Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
“You cannot do that,” he protested at once.
“I will. There are plenty of opportunities.” She saw the heat in his face, and she tried to step back, but he held her firmly.
“There are always opportunities. You would think that with hunger and poverty and disease to do their part, mankind would not need to look for ways to die. But that’s not the case. Hardly; hardly. There is always a new amusement, a new cruelty, a new war. And each time, they deal out death with an enthusiasm that staggers the mind. Yet when a beggar asks for enough bread to stave off starvation for one more day, he is begrudged so little, that troops may be fed before the slaughter. What are you or am I, compared to that?” He let go of her and walked away from her.
“Very well.” Her throat was tight and the words came out in painful little clusters. “If that is … how it must be … tell me when … and where … I’ll come with you … and we will not be alone.”
“I don’t ask that of you,” he said, the remoteness coming back into his voice.
“I am not asking. If you intend to die, then you must be content to take me with you. You are what I love most, and you would leave me here with the wars and starvation and cruelty without your love to mitigate the horror and destruction?” She stared at his back, willing him, without success, to face her.
“Mitigate?” he asked sarcastically, his sorrow sinking its claws into him once more. “When we cannot touch each other with love, no matter how much we wish to? When our lives always take us far apart? When we have nothing but this? Madelaine! Madelaine, I love you to the point of despair. How can it mitigate?”
“Because it must,” she answered quietly. She went to him, and standing behind him, took his hand in hers, and leaned on his back, her cheek against his shoulder. “What else is there?”
His fingers tightened on hers. “What indeed.”
Text of a note from Roger to Nikolai Rozoh; opened in Germany and read by NSDAP members at the request of Hermann Göring.
Berlin
March 29, 1928
Dear Nikolai:
As our plans stand at the moment, we will soon be leaving here for Paris, coming by way of Hannover, Bonn, and Luxembourg. We will drive as far as Bonn, and then take the train, for from all we have heard here, the driving becomes hazardous west of Bonn. We have secured first-class compartments and will arrive at the Gare de l’Est on the evening of April 2, at ten-thirty. It would be wise if you will check with the station to be sure that the train is on time. We will expect you to meet us, for it will not be possible to drive the Delage until the customs officials have certified it, which they cannot do until the following morning.
My master plans to go on to London as soon as he has settled one or two matters in Paris. There must be arrangements for transportation, which I will attend to as soon as I arrive. Any information you can provide, such as sailing times from Calais and other ports, would be very much appreciated.
Madame de Montalia will be traveling with us, and it is her intention to spend one evening at my master’s apartment in Paris. There is a bed for her in the attic, which you should, at your earliest convenience, bring down to the second guest bedchamber for her use. It is most important that you do this, for Madame de Montalia does not rest well in most beds.
If you would be good enough to notify Madame Timbres of our intended arrival in Paris, it would be most useful to us all. She and her husband are to be invited to a private supper which my master will give in a few weeks to celebrate their marriage and to extend his best wishes to Madame Timbres, who has endured so much, as I am sure you know.
Also, Madame de Montalia requests that you visit her friend, the journalist you drove her to meet on one occasion, and tell him that she will be back in Paris shortly. Extend her thanks to him and assure him that she will be looking forward to spending time in his company. It is through his good offices that Madame de Montalia reached my master in Berlin, and so we are all in Mr. Tree’s debt. If there is any service Madame de Montalia or my master can perform for, him at any time, tell him that both are his to command.
Should there be inquiries from the police or those sympathetic to the National Socialists in Germany, you are requested to say only that you have not discussed that matter with my master. It is quite true, which is an advantage, and it will save you from certain unpleasantries. You may tell any who ask that they may speak to my master in person when he returns, but that you are not empowered to speak for him, nor have you been given to understand what his position is on this or any other political matter. It would not be wise to allow yourself to be drawn into conversations with such emissaries, and although this is not an order, it is a request: avoid all such contact until we return. The House of Special Destinations is not the only trap that waits for the unwary in Paris, my good Rozoh. For your own sake as well as ours, be as circumspect as you may.
It will be a pleasure to see you again.
Sincerely,
Roger
8
The Hotel Heiligen Michael was close enough to the Koblenzer Tor to account for the name, since little else about the building did: it was not over fifty years old, done in the most stolid of the Nineteenth-Century modes, with richly overdone decor of rose and deep scarlet and chocolate brown, all highlighted with gold. It was no longer quite at its prime, but being convenient to many of the attractions of Bonn, including the Rhein-Promenade and Universität, it was not unpopular.
Ragoczy was given a suite on the second floor, complete with private sitting room. For propriety’s sake, Madelaine was on the floor above, where the management trusted her virtue would be unquestioned. Roger took a room down the hall from Ragoczy, and once their bags had been brought in from the Delage, he went off to the rail station to confirm their reservations on the train the next morning.
“It’s a pretty place,” Madelaine said to Ragoczy a little while later, when she had got out of her dusty clothes and into a silk evening frock.
“Most of the Rhine country is scenic,” he agreed, offering her his arm as they descended to the lobby.
“One day I may see more of it.” She had been careful to keep their conversation light since they left Berlin, and was finding it increasingly difficult to think of things to say that would not remind him of his grief. “Would you like to see Beethoven’s house?”
“No. Why should I?” The ironic edge was back in his voice again.
“You admire his music so much…” She felt flustered, and paused on the next-to-the-last step, her countenance puzzled.
“But his music is not in that house, mon coeur, and it is his music that delights me, not the walls that surrounded the man, who was supremely egotistical and socially boorish, because of, or in spite of, his genius.” He smiled faintly. “He did not wash very often.”
Madelaine gave half a shrug. “I never saw him, but there was a German Countess in Paris who swore that he was forward with every woman he met. I think it may have inspired him; at least, that was the Countess’ opinion. She never said if she gave him inspiration herself, but most of us were encouraged to read between the lines.” She came down the last step, confident now that she could, keep up the graceful conversation that was so soothing. “There is an excellent library at the Universität here. I’ve used it once, but not recently. You might like to see their antiquities.”
“I have more than enough old books of my own,” he said as they crossed the lobby. It was cool and starting to cloud over, promising a spring rain before morning. “I’m happy that we’ll be on the train tomorrow. Most of the roads within a day’s drive will be little more than troughs of mud by morning.”
“The train will be pleasant,” she agreed, thinking that she had been spending far too much time on trains recently. They stopped in the narrow porch of the hotel and gazed out at the fading afternoon.
“Are you anxious to see more of Bonn, or would you rather sit and read for a time? I realize that is what you will do most of tomorrow, but the hotel is not moving, and the train will be.” He smiled down at her, some of the remoteness gone from his eyes.
“If it would not bother you, it would please me.” She looked back into the gloriously stuffy lobby. “There is a bar, but…”
“But two of us not drinking would be noticeable. Yes, I agree.” He reached over and held the door for her once again. “A few hours in my parlor, if you like, and then some sleep. How much earth did you bring with you?”
“My smaller suitcase is full. It’s enough.” She thought that anyone overhearing their conversation might well conclude that they were mad, and she was glad that they spoke in French, for no matter how near the border they were, here the language was still German.
“Have you ever run out?” he asked her as he paused in the lobby to purchase a newspaper.
“Only once, and that was a long time ago, in Pamplona. I was able to improvise a box for myself, and remained in a stupor while it was shipped back to Provence. I lived on dogs, for the most part, caught at night while the teamsters put up at inns to sleep. It was not pleasant, but it succeeded, which was all that I could ask.”
“I have always thought you’re a most resourceful woman, mon coeur.” He kissed her hand and would have said something more, but the manager of the hotel came bustling out of his little office just off the lobby.
“Herr Ragoczy, Herr Ragoczy, a moment of your time.” He resembled a potbellied rabbit and was given to obsequious gestures, but he was considered a tyrant by his staff, and those guests who had offended him were hectored in strange, irrational ways.
“What is it, Herr Barmherzig?” His brows rose slightly, just enough to discourage socializing.
“There is some difficulty. Ja. Most inconvenient. The police have requested that I inform you that they must have an interview with you. There is an irregularity,” he said, as if he were a priest discovering a new heresy.
“How odd,” Ragoczy said smoothly. “Then, of course, I will be pleased to await them. The sooner the matter is straightened out, the sooner we may all be at ease again.”
Herr Barmherzig folded his arms and dared to say, “We have not had such an occurrence at the Hotel Heiligen Michael for more than twenty years.”
“Then you must count yourself fortunate, for in these uncertain times, what business has not been struck by … irregularities.” He inclined his head in a most distinguished, formidably-polite manner. “Tell them that I am at their disposal.”
“What?” Herr Barmherzig was astounded by Ragoczy’s imperturbability. It had been his experience that those sought by the police, even in the most innocuous matters, displayed a certain apprehension that was entirely lacking in this man. He decided to try again. “They have said it is a matter of some urgency.”
“Since I am planning to leave tomorrow morning, that is not surprising. At what time am I to expect them?” He put one hand over Madelaine’s where it rested on his arm, for her fingers were trembling.
“They will be here at the conclusion of their dinners,” he said grudgingly, knowing that was at least two hours away.
“Excellent. I am wholly at their disposal. Please let me know when they arrive.” He nodded to Herr Barmherzig, and then glanced down at Madelaine. “My dear?”
Madelaine’s violet eyes were startled. “What? Oh, of course. I’m ready.” She smiled painfully widely, first at Ragoczy and then at Herr Barmherzig. Her legs were rubbery and her palms clammy. “How kind of you, Herr Barmherzig.”
“But of course, Madame,” the manager answered at once, baffled.
As they went up the stairs from the lobby, Ragoczy said very softly, “This is fortunate. If we had not come down, we would have had no time to prepare. This way, we have almost two hours.”
“What do they want?” she asked in a low, thin voice.
“I don’t want to speculate. That is a waste of time and thought.” They were at the first landing, and he looked down into the lobby one more time. “They’ll be watching us, of course, and so we must be very circumspect.”
“But the police. You haven’t broken any laws, have you?” She could not envision him doing so, but those weeks in Berlin had been a dark time for him, and she knew that many of the pleasures offered there were not without risks.
“Not that I am aware of. But if they want to detain me, there must be some laws they can use as an excuse. It may be nothing more than taking the Delage out of the country without a special permit. That is becoming popular. It may be that they have found some of my alchemical supplies and have decided that they are not scientific enough. But I told you that speculation was fruitless.” They Were almost at his door. “Roger will be back shortly, and when he gets here, I must see you both in my parlor. We will speak, I think, in Arabic. That’s one language I doubt anyone here understands but us.”
“Saint-Germain,” she began, then turned her head away.
“Yes, my heart?”
“You … you will not use this as an excuse, will you, to die? Not after…” She read the answer in his compassionate look. “I didn’t—”
Ragoczy interrupted her lightly, but his hands held hers with an unexpected strength. “I have not yet seen Puccini’s last opera. I suppose I must live.”
“Oh, thank God, my love.” She touched his face fleetingly, then said, “Shall I come in now?”
“Yes, if you will.” He held the door for her, then followed her in, closing the door sharply as he caught sight of one of the bellmen standing at the end of the hall, watching them.
“This place!” Madelaine said with disgust, referring to the entire country. She took one of the ugly chairs near the fire and unbuttoned her jacket, revealing the lace bodice under it. “There is nothing but trouble here.”
“And everywhere else,” Ragoczy agreed, and switched from French to Arabic. “We will have to speak to Roger at once. It is imperative that he take you and himself to the train station. You may board the first train for Brussels or Paris, anything that takes you away from here. Do you have a black coat and hat, preferably with a veil?”