Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“All right, my adventurous birdie, don’t get wild about it — but as a matter of fact your passport is out of order. You’ll need a new visa to enter the Soviet again.”

“How long will that take?”

“A fortnight, in the ordinary way, but if I go in and see the Soviet people myself I can get it for you in three or four days.”

“Right you are, Gerry. Be a good chap and see about it this afternoon, will you?” Richard pushed his passport across the table. “And you might get your people at the Embassy to shoot off a letter tonight. With any luck they’ll get a reply before we get the visa.”

“Thy will be done, O giver of good meals!” Bruce pocketed the passport.

“If you go back to Russia, I will go, too,” said Marie Lou, gently.

Richard laughed. “My dear girl, you can’t. I don’t quite know what to do with you as it is. I had thought of entrusting you to Gerry, but he’s not a fit companion for a nice girl like you!”

“Take me with you,” she begged, seriously.

He shook his head. “It’s sweet of you to want to come, but it’s absolutely out of the question.”

“But why?” she argued. “With me, also, no one in Kiev knows that I am the friend of your friends, even if my description has been sent out from Romanovsk. Who would recognize me in my new clothes?”

“That’s true enough, all the same it just can’t be done. The one bright spot in this whole ghastly mess is that you are out of danger.”

“You are wrong to refuse to take me,” she said, earnestly. “What will you do in Kiev, all on your own, you cannot speak one word of Russian!”

“I know, that’s the devil, isn’t it?” Richard admitted. “Means one can’t make any inquiries at all, except through the consulate. But, all the same, it would be frightfully dangerous for you to enter Russia again unless you are protected by a proper passport, so it’s useless to talk about it.”

Gerry Bruce looked from one to the other with an amused smile. “Pity you’re not really married,” he said, with a twinkle. “Nothing to stop a chappie taking his wife anywhere. She goes on the same passport.”

There was dead silence at the little table, the astute Gerry was thoroughly enjoying Richard’s embarrassment. “Wedding bells at the Embassy tomorrow morning, and there you are,” he continued, quickly. “Always get an annulment afterwards if you don’t — er — that is, if you feel you’d rather not keep it up.”

“Is that true, Monsieur?” asked Marie Lou.

“What nonsense!” exclaimed Richard. “This isn’t a French farce — besides, it might not be so easy to get an annulment afterwards as you think, and Marie Lou might not like the idea of being tied up to me all in a hurry like that!”

“I have not been asked,” said Marie Lou, with her wicked little smile.

“Now then, Dicky, my boy,” laughed Bruce. “This is where chappies go down on their knees and put their hands on their hearts.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Richard. He had become very serious as he turned to Marie Lou. “Look here. I know all this seems like the Mad Hatter’s tea-party, but there’s something in what this idiot says. Under English law a wife takes her husband’s nationality. The Embassy is English soil — if we were married there, tomorrow you could be put on my passport, then there would be no difficulty about returning to Russia, and as my wife the police would never connect you with the girl at Romanovsk. I will admit, too, that there is very little I can do in Kiev without someone who I can trust that speaks Russian. Of course, I’d take all the necessary steps to give you your freedom directly we got back again.”

She regarded him gravely for a moment — then she nodded, slowly. “Yes, I am sure I can trust you to do that. I know, also, that I shall be a help to you in Kiev. Let us then get married tomorrow.”

And so it was arranged — the following morning there was a marriage at the British Embassy. Immediately afterwards Bruce took the joint passport of the newly married pair to the Soviet Legation and pressed for speedy visa. In the afternoon, on Richard’s advice, Marie Lou visited the astonished Chaplain to the Embassy who had married them in the morning, and declared vehemently, that she would never live with her husband, she had already discovered terrible things about him which she refused to disclose. In addition Richard moved to a different hotel. It was his idea that these precautions would materially assist them in securing an early annulment of their marriage on their return from Russia. Nevertheless, he dined with Marie Lou that night at one of the smaller restaurants, and thought it one of the most delightful evenings he had ever spent.

The following day he took his official wife shopping, having obtained fresh supplies of cash through Bruce, and never in his life had he experienced so much pleasure as in Marie Lou’s delight at the lovely things he insisted on buying for her from the Vienna shops.

That night he took her to a musical show. In her new evening dress she was radiantly lovely — tiny but perfect — a real princess.

Many people turned to look at her and wonder who she was, but she had no eyes for anyone but Richard, that by no means silent Englishman, with his merry laugh, and his anxious, thoughtful care for her. Nobody who saw them doubted for a minute that they were lovers.

On the third day a reply was received from the authorities at Kiev — Moscow had been consulted; an American called Van Ryn had arrived in that city on December 4th, and left on the 11th for an unknown destination. Mr. Simon Aron had arrived there on February 6th, he, also, had disappeared. Of the Duke de Richleau they had no knowledge. The suggestion that these three persons were being held prisoners in Kiev was quite unfounded.

“There you are, my dear old bird,” said Bruce, as he showed the reply to Richard. “Just what I expected. Now, if you can prove that those chappies are in Kiev, we’ll create diplomatic hell, but more we can’t do.”

That afternoon Richard took Marie Lou out to Schoenbrunn; they walked in the gardens of the palace, rejoicing in the fresh green of the early spring. In the evening he took her to another show and afterwards to a cabaret — they had recovered completely from the fatigue of the long journey and did not go to their respective hotels until the early hours of the morning. Somehow, the more they saw of each other the more they had to say. There was an infinite variety of incidents in their past lives that they had to tell each other. Then there were all their plans and hopes for the future, into which, of course, the question of marriage — at least for some years, and even then only to some person vaguely reminiscent of each other — did not enter.

But Marie Lou came to have the fixed opinion that she would undoubtedly prefer an Englishman for a husband, because they were so kind and reliable; and Richard declared that he could never contemplate marrying an English girl because they were so dull!

The fourth day of their stay brought a different atmosphere. In the morning Richard had a long interview with Gerry Bruce and an elderly Polish Jew. It seemed that the latter knew Kiev as well as Richard knew the West End of London. He gave much interesting information, particularly about the Kievo-Pecher-Lavra, the ancient monastery that had been turned into a prison. Unfortunately his activities in the past had been such that he was no longer able to enter the Soviet, so he was unable to accept Richard’s invitation to accompany them.

In the afternoon Richard’s passport was returned, visaed as good for a month’s visit to the U.S.S.R. That evening he again took Marie Lou out to dinner, but their former gaiety had disappeared. Both were thinking of the morrow and what was to come after. They were to make an early start in the morning, and so went early to bed.