Mila 18 - Leon Uris [16]
The Seventh Ulany Brigade held its annual officers’ affair at the Europa Hotel. This was the eighth in a line of twenty-six events that illuminated the fall and winter season. The Seventh Ulanys had a particularly long string of great cavalry charges which could trace its beginnings back to the first king, Casimir the Great, in the Middle Ages. Therefore, the Seventh Ulany affair always brought out the cream of Warsaw.
Gabriela Rak, as usual, was nearly crushed by the overeager band of bachelor officers. They were particularly out of step, more pompous than the Second and Fourth Ulanys combined, and their humor less amusing than that of any regiment of the season.
At the end of the first hour of violent polkas Gabriela retreated to the sanctity of the powder room to rearrange herself for the second round.
Her closest friend, Martha Thompson, wife of her immediate superior at the Embassy, had a cigarette with her. Martha was a clever woman, a mother of three who retained that particular American chic.
Gabriela was bored. The new season was eight grand balls old and nothing was in prospect for even a mild flirtation.
Martha Thompson, on the other hand, was unvarnished in her enthusiasm. “Aren’t they all so beautiful in their boots?” she said.
“Good Lord, Martha, you can’t be serious. I’ve never seen so many fishy-eyed officers in a single brigade.”
“Trouble with you, Gaby, you’ve driven off all the serious contenders. You’re a pampered, spoiled little girl.”
“I’ve got an abnormal desire to crack some of them over the skull when they bow and slobber on my hand.”
“I kind of like it. Well, young lady, don’t wake one morning and find that the only thing left that’s any good is much married—or full of complications. Take a stupid one and train him your way.”
Gabriela smiled. “Come on, Martha, let’s have another go at it.”
She braced for the next onslaught and re-entered the ballroom on Martha’s arm. Both of them saw him at the same time. In fact, every pair of eyes seemed set on the door as the epitome of a Polish cavalry officer, Lieutenant Andrei Androfski, entered. After that second of awesome silence, which he sensed, he was engulfed by adoring, back-clapping cronies and was soon explaining with bravado how he had performed his latest athletic feat, the winning of the light heavyweight wrestling championship of the Polish Army.
“Isn’t he yummy,” Martha said.
Gabriela was still staring.
“Who is he?”
“Forget about him, Gaby. You’re really bucking city hall. No one has been able to solve him.”
“So?”
“Some say he’s a Tibetan monk who has taken chastity vows. Others say he has mistresses stashed all over Warsaw.”
“Who is he?”
“Lieutenant Androfski.”
“The Tarzan of the Ulanys?”
Martha sighed. “Well, back to my drab old reliable husband.”
Gabriela took Martha’s elbow. “Have Tommy introduce me to Lieutenant Androfski.”
“Well, well. A new hat at Madam Phoebe’s says you can’t get him to see you home.”
“I’ll meet you there at noon. I know just the one I want.”
When Thompson introduced Andrei to Gabriela, he neither bowed nor kissed her hand. He nodded politely and waited for the usual words—“So you’re the famous Andrei Androfski!”
“I didn’t catch your name,” Gabriela said.
A clever opening gambit, Andrei thought. “I know your name, Miss Rak. Like so many, I am an admirer of the work of your late father, so my name is unimportant. You can just snap your fingers and say ‘hey you’ and I’ll know you are addressing me.”
It won’t be such a dull evening after all, Gabriela thought.
What a lot of nonsense, Andrei thought, to play Victorian fencing games with spoiled brats.
“I have the next set of dances open, Lieutenant.”
Brother, he thought this one doesn’t even play coy. Works without a fan. Moving in for the kill already. Well, let’s look it over. Pretty little thing all right,