Sustenance by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Read Free Book Online Page B

clammy in there if there’s no fire.” He and Rogers parted company at the foot of the stairs, and Szent-Germain went along to his library. He opened the door and found a tawny-brown-haired man in his late twenties, in an American-cut suit of navy blue looking over his shelves, his brows drawn down in distress. “Mister Bereston? I am Ragoczy Ferenz, Grof Szent-Germain. What may I do for you?”
    Bereston rounded on him, his open face and boyish smile concealing any hint of mendacious or sinister purpose, or the reason for his disapproval of the library. “Grof. A pleasure.” He held out his hand, and shook Szent-Germain’s heartily, all the while displaying an eager smile that did not reach his eyes. “Thank you for seeing me. I know this visit is unexpected, but you have been on the move these last ten days.”
    “And I will be again shortly; I leave for Paris the day after tomorrow,” Szent-Germain said, wondering if it had been a slip of the tongue or a disguised threat for Bereston to admit that he had been tracing Szent-Germain’s travels. “Restoring my publishing company’s branches is turning out to be a demanding task, and it will not happen without me. I’m sorry if this disaccommodates you, but such is the nature of business.”
    “Yes,” said Bereston, the smile vanishing as quickly as a magician’s silk scarf. “That’s one of the things I wish to speak with you about: your publishing companies. We have some questions for you, and better to ask them now than later.” His sunny face clouded, and the corners of his mouth twitched downward for an instant.
    “My publishing companies?” he echoed with an urbane smile. “Now why?”
    “Among other things, I said. I understand you have a shipping business as well.” His face was once again as guileless as a puppy’s.
    Szent-Germain regarded Bereston levelly. “Yes, I have. I have five offices in your country, and two dozen or so around the rest of the world. I’m still learning if a few of the more remote ones survived the war.” That was an underestimation, but he knew the actual figure would have Bereston on the alert, and that could lead to problems for all his agents and factors. “A few of the branches I used to have are now in the hands of foreign governments which incline to be unfriendly to some of the recent alliances that are emerging from the war. When all of these new treaties are ratified, we’ll proceed as best we can.” As you are probably aware, he added to himself.
    “An unfortunate turn of events, no doubt, though you are far from the only businessman to find himself in such a position. This is particularly true of men like you, engaged in international enterprises. There was so much subterfuge during the war that for many it is now a custom. You have much to contend with. I understand that: it’s why I’m here. Communists are grabbing all the fruits of international finance they can reach, in spite of their endorsement of Marxist ideology and the philosophy it proposes,” said Bereston, “to say nothing of how rapidly they are hoping to extend their sphere of influence.”
    “As the Fascists and Nazis did before them,” Szent-Germain said.
    “In some parts of the world more so than others. We can certainly agree on that. It is another development for us to discuss.” There was an eagerness to his agreement that was subtly wrong.
    “And the US is paying them back tit … for tat,” Szent-Germain observed with a wry smile that was at odds with his dismayed eyes.
    “Nothing so capricious, I assure you.” He looked around the library, all signs of disapproval gone from his countenance. “An enviable collection, Grof, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he exclaimed, glancing over the line of spines along the west wall. “You have some treasures here.”
    “Not at all; I am pleased with it myself,” Szent-Germain told him, starting toward the door. “My chef is laying out a small meal in the morning room,