Midnight Harvest (53 page)

King took nearly a minute to think. “I believe he said he had met a woman in Córdoba, at your plant She had a foreign name. I can’t recall it.”

This troubled Saint-Germain more than all the rest, but he maintained his calm. “Strange.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said King. “He put me off, but I can’t say quite why.”

“Stranger still,” said Saint-Germain. “It’s disconcerting, at least, to have some unknown man from Europe asking about me here. I trust you’ll do everything to keep him at bay?”

“I should think so!” King looked indignant, as if about to address a jury.

“He may be from the new government—assuming it actually prevails and remains in power. He probably has papers for me to sign,” Saint-Germain said, though he doubted this inwardly. “If he comes back, ask him to leave the papers with you, along with an address to which they should be sent, and I’ll review them with you.”

“And what if he’s not?” Rowena asked in what she thought of as her sensible English voice.

“Yes, she’s got something there. What if that isn’t his intention?” King asked, looking a bit worried.

“Then you and I will have to come up with some manner of plan to deal with him. For the time being, let’s extend him the benefit of the doubt”

“Or rope enough to hang him,” said King in grim satisfaction.

Saint-Germain gave a single nod. “Thank you for dealing with him with such dispatch. I hope you weren’t put out by anything he said or did.”

“No,” said King, a bit reserved in his answer. “But let me make it plain: there was something about him—nothing obvious, but I had the feeling he could be trouble. Maybe it was just that serpentine head, but he struck an off-note with me.”

“Did he leave a name?” Saint-Germain asked, aware that Rowena had stopped eating and was staring at him in dawning alarm.

“Something foreign, Latin-sounding. Just a second. I’ll recall it.” He looked up at the ceiling and tapped his fingers on his shirt-points. “Yes. I have it now: Cenere. I remember because I asked him if that was Italian for ash and he said it was.” He achieved a little smile. “I’ve had Italian clients, in the past, and of course I know Mayor Rossi. In the process, I’ve picked up a bit of the language. You know how it is.”

“Yes,” said Saint-Germain. “I do.”

King waited, as if hoping for a more complete response from Saint-Germain. “Do you know anyone named Cenere?”

“No,” said Saint-Germain. “I don’t recollect anyone by that name.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Rowena, her face averted but her body no longer relaxed.

“That it is,” said King. “Well, I’ll tell my secretary that if he calls again she’s to collect any papers he may have for you, and you’ll return them by mail. Do you think that will do?”

“It sounds like just the thing,” said Saint-Germain, infusing his tone with an ease he no longer felt. “Thank you, Oscar.”

“Welcome,” said King, and coughed once. “I’m sorry about Taylor. They just told me what happened. He’s got a tendency to be belligerent when he drinks.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Oscar. I don’t take the accusation of anyone gone in drink seriously.” Saint-Germain cocked his head. “If anyone deserves an apology, it’s his wife. The poor woman was beside herself.”

“Oh, yes. Ivy always takes Millard’s behavior to heart. You can’t imagine the problems she had with him during Prohibition. Luella is talking to her now in the kitchen. Poor woman’s in tears.” King sounded slightly embarrassed by this revelation, but he went on, “Millard’s probably going to want to lie down in a bit, and I’ll send him up to one of the guest rooms. He won’t bother anyone.”

Saint-Germain’s fine brows drew together. “Please tell his wife she has no reason to be upset on my account, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll wait awhile on that,” King said. “Right now, it’s least said, soonest mended, if you know what I mean.”

Saint-Germain was sure it meant that King wanted nothing more to do with this contretemps tonight, so he let it go. “As you think best.”

“Thanks,” said King with more relief than seemed warranted. “I’m going to go open another bottle of champagne.” Saying that, he toddled off.

“Good Lord, that poor man. How mortifying for him,” Rowena said as soon as King was out of earshot.

“Mortifying: how?” Saint-Germain asked sharply.

“To have to deal with such a partner. What a liability to the firm; they must wish they had some way to be rid of him. And having the partner’s wife weeping in the kitchen. Dreadful! He’s probably wishing Taylor in the Polish salt mines, or Outer Mongolia. And you needn’t tell me about either place, if you please. I presume they’re both unpleasant.” Rowena resumed her meal, but slowly, her attention on other things than food.

“The man’s a trial, no doubt, and the Kings and the firm are dealing with him as best they can,” said Saint-Germain, his frown returning as his thoughts took another turn. “What do you make of this Cenere?”

“More to the point,” she said, “what do
you
make of him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice lowered and sounding troubled.

“It could be just as you said—someone trying to get you to sign over your aircraft assembly plant to the government.” She caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“No, I don’t think so, either,” he said when she stopped. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m as safe here as I thought I would be.”

“You don’t think he intends you any harm, do you? Why should he?” She looked shocked, and had a brief but stunning memory of von Wolgast in her flat in Amsterdam, his vial of pitchblende in his hand.

“I don’t know, and until I do, I will err on the side of caution.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

“That’s prudent,” she said dryly.

“Yes,” he said, mischief in his voice. “I think so, too.”

She laughed and shook her head, and let the matter go for the time being. But later that night, as he drove her home in his Pierce-Arrow, she brought it up again. “Why not meet with the man? This Cenere?” she suggested, not quite seriously.

Saint-Germain gave a small, exasperated sigh. “Because, Rowena, if this man means me harm, the less I have to do with him the better. I’m glad he wasn’t told I’m still in San Francisco, or that I have a house on Clarendon Court. That could be an invitation to trouble.” He approached the intersection with Octavia carefully, narrowly avoiding a careening Chevrolet that came barreling down Broadway behind them, filled with young men whooping at the night.

“Do you think you’re being overly circumspect?” She wanted him to dismiss her question as ridiculous, to reassure her that she was too timorous.

But he answered very seriously, “I hope so. But I can’t afford to put it to the test. There’s too much at stake.”

“You’re no help,” she said, almost hitting his arm with her small, beaded handbag. “I want you to reassure me.”

“I don’t want you to get dragged into anything on my account. Once was enough.” He stopped at the light on Van Ness, and watched the cross-traffic with interest.

“How long?” she asked after a short silence.

“How long?” he echoed.

“How long will you need before you decide how much of a risk Cenere represents?” She had opened her purse to search for her house-key. “I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t want to be frightened.”

“Neither do I,” he said, turning onto Hyde Street. Behind them a church-bell rang four. “I didn’t intend to bring you home so late.”

“It’s New Year’s,” said Rowena fatalistically.

“And January first is a holiday, isn’t it?” He noticed two couples on the sidewalk, making their way unsteadily toward the corner. “Just as well, considering.”

“You don’t approve?” she asked, daring him to speak against the revelers.

“I neither approve nor disapprove,” he said gently. “And I won’t be goaded into bickering with you. I know you’re troubled about Cenere, and you don’t want to have to be on guard all the time.”

“You’d think I’d be over that. It was so long ago, and so much has happened since,” she said, touching her hair in a motion that briefly hid her face from him.

“You haven’t been kidnapped and held as a captive, have you? That is not the sort of experience that one can forget,” he said, remembering the remote cabin where she had been held, and the thick snow all around it.

“No,” she said, and managed a single laugh. “Once was quite enough.”

“Yes, it was,” he said, touching his horn as a Buick shot out of a parking place without regard for traffic. “That’s why I want to take every precaution so that you don’t have to endure anything disagreeable again on my account.”

She reached over and laid her hand on his leg. “You brought me safely out of that No one else could have done it.”

“Possibly,” he allowed. “But you were there because of your association with me, and I will not let that happen here.” He signaled to turn onto Pacific.

“It’s very provoking,” she told him. “You’d think there was a direct way to learn about this man.”

“There may be, but it could mean exposure, and that is too high a price to pay for information.” He rolled up the window and slowed down as a new Cadillac wove down the street toward him. “For now, I’ll have to do all my inquiring as indirectly as possible.”

“It sounds time-consuming and aggravating,” she said, and laughed at herself. “When I was younger, I would have found such a prospect exciting. Age really is creeping up on me.”

He held her hand briefly, then shifted down into second gear. “That driver is too drunk to be out on the street,” he said as the Cadillac swerved past him.

“It’s New—” she began, and stopped herself. “You’re right,” she agreed as she swung around in her seat to follow the Cadillac’s erratic progress down the street.

“Not that matters were much better during Prohibition, from what Oscar King has told me,” Saint-Germain said.

“I wish it weren’t so,” she said, and settled in the seat again. “But I saw more drunkenness during Prohibition than before, or since.” She twiddled her key in her fingers. “Have you made up your mind about what you’re going to do?”

“About Cenere, you mean?” he guessed.

“Yes.”

“No, not yet, not entirely,” he said. “But I will shortly.”

“If you decide to leave, will you tell me where you’re going?” She sounded forlorn.

“I don’t plan on leaving,” he said. “Not for a while, in any case.”

“But you could change your mind,” she murmured.

“That is the prerogative of all humankind, vampires included.” He rolled down his window again to signal for Taylor Street “You might change your mind, as well. You may decide you would rather not spend time with me, or you’d like to go north for a time, to do more drawings, or you could accept the offer from the gallery in New York and travel there for a one-woman show.”

She shook her head. “You make it seem so … so uncertain.”

“Because it is: the uncertainty is the one sure thing in life,” he said as he pulled into a parking place, set the brake, and turned off the motor and the headlights. He opened the door, preparing to go around to the passenger side to help her out.

For the moment she gave up quibbling with him, and allowed him to offer her his arm as she stepped out of the silver car. “At least we have tonight”

“What’s left of it,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Luckily this is winter, and the sun won’t be up for hours yet.”

“And we can turn that time to good use,” she said as she climbed up to her front door and slipped her key into the lock.

“Yes.” He paused, looking back at his car. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll join you shortly. I think it would be wise to park somewhere else, a block or two away.”

She shivered, speaking in irritation to conceal the sudden dread that gripped her. “Do you think we might have been followed?”

“No, I don’t think it, but it is a possibility, and I believe it would be best to proceed on the assumption that it could be happening.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I’ll be with you in five minutes.” With that, he turned and went back to his Pierce-Arrow.

Rowena watched him go, struggling with the fear that had formed under her ribs in a cold, hard lump. Try as she would, she could not dislodge it, and for the first time since he came to San Francisco, she had a hint of apprehension about their affaire that even her awakened desire could not banish.

T
EXT OF A LETTER FROM
E
NID
C
URTIS AT
L
AKE
T
AHOE
, C
ALIFORNIA, TO
J. H
AROLD
B
ISHOP OF
H
ORNER
B
ISHOP
B
EATIE
W
ENTWORTH
& C
ULPEPPER IN
C
HICAGO
, I
LLINOIS
.

PONDEROSA LODGE

LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA

February 1, 1937

J. Harold Bishop, Esq.

Horner Bishop Beatie Wentworth & Culpepper

Atttorneys-at-Law

7571 Michigan Ave.

Suite 602

Chicago, Illinois

Dear Mr. Horner,

I have had my attorney, James G. Avery of Sacramento, review the contracts you have supplied regarding the silent partnership proposed by Lord Weldon, who, I understand, is an associate of Ferenc Ragoczy, who stayed here at the end of last summer. I have read the contract carefully and I understand its terms, and I have had the advantage of good counsel on this matter.

Mr. Avery advises me that so long as the terms of the guarantee of autonomy are strictly enforced, he sees no reason I should not sign it He has suggested this addition to Paragraph 9, Clause 6, of the contract regarding the guarantee of autonomy for me: that shall not be revoked without cause as stipulated in Paragraph 8, Clause 4, Dissolving the Partnership. If this is satisfactory to you, please let me know, I will insert the language and initial it, and return the contract to you as quickly as airmail will bring it to you. If you would prefer to make the amendment yourself, and send a new draft back to me, I will return you this copy of the contract with the pertinent addition penciled in for your perusal. I would appreciate hearing from you in this regard at your earliest convenience.