Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

Her quick brain was working at top speed as she paced up and down; the Englishman was useless, she decided — a nice young man, but stupid — his presence would only increase her difficulties. As for the girl, she must be got rid of. “Love them all indeed!” What woman could love three men at one time? She also was in love with the clever, attractive Simon, that was clear; good-looking little fool — did she think to deceive Valeria Petrovna by not admitting it? Did the minx fancy that she, Valeria Petrovna, would be willing to pick the chestnuts out of the fire for another woman? What a mistake to think that! She should be handed over to the police — was she not a bourgeoise? — but wait — what of the Englishman? He could not be got rid of so easily, and just the stupid sort of fool to create trouble about the girl. Look at him now, gazing at her like a moonstruck calf. No, it must be some other way — and what of Simon, in prison there at Kiev? She must see Stalin. Stalin should give him up to her — he had a sense of humour, that one! There would be conditions, but they might be turned to her advantage. If he refused, she would threaten never to act again; he had trouble enough to keep the people to the work he demanded of them — they would make more trouble if she left the stage because he refused to pardon her lover. A sudden idea came to her as to how to deal with Marie Lou. She stopped in her quick pacing and faced the girl. “Leave us, little one, for a minute, I wish to ’ave a word with Mistaire Eaton.” She pointed to the doorway of an inner room.

Marie Lou obediently left them. As the door closed behind her Valeria Petrovna drew a chair close to Richard and sat down.

“Listen,” she said, quickly. “I can save your frien’. Stalin, ’e will listen to what I ’ave to say; you can do nothing ’ere, also this girl. Now that she ’as brought my locket, she can do no more. You must leave Russia and take ’er with you in your airplane.”

“She may not want to go,” Richard protested. “Besides, I would rather stay here and see this thing through myself.”

Valeria Petrovna smiled sweetly. “I ’ave understanding, Mistaire Eaton. You are brave, but what good can you do? And this girl — she is in danger, she is ’unted by the police. Please to do as I say and take ’er out of Russia.”

“We’ll ask her and see what she says?” Richard suggested.

“No.” Valeria Petrovna placed a hand on his arm. “Mistaire Eaton, I will make to you a confession — I love your frien’ Simon, and only I can save ’im. Give me a free ’and, then, and take the girl away.”

Richard Eaton was no fool. Valeria Petrovna had made it abundantly clear that whatever her reasons might be she wished to get rid of Marie Lou. He felt that in any case the sooner the girl was out of Russia the better. He dreaded to think what might happen to her if she was caught by the Ogpu after having concealed and assisted his friends. Personally he would much have preferred to go down to Kiev, but Valeria Petrovna said that she could secure the release of the prisoners, so she was obviously the person to be considered at the moment.

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll clear out and take her with me — that is, if you’re quite certain that you can get Stalin to give my friends their freedom?”

“’ave no fear.” She rose, smiling. “That is settle’, then. I will call ’er.”

The situation was explained to Marie Lou; Valeria Petrovna was now all solicitude for the girl. Richard himself urged upon her how little either of them could do, and how much wiser it would be for her to leave Russia at the earliest possible moment.

She looked from one to the other with her big serious eyes. She had no argument to oppose theirs, but somehow she did not trust this beautiful Madame Karkoff. It never occurred to her that she could be regarded as a rival. She did not understand in the least the passionate temperament that was responsible for these sudden changes for imperious anger to honeyed sweetness, and then to suspicious distrust. Had it not been for Richard she would have refused to go, but he was so obviously sincere that she accepted the decision, contenting herself with reminding them that there might be difficulties at the airport, as she had no permit to leave Russia.

“I will arrange,” declared Valeria Petrovna quickly. “The commander of the airport, ’e is a frien’ of mine. We shall say that you are my little cousin, Xenia Kirrolovna from Niji. You travel to your mother, ’oo is ill in Berlin. Your bag ’as been stolen — all your papers are gone — it is urgent, for the mother dies. The Englishman ’as offer’ to take you in ’is ’plane. They will make no difficulty eef I come with you.”

Richard nodded. “That sounds all right, if you can arrange it. When do we leave, tomorrow morning?”

“No, no, at once — this afternoon. You shall eat ’ere. In the meantime I get my clothes.” She clapped her hands loudly and the maid appeared.

“Quickly, Fenya,” she ordered. “Bring food, and tell Vasily to bring the car to the door. After, come to me in my room.”

Marie Lou and Richard made a scratch lunch of ham, cheese and tea. By the time they had finished Valeria Petrovna joined them again, dressed in a smart travelling suit.

“Let us go,” she said at once. “Mistaire Eaton, we will call on the way at the ’otel for your bags. You, little one, ’ave no luggage.”

As they stood at the door of the apartment she turned to the maid. “I go to the airport, Fenya, after to the Kremlin, then I return ’ere in one ’our, perhaps two. Pack at once, that all may be ready — on my return we leave for Kiev immediately.”

At the aerodrome there was surprisingly little difficulty. Eaton’s passport was all in order. A tall effeminate officer danced attendance on Madame Karkoff. He made no trouble about the little cousin who had lost her papers and was so anxious about her mother. He could not do enough for Valeria Petrovna — bowing, saluting, and twisting his little fair moustache. He even provided extra rugs, which Richard was to return on the Warsaw ’plane.

Marie Lou had been tucked into the passenger’s seat, and Richard was about to climb into the cockpit. He turned to ask a last assurance from Valeria Petrovna.

“You are quite certain that you will succeed with Stalin?”

“Do not worry, Mistaire Eaton. I ’ave a way to make ’im do as I say.”

He nodded. “Where shall I wait for Simon? Warsaw would be best, I think?”

She smiled above her furs. “I would not do that, Mistake Eaton. You would ’ave to wait a very long time.”

“Why?” Richard frowned.

“Simon cannot leave Russia — ’e ’as been to the forbidden territory — ’e knows perhaps too much. Stalin would not ’ave that.”

“But he can’t stay here for ever!” Richard gasped. “There’s his business in London — all sorts of things!”

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders and smiled again. “Why should ’e not? — ’is business is not everything. Many people ’ere in Russia ’ave learned to do without their businesses these last years.”

“But he’d be miserable,” Richard protested.

Valeria Petrovna laughed softly. “You are not very complimentary, Mistaire Eaton — ’ave I not told you that I love ’im — also ’e loves me. All right, I shall register with ’im.”

“Register? What do you mean?”

“Marry ’im — as all things are, Stalin would nevaire release ’im — if ’e is to remain in Russia and become my ’usband, that is different — Stalin will not refuse.”

From comparative serenity Richard was thrown into a state of acute anxiety. How would Simon view this extraordinary plan? To give up his life entirely, everything to which he was attached, his active career, with its multitude of interests, and become the lapdog husband of this famous actress; to start life anew in this extraordinary country as a suspect, with principles utterly opposed to those of the State. Of course, Richard reflected, as he caught a glimpse of her beautiful smiling dark eyes, if he loved this woman enough, anything was possible. Besides, Simon was a Jew, and Jews could make a home in any country; exile was never quite so terrible for them. Perhaps Simon would go native, become a Kommissar. With these thoughts whirling through his brain Richard looked once more at the tall dark woman by his side — the problem was too much for him! “Well, you know best,” he said; “but what about De Richleau and Van Ryn? You can’t marry them as well!”