Sustenance (37 page)

The question was so unexpected that she did not quite understand it. “I don’t know. Why should I?”

“If you’re sitting, you won’t have to worry about your balance—standing might be otherwise,” he said, sensing she was again feeling out of her depth. “Sitting is easier. Which would you prefer?”

She blushed a little—and at my age, she thought—and said, “Yes. You’re right. I will sit on the end of the bed.”

He sank down on one knee before her to unhook her hose from her garter-belt, taking care to handle the nylons carefully. He then pulled her garter-belt down from her hips over her thighs and legs; he gathered it up with the rolled hose and put them on the chair-seat with the bra. “Why don’t you get under the covers? You’re chilled.”

“About my panties?” She felt like a schoolgirl, calling them
panties,
but no other word came to mind.

“No reason to rush,” he replied.

Now thoroughly perplexed, she faltered, staring at him in consternation. “Do you want me to undress you?”

He gave her a smile that was nearly a kiss. “No. I’d rather you get comfortable.”

“Oh.” She turned around and grabbed the corner of her duvet and flung it back, leaving a triangle of sheet. She half-stretched, half-crawled onto it and reached for the duvet again. “There. All snug.” She tried to imagine what he was going to do that was different from what she expected.

“That’s good,” he said, and sat on the side of the bed across from her in order to remove his shoes and socks; he set them next to the night-stand as he stretched out beside her on the top of the duvet.

Once again she was surprised. “Don’t you plan to undress?” She was troubled as soon as she said it. “How are you going to—you know.”

“I’m not going to, not tonight,” he answered, making a few adjustments to the duvet. “Tonight is for you.”

“But if you don’t…” She felt herself lost again, unsure of how to say what she thought she should.

“If you are satisfied, then I will be as well,” he whispered as he lay on his side as he reached out to her, the duvet rising between them, and curving around her shoulder like a fine fur stole. “For now, close your eyes and let me awaken your desires.” He fitted himself to her back, lying spoon-style, his hand moving a bit of the duvet aside to give him access to her body.

The thought of closing her eyes was a bit unnerving, for if she could not see him, he might do … anything. But she had come this far, and she decided that she would do her best to trust him. “All right,” she said, and closed her eyes as he turned the front of her body away from him. “What now?”

“This gives you freedom to move as you wish, even if it is to leave where you are,” he said, and moved his shoulder so he could turn her face in order to kiss her, and had both hands free to touch her. While their mouths were joined, she felt his hands move toward her breasts; she had a moment of panic, but she fought against it, trying to decide how she would kick herself free of the covers if that became necessary. Gradually she relaxed as he stroked her body, starting at the base of her neck and going down to her panties, then caressing her along her sides, doing nothing in haste. When he finally fingered her breasts again, her body was already becoming excited, her nipples were stiffening, and she started to approve of this unorthodox approach to love-making; it did give her a freedom she never realized until now that she lacked. His touch was light and deft, rousing her nipples as if they were precious ornaments for an heirloom, for although his ministrations were thoughtful, they were also playful.

With her eyes closed, Charis said, “Give me a sec,” and reached to wriggle out of her panties; she tossed them in the direction of the chair. “Now go on,” she whispered eagerly.

“As you wish,” he said, and extended his unhurried exploration of her flesh. From her breasts and flanks he shifted his position enough so that he could reach the apex of her thighs. Conscious of every nuance of her increasing passion, he began to awaken her deepest concupiscence, stimulating her already swollen clitoris with soft, expert caresses, taking all the time she needed to feel the full range of her desire. His own esurience was increasing as well, and he tantalized her to draw out her carnality, so that they would both have the full enjoyment of their awakened passion.

Charis had never known such transcendent excitation as what possessed her now. Her entire body quivered with the release that gathered within her. As her first orgasm overcame her she hardly noticed his lips on her throat, nor would she care if she had. Some incaluable time later, as the rapture started to diminish, she found herself hoping that the next time she spent the night with Szent-Germain, it would be for this ecstatic fulfillment and not for revenge on her husband.

TEXT OF A REPORT TO LYDELL BROADSTREET IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, USA, FROM PHILETUS ROTHCOE IN AVIGNON, FRANCE, WRITTEN IN CODE AND CARRIED BY COURIER AND DELIVERED TWO DAYS AFTER IT WAS WRITTEN.

Avignon, France

May 19, 1950

D-D Broadstreet,

In response to your inquiries related to my preliminary report:

No, I did not notice anyone accompanying Hapgood and Meredith Nugent any time during their visit beyond a local guide in Nice, who was at least fifty; she remained with them for the greater part of the day, showing them the usual points of interest as well as providing for tours of buildings not generally open to public viewing. At the end of the day, Hapgood took her recommendation for a restaurant, paid her, and there was no other communication between them.

Brother and sister appeared to be in good health, and spent a little time at the public beaches for which the Riviera is famous during their drive westward. Meredith is the stronger swimmer of the two. After their time at the shore, they ventured inland, into the Central Massif, where they visited a number of hill-towns before arriving at the small villa that Hapgood had rented for eight days. I could detect no pattern to their travels beyond that they would end up at Sainte-Clairmonde. They spent most of their time at the villa, the greatest part of their time in the vineyard attached to it, and in the village securing food for their meals; the villa has no electricity.

No, no contact was made with those outside the village. There is no telephone in the villa, so I can state confidently that the only calls they made were from the post office in Sainte-Clairmonde, most of them to members of the group called the Ex-Pats’ Coven in Paris. There was one telephone call logged in for them, from Russell McCall, also a member of the Coven; Hapgood did not return it, and the call was not renewed. Hapgood received three letters at the post office, collected each in turn, but sent none himself.

As I described in my preliminary report: at the end of their visit, Hapgood drove Meredith to Avignon, and she took the train to Brussels, where, according to the passport officer there, she was met by a man from the University. She spent the night with him and his family, and in the morning spent two hours and twenty minutes with her host at the University, then took a taxi to the airport and was on the afternoon airplane bound for New York. Thus far, there have been no reports of questionable activities in Brussels.

Hapgood returned to Paris on the seventeenth, as I mentioned before, and aside from having dinner with the Praegers and Mary Anne Triding, has had no formal contact with any Coven member but Steven diMaggio, who searches for bugs for the Coven—usually finds them, too. There has been nothing remarkable in Hapgood’s routine.

Aside from a meeting at Eclipse Press, Paris, there has been no contact between Hapgood Nugent and Grof Szent-Germain. Incidentally, the title appears to be genuine: the man actually does own a family estate in the Romanian Carpathians, and the family has been there well back into the Middle Ages, or so my affiliate in the region informs me. Unlikely as it may be, the man appears to be what he claims to be.

I will prepare a follow-up report next week.

Philetus Rothcoe

2

S
ZENT-
G
ERMAIN’S FLAT
was quiet; even the new hi-fi set was turned down to a hush, so that only a whispered thread of Bach’s
Brandenburg Concerto No. 3
could be heard. A library lamp stood guard over the main desk, on the lowest of three settings. “Probably just as well,” the Grof said to Rogers with an ironic smile. He had risen from his wing-back chair, the one with his native earth enclosed in the upholstery; as Rogers came through the door Szent-Germain sat back down again. “Parisians still dislike almost all things German, including Bach. The light-bulbs are the Italian ones.” They were speaking in Imperial Latin, aware that they might be overheard, in spite of it being four in the morning.

Rogers, still dressed for traveling, was looking somewhat rumpled as he sat down on the small sofa in Szent-Germain’s study, a room of good size that opened onto the corridor on the east wall, and onto the extensive library on the north wall. He dropped his briefcase onto the floor next to the sofa. “That’s unfortunate, for them as well as for the Germans. Though you can’t blame them, after the war.”

“That’s been a frequent excuse through the centuries—one of them does something the other cannot tolerate, and so they begin another war, claiming it is justified and necessary. It made some kind of sense back in the Middle Ages, or so everyone thought. The demands of honor take curious forms, and open aggression requires an active defense. This last war most certainly was needed, but for reasons of fashion or custom, as some of the others have not been,” Szent-Germain reminded him with little heat, but with sorrow in his dark eyes.

“It’s become a matter of character and style for both cultures, which is unfortunate.” He bent to open his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope straining to hold the report it contained. “You would have thought that the Revolution could have changed that, given all their humanitarian posturing,” said Rogers, falling into the subject with the ease of long practice, aware that the Grof did not want to discuss his findings now. “Their intentions were admirable, those Revolutionaries. The French were on a course to have better … diplomatic relations with their neighbors.”

“With the ones they were already inclined to like, yes, they were,” Szent-Germain said, sounding melancholy. “They have trouble even now with those they actively dislike.”

“They have justified their goals before their first shots were fired,” said Rogers. “It wasn’t their decision in the last war.”

“No, and not for all of their neighbors,” the Grof stated. “The French have a different relationship with the Dutch, but that may be changing, too. The weapons are too powerful now. No country can afford the risks of war, not with the bombs and guided, long-range missiles—” He had trouble finding Latin terms for these, and broke off.

“And the character of the first large encounter defines the hostilities from first to last—at least it does often.” Rogers stretched, yawning. “Harking back to the Revolution.”

“The Revolution, perhaps; the Terror, never,” Szent-Germain said, thinking back to the hectic days in Lyon, trying to get Madelaine de Montalia out of the country before the Guillotine claimed her head and delivered the True Death.

Rogers sensed some of the Grof’s troublesome memories, and said, “Do you think there will be a way to end their animosity?”

Szent-Germain shrugged. “It may happen, eventually. It cannot be forced.”

“Do you mean that they cannot resolve their differences without battles? at least for now?” Rogers rubbed his eyes. “I hadn’t realized I am as tired as … this.”

“Bear with me a little while. I doubt a military contest will serve the cause of peace; it certainly hasn’t in the past. The Great War was supposed to end all wars, and yet it has just been fought again. The French and the Germans haven’t got on since Karl-lo-Magne ruled, and France wasn’t even a country then,” said Szent-Germain. “Neither you nor I can change them; it would be folly to try. It is up to them to change themselves.” He took the sixteenth-century atlas off his desk and put it back on the shelf in its usual place. After a couple minutes of silence, he said, “You were telling me about your journey before we got sidetracked.” He said the last word in English, since it was difficult to express
sidetracked
in Latin.

Rogers rubbed his eyes and stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles, very nearly yawning. “I spent most of the time on the train from Milano typing out my notes, which will make matters easier for you to assess, I think. There is a real tangle in Genova, and possibly one in Athens.” He was still speaking Imperial Latin.

“Where did you get the typewriter?” Szent-Germain inquired.

“I borrowed the Olympic in the Athens office, the little portable, and I took a ream of paper from the Eclipse Publishing branch there. The notes are in Greek, not surprisingly, but I thought it would be wise to have a record not everyone can read. Border-guards can be too curious.” He picked up the manila envelope and handed it to Szent-Germain, who received it with a single nod.

“No doubt, as can others,” said Szent-Germain, and sat a little straighter in his chair as he reached out to put the manila envelope on his desk. “What slowed your journey? I expected you at twenty-two hundred hours. I had Fabert call the train station about half an hour before midnight; they said there had been a delay.”

“Don’t tell me he was worried too? Fabert?” He did not laugh or make any display of humor, but there was something in his faded-blue eyes that indicated that he was amused that Szent-Germain’s houseman would be concerned for Rogers, of whom Fabert was deeply jealous. “I thought it best to leave from somewhere other than Genova, considering all the things that have been going on there. You’ll have to arrange something with your factors there. I didn’t want to have to explain anything to the police, so I went to Milano. It was a clamber, getting to the station in time, but I’m here now. We were delayed twice, once at Varese, once near Montargis. An old bomb went off and damaged the track.”