Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [41]
‘Over Gerta, they claimed. Men would remember it. She was flattered.’
Gerta had not been flattered, Robin thought. She had watched the two men as he had, and had expected one of them, as he had, to die. The death of Paúel; the death of a witness.
Kathi sat, looking up at him as he looked down on her. Her face was clearing: she had begun to understand what was happening. She was going to be all right. There was a trampling behind: the captain’s men were taking Paúel off, no doubt to be tended at Gerta’s. Kathi spoke to Elzbiete. ‘Go with your father.’
Elzbiete looked at her in surprise, then pressed her fingertips, in welcome, on her shoulder. ‘He deserved it,’ she said. ‘You could come back to the house. I know my tatko. He will respect Colà, although of course he will hate him as well.’ She eyed Nicholas. ‘You should sit. I shall go and see that Gerta knows what is needed. The raft will take time to repair.’
Robin said, ‘We are not staying under the same roof as Paúel Benecke.’
‘Then I shall find you somewhere else,’ Elzbiete said. She walked away, and Robin followed and stopped her. Kathi could hear his voice, asking careful questions: about Gerta, no doubt; about Nicholas.
Nicholas was still here. Kathi shivered. Above her, Nicholas suddenly swayed and instinctively, Kathi shifted aside, until she saw he had regained his balance. His gaze, caught by the gesture, fell to rest on her sheltering hands, then travelled reflectively upwards. His eyes, open and clear on her face, were for a moment those of someone she recognised: the creator of marvels, the rare singer, the trusted friend. The man for whom — Emmanuel! — the silver trumpets had spoken in Holyrood.
He said, ‘Kathi?’
She let herself gently back, the better to see him. She knew what he had guessed. ‘Yes. I think so,’ she said. She lay, watching him examine and nurture the thought, slowly, tranquilly, as if tending a brightening spark. Her cramped heart stretched; her burdens dissolved into gossamer. She said, presently, ‘No one else knows. I want to be sure.’
He did not speak, but rested his eyes on her face, with a kind of abstracted contentment. Robin and Elzbiete were talking still. Kathi said, ‘Take my hand and let yourself down. I won’t let you fall.’
He blinked, rousing. ‘Now that,’ Nicholas said, ‘is altogether too big a claim.’ He took the hand she extended, but paused. ‘No. I should go.’
She said, ‘You must speak to Robin.’
‘But not tonight,’ Nicholas said. ‘You are not supposed to be here.’ He studied their hands, then gently rolled her fingertips in his own and returned them to her, looking into her face. He said, ‘I should have killed Benecke.’
She said, ‘No. He didn’t succeed. It was as much your fault as his.’
He was silent.
She said, ‘You let him think he understood you.’
‘He does,’ Nicholas said.
‘But you still wanted to kill him.’
‘It’s how we live,’ Nicholas said. Then he said, ‘It’s not how Robin lives. He would have died.’
She had long since realised that. She didn’t answer. Her thoughts, beginning with Robin, travelled elsewhere.
Nicholas gathered himself, preparing to leave. She did not expect any more words; but his mind, his echoing mind, had followed the same path as hers.
‘I am so glad,’ he said.
Chapter 6
‘YOU MUST SPEAK to Robin,’ she had said. But of course, what she meant was the opposite. That night, she could do nothing more. The opiate clung to her eyelids. By the time Robin carried her to her bed, she was too sleepy to ask where she was going, and had no recollection of arriving in the secluded house Elzbiete had found for them. When she woke in the morning, she was nestled within the hollow of Robin’s bare shoulder and he was lying awake, his eyes heavy.
Her deep affection for him overwhelmed her. She said, ‘I’ve made you numb from top to toe. I’m so sorry.’
His head turned quickly, and stopped. He said, ‘I wish you had. I’ve been such a fool.’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘May I say something lofty and priggish? I was proud of you yesterday.’
He closed his arm round her a little,