Tempting Fate (64 page)

She traced the outline of his lips with one finger. “You have no reason to be.”

“If you say so.” He stroked her side slowly, languorously. Then he jumped: she had tweaked one of his nipples playfully. “Hey!”

“Well, you do it to me,” she pointed out, and began to rub his chest lightly. A bit later she said, “I was serious about the change, James. It will happen to you unless … unless your nervous system is destroyed when you die. If it is not, then you will live as I do, as Saint-Germain does.”

“Don’t start that again,” he pleaded.

“But I must. Otherwise I would not be able to continue sharing your love, and more than anything else, I want to be with you.” That was not quite correct, she thought, for she had never lost her yearning for Saint-Germain. But those who had changed could not seek love from one another, and of the lovers she had had since she left her grave, none had brought her what James had.

“Don’t talk like that,” he reprimanded her softly.

“Two more things, James, and then I won’t say anything more unless you ask questions of me.” She touched the place on his neck where the two little marks were, no worse than shaving nicks.

“Fair enough, so long as you get it out of your system.” He rolled toward her onto his side so that they were touching the length of their bodies.

She gave a breathless little giggle. “You’re distracting me.”

“Good.” He kissed her closed eyes.

“James, please. It won’t take long.” Her fingers pressed his chest.

“Go ahead, then.” His hold on her did not lessen, but he made no more attempt to kiss or caress her until she had finished speaking.

“I want you to understand that I’ve never lied to you, though I haven’t always told you the complete truth. I’ve never wanted to mislead you because I have valued your trust, and returned it. That is a rare thing with us. If I did not love you, your desire and its satisfaction would be enough; it would suffice me. Saint-Germain has said to me before that I would find such love, and I did not believe him until you came. That’s the first thing. The second thing is more difficult to say.” She hesitated, then plunged into it. “I was born at Montalia. The year was 1724, the date was November 22. I went to my grave in Paris on August 4, 1744. But, as you can see, I did not die.”

Hating himself for his cynicism, James said, “I can research those dates, you realize.”

Her smile amazed him. “I hope you will. That’s why I told them to you.”

James did not know how to respond to that, but with the movement of Madelaine’s hands on his back, his buttocks, his thighs, words and dates became unimportant. There was only the softness of the sheets and their sweetly ravished senses in the gentle summer night.

Text of a letter from Carlo Pietragnelli to Roger.

Geyseryille, California, USA

September 5, 1925

Mr. Roger

% LaTour Bank

Brussels, Belgium

Dear Mr. Roger:

I don’t know how to thank you, but my hat’s off to you for everything you’ve done. This afternoon a man from the Bank of Italy in San Francisco stopped by and showed me the papers, so everything is done up properly. You and that silent partner of yours have been real lifesavers. I don’t say that idly. Since Prohibition was introduced, those of us raising wine grapes have had a rough time, with no end in sight. My nearest neighbors were forced to sell out because they couldn’t keep going, with no place to market their wine but the illegal ones. I pray that you won’t regret your investment.

You mention that your silent partner has had dealings with European wineries, which interests me a great deal, as you probably guessed. If he has the grafts you mentioned, I am most heartily anxious to try them out. The hock wines haven’t been all that popular over here, but when and if the ban on liquor is lifted, there’s no reason I can’t try it on the public. As for the Rhine grafts, yes, by all means, ship them. Our results have been uneven with Tokay, but I’d like to see if I can develop a hybrid.

The Zinfandel you asked about, I’m afraid I can’t give you a lot of information because there isn’t much known about it. There were some vines being shipped here and the label on the box looked like Zinfandel, and no one could figure out what it was supposed to be, so they planted it, and that’s the wine they got.

You tell your silent partner for me that my whole family will remember you and him in our prayers. I was beginning to think that I’d have to move down to San Jose and take up citrus growing. Now, I’m not saying anything against oranges, but once you’ve got wine in your blood, if you take my meaning, it’s near impossible to be happy with anything else. My grandfather, when he was living back in Italy, started the family in the business, and we’ve been at it ever since.

The way this Prohibition’s going, we’ll have some fine, fine Pinot Noir when it’s over, with plenty of age on it. I’ll ship you some just as soon as the government okays my export permit. I don’t want to do anything that might give them the least excuse to change their minds. They’re being very fussy these days, what with all the booze coming in from Canada, and the bathtub gin.

I’ve got to be frank and tell you what I told the man from the Bank of Italy; I don’t think there’s much chance of Europe learning to like California wines. Why should they, when they’ve got some of the best wine in the world on their doorstep? I hope that I’m wrong, but I want you to think this over if you run into trouble with it. If that silent partner of yours is as smart as I hear he is, then it’s necessary to let him know I appreciate the risk he’s taking on me and my vines.

One of the things I plan to do with that money is to buy my neighbor’s acres. They’re lying there, going to waste, and I think I can do right by them. It will mean a couple new vats, but there’s more than enough in your investment to allow for that. Besides, between Prohibition and the cost of living being what it is, there are plenty of men about who are willing to work for a reasonable wage and three squares a day.

The priests on the other side of the valley aren’t doing too badly now, though they’ve admitted they’re in a bit of a pickle. They can always make sacramental wine, which is about all they’ve done recently. The trouble is that the cellar-master comes from another one of the vintner families around here, and he’s been itching to experiment. Since he hasn’t been allowed to do it with his own vines, I thought I might ask him to take a look at what I’ve got here, just to give me his opinion, you understand, not as any kind of partner. He knows wines and I think he’ll be willing to give me a hand on the sly if I let him experiment on the new acres.

You have my word that I’ll keep you posted on how the vines are going, and what the wines are like. Anytime you have any questions, you write to me here, and I’ll get a letter off to you fast as I can. If a man has investors like you and your silent partner, he doesn’t need a guardian angel.

With gratitude,

Carlo Pietragnelli

7

Earlier in the day there had been a threat of rain, but now fat white clouds buffed the sky to a deep, shining blue. It was still quite cool, so that the participants and judges at the equestrian competition were pleased to wear crew-necked jerseys over their shirts and under their hacking jackets. The spectators were not so formally restricted in their dress and most were wrapped in sensible coats, and a few had knitted rugs thrown around their shoulders or over their laps as they sat in the stands.

Ragoczy stood by the ermine-dun mare he had given Laisha the previous spring. The girl herself was properly dressed, her field boots glossy but not so shiny that they looked brand new, for that was considered ostentatious and the mark of a novice. Her heavy twill jodhpurs were an unorthodox shade of taffy which matched her shirt and stock. She was wearing the permitted jersey, of a heathery green, and her jacket was the same dark brown as her eyes. She was drawing on her light-colored pigskin gloves, her nervousness revealed only in her quiet manner and the studious frown she often revealed when tense. She fixed the wrist button and adjusted her cuffs, then gave Ragoczy a quick smile.

“Zhelahyu udachi,” he said quietly to Laisha. “You don’t need it, from what I can see of the others, but I’d probably wish you good luck if all the other horses were spavined and their riders were novices.”

Laisha gave a reluctant smile and reached for the stirrup.

“Do you want a leg up?” he offered.

“No,” she replied as she mounted. She gathered up the reins in good form and rose once to be quite certain that the stirrup leathers were at the proper length. Ragoczy held the crop up to her. “Thank you, Papa,” she said in a rather abstracted tone.

“This is a small gathering, Laisha. You know almost everyone here. It will be easy for you. Just use a little caution on the water jump: the ground is soggy.” He patted the mare’s neck and glanced once at the girths. It was not necessary to do so, but he had got into the habit when she was first learning to ride and had not yet made the effort to change it.

“They’re fine, Papa,” she said with a smile.

“Yes. I know that.” He stood back. “The assembly area is open now. You can ride over anytime you like.”

She frowned again. “I think I’ll let Babieca walk a bit, to warm up.”

Ragoczy knew from her tone that she was avoiding the moment when she entered the contestants’ assembly ring. “You are not a stranger here, Laisha.”

“But I’m a foreigner. This is Bayern. I am Russian.” She brought her head up with the pride that she wore as armor. “The Federkiels never let me forget that.” Her heels nudged Babieca’s flanks and the mare started off at a brisk walk. Laisha rode well, with no extraneous movement to confuse the mare or endanger herself. Ragoczy watched her with troubled pride, then went briskly toward the spectators’ stand. His own riding clothes were black except for the white shirt and stock, but this was almost completely obscured by the black jersey he had pulled on against the afternoon chill.

There were about two hundred people in the stands, most of them coming from the immediate area, from Schliersee, Hausham, Freudenreich, and Schufss. More than half the spectators made up the community of landed hochgebornen and their families. Forty years ago, such an event would have been the occasion for balls and great display, but those days were gone, and now the Society of Huntsmen did not expect the enormous banquets and elaborate parties. A few of the older people lamented the change, but none of those complaining were in a position to sponsor more elaborate festivities, and the younger household heads were relieved not to have to face such an ordeal. Among the more socially elite, there were others, occasional men in worn riding clothes, with weathered faces and keen eyes. These were the horse breeders, more interested in the animals than their riders, always searching for new stock.

As Ragoczy approached the stands, he heard Roger call out to him, and he turned toward the familiar voice. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Roger said as he came up to Ragoczy. “A telegram has just been delivered to Schloss Saint-Germain, and you may want to take action on it while you are at the depot in Hausham.”

Ragoczy’s fine brows raised in some surprise. “What is it?”

“The government in Italy has declared—” Roger began.

Ragoczy interrupted him. “You mean that Mussolini has grown covetous again. Well, what does he want?”

“He has taken over all foreign-controlled stock in the various electrical companies. The investment you have in Milano alone is substantial enough—”

Ragoczy laughed unpleasantly. “Let us inform Signor Mussolini that I am willing to sell all my shares to my Italian agent. Surely he cannot object to Balletti owning my shares.”

“He may investigate Balletti,” Roger warned.

“Let him. Balletti has been known as a recluse for some time. He is indulged because he is a Conte, and the world he knew is gone.” He folded his arms a moment. “I will have to arrange for Balletti’s death soon, I fear. I don’t think I can keep up that particular identity much longer. I was short-sighted when I did not invent more family for him, because it will be difficult to keep that connection active.” He stared off toward the trees. “For the moment, send the telegram to Italy and make the offer. We should have a response in two or three days, and in that time I will make the proper authorizations. Then I think that it might be best to withdraw the investments from Italy altogether, except for that experimental arm of Fiat in Modena. Assign them to Giovannini—I haven’t used that in a while. I doubt Mussolini will want to force the foreigners completely out of that market, for he needs more production there, not less.”

“Just the electrical companies, then, assigned to Conte Balletti. What is his first name?”

“Cesare,” Ragoczy answered promptly. “He is understood to be Germano’s grandson and Francesco’s nephew. I thought it might be wise to avoid repeating those names quite so often, what with all the records that have been kept in the last century.” He began to walk toward the spectators’ stand again. “That may become something of a problem in future. You remember what it was like in Rome for a time. I had to move very carefully and stay at the edges of the Empire until Hadrian was in power, and after that, it was when Heliogabalus wore the purple that it was safe to return. These confoundedly accurate records!”

“Do you contemplate moving from here?” Roger did not appear the least ruffled by his own question, although he knew from long experience that such changes were often harrowing.

“Not at once. My work here isn’t finished, and the way things stand in the rest of Europe, there is little point. Should the political situation shift again, it may be necessary. But at the moment, I would rather live here than in Italy, for instance. Eastern Europe is in chaos, still. Greece would not be wise, since there is little work progressing there that is in line with my own studies, and Greece is not a place where Laisha would thrive. It might be sensible to transfer more of Balletti’s funds to America and Mexico. There is less chance of war there than here.” He had been speaking Latin, but as he got within hearing distance of the stands, he switched back to German. “If you will send that first telegram for me, I will be most grateful. Tomorrow or the next day will be time enough to review the predicament.”