“I think it’s best if you don’t say a word about what I told you to anyone, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Of course I will say nothing.”
“Good. Shall we start your English lesson? Perhaps you could go out for a second, bring something to this room, and leave the door half open so everyone can hear us?”
“Indeed, I shall do so right away,” said Madame Koska, laughing. “The things we must do to earn a living… Here is a woman born and bred in London, hiring a Russian gentleman to teach her to speak English without an accent. I must be careful not to be too successful about it in one lesson, Mr. Korolenko.”
Six
“Annushka, I have to tell you a strange story,” said Madame Koska as soon as she entered her friend’s apartment, before even taking off her coat.
“You look worried, Vera. Something is wrong? Do sit down and tell me.”
The ladies went into Madame Golitsyn’s drawing room. It was not a luxury apartment, of course, but nevertheless it had a style, an air, which Madame Koska always enjoyed. Madame Golitsyn furnished it in the old Tsarist style which had so much French influence. A golden silk scarf graced the cherished piano that Madame Golitsyn would never give up, its long fringe almost sweeping the floor. An enormous black shawl, made of warm wool and embroidered with intricate and colorful flowers, served as a throw over the big sofa, a creamy-white lace tablecloth covered the table supporting the whispering, singing samovar, and a few softly tinted watercolors on the walls made the place elegant and comfortable. The rose potpourri that Madame Golitsyn kept in an old alabaster bowl delicately scented the warm air. Madame Koska sighed, took off her coat and sat at the table. She stared at the samovar as if she had never seen it before, and drummed her fingernails on the tablecloth. The samovar sang and its shiny brass exterior gleamed softly.
“Well?” said Madame Golitsyn, bringing a heavily loaded tea tray to the table. “Clearly something is upsetting you. What happened? Not another attempt to break in, I hope?”
“No… it is something Mr. Korolenko told me. Annushka, I promised him I would not repeat it, but I must consult you. It’s a complicated matter and you must never tell anyone. According to Mr. Korolenko, Gretchen Van der Hoven’s father may not have been in an accident at all, and possibly he is alive.”
“What? How can that be? Her relatives told me…”
“I know… but Mr. Korolenko said that Meneer Van der Hoven was involved with a crime ring in the tropics, and disappeared without trace.”
“A bit dramatic, isn’t it? People don’t just vanish,” said Madame Golitsyn, setting up the table with two cups, saucers, and matching cake plates of fragile china patterned with roses and a touch of gold around the rims. She arranged the utensils carefully. To the best of Madame Koska’s knowledge, even when entertaining close friends and relatives, Madame Golitsyn never used anything but her good silver. “Annushka,” she said suddenly, “do you ever use utensils that are not made of silver? I mean when you are alone?”
“Never,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Why should I use anything but silver? But this is a ridiculous non-sequitur, so how does Mr. Korolenko know about Meneer Van der Hoven’s disappearance?”
Madame Koska shrugged eloquently. “He seems to know many things, some of which I would rather not know myself… but anyway, this is supposed to be a very dangerous crime ring, with operations involving such things as opium and bank robberies and jewel thefts and what not. However, Mr. Korolenko does not know the level of Meneer Van der Hoven’s involvement.”
“That is not very good… I wonder if Gretchen and her relatives lied to me or were simply ignorant of the facts,” said Madame Golitsyn.
“I may have an opportunity to find out,” said Madame Koska. “That is what I really wanted to discuss with you. Gretchen’s aunt came to the atelier yesterday, just to visit and see the place her niece told her so much about, or at least that was what she said. Since you know her, I am sure you are aware that Mrs. Howard is a particularly charming woman, truly elegant, and I liked her. We had some tea, and she invited me to stay with them at the country house in Christmas.”
“That was rather sudden, wasn’t it?” said Madame Golitsyn. “But since you employ Gretchen, I can understand that.”
“Yes, that is what I thought,” said Madame Koska. “And it presented itself to me as an opportunity to look for certain facts.”
“But what exactly will you search for, if you go? I mean, what facts?”
“It’s a bit muddled… you see, Mr. Korolenko apparently knew Gretchen’s family when she was very young. He remembers her as a studious, highly intelligent child always involved with her studies or reading books. This does not sound like today’s Gretchen.”
“No… but people change, she might have lost her interest in books as she grew up to be a pretty young woman,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Girls go through phases.”
“Gretchen could have never been like that, Annushka; she could not be so thoroughly transformed. Our Gretchen is a sweet little thing, but she does not have a single serious thought in her head.”
Madame Golitsyn’s hand stopped in mid-air as she was about to pour a cup of tea for her friend. A sudden understanding appeared on her face, followed by concern. “You don’t mean this is not the real Gretchen?” she said.
Madame Koska clasped her hands together in a nervous gesture “No… it crossed my mind, but if I pursued this idea, it really would be too theatrical… such a situation would merit a police investigation as to what happened to the real Gretchen… someone would know all about it.”
“Well, then, what do you think?” asked Madame Golitsyn, and finished pouring the tea.
Madame Koska reached for the milk, but did not put it into her cup, and kept holding it. “I am not exactly sure. For the moment I think this is indeed Gretchen, but she is pretending to be a scatterbrained little thing, Annushka. In short, I suspect her of being involved in the break-in.”
“Are you serious? Whatever for?”
“I don’t know that or even why I suspect her, but too many things point at her being different from the kind of person she presents herself as. She was a little bit too good to be true from the start… always helping around, staying in the atelier even when she had no reason to be there, just for fun, as she says, doesn’t care about the wages…”
“But Vera, think! Put yourself in her place. She is not suffering for money, so the wages were not terribly important. The atelier offers the haute couture, the promise of parading in beautiful costumes, and companionship with the other girls. Such a situation can be enticing to a girl, particularly if she is a silly little thing who thinks of nothing but fun and clothes.”
“Ah, but is she really all that silly? When I asked her to sit at the telephones, she immediately managed to greet customers, make appointments, and generally run the front desk as well as a professional vendeuse. She took to it with the kind of skilled smoothness I certainly did not expect. And speaking of that, she was at the desk all afternoon before the robbery.”
“Except for those ten minutes when Natalya sat at the front desk. Both girls reported that Gretchen went to freshen up… but how do we know she did? She might have been anywhere, and do anything, while at the desk or away from it.”
“Exactly. That is why I suspect she is not telling the truth.”
“So you think you may find out something over Christmas if you stay there… well, yes, in her natural surroundings, she might behave differently. But be careful.”