Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (57 page)

He eyed her dubiously from behind the thick curlicued iron
bars and made no move to unlock the gates. 'Yes, madame?'
he asked, eyeing her with dry disapproval.

So her apparel, which had seen far better days, was not lost
on his wily old eyes.

'I have come to see his Highness,' she stated succinctly.

'Is his Highness expecting you?'

Senda hesitated for only the briefest fraction of a second.

'My good man, would I have wasted my time and come had
I
not
been expected?'

He put his face close to the gate and peered out sideways in
both directions. 'Madame does not have a vehicle?' he asked
in surprise.

'It is a glorious day and I chose to walk. I had the car sent
back to town.' She raised her chin, knowing that affecting airs
was necessary. 'I shall be picked up later. If a car arrives for
Madame Bora, please allow my driver admittance.'

He hesitated, then unlocked a pedestrian gate so ingeni
ously crafted that it was impossible to tell it was set into one
of the two larger ones.

She smiled her thanks and slipped inside before he could
question her further. She could hear him locking the gate
behind her. 'The château is at the end of the drive,' he called
after her, pointing. 'Just keep on the drive and eventually
you'll reach it!'

She turned and waved. 'Thank you,' she called back over
her shoulder.

The sweeping drive was longer than she had anticipated.
On either side of it, the parkland was beautifully maintained,
studded with enormous old trees, artfully pruned shrubs that
gave the impression of having been not so much clipped as
shaved,
and marble copies of Greek and Roman statuary.
She heard loud shrieks and turned her head, gasping at their
source: An army of snow-white peacocks, pulling their heavy
tails behind them like proud brides, strutted, impossibly
beautiful, between the trees.

Even as she neared the château, she could see little of it.
As though they wanted to hug it protectively within their leafy
bosom, the trees suddenly thickened, and she could only
glimpse a sea of verdigris-aged copper rooftops rising above
them. Then the trees abruptly cleared and the château reared
its magnificent symmetry before her.

Squaring her shoulders as if preparing to go into battle, she
climbed the low stone steps to the intimidatingly scaled double
doors, tossed back her head, and reached forward to lift the
enormous brass knocker. Almost magically, the door opened from within before she could touch it. Startled, she withdrew
her hand and instinctively moved a step backward.

'Can I help Madame?' a man croaked, disapprovingly.

Senda stared. Standing before her, his bald head glossy from
polish or wax, was a thin, ugly man in the formal attire of the
majordomo. The black tailcoat and detachable wing collar of
his shirt did little to soften his angular features. In the shadows behind him stood two immobile men with inconceivably wide
shoulders. Guards of some sort, she surmised.

Senda said softly, 'I have come in the hope of speaking with
Prince Vaslav.'

'Madame does not have an appointment.' The majordomo's
voice was a froglike croak.

Senda shook her head ruefully. 'No,' she admitted, 'but
he . . . and the Princess . . . and I were close friends in
Russia. Tell his Highness Madame Bora requests to see him.'

Did the name spark a flicker of recognition within those
bulbous eyes? Or had she imagined it?

'Perhaps an appointment would be possible,' he said
smoothly. 'Could you leave your calling card, please?'

She glanced closely at his face, but an inscrutable veil
seemed to have slithered down over his eyes. If he had shown
any recognition at her name, it was impossible to tell now.

'Then they are not in?' she asked.

He shook his head regretfully. 'I am sorry, but they have
left for several days.'

She tightened her lips, and cleared her throat, struggling
valiantly to retain her poise. 'In that case, I see that I will have
to leave my card.' She could feel him waiting stoically as she opened her purse and reached inside. Her fingers groped
among its meagre contents, keeping up the charade. She
would never admit that she had no calling cards. Finally she
sighed and smiled disarmingly, a wry expression in her eyes as she snapped the purse shut. 'I seem to have left them at home,'
she said. 'How silly of me.'

He appeared unperturbed. 'If Madame will be so good as
to wait a moment, I shall get something to write with.' He left
the door open, with her standing on the other side of the
threshold. A mere doorway, she thought, has become a visible
line of demarcation I dare not cross uninvited. Then she
looked up. He was back with a polished sterling silver salver
on which lay a tiny gold pencil and miniscule pad. She wrote
her name and address, smiled her thanks, and turned, leaving with as dignified a carriage as she could muster. Tears of frus
tration stung in her eyes.

Suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks. Ice, not blood,
coursed through her veins as realization dawned.

The gates.

The gatekeeper had let her in,
after
she had told him that
she wanted to see the Prince. The gatekeeper, better than
anyone, would know his employer's comings and goings. He
would have told her Vaslav was gone. Wouldn't he?

Her face felt as if it were on fire, an unbearable coughing fit
racked her chest, burned her lungs. So Vaslav
was
in. Only
she couldn't get to him.

Why.
Why?

In his second floor study in the Château Gemini, Count
Kokovtsov stared at the tiny slip of paper in his hand. The
veins and arteries stood out on his high domed forehead as his
glossy, lacquered fingernails drummed a steady tattoo on the
finely inlaid Louis XV desk. His brow was furrowed, his teeth
clenched.

Common sense told him that he should not feel conster
nation or surprise at the woman's unannounced visit. He knew
better than to believe she could be as easily evaded as the
intercepted letter to Vaslav could be burned. Senda Bora was,
after all, a determined, resourceful bitch. Hadn't he anticipated her coming in person after receiving no reply to her letter? And wouldn't the bitch return time and again? Yes, and he was certain that eventually, despite any obstacles he
might erect in her path, she would connive some devious way
to contact Vaslav.

Which was precisely the one thing he could not afford to let
happen.

Thoughtfully, he pushed back his chair and moved over to the tall French doors overlooking Lac Léman. He parted the
heavy curtains swagged over the windows. Through the glass,
he could make out two small figures down by the lakeside.
Then he saw a third figure climbing the steps of the stone jetty
to join the other two waiting on top.

Mordka scowled contemptuously before letting the curtain
sway back into place. So Vaslav had just finished his daily
swim in the chilly waters of the lake, the usual two attendants
waiting subserviently to drape his shivering body in heavy,
heated robes. Despite his state of mental and physical
depletion, Vaslav Danilov still insisted on taking his daily dip, just as he had in Russia, no matter how frigid the weather, or
how freezing the water.

Mordka's lips curled into an ugly smile as he turned away
from the window and paced the study. Unconsciously, he
crumpled the slip of paper into a tiny wad.

Well, his cousin wouldn't be taking these refreshing little
dips much longer, he thought with satisfaction. Soon now,
Vaslav would be out of the picture, and the mighty Danilov fortune would be his, and his alone. From the desk he took a
sheaf of documents, representing another parcel of the
Danilov fortune which would be his, then, pausing to stare at
the tiny ball of paper still in his hand, he strode swiftly toward
the fireplace and tossed it in. The flames licked greedily at it,
turning the paper black before consuming it altogether. With
the physical evidence of her visit destroyed, he already felt
much better. Then he went downstairs to take tea in the salon
overlooking the lake. The papers were tucked under his arm and he hummed softly to himself, his mood buoyant and self-
congratulatory. He felt utterly confident.

After all, weren't the Danilovs always so bovinely content, so idiotically manageable and agreeable at tea?

Come to think of it, they were becoming more and more
agreeable all the time!

Chapter 25

Her second visit.

This time she was received quite differently at the château.
The same majordomo opened the door, but his manner was
decidedly less superior. 'If Madame will be so good as to follow
me?' An unctuous, sweeping hand invited her to enter.

Startled by the change in his demeanour, Senda allowed
herself to be ushered wordlessly through a series of silent halls
to a small salon. She was oblivious to the priceless master
pieces glowing on the walls, the giant Sèvres vases and urns
on marble-topped consoles. Her heart throbbed and sang, and
she could barely contain her excitement. So Vaslav
had
gotten
her message!
So he did wish to see her!
Thank God she had had the notion to come today, rather than wait another day
or two. Something had told her to come. Five days had already
passed since she had been here last.