The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [37]
She hurried up the steps into her apartment building, glancing nervously behind her as she stepped into the tiny cage lift, quickly pressing the button to take her to the top floor. She could hear her telephone ringing but it stopped before she could reach it and she stamped her foot angrily. A red light blinked on her answering machine. She pushed the message playback button and a familiar voice said, “Leyla, it’s Anna. We are in big trouble. I don’t know exactly what happened but suddenly the whole world wants the emerald. I must talk to you. Meet me tomorrow morning at ten-thirty by the pyramid entrance at the Louvre. Oh, Leyla, what have we done? I know you’re probably busy, flying off to Milan or somewhere, but I have to talk to you. Please, please don’t let me down….”
The machine clicked off, leaving the sound of the woman’s voice still hanging in the air, and Leyla slumped despairingly into a chair.
“Oh, Great-grandfather Tariq Pasha,” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks, “it’s all your fault. All your talk of the Kazahns’ old bond of loyalty to the Ivanoffs, making all your children and your grandchildren promise to keep your vow. Now look what you’ve got me into.” She had a strange feeling that somehow Tariq knew what she was thinking and he was telling her to remember why, besides love, they owed their loyalty to the Ivanoffs … even after all these years.
Russia, 1917
Sofia paced the small room that had been her prison for more than a month, thinking of what to do, where they might go.
The long train journey south had been another nightmare, best forgotten. She had thought everything would be all right once they got to Yalta; they would go to the Ivanoff villa, where friends would organize a passage for them on a boat to Constantinople, and from there to Europe. But she knew the Ivanoffs could not simply run away to their Paris apartment or their villa at Deauville and seek help from old friends. Misha had warned her that the Cheka would hunt them down like animals, and if they were captured they would be tortured until they gave the Bolsheviks the Ivanoff fortune. And once the Bolsheviks had it, they would all be killed.
It had been nighttime when they finally reached Yalta, and they breathed the sweet sea air gratefully. Unlike the arctic north, the air still held a hint of summer and smelled fresh and clean, like the air of a free country. They smiled at each other as they followed the crowd out of the station, and even Azaylee skipped a little as they walked along.
“Madame, madame!” Sofia had swung around at the sound of a familiar voice. It was the Stationmaster, who was almost as old as she was and who had known her all her married life. But until now he had never called her anything but “Your Highness.”
“Ma’am,” he whispered urgently, his gray beard wiggling with agitation, “I’m sorry to greet you with such lack of respect, but now even the walls have ears. Everything has changed, ma’am, there are spies and danger everywhere. Your villa … He paused, shaking his head sadly. “It has already been requisitioned and now it’s filled with Cheka, though they are pretending to be something else. If they see you they will arrest you. Oh, ma’am.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Where will you go now?”
Sofia could think of only one place. As it was dangerous to take a taxi, they trudged for two hours up the switchback roads into the hills to the cottage she had given her old coachman and his wife on their retirement fifteen years ago.
She had knocked on the door, waiting apprehensively for a reply. After fifty years in the Ivanoff household, she would never doubt her old servant’s devotion, but she also knew that fear can be a stronger master than loyalty. Her doubts melted into relief as the door was flung open and they were welcomed instantly.
Still, she knew their