Tempting Fate (75 page)

It was my understanding that Ragoczy would live in London, but since the lamentable accident that resulted in the death of his ward, I understand that he has not made any firm commitments on actual departure date. It would seem that he still intends to leave, however, since his Schloss is all but closed, his chauffeur has been released from the hospital and sent to Paris, and his cook has been given the caretaker title at Schloss Saint-Germain.

Your suggestion that the progress Graf Ragoczy and I made was the result of occult or alchemical studies is laughable were it not such an insult. Herr Ragoczy is a man of science, not the mumbo jumbo of the past. He has told me that he has read the works of the alchemists, but that is not the same thing as giving them credence. That his invention in some way resembles the laboratory (if this is not too scientific a word for it) equipment of the alchemists, then it is because he has seen that behind the absurdities of their methods there were a few useful inventions that it would be wise to pursue.

You may be surprised to know that it was Ragoczy himself who mentioned the coincidence of his estate’s name with that of the charlatan Count de Saint-Germain who made such a fool of so many highly placed men in the Eighteenth Century. He remarked that there has been a consistent rumor that the man was part of the Ragoczy family, and doubtless it amused the previous Graf to name his estate in this way, particularly since there is apparently a rather tenuous tie to that name. He also remarked that one or two others have noticed the similarities and been curious. This man is no charlatan, let me assure you of that at once. He is a serious man of science who has the good fortune to be rich enough to afford to follow his fancy in his studies. It is a pity there are not more like him in the world. My work would be made significantly easier were I to have his continued patronage.

I hope you will forgive my candor, but I cannot agree that this man is likely to offer his services elsewhere, or to demand huge sums not to do so. I agree that there are those who might take such reprehensible steps, but this Ragoczy is not one of them. From what I have heard, he is more anxious to leave so that he might be free of the memory of his ward’s untimely death. Such things can be a great shock to a man, and I gather that this was the case with him. For that reason, I doubt he will be much involved with his researches for a time. In half a year, I may well write to him and suggest that we continue with our project, which, by that time, may again take his interest.

Let me say that it reassures me to know that the NSDAP is interested in such realistic matters as the acquisition of adequate fuel supplies. Most political groups, if you will forgive me for saying so, have a tendency to describe all the materials necessary for a better life for the country, but are silent on how their goals are to be accomplished. Your letter, with its cogent observations, reveals to me that my friends who have spoken highly of the NSDAP have not been misled by occasional promises of a glorious future with no link to our present times.

Of course you may show this letter to whomever you like. I am honored that you would think of such a thing. I agree that the scientific community is notoriously uninterested in the politics of the Vaterland, and doubtless their contributions would be much more valuable if they appreciated all that was at stake. If, as you suggested, my interest might in turn interest others, then by all means pursue the matter.

No, I have not met Herr Hitler, but I have read
Mein Kampf
and found it to be a most intriguing work. I would certainly appreciate it if you could arrange to introduce me to the man, for I have a number of questions I would like to ask him. There is such a proliferation of political parties that it is often quite bewildering, but it seems that the NSDAP is on the right track, striving for unity and purpose instead of division.

If there is anything more I might do that would assist you and the NSDAP, you have only to let me know of it.

With most cordial respect,

Professor Isidore Riemen

P.S. Should I learn where Ragoczy is at present, I will most certainly inform you of it, but I cannot believe that it is necessary to go to all this trouble over the man. To reiterate what I have already said, he has never shown himself to be an enemy of Deutschland, and I cannot attribute hidden significance to his disinclination to become active in our political activities. You must remember that he is not Deutscher himself, and with Transylvania, which was the principality of the Ragoczy family, given to Romania, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire a thing of the past, there is little to induce him to act. He oftentimes remarked that his country no longer existed. Another man might choose to adopt another country as his own, but as Ragoczy is of the nobility, he told me once that he was tied forever to his native earth. A touching comment, don’t you think?

1

Irina Ohchenov stared at the man whose knock she had answered. He was unknown to her; a tall, grizzled figure with a fresh scar seaming the right side of his face. He leaned heavily on a cane, and although it was a sultry afternoon in Paris, he wore a proper coat over his obviously-new suit.

“Madame Ohchehov?” he repeated, continuing in Russian, “my employer, Count Ragoczy, gave me this address and told me to call here as Soon as possible after I arrived in Paris.”

“Ragoczy?” she said, but held the door open, and stepped aside for the man to enter.

“Yes. I have been his chauffeur.” He waited for Irina to close the door, and then followed her into the sitting room.

“Have a seat, Mr.…” She motioned to a low sofa she had recently bought. It was not the first order of fashion, but it was well-made and comfortable, and she was certain that her visitor would prefer the comfort to appearance in any case.

“Rozoh, Nikolai Rozoh.” He gave the hint of a bow before sitting down. He sighed as he eased his legs out in front of him, then gave her an apologetic look. “Your pardon, Madame Ohchenov. I haven’t been out much, and I’m somewhat stiff.”

“Yes, I can see that.” She chose a high-backed chair and settled into it. “What happened, Mr. Rozoh? Or don’t you care to discuss it?”

Nikolai sighed heavily. “It isn’t pleasant. And that is not why the Count asked me to call on you.” He hesitated, and then launched into a well-rehearsed speech. “I have brought some boxes with me to Paris. They contain girls’ clothes. Most are in good condition and would doubtless be of use to someone. Without doubt there are charity schools you know of, or the children of friends, who could use these garments. Count Ragoczy would like you to see that these are sensibly distributed, and he thanks you for helping him at this unhappy time. You have only to tell me where I am to bring the boxes and when you wish them, and I will have it done.”

“Gracious,” Irina said with an uneasy laugh. She began to fiddle with the tortoiseshell bracelet on her arm.

“He said you’d know best what to do with them.” He was not quite able to look at her. As a young man he had ducked too many times when the lord rode by.

“But why? Is Laisha growing so fast that…” The change of expression on Nikolai’s face alarmed her. “What is it?”

“You haven’t been told?” he asked, appalled. “But I thought … He said a letter was sent…”

“I was away, in Orleans, for about a month. I haven’t yet gone through my mail.” She went cold all over, “What haven’t I been told?”

“There was…” He stopped, blinking quickly. “It was the last day in May.”

“What
was the last day in May?” Her voice was not pleasant now, and her face was pale. “What are you talking about?”

The sound of her voice must have carried throughout the apartment, for someone called from another room, “Irina, is anything wrong?”

Nikolai gave his hostess a quick, accusing look. “I thought we were alone.”

“My friend Phillippe is here,” Irina explained, flushing, and furious with herself. “I was visiting his family in Orleans. When he has an afternoon or an evening free, he comes here.” She was not entirely sure why she felt the necessity to tell this to her visitor. It might have been because he came from Ragoczy, and for that reason, was owed more than ordinary courtesy.

There were footsteps in the hall, and a tall man in his late forties strode in. There was something protective in his attitude, and his face showed a degree of concern that pleased Irina to see. “What’s going on here?”

Irina gestured toward Nikolai. “This is Monsieur Rozoh,” she said in French, ignoring Nikolai’s grimace of worry. “He has brought a message from Comte Ragoczy. Monsieur Rozoh is his chauffeur.”

“Then where is the Comte?” Phillippe asked, resting one hand on Irina’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” She turned to Nikolai and spoke again in Russian. “The Count is not with you, I gather?”

“No. I’m not sure where he is. I believe he is still in Bavaria, but…” He shrugged.

“Is he all right?” This question came quickly, and with a note of agitation that neither man missed.

“I don’t know,” he said, unconsciously echoing her words.

“What has happened to him?” She leaned forward, arms folded and resting on her knees. “What took place?”

Phillippe interrupted before Nikolai could speak. “What has he told you?”

“Not a great deal yet, my love. I have discovered that Comte Ragoczy is not here, but nothing else of significance.” She looked up at Phillippe with an unspoken plea in her eyes.

“Would you rather I left you alone?” He could ask without feeling the doubts he had known when he had first become interested in Irina. She was a comfortable woman, he knew, one who would not resort to subterfuge or deception with him.

“For the moment,” she said, grateful for his sympathy. “Otherwise I will have to spend the entire time translating for both of you, and it will take too much time as well as being awkward.”

“Very well. But call me if you think I should be here.” He touched her hair affectionately, nodded once to Nikolai, and left the room.

“Now,” Irina said, returning to Russian, “please tell me what has happened. We won’t be interrupted again.”

Nikolai coughed once. “It will be difficult for me.”

“Then do not force yourself to speak,” Irina said at once, thinking back on all that she had witnessed and later could not bring herself to mention without renewed horror.

“But you must know,” Nikolai objected gravely. “I wish you had read Roger’s letter.”

Irina started to rise. “If you like, I will find it, and then you may tell me whatever the Count asked you to say…”

“No, no. It would take too much time.” He passed one hand across his forehead and gave a nervous hitch to his shoulders. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.” He leaned back against the heavy cushions at the back of the sofa. “Did I mention already that it was May 31? I think I did.”

“Yes.” She settled again, her face somber.

“We went into Munich. The Count had business to attend to, and Laisha wanted an outing. She liked being driven in the Isotta-Fraschini; she was very aristocratic in her tastes.”

Irina noticed the use of the past tense in reference to Laisha. What had happened to the girl? Was that what was in Roger’s letter? To cover her apprehension, she said, “So is Count Ragoczy.”

“It’s in his blood,” Nikolai agreed. “There was a lot of traffic. Do you know Munich? The main streets are quite good, but most of them are too narrow for all the automobiles and trucks that use them. It becomes quite difficult to get around. There had been a truck overturned, one owned by the NSDAP, the Nationalist Socialist German Workers Party. They are a Right-wing political faction, very powerful in Bavaria and with some influence in Berlin. They often fight with the Spartacists and other Leftist groups. Someone had turned over one of their trucks at a traffic circle, and it took some time clearing it up. The police did nothing, and so the NSDAP men sent for more of their members, and put the truck back on its wheels again. It was all very efficient, once it was done. But by then the Nazis were in a bad mood, every one of them.”

“Nazis?” Irina interrupted, recalling the word with surprise.

“It’s a not-very flattering nickname for the NSDAP.” He rubbed one large hand over his hair. “We’d gone past the truck when I was driving the Count to his appointment with Professor Riemen. There were a number of men standing around it. When we came back past the circle, there were more men, all striving to right the truck. The others who had been watching earlier were gone, for the Nazis were in a vicious frame of mind, spoiling for a fight with someone. I hadn’t noticed that there were more of them in the streets, but there must have been … there must have been.” He shook his head, seeing again that pleasant afternoon, the snarled traffic, wondering, as he had every day since then, how he could have failed to notice those groups of sinister brown-shirted figures.

“Did you fight with them?” Irina was concerned, thinking that this man might have left Germany illegally. She wanted to urge him to come to the point, but held her tongue.

“No, not then. That came later. It was just an inconvenience, you understand, one of those minor delays that are forever happening. We had been told that the Count would be busy for about an hour, and as Laisha did not want to accompany him to his conference, she planned to go shopping, to buy some books, and then we were to return for the Count, and he had promised to take Laisha to a motion picture—I forget which one, though it may have been
The Thief of Baghdad.
She was very excited, but tried not to act as if she were. You know what girls are like at that age, don’t you?”

The image of Ludmilla dressed for a party rose unbidden in Irina’s mind, and she bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from crying. Ludmilla had been such a pretty child, and dressed in white with tucks and ruffles and lace, she had been festive as a wedding cake. “Yes,” she said a moment later. “I do know.”

Nikolai cleared his throat. He read Irina’s expression and knew that he had trespassed on a painful memory. “I did not mean…” He shook his head. “There are times, Madame Ohchenov, that I am an ass. I was a soldier, and we were not taught manners, only fighting. If I offended you, I did not intend to.”