Monster 4/6
Chapter Four
There was darkness and yet there were voices. It took a long time to equate the two. Male voices and yet still darkness all around him. “Hello?” Giles started to spit and cough out earth. He could definitely hear voices and called again, “Anyone there? Somebody help me.”
The darkness was sliced suddenly apart by shafts of light. There were harsh torches, but there were also kind arms pulling him up. The voices were excited but he couldn’t make out the words. “Thank you,” he spluttered as he was pulled upright. Hands were sweeping the earth from his clothes.
A torch shone brightly into his eyes, “American?”
“No English,” he answered. He brushed his own clothes roughly and smoothed his hair. His glasses had gone and he started to look on the ground for them.
“Dr Jones?” The hands that had seemed so helpful had evidently relieved him of his wallet. He stopped searching for his glasses and looked more carefully at his rescuers. The one in charge was studying his passport with official disdain. Most of the light from their torches was on him, but he could make out enough to see telltale flashes of badges, sidearms and nightsticks. One of the younger officers spoke some English, “Can you explain what you are doing here?”
“I’m a guest at the house. I must have lost my way in the grounds and stumbled. It’s very dark out here.”
This was duly translated to the sergeant and seemed to be cause of no small amount of conversation. Giles wanted his passport back very badly.
“The house is closed. Not permitted. No access here.”
“I assure you the house is open. I’m a guest.” The young officer translated this again, causing a rather fierce response from the sergeant.
“You must explain what you are doing here.” In English it sounded far more polite than the noises from the senior officer.
“I’m a guest of the owner. I’m doing some research work for him. We can go to the house now and ask him.”
“The house has been closed up for many years. We want to know why you are here now, on this night in particular.”
“Why? What’s so special about this night?”
“Every Christmas Eve we are required to patrol. We have not had a trespasser in 12 years. But still we patrol.”
“I don’t understand. You patrol here? Why?”
“To prevent the tragedies.”
The sergeant was feeling left out and intervened strenuously at this point. There was much conversation as Giles looked about for his glasses again. One of the other policemen handed them to him wordlessly. If he could just get his passport back now...
“It attracts people for the suicide. They come from many places. The inspector makes us patrol to stop people from gaining access to the house. It’s been a problem for many years. Christmas can upset people. We don’t know how the couples meet, what draws them here but they end up here, taking their own lives.”
“Couples? Two people, two people always die?”
“Yes always two. But we have prevented you so we go to our inspector now who will be happy.”
“No wait, there are two people in the house now. They’ve only recently met. We have to go back. We have to stop this. You have to listen to me.” But the sergeant was determined to take him away. Not for the first time Giles felt a situation spiralling out of his control.
***
“Can you give us the room please guys?”
Buffy had secured the backroom of the motel for the Sunnydale survivors’ party but it was clearly not a celebration anymore as Giles approached. All the new slayers were filing out quietly which was puzzling if there was to be a meeting. He was tired but smiled encouragingly at a few only to have them drop their eyes and keep walking past. Andrew had been, well Andrew when he’d delivered the summons. Giles had thought him melodramatic and self-important as he'd escorted him to the door of the room, but it was somewhat alarming when the boy stopped short of going in, his duty discharged and with worry etched over his face fled instead. The watcher gloomily thought that perhaps he would be required to pay another bill or settle another dispute. They were all tired and needed to sleep. Giles had done additional chores of ferrying the wounded to the hospital, sorting out their medical expenses, buying clothes, securing motel rooms and evidently funding the rental of this back room. He wondered at what point Robson’s Council credit card would fail and his own fraudulent use of it would come to light.
Kennedy was whispering something to Buffy as he entered. Her chin stuck out angrily the same way Buffy’s used to when she was pissed off at him in the library. That was a million years ago. Now she’d just stab him through the heart and be done with it. Whatever Kennedy was saying had ended and she left. Her face was angry but her eyes were oddly sympathetic. He hadn’t expected that from her. She may have been a Slayer but her father had money. Ever since he’d met Kennedy she’d mostly treated him as some sort of porter. When he’d delivered her safely to Buffy’s house he’d half expected a tip.
The room had emptied of all but Buffy, Faith, Willow, Dawn and Xander who were seated around a long table. Dawn and Willow with their backs to him. Buffy commanded the table easily. It was a Council of War with the faintest overtones of a Court Martial.
“Andrew said you wanted to see me?”
“Shut the door Giles.” She said it evenly. The order was there and plainly meant to be obeyed. She was not asking him. He was not on equal footing in this room. Giles made a long show of turning and closing his exit, then he approached the table and stared back at his former Slayer. Giles had seen a long line of people attempting to intimidate him since his school days. She was going to have to try harder than that.
“Sit down.”
“I think I prefer to stand.” She wasn’t going to push him around over seating arrangements either. He put his hands in his pockets as nonchalantly as he could. Buffy, he noted was in full power stance.
“Did you enjoy today Giles?”
“Not especially,” he answered warily, “we prevailed but a lot of good people died.” Xander dropped his head a little and Giles put out a hand to his shoulder, but the young man surprised him by flinching out the way.
“Robin said you were very adept at killing the ubervamps and the bringers.”
“Sorry? I suppose. He did alright himself.” He couldn’t for the life of him see where this was leading.
“But you killed a lot? Personally.”
“Was I supposed to be keeping score?” He looked around the table. It had been his job. He’d been supposed to kill the Turok-Han and the bringers. They all were. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about your kill rate Giles.”
“I’m sorry I’m not a slayer.”
“No, but you are proficient. And that is a concern to us.”
“I’ve had a lot of training. I trained you.”
“How many people would you say you’ve killed Giles? Today that is.”
“I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “Look I don’t know what point you’re trying to make but can we discuss this in the morning? I’ve had a long day and I think we all need sleep.”
“Then let’s get to the point. Let’s talk about the night I died. You do remember that I take it?”
“Vividly.” It was the one of the worst nights of his life and he resented being forced to discuss it in front of the others.
“You had another busy night then I think.”
“Dealing with your broken body? And the mess you’d left for us? Yeah that was busy.” He was angry she’d brought up the business of Glory, he was never going to tell her what he felt about that night. “Yes, that was a damn busy night.”
“Because you see we were wondering what happened to Ben?” She asked the question so casually that he momentarily seemed to forget how to breathe. “You remember Ben? Shared a body with Glory the hell god? The cute doctor Ben? The one who saved your life Ben? We were wondering what happened to him.”
“He died,” said Giles very quietly.
Buffy was remorseless. She folded her arms, “That’s a bit of British understatement isn’t it Giles? The police report said he was brutally murdered.”
“It was a confusing night,” he countered.
Dawn suddenly rose angrily and snarled, “Did you kill him? Did you kill him because you couldn’t kill me?”
It was blunt and unexpected, “No. Dawn I…” he wanted to comfort the teenager, explain everything. He didn’t understand what was happening. Why everyone he cared for seemed to only hate him in return. Ever since that night he’d been pushed further away from them.
Willow and Xander both hugged Dawn down to them.
Buffy resumed her icy interrogation, “Answer the question Giles. Did you murder him?”
“Does it matter? He’s dead and that means Glory is dead too. No more running because she’d after the Key. She was a god and would not be stopped. We’d all be dead now if Ben were still alive. I stand by what I did.”
“So this was you, taking another decision about who lives and who dies? We’re really lucky to have you taking this responsibility on our behalves. Because it worked out so well with Spike.”
“My hero,” muttered Faith sarcastically.
“Oh it’s all back to Spike is it? Brilliant bloody Spike. Our beloved champion.” His sarcasm struck a nerve.
“He was a better man than you. I don’t know who you are anymore.” She was angry and shouting, “You’re a monster!”
“Well you should know you’ve slept with enough of them!” The gloves were off.
“How do you sleep at nights?” she retaliated, “Death really is your gift isn’t it?”
“Spike wasn’t the only one to die today.” Giles blocked, “Amanda, Anya. People you should care about at least as much as Spike.”
Xander rose swiftly at his ex-fiancée’s name and fiercely pushed Giles in the chest.
“Don’t you talk about Anya. You never mention her name.”
Everyone froze waiting for Giles to react but he was too puzzled to push back. Eventually Buffy calmed sufficiently and said “We’re done here.”
“Yeah,” added Xander. “You need to be elsewhere.” And it was evidently over.
Giles looked around the room for allies. Faith was looking at him like he was dirt. Xander was looking like he wanted something Watcher-size to punch. Willow was looking heartbreakingly betrayed. In a way he understood that. He’d come close to telling her about Ben during their time in England, but couldn’t in the end. He knew she would just think less of him. Dawn was crying, but trying not to make any noise about it. Only Buffy was calm, but then Buffy was always calm towards him these days. Frankly she was ice to him these days. He’d been dismissed from the room. They were disappointed, angry and wanted him to leave. Well that he could do.
***
The trees were playing games with him. He knew the way back should not be so difficult but whenever he felt he was close, roots, trunks and branches would form an impenetrable shield. It was not that they were moving, he didn’t hear or see that, they just seemed to anticipate his course and toy with his actions. He’d at least lost sight and sound of the police. Giving them the slip was stupid but his impassioned pleas to be allowed to return hadn’t worked. Somehow he doubted they were faring any better in this supernatural jungle.
All that motivated him was to get to the house and help Paul and Buffy. He couldn’t let them die. Buffy was too important and Paul had a right to live without being cursed by jealousy crazed grandfathers. Since he was ten years old he’d been taught that Watchers watch and Slayers die and that’s the natural order of things. Slayers die, Watchers move on. Well this Slayer wasn’t going to die. Not again. Moving on hadn’t been an option the first time and he wasn’t lifting a spade to bury her a second time.
“Buffy” he shouted in a mixture of hope and desperation. If she was in the grip of some supernatural possession then anything could happen. He tried to second guess how the two people could die. The police had suggested suicide but that could have been an official line to sweep the dead under the carpet. They would want to keep their murder rate down. They also said it was always two bodies. She might be the one to have to kill Paul, he was much stronger than he looked. Giles began to climb up a trunk, if he couldn’t go through or round he’d damn well go over. He used to be good at climbing trees; first for apples, then for adventure, sometimes to hide from his father. Buffy would never be able to live with herself if she took a human life. Maybe that’s what always happened in this house? Giles’ father would have said he was born to help his slayer, but Giles didn’t think he had any watcher left in him these days. This was common decency. This was Buffy Summers the woman he had to help. She was more than a job description.
Anton Popov carefully laid his wife down on the chaise longue in the drawing room. He raised her feet and removed her shoes reverentially. Her red silk dress was the most expensive item of clothing he’d even seen, much less paid for, and now it justified its cost by blossoming out beautifully around her pale legs. She was perfection for whom gifts could never be undervalued.
“Let me get you something to drink darling.” She lightly blinked open her eyes as he pressed a glass to her lips.
“What happened?” she gasped.
“You fainted. But I have you now. Everything is safe.”
Kristina Popova pushed him lightly away and looked around the room. “What have you done?”
“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.
Instead of the harsh gas lighting she’d become used to, the room was lit by hundreds of candles. The darts of light bounced back at her from the Linden Mirror and seemed to pierce her with their intensity. There were decorative bunches of logs and berries. Imported ripe fruit gave off a rich sultry aroma fighting hand to hand with the cigar smoke and strong alcohol. Against the mirror stood an impressive pine tree that had been cut down and decorated with glass trinkets, yet more berries and further candles tied to the stouter branches. The servants had spent hours in the preparation.
“Do you like it?" he repeated.
She smacked her lips in foul humour, her reply was bitter and harsh, “Don’t you think I see enough of trees out there?”
“But I thought…”
“God, when you said a surprise. I thought you meant jewellery.”
Popov kneeled at her couch and took her hand, “But I wanted this Christmas to be perfect for you. It’s your first in our home here. I wanted everything to be perfect for you.”
“You always do,” she replied with sarcasm, swinging her legs round to rise, “I should go back to the other guests. They must be wondering where we’ve got to.”
Popov stiffened, “You mean go back to him don’t you?”
Kristina’s lips smiled quickly. Her husband hadn’t seemed to notice the attention Rutger Meister was paying her. It was exciting to think he had after all. “He’s one of our guests,” she said playfully, “it would be rude to leave a guest waiting.”
Popov stood quickly, she was playing him for a fool and he hated it, “You should have told me you knew him before. You spend all your time with him. All those little looks and sly conversations.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she replied with a slight yawn.
“He is no longer welcome in my house to trifle with my wife,” the husband played his trump card, “You will find your lover has already left.”
Kristina looked thoughtful at the news. “There was something I was supposed to remember,” she said somewhat unexpectedly. The thought puzzled her but she snapped back to the present, “He would not abandon me.”
“We’ll see.” Popov went to his desk by the door and retrieved a leather attaché case. From it he removed two revolvers and began loading the first. “Perhaps I need to take precautions to protect my property then.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” his wife’s voice held nothing but contempt.
“My honour is at stake. Your honour is a lot harder to find these days.”
He proceeded to load the second revolver. He was calm now. He knew what he was going to do.
“You animal. You know nothing of the ways of civilised men. Rutger is a gentleman.” But her husband was silent. He finished his loading and started to recheck both weapons. “I cannot be expected to remain a prisoner here with no entertainment,” she pleaded. Satisfied, Popov slipped one weapon in his pocket, the other he left on the table nearest the door.
“There really is something I’m forgetting,” the girl said absently.
Anton Popov tried to steer her back to the conversation, “I have given you everything. You and your lover will not take my self respect as well.”
“Something…or someone? Something happened outside, before. What was it?”
He was losing her, “You’re still weak from your fainting fit. Here, let me help you with another drink.”
He retrieved the barely touched glass from before and went to his wife. He could see his reflection in the Linden Mirror. A solicitous husband tending to his ailing wife. A perfect image.
“No no,” she pushed his hand away more firmly than before, “I must remember.” She creased her beautiful forehead in concentration. “…..Giles? she said uncertainly, “…..something about a Giles?”
It was Popov’s turn to look genuinely puzzled, “Who or what is Giles?”
A third voice joined them from the doorway. “That would be me, son.”
Chapter Five
There was darkness and yet there were voices. It took a long time to equate the two. Male voices and yet still darkness all around him. “Hello?” Giles started to spit and cough out earth. He could definitely hear voices and called again, “Anyone there? Somebody help me.”
The darkness was sliced suddenly apart by shafts of light. There were harsh torches, but there were also kind arms pulling him up. The voices were excited but he couldn’t make out the words. “Thank you,” he spluttered as he was pulled upright. Hands were sweeping the earth from his clothes.
A torch shone brightly into his eyes, “American?”
“No English,” he answered. He brushed his own clothes roughly and smoothed his hair. His glasses had gone and he started to look on the ground for them.
“Dr Jones?” The hands that had seemed so helpful had evidently relieved him of his wallet. He stopped searching for his glasses and looked more carefully at his rescuers. The one in charge was studying his passport with official disdain. Most of the light from their torches was on him, but he could make out enough to see telltale flashes of badges, sidearms and nightsticks. One of the younger officers spoke some English, “Can you explain what you are doing here?”
“I’m a guest at the house. I must have lost my way in the grounds and stumbled. It’s very dark out here.”
This was duly translated to the sergeant and seemed to be cause of no small amount of conversation. Giles wanted his passport back very badly.
“The house is closed. Not permitted. No access here.”
“I assure you the house is open. I’m a guest.” The young officer translated this again, causing a rather fierce response from the sergeant.
“You must explain what you are doing here.” In English it sounded far more polite than the noises from the senior officer.
“I’m a guest of the owner. I’m doing some research work for him. We can go to the house now and ask him.”
“The house has been closed up for many years. We want to know why you are here now, on this night in particular.”
“Why? What’s so special about this night?”
“Every Christmas Eve we are required to patrol. We have not had a trespasser in 12 years. But still we patrol.”
“I don’t understand. You patrol here? Why?”
“To prevent the tragedies.”
The sergeant was feeling left out and intervened strenuously at this point. There was much conversation as Giles looked about for his glasses again. One of the other policemen handed them to him wordlessly. If he could just get his passport back now...
“It attracts people for the suicide. They come from many places. The inspector makes us patrol to stop people from gaining access to the house. It’s been a problem for many years. Christmas can upset people. We don’t know how the couples meet, what draws them here but they end up here, taking their own lives.”
“Couples? Two people, two people always die?”
“Yes always two. But we have prevented you so we go to our inspector now who will be happy.”
“No wait, there are two people in the house now. They’ve only recently met. We have to go back. We have to stop this. You have to listen to me.” But the sergeant was determined to take him away. Not for the first time Giles felt a situation spiralling out of his control.
***
“Can you give us the room please guys?”
Buffy had secured the backroom of the motel for the Sunnydale survivors’ party but it was clearly not a celebration anymore as Giles approached. All the new slayers were filing out quietly which was puzzling if there was to be a meeting. He was tired but smiled encouragingly at a few only to have them drop their eyes and keep walking past. Andrew had been, well Andrew when he’d delivered the summons. Giles had thought him melodramatic and self-important as he'd escorted him to the door of the room, but it was somewhat alarming when the boy stopped short of going in, his duty discharged and with worry etched over his face fled instead. The watcher gloomily thought that perhaps he would be required to pay another bill or settle another dispute. They were all tired and needed to sleep. Giles had done additional chores of ferrying the wounded to the hospital, sorting out their medical expenses, buying clothes, securing motel rooms and evidently funding the rental of this back room. He wondered at what point Robson’s Council credit card would fail and his own fraudulent use of it would come to light.
Kennedy was whispering something to Buffy as he entered. Her chin stuck out angrily the same way Buffy’s used to when she was pissed off at him in the library. That was a million years ago. Now she’d just stab him through the heart and be done with it. Whatever Kennedy was saying had ended and she left. Her face was angry but her eyes were oddly sympathetic. He hadn’t expected that from her. She may have been a Slayer but her father had money. Ever since he’d met Kennedy she’d mostly treated him as some sort of porter. When he’d delivered her safely to Buffy’s house he’d half expected a tip.
The room had emptied of all but Buffy, Faith, Willow, Dawn and Xander who were seated around a long table. Dawn and Willow with their backs to him. Buffy commanded the table easily. It was a Council of War with the faintest overtones of a Court Martial.
“Andrew said you wanted to see me?”
“Shut the door Giles.” She said it evenly. The order was there and plainly meant to be obeyed. She was not asking him. He was not on equal footing in this room. Giles made a long show of turning and closing his exit, then he approached the table and stared back at his former Slayer. Giles had seen a long line of people attempting to intimidate him since his school days. She was going to have to try harder than that.
“Sit down.”
“I think I prefer to stand.” She wasn’t going to push him around over seating arrangements either. He put his hands in his pockets as nonchalantly as he could. Buffy, he noted was in full power stance.
“Did you enjoy today Giles?”
“Not especially,” he answered warily, “we prevailed but a lot of good people died.” Xander dropped his head a little and Giles put out a hand to his shoulder, but the young man surprised him by flinching out the way.
“Robin said you were very adept at killing the ubervamps and the bringers.”
“Sorry? I suppose. He did alright himself.” He couldn’t for the life of him see where this was leading.
“But you killed a lot? Personally.”
“Was I supposed to be keeping score?” He looked around the table. It had been his job. He’d been supposed to kill the Turok-Han and the bringers. They all were. “What’s this about?”
“It’s about your kill rate Giles.”
“I’m sorry I’m not a slayer.”
“No, but you are proficient. And that is a concern to us.”
“I’ve had a lot of training. I trained you.”
“How many people would you say you’ve killed Giles? Today that is.”
“I don’t remember.” He shook his head. “Look I don’t know what point you’re trying to make but can we discuss this in the morning? I’ve had a long day and I think we all need sleep.”
“Then let’s get to the point. Let’s talk about the night I died. You do remember that I take it?”
“Vividly.” It was the one of the worst nights of his life and he resented being forced to discuss it in front of the others.
“You had another busy night then I think.”
“Dealing with your broken body? And the mess you’d left for us? Yeah that was busy.” He was angry she’d brought up the business of Glory, he was never going to tell her what he felt about that night. “Yes, that was a damn busy night.”
“Because you see we were wondering what happened to Ben?” She asked the question so casually that he momentarily seemed to forget how to breathe. “You remember Ben? Shared a body with Glory the hell god? The cute doctor Ben? The one who saved your life Ben? We were wondering what happened to him.”
“He died,” said Giles very quietly.
Buffy was remorseless. She folded her arms, “That’s a bit of British understatement isn’t it Giles? The police report said he was brutally murdered.”
“It was a confusing night,” he countered.
Dawn suddenly rose angrily and snarled, “Did you kill him? Did you kill him because you couldn’t kill me?”
It was blunt and unexpected, “No. Dawn I…” he wanted to comfort the teenager, explain everything. He didn’t understand what was happening. Why everyone he cared for seemed to only hate him in return. Ever since that night he’d been pushed further away from them.
Willow and Xander both hugged Dawn down to them.
Buffy resumed her icy interrogation, “Answer the question Giles. Did you murder him?”
“Does it matter? He’s dead and that means Glory is dead too. No more running because she’d after the Key. She was a god and would not be stopped. We’d all be dead now if Ben were still alive. I stand by what I did.”
“So this was you, taking another decision about who lives and who dies? We’re really lucky to have you taking this responsibility on our behalves. Because it worked out so well with Spike.”
“My hero,” muttered Faith sarcastically.
“Oh it’s all back to Spike is it? Brilliant bloody Spike. Our beloved champion.” His sarcasm struck a nerve.
“He was a better man than you. I don’t know who you are anymore.” She was angry and shouting, “You’re a monster!”
“Well you should know you’ve slept with enough of them!” The gloves were off.
“How do you sleep at nights?” she retaliated, “Death really is your gift isn’t it?”
“Spike wasn’t the only one to die today.” Giles blocked, “Amanda, Anya. People you should care about at least as much as Spike.”
Xander rose swiftly at his ex-fiancée’s name and fiercely pushed Giles in the chest.
“Don’t you talk about Anya. You never mention her name.”
Everyone froze waiting for Giles to react but he was too puzzled to push back. Eventually Buffy calmed sufficiently and said “We’re done here.”
“Yeah,” added Xander. “You need to be elsewhere.” And it was evidently over.
Giles looked around the room for allies. Faith was looking at him like he was dirt. Xander was looking like he wanted something Watcher-size to punch. Willow was looking heartbreakingly betrayed. In a way he understood that. He’d come close to telling her about Ben during their time in England, but couldn’t in the end. He knew she would just think less of him. Dawn was crying, but trying not to make any noise about it. Only Buffy was calm, but then Buffy was always calm towards him these days. Frankly she was ice to him these days. He’d been dismissed from the room. They were disappointed, angry and wanted him to leave. Well that he could do.
***
The trees were playing games with him. He knew the way back should not be so difficult but whenever he felt he was close, roots, trunks and branches would form an impenetrable shield. It was not that they were moving, he didn’t hear or see that, they just seemed to anticipate his course and toy with his actions. He’d at least lost sight and sound of the police. Giving them the slip was stupid but his impassioned pleas to be allowed to return hadn’t worked. Somehow he doubted they were faring any better in this supernatural jungle.
All that motivated him was to get to the house and help Paul and Buffy. He couldn’t let them die. Buffy was too important and Paul had a right to live without being cursed by jealousy crazed grandfathers. Since he was ten years old he’d been taught that Watchers watch and Slayers die and that’s the natural order of things. Slayers die, Watchers move on. Well this Slayer wasn’t going to die. Not again. Moving on hadn’t been an option the first time and he wasn’t lifting a spade to bury her a second time.
“Buffy” he shouted in a mixture of hope and desperation. If she was in the grip of some supernatural possession then anything could happen. He tried to second guess how the two people could die. The police had suggested suicide but that could have been an official line to sweep the dead under the carpet. They would want to keep their murder rate down. They also said it was always two bodies. She might be the one to have to kill Paul, he was much stronger than he looked. Giles began to climb up a trunk, if he couldn’t go through or round he’d damn well go over. He used to be good at climbing trees; first for apples, then for adventure, sometimes to hide from his father. Buffy would never be able to live with herself if she took a human life. Maybe that’s what always happened in this house? Giles’ father would have said he was born to help his slayer, but Giles didn’t think he had any watcher left in him these days. This was common decency. This was Buffy Summers the woman he had to help. She was more than a job description.
Anton Popov carefully laid his wife down on the chaise longue in the drawing room. He raised her feet and removed her shoes reverentially. Her red silk dress was the most expensive item of clothing he’d even seen, much less paid for, and now it justified its cost by blossoming out beautifully around her pale legs. She was perfection for whom gifts could never be undervalued.
“Let me get you something to drink darling.” She lightly blinked open her eyes as he pressed a glass to her lips.
“What happened?” she gasped.
“You fainted. But I have you now. Everything is safe.”
Kristina Popova pushed him lightly away and looked around the room. “What have you done?”
“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.
Instead of the harsh gas lighting she’d become used to, the room was lit by hundreds of candles. The darts of light bounced back at her from the Linden Mirror and seemed to pierce her with their intensity. There were decorative bunches of logs and berries. Imported ripe fruit gave off a rich sultry aroma fighting hand to hand with the cigar smoke and strong alcohol. Against the mirror stood an impressive pine tree that had been cut down and decorated with glass trinkets, yet more berries and further candles tied to the stouter branches. The servants had spent hours in the preparation.
“Do you like it?" he repeated.
She smacked her lips in foul humour, her reply was bitter and harsh, “Don’t you think I see enough of trees out there?”
“But I thought…”
“God, when you said a surprise. I thought you meant jewellery.”
Popov kneeled at her couch and took her hand, “But I wanted this Christmas to be perfect for you. It’s your first in our home here. I wanted everything to be perfect for you.”
“You always do,” she replied with sarcasm, swinging her legs round to rise, “I should go back to the other guests. They must be wondering where we’ve got to.”
Popov stiffened, “You mean go back to him don’t you?”
Kristina’s lips smiled quickly. Her husband hadn’t seemed to notice the attention Rutger Meister was paying her. It was exciting to think he had after all. “He’s one of our guests,” she said playfully, “it would be rude to leave a guest waiting.”
Popov stood quickly, she was playing him for a fool and he hated it, “You should have told me you knew him before. You spend all your time with him. All those little looks and sly conversations.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” she replied with a slight yawn.
“He is no longer welcome in my house to trifle with my wife,” the husband played his trump card, “You will find your lover has already left.”
Kristina looked thoughtful at the news. “There was something I was supposed to remember,” she said somewhat unexpectedly. The thought puzzled her but she snapped back to the present, “He would not abandon me.”
“We’ll see.” Popov went to his desk by the door and retrieved a leather attaché case. From it he removed two revolvers and began loading the first. “Perhaps I need to take precautions to protect my property then.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” his wife’s voice held nothing but contempt.
“My honour is at stake. Your honour is a lot harder to find these days.”
He proceeded to load the second revolver. He was calm now. He knew what he was going to do.
“You animal. You know nothing of the ways of civilised men. Rutger is a gentleman.” But her husband was silent. He finished his loading and started to recheck both weapons. “I cannot be expected to remain a prisoner here with no entertainment,” she pleaded. Satisfied, Popov slipped one weapon in his pocket, the other he left on the table nearest the door.
“There really is something I’m forgetting,” the girl said absently.
Anton Popov tried to steer her back to the conversation, “I have given you everything. You and your lover will not take my self respect as well.”
“Something…or someone? Something happened outside, before. What was it?”
He was losing her, “You’re still weak from your fainting fit. Here, let me help you with another drink.”
He retrieved the barely touched glass from before and went to his wife. He could see his reflection in the Linden Mirror. A solicitous husband tending to his ailing wife. A perfect image.
“No no,” she pushed his hand away more firmly than before, “I must remember.” She creased her beautiful forehead in concentration. “…..Giles? she said uncertainly, “…..something about a Giles?”
It was Popov’s turn to look genuinely puzzled, “Who or what is Giles?”
A third voice joined them from the doorway. “That would be me, son.”
Chapter Five