particularly alarmed when, after handing her her coffee cup in the adjoining salon , Leonid sat down beside her.
After all, she thought, his disapprobation meant very little to her. It really didn’t matter in the least what he thought of her ... she wasn’t afraid of him. But when she stole a sideways glance at him she saw that his face was not nearly as forbidding as it had seemed earlier in the evening, and although there was something curiously alert in the dark eyes as they rested on her, there was also a hint of unaccustomed softness.
“You are pale,” he said, but something in his voice robbed the remark of any suggestion of criticism. “Are you well ... happy here? You do not find it too trying that you are not permitted to go beyond the gardens?”
“No, of course not, I ... love it here. I think I’m really very lucky—there are such wonderful gardens to walk in. And it’s marvellous just to know that I’m in Italy.” She dropped her eyes, suddenly disconcerted by the intensity of his strange dark gaze. “The only thing that worries me is that there doesn’t seem to be very much for me to do.”
“You are here to amuse my sister-in-law ... to divert her, to handle her when her difficult moods arise. This you have accomplished very well.” He took out his cigarette-case and held it towards her. “You will not be persuaded to smoke ... Katherine?”
She shook her head. She felt confused and shy and strangely elated, because for the first time since he had asked her permission to use it, he had called her by her name. “No, thank you,” she said.
He lit his own cigarette. “So you are not bored. But life is dull for you, nevertheless. Tell me, do you like—”
A shrill exclamation from the other end of the room interrupted him, and Kathy, turning her head, was startled to see his sister-in-law standing with her back to the fireplace, her eyes blazing and a fiery point of angry colour highlighting each delicate cheekbone.
“You shall not say such things!” She was speaking to the Signora, and the words seemed to be coming from between her teeth. “Vasilli was an angel—a saint! I know! For five years—for five years —I was married to him, and always he was so kind, so sweet, so truly good! Everybody knew it. He would have been a fine king ... and that, too, everybody knew. Anton knew it, and he was jealous and afraid, so he caused Vasilli to be killed, and then he ... he ... ”
“Natalia, you will say no more.” Leonid had risen to his feet. His face was white, and his eyes seemed to smoulder. His voice was like the crack of a whip, and Kathy was glad it was not against her that his anger was directed at the moment.
But Natalia took no notice of him. She walked towards Kathy, and knelt down in front of her so that her blazing brown eyes were on a level with the English girl’s bewildered blue ones.
“My husband was murdered ... murdered by my brother-in-law Anton. I swear that it is true!”
Leonid looked down at her as she knelt on the brightly tinted Persian carpet, her golden skirts about her.
“You are mistaken,” he said, and his voice was without any sort of expression. “You would not say such things if you were not tired. Go to bed.” There was a long pause, and then, very slowly and gracefully, Natalia rose to her feet. Her head drooped. “I ... am sorry,” she said, and her voice was a mere whisper of sound. “Truly I am sorry, Leon.”
Some of the tautness vanished from the lines about her brother-in-law’s mouth. “It is no matter, petite ,” he said, as gently as if the young woman in front of him had been a small and weary child. “I am sure”—half glancing at Kathy—“that nothing you have said will go beyond the walls of this room. You are upset, and,” a little critically, “you have grieved too long for Vasilli.”
The Princess’s lip trembled. Signora Albinhieri crossed the room to take her arm, and as she did so, she threw her godson a
After all, she thought, his disapprobation meant very little to her. It really didn’t matter in the least what he thought of her ... she wasn’t afraid of him. But when she stole a sideways glance at him she saw that his face was not nearly as forbidding as it had seemed earlier in the evening, and although there was something curiously alert in the dark eyes as they rested on her, there was also a hint of unaccustomed softness.
“You are pale,” he said, but something in his voice robbed the remark of any suggestion of criticism. “Are you well ... happy here? You do not find it too trying that you are not permitted to go beyond the gardens?”
“No, of course not, I ... love it here. I think I’m really very lucky—there are such wonderful gardens to walk in. And it’s marvellous just to know that I’m in Italy.” She dropped her eyes, suddenly disconcerted by the intensity of his strange dark gaze. “The only thing that worries me is that there doesn’t seem to be very much for me to do.”
“You are here to amuse my sister-in-law ... to divert her, to handle her when her difficult moods arise. This you have accomplished very well.” He took out his cigarette-case and held it towards her. “You will not be persuaded to smoke ... Katherine?”
She shook her head. She felt confused and shy and strangely elated, because for the first time since he had asked her permission to use it, he had called her by her name. “No, thank you,” she said.
He lit his own cigarette. “So you are not bored. But life is dull for you, nevertheless. Tell me, do you like—”
A shrill exclamation from the other end of the room interrupted him, and Kathy, turning her head, was startled to see his sister-in-law standing with her back to the fireplace, her eyes blazing and a fiery point of angry colour highlighting each delicate cheekbone.
“You shall not say such things!” She was speaking to the Signora, and the words seemed to be coming from between her teeth. “Vasilli was an angel—a saint! I know! For five years—for five years —I was married to him, and always he was so kind, so sweet, so truly good! Everybody knew it. He would have been a fine king ... and that, too, everybody knew. Anton knew it, and he was jealous and afraid, so he caused Vasilli to be killed, and then he ... he ... ”
“Natalia, you will say no more.” Leonid had risen to his feet. His face was white, and his eyes seemed to smoulder. His voice was like the crack of a whip, and Kathy was glad it was not against her that his anger was directed at the moment.
But Natalia took no notice of him. She walked towards Kathy, and knelt down in front of her so that her blazing brown eyes were on a level with the English girl’s bewildered blue ones.
“My husband was murdered ... murdered by my brother-in-law Anton. I swear that it is true!”
Leonid looked down at her as she knelt on the brightly tinted Persian carpet, her golden skirts about her.
“You are mistaken,” he said, and his voice was without any sort of expression. “You would not say such things if you were not tired. Go to bed.” There was a long pause, and then, very slowly and gracefully, Natalia rose to her feet. Her head drooped. “I ... am sorry,” she said, and her voice was a mere whisper of sound. “Truly I am sorry, Leon.”
Some of the tautness vanished from the lines about her brother-in-law’s mouth. “It is no matter, petite ,” he said, as gently as if the young woman in front of him had been a small and weary child. “I am sure”—half glancing at Kathy—“that nothing you have said will go beyond the walls of this room. You are upset, and,” a little critically, “you have grieved too long for Vasilli.”
The Princess’s lip trembled. Signora Albinhieri crossed the room to take her arm, and as she did so, she threw her godson a
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