a foreigner as well. Where I feared there would be nothing but drudgery, I have all this.” He had taken down a large, delicate cup from one of the shelves, put a doily in the saucer, and begun to pour the chocolate. “My duties are, for the most part, light, and what I do is appreciated. My kitchen is heaven, my employer is rich. What man can ask for more?” He brought the chocolate to Laisha and placed it in front of her. “You must not drink it yet. You will burn your mouth and not taste the goodness of it.”

“Thank you,” Laisha said quietly, interrupting his monologue.

“A great pleasure. I will find a slice of the kirschkranz for you. If you want whipped cream on it, I will provide it, but that may be a bit too rich.” He had gone back to the refrigerator and taken out a covered platter which contained the kirschkranz, a ring-molded pastry of sweet, heavy cake laced with kirsch liqueur, crowned with cherries and strewn with powdered sugar. He regarded it judiciously and then cut off a small section and put it on a fine porcelain dish. “This is too much, of course, but you will enjoy it, and if you do not eat all your dinner tonight, well, one evening should not harm you. There’s a bit more chocolate in the pan if you want it. If not, I will put a little brandy in it and drink it myself.”

“I don’t think I’ll want it,” Laisha said as she took a first cautious sip of the hot, dark liquid.

“Tanto bene,” Enzo said with a satisfied sigh. “It will be difficult tomorrow night, haying that sad Signor Schnaubel and his children here. It is good of the Conte to ask them, but I cannot believe that it will be a happy evening. I have planned a good meal, not too fancy, so that the children will enjoy it, and it will be served properly, but I must tell you that it distresses me to think that I can do no more for them. What matter if they are Jews? It is one of the British writers—Milton, I think—who asks if Jews are not as other people. Haven’t they hands? Don’t they bleed? It is with the most profound sorrow that we know they bleed.”

“It was Shakespeare,” Roger remarked quietly.

“Ha! Whenever anyone wishes to credit a British writer with wise thoughts, they say it is Shakespeare. Ridiculous! It is as bad as the Italians, who think all their poetry was written by Dante.”

The rear door to the kitchen banged open and Nikolai Rozoh, bundled in sheepskin greatcoat, came into the room. His boots were crusted with snow and his fur cap, pulled down low on his forehead, looked as sugared as the kirschkranz. “Mother of a rabid wolf,” he said in Russian as he thrust the door closed against the howling cold. He pulled off his cap and wiped his brow, going on in his awkward German, “I’ve seen to the horses, and the automobiles are properly covered. It’s as bad as the winters back home, out there.”

“Get your great carcass out of my kitchen!” Enzo ordered, staring aghast at the Russian. “Look what you’re doing!”

“I’m getting out of these clothes,” Nikolai said calmly, and pretended not to hear Laisha’s giggle. “I could use something to drink. Schnapps will do.” He tugged off his gloves and dropped them to the floor. “And if there’s any of that wonderful soup left, I’ll have a bowl.”

“If you were a civilized man, I would be offended,” Enzo announced with great dignity, “but as you are a Russian, with no culture at all…”

“I’m a Russian,” Laisha pointed out as she finished her chocolate. “And you call me Princess.”

“That is a matter entirely different,” Enzo told her, but the color that flamed in his face said otherwise.

“I’ve looked over the generator. There’s fuel enough and it seems to be running well,” Nikolai went on as he came into the kitchen and pulled up another of the high stools. “Unless a branch falls on the housing, I can’t imagine what would go wrong with it. I heard that the lights at Bad Wiessee have all gone out. The drifts are bringing down the wires.” He sat down, ignoring the pile of garments he had abandoned just inside the rear door. “The postman said that it would be several days before the power is restored there.”

“The postman?” Laisha asked, the intent look back in her brown eyes again.

“He was on his way to Spitzingsee in a light sleigh. He wanted to borrow a lantern, in case he should be delayed and have to search for shelter in the dark. I gave him one from the stable.” He glanced once at Roger.

Enzo, who had opened the wine closet and taken out a bottle of cognac, paused in the act of pouring a generous tot for Nikolai. “A lantern, of all things. You would think he had been provided one.”

“They’re low on kerosene at the station. That’s what he told me.” He accepted the glass Enzo handed him and drank deeply.

“Did the postman say anything about the trains?” Laisha asked after a moment. Her fork was stuck into the kirschkranz but she had not tasted the pastry.

“Not much. Oh, you’re wondering about Ragoczy’s are you? He said that there was a delay at Sauerlach. I wouldn’t expect him for another hour or more.” He finished off the cognac. “That stirs the blood in my veins again. I felt like a block of wood out there. What about the soup?”

“In good time,” Enzo informed him, but had already taken a covered enamel pot from the refrigerator.

“It’s amazing the way cold perks up the appetite,” Nikolai said, and looked up as the inner door opened again. “The brainy one,” he sighed as David Bündnis came into the kitchen.

“I wondered where you were,” he said to the four gathered there. “I looked in the library…”

“Is it time for my lesson?” Laisha had at last begun to eat the pastry, and there were flakes of powdered sugar at the corners of her mouth.

“Yes. We can delay until you’re finished with the treat,” he said with a resigned sigh. “Have you prepared today?”

“Naturally,” she said through a forkful of kirschkranz.

“I want to give your guardian a favorable report when he returns,” the tutor went on with a critical edge to his voice.

Laisha looked across the room at Bündnis and chewed the last of her pastry thoughtfully. “Herr Bündnis, I am prepared for my lesson. You admit yourself that most of the time I am.” She got off the stool. “I will want to wash my hands, and then I will come to the library.” No one spoke until she had left the kitchen and Bündnis had followed her, closing the door.

“Must be a strange life for her,” Nikolai mused a few minutes later. “Orphaned, living in a foreign country in a houseful of men. A pity that the Count isn’t married. It might be easier going for her.”

Roger shrugged. “We tried a housekeeper for a year, shortly after we came here, but there was too much talk. She did not want to stay and Laisha wanted the woman gone.” He went and picked up Nikolai’s coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. “I have a few tasks to attend to.” He started toward the hall door when Enzo called.

“What time is dinner? No one has told me.” With one exasperated gesture he indicated his predicament.

“Shall we say eight-thirty? If that is reasonable. I will provide my own meat and the Graf—”

“Will fend for himself. Why does he keep a cook when he does not eat? He must eat. What is this privacy he insists on.” He shook his head. “No, don’t bother to tell me again. I don’t know why his studies require this of him, but so be it.” He gave his attention to Nikolai, who was eagerly waiting for a generous bowl of the soup that was heating on the stove.

Roger left the kitchen and went toward Ragoczy’s private quarters. He was aware of the oncoming dark and the relentless storm, but this did not worry him unduly. He was more concerned with the tempers of the household. This afternoon was not the first time David Bündnis had snapped at Laisha, nor the first time Enzo and Nikolai had exchanged sharp words. So far nothing had come of it, but it could not continue without difficulties arising between the two men. Ragoczy had warned him of the eventuality, and at the time Roger had shrugged it off. Now he saw that his master was right, and would have to decide what was to be done.

In Ragoczy’s study, he busied himself with filing, pausing once or twice to read through the reports he handled. He frowned at the ranting pages of the
Völkischer Beobachter,
which were kept with less radical papers. Two years ago the paper had been nearly bankrupt and the leadership was confined to the smallest and most discontented minorities in Bayern. Now it was fairly prosperous, with an expanding appeal. There were a few copies of the old
Berliner Morgenblatt,
and he glanced through them, remembering the years spent there just after the Zollverein began. So engrossed was he that he did not hear the door to the laboratory open and the soft, firm footfall behind him.

“Interesting?” Ragoczy, asked, so close to him that Roger nearly jumped.

“It must be,” he said as he closed the old newspapers. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Neither does anyone else. I came in through my private quarters.” He sat down in the Turkish leather chair. His dark, loose curls were damp but otherwise his appearance was entirely correct, from his black woolen suit to the fine white silk of his shirt and properly knotted tie. His collar was soft, held by a silver stay, and the points were slightly rounded. “I have had a most intriguing six days, old friend, and I do not say ‘intrigue’ lightly.”

“At Berlin?” He finished putting the newspapers away and closed the large file drawer. “Or Essen.”

“Both, but Berlin was particularly … provoking.” He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and tapped his fingertips together. “I wish now I had not agreed to the six-year project with Professor Riemen, or that we were not so involved with it. How inconvenient our success is.”

Roger had known Ragoczy long enough that he said nothing.