“Well, they did not look in the right places,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I don’t want to shock you, but your husband is dead, Madame Koska. I got in touch with the proper authorities, and what I have here is his death certificate. Your husband was killed during the war. He was not fighting in the war since he was over the age limit; he was hiding in Switzerland. They are not sure who killed him, but they found his body in a hotel in Geneva.”
Madame Koska took the envelope and calmly opened it and took out the death certificate. Yes, it seemed correct, Grigory Koska, date, place, age… it all fitted. So logical of Grigory to escape to Switzerland, he probably had some money tucked away there, so many people did.
“Ah, well,” said Madame Koska, and laughed. “What is the etiquette for thanking someone for bringing you the death certificate of a husband who had run away from you?”
“You don’t seem upset,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“I am not,” said Madame Koska. “I never wanted to see him again. I wished him no harm, but whether he is dead or alive makes very little difference to me, Mr. Korolenko.”
“Unless you wish to marry again someday, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko quietly. “It’s not impossible that you might wish to do so.”
“Not impossible, but highly improbable,” said Madame Koska. “I do thank you, though, Mr. Korolenko. It’s always best to know the truth.” Was it really best, she thought to herself, did she really want to have that finality stamped on her long association with Grigory? She shrugged. What’s the use of brooding?
“I am not so sure about it being so improbable,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Do you really think I would ever trust another man after what Grigory had done to me, deserting me after embezzling and leaving me to deal with the legal results? I don’t think so.”
“Not all men are alike,” said Mr. Korolenko. “And at this stage in your life, you would be more careful as to whom you would choose. If I were in a better situation to do so, Madame Koska, I would have tried to persuade you to rethink your ideas of marriage.”
“Better situation? Whatever do you mean?”
“I am sure you are too practical and reasonable to look at a man who could not give you a better situation than you have already,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I was brought up to assume a woman must weigh her options carefully and never throw herself away on a man who does not have secure and comfortable lifestyle, position, and income… such marriages are for the young and imprudent.”
Madame Koska looked at him with exasperation. Surely he was not telling her that he was interested in her himself? She hoped not. He was certainly attractive and quite pleasant, but she did not want more than friendship. The thought flashed through her mind of how stupid men were in general. Comfortable lifestyle, position, income… No, she fell in love with Grigory because he was an adventurous soul, a man who cheerfully took risks, an exciting companion… but her face remained as impassive and calm as ever.
“Ah, well,” she said. “These are all idle thoughts, and we had a long and hard morning. I am sure you are tired… and we really should talk about the investigation, which is more important now than my late husband. May I offer you some lunch, Mr. Korolenko?”
Eleven
“I am glad you telephoned,” said Madame Koska. “I was going to telephone you. I am almost ready to leave, and I must see Natalya, Annushka. I am very worried about her.”
“You have every reason to be worried,” said Madame Golitsyn. “I am at a loss; I simply have no idea what to do. She had a real nervous breakdown, Vera. I understand her fear, but this is more, much more than I expected.”
“Did you tell her father?”
“Yes, I telephoned him and explained that I am keeping her with me for a few days.”
“Did you consult the doctor?”
“No, since just as I was going to do so, she began to feel better. She is resting now. She cried and cried… her nose is all red, and you know how I simply cannot tolerate red noses…”
“Something must be done about it,” said Madame Koska.
“About the nose?” said Madame Golitsyn.
“No, not just the nose. We must do something about Natalya’s state of mind. You see, the more she looks and acts like a frightened rabbit, the more the police will suspect her. We must do something about her level of confidence. This won’t do, having breakdowns… What can we do? Wait. I know. Annushka, I know exactly what to do. I’ll be over in about an hour and a half, two hours. Could you tell me what is Natalya’s shoe size?”
On her way out, Madame Koska stopped at the front desk and looked at Gretchen, who was getting up to collect her belongings and leave for the day.
“Sit down, Miss Van der Hoven,” she said, pulling a chair from the wall and sitting in front of the desk. Gretchen sank to her seat wordlessly.
“Miss Van der Hoven, I chose not to say anything in front of the inspector, for reasons of my own, but let me make something very clear. This is never going to happen again.”
“I am not sure what you mean, Madame Koska,” said Gretchen, growing pale under the gaze of the chocolate-coloured eyes that were flashing with anger.
“Then let me explain. Your foolish games not only endangered my life, my business, and my reputation, but they also implicated someone other than yourself in a horrible suspicion. You have caused Miss Saltykov to be a suspect in a police investigation.”
“I did not think…”
“Listen to me, my girl. I know you are terribly vorried about your father. You are in trouble, that is true, but people get in trouble, and people get out of trouble. I have been in serious difficulties in my life, but I did not allow my actions to create a hazard for someone else. You believe you can get avay vith anything, because of your beauty, your youth, and your connections. None of these advantages matter when it comes to life and death situations. Youth and beauty vanish. Your connections and vealth would not save your father, or for that matter, yourself, if the gang decides you know too much. And you pitted your brains and scholarship against those who are both more intelligent and better educated than you are; by comparison to Mr. Korolenko and Inspector Blount, you are a mere child. The only things that matter in life, Miss Van der Hoven, are character and integrity. All the rest is mist and vapours.”
“I am so sorry…” said Gretchen, wiping her eyes.
“Obviously not sorry enough, because you are still not telling me everything. Vhat did you neglect to say to the inspector?”
“I don’t know what…”
Madame Koska rose from her chair and leaned over the desk. Her anger was no longer controlled, and the girl leaned back in terror as she gazed at the pale face marked with a red circle on each cheek and the burning eyes. “Stop lying, Gretchen. I have had enough. What are you hiding? You will tell me right now, or I am calling the police from this telephone on the desk. Now!”
Gretchen lowered her eyes. “It’s about my uncle, Madame Koska. But I did not think it had any connection… I really didn’t!”
“You fool! What makes you think you can judge if it has a connection? Will you ever learn that you have no understanding in this matter? What is it about your uncle?”
“He takes opium, Madame Koska. Every so often he goes down by the river to a place where other important people go, and he stays for a few days, smoking opium.”
Madame Koska stared at her wordlessly for a few seconds. Her hands, clasping the table, held it so tightly that the knuckles turned white. “A fancy opium den… Are you sure?” she finally said in a very low voice.