as Saint-Germain opened the side door for her and indicated the way into the chateau. “No man has touched me since Gunther, and I was content to be in my father’s house, where the worst seemed so far away. When I thought those men might force me, I screamed, but there was no reason for it any more.”
“You have nothing to fear from anyone at Montalia,” Saint-Germain told her quietly.
She nodded and let Roger escort her into the breakfast room off the kitchen. There was a low fire in the grate and though the striped wallpaper was faded, in the flickering light it was pleasant and cozy. As Saint-Germain closed the door, she sat in the chair Roger held for her and folded her hands in her lap. Her age was no more than thirty, but the gesture was that of a much younger person. “Gunther died six months ago. I didn’t find out about it at first. They don’t tell you what’s happened. The SS comes and people go out with them and don’t come home again, and no one dares ask where they have gone, or when they will return, for then the SS might return. It was the local judge who told me, and he was drunk when he did.”
Roger bowed and excused himself to prepare a simple meal for Madame Kunst.
“When did you leave Austria, Madame?” Saint-Germain asked her as he added another log to the fire.
“Not many days ago. Eight or nine, I think. It could be ten.” She yawned and apologized.
“There is no need,” Saint-Germain assured her. “The fare here is adequate but not luxurious. If you are able to wait half an hour, there will be soup and cheese and sausage. Perhaps you would like to nap in the meantime?”
She thought about this, then shook her head. “I would sleep like the dead. I must stay awake. There are too many dead already.” She fiddled with the fold of her skirt across her lap, but her mind was most certainly drifting. “I ate yesterday.”
Saint-Germain said nothing but he could not repress an ironic smile, and was relieved that he had attended to his own hunger a few days before. The matter of nourishment, he thought, was becoming ridiculously complex.
“You did
what
?” James exclaimed, outraged. He had come back to the sitting room some ten minutes before and had tried to listen in reserved silence to what Saint-Germain was telling him.
“I saw that she was fed and given a room. I’m sorry that this adds so many complications. Had Roger been able to reach Mirelle, the problem would not have arisen.” He was unruffled by James’ outburst.
“
First
, you send your valet out to get a cooperative widow for me, and when that doesn’t work because he can’t get through to the village, he brings a half-starved Austrian refugee here as a weird kind of substitute, never mind what the poor woman thinks, being half kidnapped.
Second
, you think I’ll go along with this impossible scheme.
Third
, you’re telling me that you bring women here the way some cooks rustle up a half a dozen eggs, and I’m supposed to be grateful?” His voice had risen to a shout, as much to conceal the guilty pleasure he felt at the prospect of so tantalizing a meeting.
“Mister Tree, if there were not a war going on, all this would be handled differently. It may surprise you to know that I am not in the habit of ‘rustling up,’ as you say, cooperative widows or anyone else, for that matter. However, your situation will be critical soon, if something is not done, and I had hoped to find as undisruptive a solution as possible.”
“Well, you sure as hell botched it,” James said, taking secret pleasure in seeing this elegant stranger at a loss.
“Lamentably, I must concur.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and started toward the door.
James could not resist a parting shot. “You mean you were going to lay out a woman for me, like a smorgasbord, so I could…”
Saint-Germain’s mobile lips turned down in disgust “What do you take me for, Mister Tree? Mirelle knows what I am and finds it
“You have nothing to fear from anyone at Montalia,” Saint-Germain told her quietly.
She nodded and let Roger escort her into the breakfast room off the kitchen. There was a low fire in the grate and though the striped wallpaper was faded, in the flickering light it was pleasant and cozy. As Saint-Germain closed the door, she sat in the chair Roger held for her and folded her hands in her lap. Her age was no more than thirty, but the gesture was that of a much younger person. “Gunther died six months ago. I didn’t find out about it at first. They don’t tell you what’s happened. The SS comes and people go out with them and don’t come home again, and no one dares ask where they have gone, or when they will return, for then the SS might return. It was the local judge who told me, and he was drunk when he did.”
Roger bowed and excused himself to prepare a simple meal for Madame Kunst.
“When did you leave Austria, Madame?” Saint-Germain asked her as he added another log to the fire.
“Not many days ago. Eight or nine, I think. It could be ten.” She yawned and apologized.
“There is no need,” Saint-Germain assured her. “The fare here is adequate but not luxurious. If you are able to wait half an hour, there will be soup and cheese and sausage. Perhaps you would like to nap in the meantime?”
She thought about this, then shook her head. “I would sleep like the dead. I must stay awake. There are too many dead already.” She fiddled with the fold of her skirt across her lap, but her mind was most certainly drifting. “I ate yesterday.”
Saint-Germain said nothing but he could not repress an ironic smile, and was relieved that he had attended to his own hunger a few days before. The matter of nourishment, he thought, was becoming ridiculously complex.
“You did
what
?” James exclaimed, outraged. He had come back to the sitting room some ten minutes before and had tried to listen in reserved silence to what Saint-Germain was telling him.
“I saw that she was fed and given a room. I’m sorry that this adds so many complications. Had Roger been able to reach Mirelle, the problem would not have arisen.” He was unruffled by James’ outburst.
“
First
, you send your valet out to get a cooperative widow for me, and when that doesn’t work because he can’t get through to the village, he brings a half-starved Austrian refugee here as a weird kind of substitute, never mind what the poor woman thinks, being half kidnapped.
Second
, you think I’ll go along with this impossible scheme.
Third
, you’re telling me that you bring women here the way some cooks rustle up a half a dozen eggs, and I’m supposed to be grateful?” His voice had risen to a shout, as much to conceal the guilty pleasure he felt at the prospect of so tantalizing a meeting.
“Mister Tree, if there were not a war going on, all this would be handled differently. It may surprise you to know that I am not in the habit of ‘rustling up,’ as you say, cooperative widows or anyone else, for that matter. However, your situation will be critical soon, if something is not done, and I had hoped to find as undisruptive a solution as possible.”
“Well, you sure as hell botched it,” James said, taking secret pleasure in seeing this elegant stranger at a loss.
“Lamentably, I must concur.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and started toward the door.
James could not resist a parting shot. “You mean you were going to lay out a woman for me, like a smorgasbord, so I could…”
Saint-Germain’s mobile lips turned down in disgust “What do you take me for, Mister Tree? Mirelle knows what I am and finds it
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