Tempting Fate (55 page)

A soft tap at the door interrupted his tirade, and a moment later Otto stepped into the room. “Graf Ragoczy is here,” he said woodenly to Gudrun.

“We are talking!” Maximillian yelled at the old servant.

Otto stared at the angry face and belligerent hands of the man who had been the one child he had loved best in the world. “You are not to speak to your sister in this way, Maxl,” he said softly. “It isn’t right.”

“You don’t know what
she
has said to
me,
” Maximillian objected.

“It doesn’t matter. There is a guest in the house and you are loud enough to be overheard in the stables. Gnädige Frau,” he said to Gudrun with a slight bow, “I have asked Graf Ragoczy to wait for you in the smaller drawing room. I will set up the card table there.”

“Thank you, Otto,” Gudrun murmured, filled with relief at this opportunity to slip away. “Don’t bother about Maximillian.”

There were tears in Otto’s eyes as he answered, “If that is what you wish.”

Gudrun gave the old man a reassuring pat on the hand and then left the salon. She walked rather slowly, hoping to bring her emotions back under control. By the time she opened the door to the smaller drawing room, she was breathing more regularly and her hands did not shake.

Ragoczy was on the far side of the room near the one tall case containing three old fiddles, the last survivors of her grandfather’s collection of folk instruments. As always, Ragoczy was immaculately groomed: his black three-piece suit had been cut by a master tailor in Paris, his white silk shirt was the best to be found in Rome, the black silk tie had been made for him in London from the finest heavy material woven in India. The stickpin holding the tie was a magnificent ruby in a silver setting.

“Good afternoon, Graf,” Gudrun said rather timidly from the door.

“And to you, Madame Ostneige,” Ragoczy said as he turned toward her.

She read in his dark eyes that he had heard the argument, and she felt her cheeks darken. “I’m pleased you could come.”

“It is gracious of you to say so,” he said as he crossed the room and bent to kiss her hand.

She felt her blush deepen at this courtesy and chided herself for permitting her mind to make so much of such a minor gesture. “There will be a table for play in a moment, and, if you like, refreshments.”

Ragoczy favored her with an enigmatic smile. “Have what you wish, but you need not think about me.” He motioned toward one of the sofas. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

Gudrun admired his deft manner and smiled as she chose one of the two high-backed chairs. “On an afternoon like this one, neither of us need stand on ceremony, I think.”

He nodded once as he took his place on the sofa. “Are we the extent of the card party?”

“Yes. I asked Gerwald but he refused, as I feared he might.” She saw her hands join and twist in her lap as if they were quite independent of her will and not part of her self at all.

“Then I am doubly honored that you extended the invitation. Not all women in your position would wish to spend the afternoon with one guest.”

Damn the man! she thought. Would he now persist in the sort of condemnation she had already withstood from her brother. “But we’re neighbors,” she said in a small voice. “I have hoped you would come here more often…”

Ragoczy’s eyes met hers. “That would not be entirely wise. I am a foreigner, Madame, and for that reason I am circumspect.” His expression lightened. “But I am pleased you want to play cards. It is often quite boring to be so isolated.”

“I would not think you were bored, Graf,” she said politely, grateful for the courtesies he so willing extended to her.

“I’m not.” He nodded toward the cabinet where the fiddles lay behind glass. “A commendable display.”

“It is kind of you to say so,” Gundrun sighed, “but I fear that the best pieces are gone now. There were two hammered dulcimers and those Hungarian instruments … I can’t recall their names. They’re not unlike zithers, but they are hammered, too.”

“A cimbalom?” Ragoczy asked, making no attempt to disguise his interest. “How recent an instrument?”

“I don’t recall, but apparently my grandfather bought it from Gypsies. That might have been as early as 1840, since he began his collection when he was quite young.” She was almost calm now, and her hands were steady in her lap.

“That was before the Schunda improvements. I wish I had seen it.” He did not quite smile, but there was a softening to his wry mouth.

“I did not know you were interested in folk instruments, Graf,” Gudrun remarked. “Had I known, I would have…” She hesitated, not wanting to admit that she had parted with much of her grandfather’s collection.

“Offered them to me?” Ragoczy suggested gently. “I wish you had. Perhaps, if there are other instruments in the collection, you would care to let me examine them one day.” He noticed her reluctance and added, “You need not fear that I want to take advantage of our being neighbors. If you have instruments that you are willing to part with, I give you my word I would pay a good price and provide you the option to repurchase them at the original price whenever you wished to do so.”

“That’s very generous,” she said after a slight pause.

“Oh, hardly that. I merely have a … liking for music.” He turned toward the door as Otto came through it with a baize-topped round table clutched awkwardly to his chest. He tried to speak, but was puffing too much from the exertions to get any words out. Finally he brought the table to the center of the room and set it down with an explosive sigh.

Ragoczy had half-risen and asked Otto if he required help.

“No, no, Herr Graf. It wouldn’t be right for you to do tasks like this,” he panted as he slapped at the baize with an old handkerchief. “It is most kind of you to ask, but it would not be appropriate.” He brushed his fingertips across the green cloth and was apparently satisfied with the results. “I have both a chessboard and cards, whichever you wish, Frau Ostneige.”

“Graf?” she inquired politely.

“Either will do, but I know more chess than I know card games for two.” That was somewhat correct, for most of the card games he knew were learned at gambling tables and would not be those Gudrun would play.

Her smile did not slip much, but she said, “I will have to resign myself to losing, then. My chess, I have been told, is dreadful.” That had been back when she was first married, when Jürgen had tried for the better part of a year to teach her to think ahead for more than two moves. She had objected at the time that she did not want to second-guess what her opponent would do, preferring to respond to the moves as each arose.

“Surely not,” Ragoczy said as he rose and held out his hand to her. “I know you are an intelligent woman and with your background you must find the game amusing.”

“But who plays it for amusement?” she inquired with mock horror. “A game of chess is a serious matter, Graf.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed as he led her toward the table where Otto was just setting the chairs in place. “We will see how it goes. If you like, I will handicap myself. Would you like me to give up a castle or a bishop?” He waited while she seated herself, and then took the chair opposite her.

“That would not be a sensible thing to do, I think,” she said, and turned to Otto. “The larger board, I think, with the Italian pieces.”

“As you wish, Frau Ostneige.” The old servant achieved half a bow before bustling out of the room.

“He will not take long,” she said to Ragoczy, and then dropped her eyes, not wanting to look too deeply into his. She had the most disquieting sensation as those penetrating dark eyes touched hers, as if he could see into her very soul, and understood all that was there. She had dreamed so often of real compassion, but now, confronted by it, she wished only to escape.

“You’re troubled, Madame,” Ragoczy said. It was not a question.

“Somewhat,” was her evasive reply.

“There was some unpleasantness when I arrived.” His small hand covered hers.

“A private matter, Graf.” She did not look at where their hands touched. In desperation she let her attention be drawn toward the windows covered now with shirred curtains. It was impossible to see what lay beyond them, for even the sunlight was muted.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, Madame; I intend to offer you my service in whatever capacity you might require it.” His voice was still light, but there was no mistaking his sincerity. “You have merely to ask me.”

“It would be inexcusable of me to foist such confidences on you,” she said rather stiffly as she tried to pull her hand away.

“Oh, come, Madame,” Ragoczy said, an affectionately derisive note in his tone. “You have not had such reservations before. Are you afraid that I will assume that your invitation was for more than an afternoon’s amusement? It would give me the most profound joy to believe that, but I am aware you do not wish a lover, not even for the afternoon.”

Her short, trembling sigh betrayed her and she felt the shameful stain color her cheeks again. “No, no, Graf. Chess or cards…”

“Of course,” was his urbane comment as the door opened again and Otto returned to the room bearing a heavy marble chessboard and a large rosewood box tucked under one arm.

“I have it, Frau Ostneige,” he said as he set the board down, heavily askew, on one side of the table, where the balance was precarious. Quickly he placed the box before Gudrun, and then reached for the board to improve its placement on the table.

“Thank you, Otto,” she said in an uneasy way. “I know it was difficult for you to carry the board.”

“No such thing,” Otto said with determination. “The only trick was bringing it up the stairs, and I did not allow that to hamper me. The whole question is one of the right distribution of weight.” With this pronouncement, he left the room again, closing the door firmly behind him.

Gudrun opened the box in front of her and pulled out the chessmen. The white men were made of alabaster and the black of onyx. The pieces had been carved in the early part of the seventeenth century by a master craftsman. No two were alike: all the pawns held their pikes and muskets in different postures; all four castles were dissimilarly shaped and armed; the knights were mounted on destriers of diverse action and temperaments; the bishops prayed, blessed, and admonished; the queens were alternately energetic and regal; the kings theatrically splendid and determined.

“Magnificent,” Ragoczy said as Gudrun set the men out on the board.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I … I have not been able to bring myself to part with them, though they are very valuable and I do not play often. My father, I have been told, turned down two excellent offers because he did not wish to sell them. Doubtless they should be turned over to a museum, but I cannot bring myself to do that.” She picked up the haughty white queen, “I used to take them when I was a child and set them out in my room where I could play games with them. I made up stories about them. This woman, I decided, was a Swedish princess who had been given to a Hungarian king as a bride, and discovered that she could not love her husband. When my father taught me to play chess, which he did in order to keep this set safely in its box, I could not bring myself to play the white side because I was convinced I was making it more difficult for the white queen.” She tried to laugh at these fancies of her youth, but found her throat was too tight.

“What an unfortunate queen,” Ragoczy said. “Would you rather I play white, then?”

She held the piece more tightly. “No. I think it is time I tried white.”

“As you wish.” He began to set up the black pieces on his side of the board, pausing occasionally to admire them.

When she had set up her men, Gudrun sat for some little time, staring down at the neat squares. Her mouth was firm but her eyes were distant. At last, recalling herself, she rather perfunctorily moved her queen’s bishop’s pawn out two squares. She paid little attention to her guest’s move—king’s rook’s pawn to the fourth square—and brought out her queen’s knight. “I haven’t played in some time,” she said on her third move. “I’m not very good at it.”

Ragoczy withheld his judgment. He knew that she was paying very little attention to the game, and for that reason he did not spend much time thinking out his moves. He did not enjoy chess very much: it had lost its attraction more than a thousand years before when he had played a game for lives. Even a match as trivial as this one brought back memories that pained him, of the five men and two women who had died because of the pieces he lost. That nine others had lived because he won gave him scant comfort.

On her seventh move, Gudrun left her queen exposed to one of Ragoczy’s knights. She started when he called her attention to it, looking guiltily at the board. “I wasn’t thinking,” she said.

“Would you prefer not to play?” he asked lightly, sensing that she was troubled.

“Well … I was taught that it was rude to interrupt a game.” She tried to laugh at this absurdity but did not do more than catch her breath in her throat. This was turning out to be a more difficult afternoon than she had anticipated, and she did not know why.

Ragoczy regarded her a moment. “Madame, what is it? Would you prefer I leave?”

Maximillian’s humiliating diatribe sounded in her mind, and her face colored with shame and defiance. “No. Of course not,” The words were louder than she had intended, and sharper.

“More questions of rudeness?” Ragoczy inquired kindly. “You may send me away, you know, and I will not be angry.”

Gudrun avoided his eyes. “You would say that, wouldn’t you? no matter what you thought.” The afternoon had promised so much and was turning out so badly. She did not have enough determination to send him away now. If only she had not spoken to her brother, let him fill her with doubts and questions. She realized that Ragoczy was speaking to her, and forced herself to pay attention.

“… then perhaps a walk? We need not go far, and neither of us is dressed for strenuous climbing, but an hour away from here would refresh you.” He had risen and was holding out his hand to her.

“A walk?” She did not wish to admit she had not heard him at first.