“I can’t wait to see it,” said Mrs. Winston. “Can you tell us what you will present?”
“Not exactly, Mrs. Vinston. I am sorry, but it is customary to keep everything a secret… not that I expect any of the other houses to steal from me, but it is tradition.”
“But just a hint?” asked the elder Miss Plimpton-Anderson, smiling sweetly. She worked hard at looking like a young thing, and her clothes did not match her over-thirty looks.
“Vell, a little bit, if you promise not to tell too many people,” said Madame Koska; unlike other couturiers, she believed that a little hint would not go amiss. “As you may know, my style is Parisian, but this time I vant to inject a little Russian style into the designs. Russian style is very popular in Paris these days, because of the many talented émigrés, and ve don’t vant to lag behind, do ve? Now that I have adopted London as my new home, I vant to be even more innovative than Paris!”
“How thrilling!” piped the younger Miss Plimpton-Anderson, who dressed even younger than her sister. “We will come to London especially for your show!”
“It vill be lovely to see you there, Miss Plimpton-Anderson. I hope all of you vill come to visit the atelier as vell,” as Madame Koska.
“How thrilling! Gretchen told us all about it, how interesting the work is and how much fun she is having.”
“Yes, I understand that the Russian influence is strong in Paris,” said Mrs. Howard. “What type of innovations are you thinking about?”
“There will be some Russian embroidery of pearls and beads, highly traditional, and I am going to try and reintroduce the Sarafan and the Zipun, though of course, completely modernized.”
“The what and what?” asked Lady Plunkett, smiling.
Madame Koska laughed. “Yes, silly of me, I am rattling off these vords as if everyone must speak Russian. The Sarafan is a Russian peasant dress. It is a tunic that flows from the shoulders to the floor, and is embroidered all over vith beautiful colors; you vear a simple, long-sleeved blouse under it. The Zipun is a homespun peasant coat. Naturally I plan to make them from modern materials. The Zipun vill float over the Sarafan, and vill be made from transparent chiffon instead of traditional homespun cotton. The Sarafan itself vould look glamorous made from heavy velvet.”
“It sounds heavenly,” said the older Miss Pimpton-Anderson. “I simply can’t wait! Helen, dear, we must have these, these Sara… Zip… these Russian dresses!”
“And naturally, I vill use Parisian accessories. Handbags, shoes, hats… Vhat I don’t produce in the atelier vill come directly from Paris.”
“Do we have to wait so long?” said Lady Plunkett. They all laughed. Madame Koska knew that her system, which consisted of adapting to the audience she had at any point, was successful again. She would end this visit with at least five new clients—but surely they would also bring their friends.
After lunch, the snow started falling heavily. Most of the guests either went to have a short rest in their rooms, or read in the library, but Mr. Korolenko suggested to Madame Koska a stroll in the conservatory, which she accepted with delight. She was very fond of hothouses of any kind.
“They do keep a beautiful conservatory,” said Madame Koska with genuine appreciation.
“I have always liked winter gardens,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Strolling inside a warm and fragrant place, full of plants and flowers, while outside the snow is falling freely, is magical.”
“It’s a very big conservatory,” said Madame Koska, “but then the house is really an estate. I had no idea Gretchen’s relatives were so wealthy.”
“I suppose Gretchen’s wish to work gave you the wrong idea.”
Madame Koska was quiet for a minute. She thought about confiding in him about her plan of finding out about what Gretchen was really like, and checked herself. She did not trust him enough for that, and decided to reveal just a tiny part of her thoughts. “Well, yes. I have no idea why she would be spending her days at a busy atelier, doing the double work of mannequin and vendeuse-in-training, when she can have a life of leisure,” she said.
“She told me that she is bored doing nothing at home, and the atelier supplies her with great amusement,” said Mr. Korolenko. “It’s like a game to her.”
“Yes, that is what she tells everyone… I have no reason to think that she is not telling the truth, except…”
“Except for what I told you about her father not being killed, I suppose,” said Mr. Korolenko bluntly, looking at her directly. Madame Koska felt very uncomfortable, but nevertheless said, “Yes. There seems to be no connection, but still, for some reason it puts a different light on the matter.”
“I realize that. I am always wondering how much I can say without causing damage to anyone.”
Madame Koska looked at a flowering bush without actually seeing it. She touched a leaf, hesitated, and said, “It also bothers me that I don’t know what your connection is and how much you know about these matters, Mr. Korolenko.”
Mr. Korolenko sighed. “You think I am not exactly what I seem to be, am I correct, Madame Koska?”
“Well, it’s a possibility, but I would not know what you could be. You are neither part of the police and you don’t strike me as a criminal… I confess that I do know something about your past, but not enough to clarify anything.”
“What is it that you know?”
“That you were removed from the priesthood as a young man,” said Madame Koska.
“Oh, that… it is not a very important issue. I was nineteen years old, two years into the program, not even a priest yet, just a student. I was ridiculously handsome as a boy, Madame Koska, believe it or not, and some of the ladies took notice of it.”
Madame Koska nodded; she could easily believe he was a beautiful boy. He was still very handsome, but of course she did not say that. “So what happened?” she asked.
“It was such a cliché, a truly ridiculous situation. A noblewoman, ten years older than me, decided to initiate me into different mysteries than those of the church. She was a well-known society beauty, and since I only went to the seminary to please my family and had very little, if any, vocation, she did not find it difficult to persuade me to comply with her wishes.”
“Still, she must have been very special,” said Madame Koska; she controlled herself before she made the faux pas of asking the lady’s name. “I think so because surely you knew the risks.”
“Oh, yes, I knew the risks. But even now, as a cynical middle-aged man, I can understand the magic, the glamour, that seduced the younger me. Men were drawn to her, would risk a lot for her; she was very beautiful, but was also very witty, charming, and amusing.”
“What did she look like?” asked Madame Koska, intrigued with the old love story.
“She was small, slight, and graceful; I used to think Titania must have looked like her. She had dark bronze hair, a little darker than Gretchen’s, and what used to be called Parma Violet eyes. I remember the first time I met her. Before I saw her, there was this light perfume in the air, preceding her entrance. She never was without perfume, it was her obsession. Always the same perfume—she never used anything else—it was a secret formula that was concocted especially for her, in one of the great perfume houses in Paris. You could go into a room and know she had been there some time ago. When she came in the day we met, she wore very high heels which made her sway delicately as she walked, and a deceptively simply dress embroidered in antique silver. I remember gaping like a young idiot, and she smiled at me; my fate was sealed.”