Every shelf was crammed full of books about science, art, humanities, philosophy, literature, and poetry. It was the bookcase of a scholar whose tastes were eclectic, probably a well-educated amateur, not an expert of a specific field.
“Yes, this is very significant,” says Madame Koska.
“The books could be her father’s library that she keeps out of sentimentality, or with the hope he will come back,” said Mr. Korolenko. Madame Koska went to the bedside table and looked at some magazines piled on it.
“Not if you look at what is hidden under the fashion magazines,” she said. She handed him a slim volume. “I do not know the language, but I recognize the author.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Korolenko. “She is reading Desiderius Erasmus, in Dutch. Granted, this is an easy one. In Praise of Folly is not a hard book…”
“Mr. Korolenko, it’s not hard for you, but it would be for a normal young girl who is interested only in fashion and jewelry. Anyway, it’s still quite serious. And if she reads the books on the bookshelf, some of which are extremely difficult, this one might be her light bedtime reading. Let’s see the books on the writing desk.”
On the dainty white and gold writing desk was a book of essays by Spinoza, translated into English, and a copybook where very careful notes were taken. Madame Koska recognized Gretchen’s neat handwriting—she saw it often enough on the order sheets at the atelier.
“At least she does not read Greek and Latin,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I suppose she, or her father, leaned toward the modern languages.”
Madame Koska could not answer. The discovery rendered her speechless.
Eight
Every surface overflowed. Patterns and interfacing fabrics covered the large cutting tables. The long central sewing tables were draped with chiffons, silks, velvets and lace, the soft colours mixing and blending into a delightful purple, blue, and grey confusion. Beads spilled over them, glittering like tiny stars at dusk. The work on the Mistral collection had begun, and the atelier crackled with waves of excitement. Madame Koska stood at the embroidery table, on which Natalya had already set up the boxes of pearls and beads in preparation. She was holding about ten sketches, each of them a carefully designed embroidery pattern, and Natalya was putting them up on a frame, using wooden laundry clothes pins to hold them securely. The telephone rang in the other room, and since Gretchen had been sent to one of the suppliers to look for a pale lavender thread that somehow was never purchased, Madame Koska shook her head with an uncharacteristic hurried look, shoved the rest of the sketches into Natalya’s arms, and ran to answer it.
“Oh, it’s you, Annushka. I am so happy it’s not a client, I am drowning in work. We just started on the collection yesterday…”
“I know, dorogaya,” said Madame Golitsyn, “and I would not call at a time like this if it were not to ask your permission for something. I just realised that Vasily is going to be the only man when we go to the Petrograd Room for our Christmas celebration, and he will be so terribly bored with all of us chattering about the fashions… I must find another man for him.”
“Oh, yes, that won’t do,” said Madame Koska. “We are going to be three women, no, four… He is bringing his lady friend, you said.”
“If you insist on calling her a lady,” said Madame Golitsyn, laughing. “She is a flapper, half his age. Pretty, but rather… well…”
“It does not matter, Annushka. It’s not as if they are going to be married,” said Madame Koska.
“No, since he does not have any money, there is no danger of that… still, she is not quite… Ah, well, you will see her soon. What if I invite Mr. Korolenko, would you mind?”
“No, of course not,” said Madame Koska. “Why should I? By all means, ask him. He might be busy, though, it is short notice.”
“Well, all I can do is try. I’ll tell him he can bring anyone he wants, in case he has a previous engagement. It will be nice to have a bigger group and I can reserve a large table even on short notice; they know me there.”
“Very well, I trust you can arrange everything,” said Madame Koska. “I really should run, they are all in a state of confusion, and so am I, to be honest. Starting a collection is always a little crazy. I think I hear Gretchen coming in, she must have purchased the lavender thread…”
“So come to dinner when you are done for the day, Vera. You’ll be too tired to get your own meal.”
“You are an angel, Annushka. I will be a bit late, though, probably.”
“Around eight will be just fine; I know your schedule, Vera.”
“So did you say anything to Gretchen?” asked Madame Golitsyn as she poured out the after-dinner coffee.
“No. There is no point, she will not tell me anything; Mr. Korolenko agreed with me that for the moment there was nothing to gain from confronting her. We will learn more if we observe what she does.”
“I think you are right,” said Madame Golitsyn. “It’s so strange, though. The whole thing does not make sense.”
“It has to do with the missing father, I am certain of that,” said Madame Koska. “It is impossible to believe that Gretchen is a criminal. Still… she is obviously a very good actress. But how this is connected with me, and the atelier, is not clear.”
“Perhaps it is not connected with the atelier.”
“I am convinced there is a connection,” said Madame Koska. “That is why she chose to work for me. It’s the only real possible explanation.”
“So we have an international, or rather Eurasian gang, a missing, possibly kidnapped civil servant, his brilliant, scholarly daughter who pretends to be a fool and wants to be a mannequin, and a robbery where nothing was taken. If you can find a connection, you should work for the police, dorogaya.”
“Maybe these Eurasian criminals like to wear pretty dresses,” said Madame Koska, and laughed. “I really have no idea. But I have long ago learned not to dismiss my hunches, Annushka, and now I have a hunch that there is a connection. We just don’t see it yet.”
The Petrograd Room glowed with typical Russian red and gold colours, creating an aura of great opulence. It was a very large restaurant, the tables arranged around a square dance floor. A gypsy band, dressed in their traditional costumes, played soft, haunting music that could be enjoyed by the guests but did not interfere with the conversations. Many brass samovars stood on side tables all around, and the pristine white tablecloths were a perfect foil for the rose-coloured, gold-rimmed china. Everything in the Petrograd Room was done with scrupulous adherence to the Russian Orthodox tradition of Christmas, so in the middle of each table stood a tall white candle in a heavy brass candleholder, surrounded by miniature bales of hay that symbolised the stable where Christ was born, and next to it stood a large plate with a large round loaf of Pagach, a special bread that represented Christ as the “Bread of Life”.
When Madame Koska arrived, a little out of breath since she had hurried straight from the atelier, Vasily, Natalya, and Madame Golitsyn were already there. “I am so sorry I am late,” she said.
“Not to vorry,” said Vasily with utmost good nature. “Have a glass of vine, ve have all night! And I vant you to meet Vilma! Vilma, Madame Koska!”
“Hello, darling,” said Wilma brightly and jumped to her feet to shake Madame Koska’s hand. With her usual blink-of-an-eye appraisal, Madame Koska noted that Wilma was about twenty-eight or thirty, and certainly a flapper. She was dressed in a short, garish dress of pink chiffon, beaded and fringed wherever a bead or a fringe could fit in, and they all seemed to flap or shimmer with her quick motions. The cold weather did not deter her from having her arms and neck exposed by the very short sleeves and low neckline, and on top of all the glowing decorations she wore an opera-length rope of large pearls which Madame Koska did not think were born in the sea. A wide band around her forehead adorned her bobbed, wavy blond hair. It glittered with large paste pink jewels, and a rose-tinted feather was stuck in it, straight up. Her naturally pretty face was too heavily made up, with kohl-rimmed eyes and red lipstick. Vasily beamed at the ladies as they shook hands and nodded his head in approval and joy at their meeting.