Winter Palace (10 page)

“You have trained our dear brother Yussef yourself,” Bishop Michael urged. “A man who feels such a debt to you that he assists us in our quest, although he shares neither our faith nor our needs. A trader who is also the hope of many, because of you, Ivona Aristonova. We rely on him, your very own pupil. Now he tells us that this is the man we require. Should we not give this young man a chance?”

Ivona was silent.

“Teach him,” the bishop repeated. “Teach him as much as you can. Shower him with needles of truth about this land of ours. Use your gift to test, and test him hard.”

“He will be the sponge I was not,” Yussef predicted, grinning broadly, approving the idea. “He will show you his thirst. He will perceive beyond the veil. He will aid us all.”

“Go,” the bishop urged. “Go and teach and test. You both have my blessing. Only take care, and taste every wind for the first hint of danger.”

Chapter 11

Andrew arrived to fetch Jeffrey in an enormously jovial mood. “Do hope you won't be giving me trouble today, lad. Hate to have to gather our mates and drag you to the altar.”

Jeffrey stepped through his front door and halted at the sight of the vehicle parked outside. “What in the world?”

“It's a boat on wheels, and if you have any doubts, wait till we take our first turning. Lists heavy to port, she does.”

The car was a vintage Rolls Royce in burnished gunmetal gray. The fenders reared up and out like a lion's paws. The doors opened front to back. The seats were at a level so as to allow the passengers to look down upon all mere mortals. The hood went on for miles.

“No, no, in the back, lad, in the back.” Andrew twisted the old-fashioned handle and bowed Jeffrey inside. “Room to lay back and swoon if your nerves give way.”

“This is bigger than a city bus.” Jeffrey settled into the plush leather seat and watched Andrew adjust a chauffeur's cap upon his head before climbing behind the wheel. “Is this yours?”

“Only for the day,” his friend replied, pulling out the silver-plated handle that started the engine. “As it is, for what I paid I ought to get the Queen's Award for helping the British economy pull out of recession.”

Andrew put the car in gear, pressed on the gas, and called out, “Pilot to engine room, all ahead full.”

“This is really nice,” Jeffrey said, clamping down hard on his nerves. “Thanks.”

“Most welcome, lad.” Andrew smiled in the rearview mirror. “Think of it as a hearse for your bachelorhood.”

“Right. That helps a lot.”

“No, suppose not,” Andrew replied cheerfully. “Suppose
we'll have to call it my wedding gift to the happy couple, then.”

Jeffrey wiped damp palms down the sides of his trousers. The dark velvet piping of his tuxedo ran smooth beneath his fingers. “Did you have a case of the nerves before your wedding?”

“Not half. Slept a total of thirty-five minutes the entire last week before taking the plunge.”

“What, you timed yourself?”

“Wasn't hard. Tossing and turning as I was, I watched the ruddy clock go right 'round for seven nights in a row. Kept getting up to make sure it was plugged in, the hands moved so slow.”

“But still you did it.”

“What, walk the lonely mile? Too right I did. Knew the old dear wouldn't even leave a greasy stain if I did a bonk.”

“A what?”

“Bonk, lad. Bonk. Head for the hills in Yankish. Do a number. Catch a jet plane. Ride off into the sunset. Take a—”

“I get the picture.”

Andrew inspected him in the car mirror. “You're not going to make me pull the manacles from the boot, now, are you?”

“You don't have to say that with such glee,” Jeffrey replied.

Andrew laughed and changed the subject. “Been down working on the Costa Geriatrica, I have.”

“Where's that?”

“Oh, it's what we call the region from Brighton to Hastings. Bit like your Miami Beach, I suppose. Minus the sun, of course.”

“And the crime.”

“Well, there you are. That's the price you pay for not enough rain in Florida. Raises a body's temperature, bound to. Turns thoughts to pillage and plunder and other such diversions.”

“So what were you doing down in Brighton? Hunting down some new pieces?”

“Too right. Old dear had a houseful, too, she did. Problem was, she'd never taken much notice of their condition, said articles having been in her family since sheriffs were still lopping off heads instead of giving out parking tickets. No, if the worms stopped holding hands, her whole house'd dissolve into sawdust.” Andrew permitted himself a satisfied smile. “So to keep the trip from being a total loss, I bought myself a boat.”

“You what?”

He nodded. “Almost new. This Frenchie sailed it over, discovered on his maiden voyage that he hated the sight of more water than could fit in his tub. He named the ship
Bien Perdu
. Closest I could come to a translation was ‘Good and Lost.' Thought I'd keep it, seeing as how that's exactly what I'll be ten minutes after untying from the dock.”

Jeffrey tasted a smile, only to have it dissolve into a new flood of doubt. “Would you do it again? Get married, I mean.”

Andrew nodded emphatically. “Long as there's love, lad, even the roughest days are as good as it gets.”

Jeffrey felt a settling of his internal seas. “That's reassuring, Andrew. Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” He took a corner wide, gave a regal wave to a group of tourists who craned to search the car's interior for someone wearing a crown. “How's Alexander doing?”

“The doctors seem to be more confident every time I see them,” Jeffrey replied. “Of course, they hedge their bets worse than bookies at the track. Getting a straight answer out of them is like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.”

“Yes, well, that's why they call it a medical
practice
, isn't it. They're all still studying, trying to get it right.” Andrew pulled up to the main hospital entrance and stopped. He turned around and observed with evident pleasure, “I've just enough time to pop around for the bride-to-be and make it back on the hour. If there's even the bittiest chance of your
buying passage to Paraguay in the next ten minutes or so, I'll gladly chain you to the nearest tree.”

“You're a big help,” Jeffrey said, climbing out.

“No, suppose not.” Andrew put the car into gear, said through the open window, “Think of it this way, lad. If the old ticker gives way before you make it up the aisle, there's ever so many doctors in there who'd love to practice on you.”

Jeffrey's entry into the hospital lobby—dressed as he was in tuxedo, starched shirt with studs, and silk bow tie—caused a suitable stir. Families clustered around patients in robes and pajamas ceased their conversation as though silenced by a descending curtain. Nurses and hospital staff shared smiles and hellos; clearly the news had made the rounds, and the event met with their approval. A few went so far as to offer the thoroughly embarrassed Jeffrey their congratulations and best wishes.

The closer he came to the chapel, the more his fear turned to a barrier against the world. He walked down the long Casualties hall, exchanging numb hellos and handshakes with smiling staff. He forced his legs to carry him down the main stairs and on past signs for Oncology, Radiation Therapy, Obstetrics. He turned a corner and walked by a door labeled Dispensing Chemist, briefly entertaining thoughts of stopping by for a mild sedative, something he could take by the gallon. Next was the Cardiac section—another two beats a minute faster and they'd have their first walk-in patient. A final corner and he had arrived.

Alexander was there by the chapel's closed door, seated in a wheelchair but dressed to the nines, as befitting a best man, heart attack or no. Count Garibaldi, who had agreed to push the best man's chair, was there beside him. In his severe formal wear, the count looked like a black velvet stork, with beak to match. Jeffrey exchanged greetings, shook hands, saw little, felt nothing.

Then a voice behind him said, “Here she is, lad. All safe and sound and pretty as a picture.”

He turned, and knew an immediate sense of utter clarity. Of complete and total
rightness
.

Katya bathed them all in her joy. Jeffrey most of all.

Her dress was Victorian in feel, modest and alluring at the same time. The color was called candlelight, the shade of the lightest champagne rose. The fabric was antique satin and lace that her mother had found in a local Coventry market. Together they had oohed and aahed and giggled like schoolgirls as the dress had taken shape, denying Jeffrey the first glance. Until now.

He knew the terms to describe it because he had heard her speak of it in endless detail. It had what was called a princess line, fitting snugly from shoulders to hips, then belling out to a flounced skirt that ended just above her ankles. Her sleeves were tight from wrist to elbow, buttoned with tiny seed pearls, then loose and airy to where they gathered at her shoulders. Her neckline descended far enough to allow an elegant emerald necklace, a sentimental gift from Jeffrey's grandmother, to rest upon her silken skin. She held a bouquet of white roses and Peruvian lilies.

For Jeffrey, the moment was suspended in the timelessness of true love. The others cooed over her dress, her flowers, her hair. Hospital staff gathered in the hall behind them and freely bestowed smiles on all and sundry. The hubbub touched Jeffrey not at all. He stood and drank in the loveliness of her and knew that here was a moment he would carry in his heart and mind for all his days.

Alexander cleared his throat. “Although I lack personal experience in these matters, I believe it is necessary for the groom to parade down front before our festivities may proceed.”

“The gent means you, lad,” Andrew said, beaming from ear to ear.

Jeffrey shared a smile and a murmured affection with his bride-to-be, then turned and pushed through the chapel doors.

And stopped again.

The room was
filled
with flowers.

The two floral arrangements Katya had ordered stood on the front altar. The remainder of the room, however, was decked out in vast arrays of cascading roses, lilies, and gladioli.

“A small token of thanks,” Alexander murmured from beside him, “for allowing me to be a part of this day.”

From the back corner, a trio of ancient-looking gentlemen struck up a stringed-instrument rendition of Chopin's “Polonaise.”

Jeffrey looked down at his friend. “Aren't they the musicians from Claridge's?”

Alexander nodded. “They were the only ones I could locate and hire without undue fuss. Now on you go.”

Jeffrey made do with a gentle squeeze of the old gentleman's shoulder. He walked to the altar and waited while the trio paused and began the Wedding March.

Then Katya descended.

That was how he would always remember it, how he felt as he stood and watched the moment unfold. Katya descended to join with him in earthbound form, bestowing upon him a higher love.

Throughout the ceremony, Jeffrey remained showered with the light and the love and the wholehearted joy that shone from Katya's eyes.

****

Jeffrey stood at the corner of Alexander's living room, amazed at how much noise eighteen people could make.

His eyes moved from one group to the next. He watched his father convulse with laughter over something the count said. He saw Sydney Greenfield chatter through a story, drinking and eating all the while. He knew a momentary pang at the wish that Alexander had been well enough to join them. But his own sense of well-being was too strong just then to grant much room to sorrow.

What had surprised him most during the run-up to their wedding was how well his mother and Katya's had hit it off. Their first contact had been one of genteel inspection, the first few days very formal. By the time of the wedding, however, they were sisters in all but flesh. His mother helped Magda to her seat, brought people over to meet her, sat and chatted with animation. With laughter. And Magda replied with a smile. Jeffrey watched to see if it would split her face.

Always his gaze returned to Katya. She flowed from group to group, and wherever she stood, the room's light shifted to remain focused upon her. She approached someone, and smiles bloomed like flowers opening to the sun. Men stood taller, women leaned forward to speak, all were richly rewarded with a moment of sharing in her happiness.

“This isn't your day to play wallflower, lad,” Andrew said as he approached.

“Just taking a breather,” Jeffrey replied, his eyes resting upon Katya. “And enjoying the view.”

“I've never had much respect for a man who's not able to outmarry himself,” Andrew said. “Glad to see you're upholding my estimation of you, lad.”

Jeffrey watched as Katya spoke and laughed and positively shimmered. “I'm a lucky guy.”

“You're a ruddy sight more than that. You've the good fortune of twenty men, lad. Congratulations.”

Jeffrey caught sight of himself in an ancient mercury mirror. Smugness fought for place with wonder across his features. “I can't thank you enough for the car—”

“Don't give it another thought.” Andrew paused, said, “As a matter of fact, I've got a news of my own. Care for a glass of something wet?”

“No thanks. What news?”

“My wife and I've decided to adopt a little one,” Andrew said, then, when Jeffrey laughed, “What's so funny?”

“You and your British calm. You'd announce the start of World War III without raising your voice.”

“Having a wee one dribble on your best suit is a trial, I'll admit, but not quite as bad as that.” Andrew grinned. “Life was bent on sparing us the bother, but my wife and I were never ones to rest on good sense when we were wanting something. Especially when it comes to kids.”