Days of Winter by Cynthia Freeman Read Free Book Online Page A

him, above all she wanted to belong to Rubin forever.
    Quickly she emerged from the tub, dried herself and, with the towel around her middle, ran back to bed. Soon Rubin brought in the breakfast tray and placed it across her legs. How beautiful the Lowestoff china, the small coffee pot, the monogrammed napkin, the silver, the place mat. She looked at the long-stemmed strawberries, the marmalade, butter, cream, the croissants. Rubin had forgotten nothing, even to the rose in the bud vase.
    Kissing her gently, he poured the coffee into the cup and said, “I didn’t want to sleep on the sofa tonight. Drink it while it’s hot.”
    “Thank you, it smells delicious … oh, Rubin, thank you .”
    He kissed her lips. “I thank you …Now, drink your coffee.” He buttered a croissant. He dipped a ruby-red strawberry into powdered sugar and put it to her mouth. She took a large bite.
    She poured a cupful of half coffee, half cream, and handed it to Rubin. “You’d better build up your strength.”
    “Have no fears on that score, mademoiselle.” They both laughed like conspirators.
    When she’d finished she lay back contentedly and Rubin put the tray on the floor, then lay down alongside her. Slipping his arm around her shoulder he said, “Darling, I forgot to tell you, Emile’s housekeeper is here. Her name is Mignon.”
    “Does she know about me?”
    “Yes, I suspect she’s quite pleased that there will be someone to fuss over.”
    Magda sighed. “Poor Henri must be out of his mind not knowing what happened to me.”
    “We should have notified him, but it was the last thing on my mind.”
    “Well … no matter, I’ll have to go by today and see him.”
    “You’re quite right.”
    “Rubin,” Magda said, “I have to go back to my room and pick up my things.”
    “It’s not necessary. We’ll buy everything you need today at the Marché de Lafayette until your wardrobe arrives.”
    “No, Rubin, I still have to go back.”
    “I don’t want you to. Let me get rid of the room—”
    “You don’t understand. There are things in that room that are important to me, the only possessions I have—”
    “Such as what?”
    “My pictures.”
    “You have paintings?”
    “Just faded photographs of my mother and father … and Niko. Without them, I’m alone …”
    “Then let me go.”
    “No, I always want to remember where I came from. If I don’t, I’ll never feel right about … all this. Am I making sense, Rubin?”
    “Yes, but we’ll go together, you and I.”
    Magda smiled. “Rubin? Tell me about the countess.”
    “Well, she’s rather extraordinary. When she was young she was the undisputed beauty of her time, really … the toast of Paris.”
    “Why does she have to … to sponsor me? Is that how she makes her living?”
    “Yes. Although it’s handled very delicately.”
    “But she’s a countess … I thought all countesses were rich.”
    “Not all. Especially not in her case.”
    “Why?”
    “Something happened a long time ago. She wouldn’t want to be reminded of it. It was a very difficult period for her.”
    “You said she’s accepted in the best society?”
    “True … but right after her … well, she was pretty well shut out. Her family, though, was influential, and rich. With a large dowry she was forced to marry Count Boulard, who was not only on his uppers and thirty years older than she, but a fool who squandered her money. Still, with his title—never mind his disgusting behavior—she was once again reinstated, forgiven her transgressions, so-called, and accepted back into all the best French salons.”
    “Why did she stay with him?”
    “According to French law, whatever a woman had became her husband’s. And he outlived her parents. He died a few years ago, a crazy old man, leaving her broke. Fortunately, she’s been able to hold on to a few valuables, a few jewels, which she laughs about, saying they’ll protect her in her dotage from the poorhouse.”
    “Money is