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8/14/2019 A DANGEROUS DIPLOMAT
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The devils playground, many called Monte Carlo. And
on 1.96 square kilometers of land, jutting out into the
sapphire blue Mediterranean, the devil could wreak much
havoc. It was at the Casinos gilded doors manners and
mores were checked as readily as one would a chinchilla
wrap or silk hat. Upon the wide, polished floors of the
salles des jeux, the monde and the demimonde met on equal
footing, with daring results, the most affected being the
English. Nary a brow lifted where an English duchess rubbed
shoulders with the most notorious of cocottes--who may have
entertained that duke the previous night. The dourest of
men, perhaps an exemplary father and husband, could be
found with a smile on his face and a fistful of gold
louis, keen to shower champagne and lightly-braised
lobster on the first lady to make eyes at him.
And oh, the ladies!
The habitu of Monte Carlo would be well-versed in the
lure of the table upon the weaker sex. The fashionable lady
gambled discreetly, but fervently. What would it matter if
she lost her quarterly allowance? Jewelers coached in
discretion lined the palm tree shaded streets of Monaco,
and if so inclined, a lady could coax a loan from a
besotted swain--and why not, they would ask. When one was
in Monty, one was not being watched by a chaplain.
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Yes, all the world was a stage, but no better stage
there could be but Monty. All recognized this--royalties,
actors and actresses of the stage, socialites, politicians,
les grandes horizontales, financiers, magnates--and all
came.
It was this cosmopolitan congregation which made Monte
Carlo an opportune setting for those who wished their
movements to remain somewhat anonymous. A German baron
crossing paths with a Turkish financier? But ho! We have
just met! A French Minister taking a luncheon of mostelle
and Roquefort with a Russian Grand Duke in the Caf de
Paris? Oh l l, we are but commiserating over our mutual
losses at chemin-de-fer! So what if the Prime Minister of
England moored his yacht beside that of the Kings? It was
his duty to pay respects to his sire, was it not? Under
this aegis, the powerful of any nation could eddy
pleasantly, winter season after winter season, each rival
party casting blandly suspicious glances at one another in
the swirl of political and diplomatic intrigues.
The coolly inquisitive eyes of Sir Draco Harcourt
digested this information, weighed and measured it, and
found it verified by the scene which met him in the Casino.
A garrulous hotel courier who had charge of his floor
innocently supplied him with local intrigues and gossip,
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the mistral and the sound of twittering birds and other
signs of life.
The oil lamps hanging over the tables cast a
grotesque, steady green glow over the scattered gold and
notes wagered and the double hedge of eager faces crowding
the table, eyes fixed hungrily on the spinning black and
crimson roulette wheel where a tiny ivory ball clicked and
clacked over the compartments, twirling tauntingly in the
opposite direction of the its parent.
Standing at the edge of the rooms, despite the few
guests reclining on the couches placed against the wall he
felt conspicuous, and that conspicuousness bred unease.
Draco joined a table and penetrated at least the third
layer coating a roulette table the furthest from the door.
Those unremitting gamblers, the ones who queued at the
Casino doors before they opened at eleven in the morning,
sat in the high-backed mahogany chairs rounding the tables.
Fellow gamblers draped themselves over them, and
around the wide-brimmed millinery worn by the ladies--
though many of the gentlemen clustered around the more
expensive variety of woman were obviously admirers, ready
to whisper a tip into their pretty shell-pink ears or offer
a few golden louis at the bat of kohl-rimmed lashes when a
tip went awry.
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The croupiers Messieurs, faites vos jeux pierced
the air and Draco found himself contributing to the shower
of coins and notes deluging the table despite his
abhorrence for games of chance. He preferred chess, or if a
card game, bridge, where wins were dependent upon personal
skill and knowledge. Zero en plein was the most logical
bet. The stakes were reasonable, being 35 to 1, and there
was an even-money chance when the zero came up, as the
wheel spun in a steady percentage in favor of the tables
and consequently against the player. The croupier, tail-
coated and eyes shaded by a green visor, sat in a high-
legged chair and spun the roulette wheel by the small
cross-bar rising from the sunken black bowl in the middle
of the table. Again the small ivory ball slid sleekly
beneath the smooth overhanging edge, where a slowing
momentum would cause it to strike the brass ridges
separating the compartments, and slide into a colored and
numbered pocket.
As the ball slowed, tripping and flirting with the
pockets, it seemed the breath of the crowd swelled as one,
and shoulder by shoulder, millinery confection by millinery
confection, macassar-oiled head by macassar-oiled head,
they dipped towards the table as though by telekinesis or
telepathy one could urge the ball to slip neatly into the
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numbers of ones bets. The momentum of pressing, scented
bodies against him propelled Draco forward (or so he told
himself) towards the table; he realized the burning
sensation in his chest was his bated breath and he released
it in a whoosh of air. All ongoing bets were forced to stop
when the croupiers reedy voice cried Rien ne vas plus.
The ball spun slowly before dropping into red seventeen.
Draco shook his head in disgust; he greatly mistrusted
anything he could not control. He stepped away from the
table just as the croupier began to clang a bell. The
murmurs of the crowd filled the room, and the eyes of
everyone else turned to the table as three men cloaked with
a discreet air hastened into the salon bearing black crepe.
This crepe was promptly draped over the table. By the
excited chatter of mixing languages, Draco came to
understand that the bank had been broken. Through the
excited throng he glimpsed thousands of glitter of gold
louis raked in the direction of whom he assumed to be the
winner. He lingered curiously, for he admitted there was a
faint thrill at witnessing an event it was said rarely
occurred beneath the stringent management of the Societe du
Bain sur Mer.
The thrill chilled and his mouth tightened when the
winners laugh trilled a happy soprano above the chatter.
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Gwendolyn, here! His mind chanted. Gwendolyn!
Yes, his eyes confirmed, it was Gwendolyn. The sickly
green light failed to affect neither the slender column of
her neck where she threw her head back with glee, the
richly textured gold of her hair gleaming brighter than the
louis bulging her handbag, nor the strong, fine-boned
features of her face. She accepted the congratulations of
other, less lucky gamblers, her mouth breaking easily into
a warm, enticing smile and her eyes, impossibly blue, as
blue as the sea yonder the cliffs, smoldered beneath brows
which slanted upwards from the bridge of her nose like
delicate wings. As she turned to rise from her chair, the
oil lamps caught at the shimmering beading of her gown;
first blue, then green, then a blue of a darker hue,
etcetera. She looked like a preening peacock, limbs
stretched and expression haughty, as though owed her due.
He didnt fail to notice the bevy of swains in her
wake. Ah youth, he said cynically to himself. Foolish,
foolish youth. In his maturity he could recognize the signs
of a young man utterly infatuated, quite devastated
actually, by an alluring woman. The sort of infatuation
that would accept the slightest crumb of affection tossed
casually his way. Who would tremble with desire if she even
looked his way longer than necessary. Whose mouth would dry
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and tongue stick to the roof of his mouth if she touched
him, even accidentally. The sort of hopeless attraction
that spawned tremulous, passionate poetry, bountiful
expenditure, sleepless nights, and abandoned duties, and
led a man to his ruin.
He could have turned, melted into the general melee
once he realized Gwendolyns path arced absently in his
direction. What use would there be for them to meet when
they had they drifted unconsciously into the mode of
avoiding one another? But he didnt turn, and in fact,
quite planted himself in her way, for reasons he tucked
into the recesses of his brain.
She startled visibly when her eyes met his, her hand
clutching her throat in shock and her eyes glittering
starkly in her whitened face. The smile curving her lips
withered and died, all amusement and inattention sliding
from her face like a mask. He bowed mockingly. She
hesitated before recovering her composure, turning to speak
briefly with the young man hovering closest to her elbow.
Her slender, gloved fingers touched his arm, and the young
man tensed, evidently displeased by what his wife was
telling him. Sallow of complexion with the high-cheeked,
hollow-eyed look of a Frenchman, Draco suppressed an
answering scowl to the one his wifes swain shot him before
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he kissed Gwendolyns fingertips in grudging farewell.
The aching memory of his useless left shoulder was
temperance enough. He was too old and much too
disinterested to involve himself with the imprudent
passions of youth.
Hello Gwendolyn he said, and caught her caught her
outstretched hand to kiss it dutifully. I hope I havent
interrupted you.
Of course you havent, she said, slanting a slightly
ironic look beneath her picture hat as she allowed him to
tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. Shall we take a
stroll outside?
He obliged her, ignoring the burning stare of her
hovering conquest. They passed through the salon, descended
the escalator and stepped from the Casinos vestibule into
the cobbled courtyard stretching between the Casino and the
terrace of the Caf de Paris.
As they joined the throng of promenaders, the gold
clanking in her bag drew avaricious stares but, when he
reached for it, she evaded his grasp and withdrew her arm
from his. He narrowed his eyes when she walked briskly to
one of the wrought-iron benches flanking the gardens and
sat, but he, flipping his tails up, joined her.
Sir Draco, she unfurled the fan dangling from her
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wrist. It was made of peacock feathers. She waved it
languidly, unhurriedly. I wouldnt have expected to see
you here of all places. What wind has brought you to Monte
Carlo?
Apparently, the mistral, He said blandly, returning
her scrutiny. You look well.
She slanted a glance over the feathers. It dipped from
his feet to the crown of his head. Do I?
Ive never seen you appear less than perfect,
Apparently not perfect enough for you, she said. She
fanned briskly. I suppose youve come here for some
nefarious purpose. To watch me perhaps?
I had no idea you were here Gwendolyn, he said,
raising his brow. Should you be watched?
Her mouth tightened.
We were never on those terms, I thought. Despite your
opinions to the contrary, I have some measure of respect
for your acknowledgement of propriety.
This caused her to tense for some reason. But his mood
darkened when she stretched, as though reclining, curling
like a cat. Her lashes lowered and she fanned herself
slowly, the feathers brushing against the smooth column of
her throat. It was then he cast a second, more thorough
look at the emerald collar encircling her neck, lying just
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along her collarbone. Matching earbobs peeked from beneath
the golden coil of her hair and glittered in response, as
did the bracelet sliding down her slender wrist.
In which direction should I compliment on their
exquisite taste? he said coldly, flinging himself away
from her to stand.
She slanted a glance at him, her brows rising in
mocking surprise. Why Draco, are you accusing me of
accepting tokens from someone not my husband?
I happen not to like your games, my love.
She straightened abruptly. I shall have you know,
these belonged to Lady Sheffield. I would never--
Dont promise something you arent sure youll keep.
He interrupted.
She merely lifted her shoulders, and a fleeting
expression of weariness crossed her face. I would like to
know why youve come to Monaco. I hazard it say definitely
isnt to see me.
I didnt even know youd be here. Draco said.
Of course, She said sardonically. Though that does
surprise me. You are well known to be preternaturally
abreast of practically any situation.
Am I?
Dont be coy Draco, it doesnt suit you. The talk is
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that youve achieved your burning ambitions. Your basest
desire. This last dripped with scorn.
Ive never known you to reject the ambitious,
Gwendolyn, he said smiling bitterly. Twas your ambitions
which earned you the position of prima donna in Covent
Garden wasnt it?
And my basest desire, she added flippantly. Youre
right. I shouldnt mock ambition. I admire your
advancement--shall I congratulate you as well? Youve
everything youve ever wanted.
Draco sighed irritably. It isnt as though it hasnt
come without cost.
No it hasnt. She turned a dark, inscrutable look on
him. You look quite fatigued.
Late nights, my love, he said absently, staring out
over to the Mediterranean; it lay calm and unperturbed,
deceptively so. Its peacefulness, and the citrus-scented
breeze accompanying the clatter of motorcars, carriages and
footpads almost led him to disbelieve the seething unrest
that lay just across the water.
This realization brought him back to the present. I
hope you havent been gossiping about me, Gwendolyn. I
thoroughly detest it; it breeds outlandish tales and
unneeded alarm.
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Of course I havent, she said stiffly. I do my best
to keep your name from my lips, if not those of my
acquaintances. You forget I have as much a reputation to
protect as you do.
Draco narrowed his eyes, his attention falling
automatically to the emeralds. He took her hand and lifted
her wrist. Then have a care Gwendolyn, to not invite
insinuations by wearing favors known to not come from your
husband.
He held her hand more tightly when she would have
pulled away. Her mouth tightened, nostrils flaring
delicately. How dare you. she hissed. How dare you
Draco.
Her color heightened, a red stain creeping from her
neck to coat her cheeks in pink.
I do dare Gwendolyn. The impetuous youth who looked
prepared to slay me with his stickpin gives me reason to.
Let me go Draco, she tugged at her hand.
He released it, but caught it again when she raised it
to strike his face. Stop it Gwendolyn. Dont cause a
scene.
Of course! She said with deadly quiet. One wouldnt
wish to humiliate the noble Sir Draco Harcourt with
unnecessary passions and histrionics.
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He released her hand again, and set it in her lap
where her other hand lay clenched, fingers clutching her
Dorothy bag. To his relief, their conversation had
attracted little attention. Draco grimaced, and his
shoulder throbbed. Unconsciously, he rubbed it, accustomed
to its familiar twinge. His wife was the only person on
earth who could lead him to the heights of such
frustration. But he wouldnt quarrel with her, had vowed he
wouldnt ever again after she upturned the dining table of
a private dining room in Claridges and began throwing
china in the waning months of their marriage.
I surmise youve come from Bayreuth? he said,
changing the topic. How was Wagner?
I wouldnt know as Id been to Cairo, she said.
Why this sudden change of plans? he said casually.
It wasnt sudden, Id been invited to accompany a few
friends to Egypt months ago, but the countess insisted I
come with her to Ireland for the hunt.
I see, he said.
And why have you come to Monte Carlo? You rarely
leave England at this time. The levees are to begin and
Parliament its session. she said, arching a brow. I dont
believe you know the word holiday.
But nonetheless, I am here, He said, spreading his
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hands. You neednt worry I shall impede upon your
amusement. Monaco is large enough for the both of us.
And yet you never considered England as such? she
said, snapping the fan closed. Or even London, for all the
haste with which you vacated Berkeley Square for
Westminster.
The reasonable cost and convenience of keeping a flat
nearer to Whitehall far outweighed keeping open a house
that required a regular staff and remained empty for three-
fourths of the year. he huffed, exasperated. Please dont
revisit that conversation.
You still havent explained why you have chosen Monty
of all places, for a holiday. Its very peculiar for you
to disregard your devotion to your constituents at the
beginning of a session.
Why shouldnt I be in Monty as you so call it, he
said dryly. When many of my fellow politicians hare off to
the country or abroad just before Parliament opens? Many
backbenchers still have the dust of the hunt on their
boots, or the sheen of Paris on their brow when they slide
into the Commons.
Its peculiar because in all the years weve known
one another, youve never once shunted aside your duty to
your country. The eve of our wedding found you hammering
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out a bill for Free Trade with Chamberlain, and our
honeymoon was spent at Chatsworth.
I fail to understand your position Gwendolyn, he
said incredulously. You knew of my ambitious when we met,
that I would not be content to lead an idle life.
I knew it, but I dont accept it. Or I didnt, she
amended quickly. when I was young and ignorant of the ways
of men.
And you havent enlightened me of the name of your
hosts.
I asked you first, Draco. Her smile held a hint of
malice. Youre so mysterious these days. Sir Cabinet
Minister. Greys right-hand, Ive heard. I wonder that any
woman could ever live with a man for whom secrets an
essential part of his life. I cannot fail to marvel when I
hear politicians speak so well of you, and so confidently
of your brilliant future!"
I wouldnt have thought you had an interest in my
career, he said, raising his brows in surprise.
I dont, but it isnt difficult to understand the
least of what occurs in our government if one can read the
papers. Ive seen you mentioned even in the Mongasque
paper.
Draco stiffened at this. Are you quite certain of
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this?
Her lips parted. The baroness pointed it out this
morning over breakfast,
The baroness? This brought his attention away from
the immediate subject. Youve come to Monte Carlo with the
Baroness von Hazeldt. I surmise the baron has accompanied
you as well?
Viktoria couldnt come to Monaco on her own
volition, she said defensively. She is very ill.
Draco closed his mouth, then his eyes, just briefly.
This was the most damnable situation. He remained quite
silent for several moments. He was, in reality,
passionately angry. Self-restraint, however, had become
such a habit of his that there were no indications of his
condition save in the slight twitching of his long fingers
and a tightening at the corners of his lips
It was the baroness who invited you to Cairo?
Actually no, it was the baron. Viktoria had one of
her turns and desired my company, but was too weak to
write.
I assumed that you knew of my reluctance to continue
that association.
Do you presume to choose my friends? Her tone was
cool and distant.
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Not at all, only the Hazeldt connection.
Could you oblige me with an explanation?
I could not, just know that I am not pleased.
I apologize for your displeasure, but I cannot honor
your dislike of the baron and baroness. Viktoria is one of
my dearest friends, and the baron--
Has added himself to your list of dutiful conquests.
He supplied silkily.
She jerked away from him. Perhaps I havent a right
to feel outraged that you could think I have such little
honor as to seduce the husband of a friend.
Forgive me, Draco said abruptly broke the harsh
silence that has arisen between them at his words. I have
no right--
Never mind, She rose to her feet in a rustle of silk
and beading. Her hands agitatedly fiddled with her handbag
and she adjusted the veiling over her hat. We have strayed
from the point.
And that would be? He said, rising as well.
What has the power to lure you from the bells of
Westminster! For it certainly isnt myself. Perhaps someone
has enchanted you--there was an astonishingly talented
snake charmer in the bazaar. she continued flippantly.
He frowned at her. She could never be serious. Her
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inopportune sense of humor made him want to laugh and
throttle her simultaneously. He shook his head, then
realized shed spoken. An invitation to luncheon at the
Caf de Paris just opposite. The disappointment which
darkened her eyes when she took the shake of his head as a
decline surprised him. Draco paused. A sensation he
couldnt (or perhaps he didnt wish to) decipher slithered
through him at her offer. It lay temptingly, enticing him
to retract his refusal; but there was always a price to
temptation and in the form of Gwendolyn, the price had
always been too high.
Gwendolyn took luncheon alone at a door table on the
terrace of the Caf de Paris. She didnt wish to linger on
it, but she felt the faint stirring of resentment over
Dracos automatic rejection of her offer. It had been much
like most of their marriage, after the mad, reckless
passion of his courtship had burned away and she awakened
to the realities of being his wife. She learned to
recognize the signs of his subsequent withdrawal from her
when he considered her behavior to be tiresome. Tiresome,
tiresome, his voice seemed to echo. Anything she ever did
was tiresome to him, it seemed.
She forced herself to eat the plate of poached eggs a
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la Grand Duc and piping hot baguette, aware of the
reproachful eyes of the waiter, who hovered anxiously,
flitting across the terrace to refill glasses of wine or
cups coffee like a bumble bee, every time he passed her
table to see her food left untouched. When he turned away,
she flung the crusty bread to the fearless crowd of pigeons
strutting amongst the tables. She could only finish her
flute of champagne, then placed a napkin over its mouth to
signal that she did not want anymore. She settled her bill,
and as she did so, the heaviness of her bag reminded her of
her extraordinary stroke of luck at the tables. A pleasant
sensation at the memory spread a warmth through her bones
that superseded any unpleasant emotions Draco could dredge
in her. Yes, she would return to the Casino.
As soon as the thought entered her head, she rose from
the table and strode from the terrace, her haste disturbing
the squabbling, pecking pigeons chasing crumbs beneath
tables. Shortly thereafter, she was cocooned in the
familiar atmosphere of the salle de jeu, her eyes rested,
after the harsh light of day, by the warm, yellow lamps and
the gilt, paneled walls. In this lulling environment, it
was easy to lose, and lose heavily. Not an hour later,
Gwendolyns Dorothy bag was a few thousand louis lighter,
but her mood retained the buoyancy of earlier in the day
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and while she was certain she could regain her losses, the
pangs felt by other gamblers didnt assail her; easy come,
easy go.
Yet a velvet miasma of dissatisfaction clung to her,
threatening a sulk. The vague sensation irritated her and
provoked an impulse to recklessness. What nagged her was
the thought that something which could strike a damaging
and irreparable blow drew Draco to Monte Carlo. Before her
mind could touch on shadowy recesses she did not want to
probe too deeply, she withdrew from the roulette table to
roam the Casino. The next room was devoted to trente-et-
quarante, and the next after that, baccarat. She lingered
in the baccarat room and watched the play for a moment; she
had no head for chemin-de-fer, which was played with six
packs of cards and moved with an alacrity that gave her
pause. Just beyond lay the Salon Priv, the newly
established exclusive gaming hall where play was much
higher than in what the wealthier and more discrete
gamblers called the kitchen.
The man who then emerged from its sacrosanct depths
was not tall, but he was elegant and commanded the
attention of the room in a prompt, bureaucratic way. His
weathered, yet handsome features bore the stamp of a
Prussian Junker: crisp, curling mustaches, and beneath it,
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a full, mobile mouth. He looked at the world through shrewd
fish-belly pale, bulging eyes canopied beneath bristly
eyebrows. On the threshold, Baron Hazeldt appeared to pause
self-consciously to gather his bearings, blunt fingers
adjusting the medals adorning the right breast of his
tailcoat and smoothing his graying hair, before tweaking
the ends of his thick, curled mustache. The sleekly
satisfied expression that crossed his face turned to
delight when he caught sight of her.
Ah, Lady Harcourt! he smiled, saluting her with a
click of his heels. Have you experienced much luck at the
tables?
Gwendolyn shook her head no, with a smile. Just
recently, no. But earlier I believe I broke the bank.
Excellent! The baron nodded. He took her hand when
she indicated her assent. It is a pity my dear Viktoria
cannot indulge in the joys of the table--such good luck
seems to put a bloom in your cheeks. I approve of it.
They traced a path from the Casino and, after
Gwendolyn shook her head, moved beyond the terrace to the
Promenade flanking the Casino overlooking the Bay. They
sauntered at a leisurely pace, matching that of those also
enjoying the warmth of the sun and the agreeable breeze
blowing off the water.
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I wish Viktoria could join in as well, Gwendolyns
smile turned worried. Her illness alarms me; she hasnt
been able to rise from bed for weeks.
The baron paused, his mustaches twitching, perturbed.
The Riviera should do her health much better than the
marshy atmosphere of the Nile. The physician I consulted
before we sailed for Monaco was firm on that point.
I do hope so, for your sake that is. Gwendolyn
clutched the barons sleeve in sympathy. It isnt good for
your health either, to worry over her so much.
The baron spread his hands. What else is a husband to
do?
I wouldnt know, she replied sharply. I have no
experience with the softer side of a husbands emotions.
She turned from the barons tenderly solicitous
expression with a frown. It wasnt like her to expose
herself to others, despite her fondness for the baron. She
appreciated the consistency with which he and his wife
continued their friendship despite the cool winds blowing
from Potsdam regarding her status as a woman whod left her
husband. And they knew and were distressed by Dracos
unfounded aversion for the baron.
Forgive me if it causes you any distress, the baron
began carefully. But Ive heard word that your husband has
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made an appearance in Monte Carlo?
Indeed yes, Gwendolyn sighed irritably. We crossed
paths in the roulette room hours ago.
Do you mind? The baron drew a gold cigarette case
from his pocket.
They paused for the baron to light the cigarette;
unfamiliar sweet smoke curled from the filter. Turkish,
he said in reply to her inquiring glance. A gift to foster
happy relations between the Fatherland and the Sultan.
Gwendolyn brushed aside the mention of politics--
international or otherwise. Yes, Sir Draco has come to
Monte Carlo, but have no fear baron, it isnt due to any
tender feelings for me.
You malign yourself Gwendolyn, He chided.
I do not, he made it quite clear that he was here for
some frustrating opaque agenda of his own.
Has he said how long he intends to remain? Perhaps
that would reveal his intention for being here.
It wouldnt do you any good to probe too deeply. she
said tartly. Hes quite the closed book.
Ah, but it is an advantage for such a diplomatically-
inclined man, is it not? the baron said with a frown. But
surely it is not English custom for a husband and wife to
be ignorant of one anothers movements?
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You forget Im not English, Herr Baron. I am
Australian, and as such, do not warrant the sort of
courtesy an English husband accords an English wife. she
said wryly.
The baron made a noncommittal noise.
Please dont distress yourself on my account
Heinrich, Gwendolyn turned to peer at the Port de Monaco,
shading her eyes from the sun, for she had left her parasol
in the Casinos cloakroom. Her eyes snagged on the masts of
gently bobbing yachts. I have had ample time to grow used
to the idea that my husband neither trusts nor tolerates
me.
Surely not, Gwendolyn. It is absurd.
Please Heinrich, She turned to him, placing a hand
on his arm. Pray let us change the topic. Tell me, is
Viktoria aboard the Valkyrie? I should like to have tea
with her if she is awake.
Did you not receive my wire? The baron frowned. I
have taken a villa for the season. The sea is much too
rough for the baroness health.
I feel foolish for admitting Ive been in the rooms
since the morning. Gwendolyn smiled shamefacedly. But how
splendid Heinrich. I know shell appreciate being on land
after our cruise.
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It was rather grueling, yes. the baron clasped her
hands. So you shall take tea in our villa? Viktoria will
take your mind from troubles.
I wouldnt classify Sir Draco as a trouble,
Gwendolyn lifted a shoulder. More like a minor irritant.
But as our paths are likely not to cross
Then he has shared some semblance of an itinerary?
The baron seemed to worry this point like a terrier.
I dont believe so, She said impatiently. But weve
managed to avoid one another despite moving in similar
circles. How difficult is it to forestall any future
meetings?
Indeed, the baron nodded sagely. He patted her arm
absently, his attention straying. Do visit Viktoria, she
is most impatient to see you.
Id be glad to. Which villa have you let?
Ah, I did have my sights set on the villa Cyprus, the
one which overlooks Mentone, but the agent informed me it
was taken by a Lady Frederick Praed.
A chill numbed her lips and she swayed where she stood
as the blood rushed from her head. Black dots swam before
her vision and she couldnt prevent the small gasp of pain
from escaping her lips. Distantly she felt the barons hand
on her arm and the echo of her name. Gwendolyn was thankful
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for the veil that concealed her face from curious
passersby, for she was certain she looked a fright in her
shock. She stilled her hands where they fluttered stupidly
at her side and pressed her fingers to her veiled mouth.
The baron had maneuvered her to sit on a bench and she
breathed silently, heavily through her mouth as she
struggled to bring herself under control. It was too much
of a coincidence to be anything but. Wasnt it? He
wouldnt, her mind echoed. But he would, it responded. For
the divorce had made it a habit to show up at the most
untimely moments in the later, more troubled years of her
marriage. Granted, she hadnt been so innocent herself, but
the concurrent presence of both Lady Frederick and Draco,
at a time when he so rarely varied from his monotonously
rigid agenda made her want to be ill.
Im quite recovered, Heinrich, she said, making an
attempt at briskness. It must be a delayed effect of
little sleep and an entire day at the tables.
She laid her trembling fingers flat on her lap to keep
them from clenching when he continued to look worried.
The dear man, he looked highly discomfited by her
palpable distress.
Perhaps that is it, he replied benignly. You have
been gambling prodigiously since we arrived.
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Its so--so, amusing, Gwendolyn replied brightly.
What does one do in Monte Carlo but gamble?
Take care not to gamble too deeply, Gwendolyn, His
blue eyes unexpectedly inscrutable, flat and dark, the
baron looked quite unlike himself. One day you may find
yourself incurring a debt you maynt have the means to
repay.
Despite herself, she shivered.