The Keeper of the Walls by Monique Raphel High Read Free Book Online Page A

the Germans because of the stupid war that had killed millions of Russian men and made his own nation weak enough for the Bolsheviks to take over. He had seen the devastated lands in the north and east of France. How could a French patriot ever agree to go to Germany, then, even for the cause of business, after what that country had done to his people? Misha looked at the Bruissons cautiously, not to give away his feelings. He tried never to give them away. They were the only treasures worth holding on to.
    The door swung open, and the erect figure of Prince Ivan appeared. Then Misha rose. His father was small, thin, angular, with a trim gray Vandyke beard, and, unlike Paul Bruisson’s, his suit, made on Savile Row in London of the purest dove-gray flannel, fit exactly to the measure. His gray pearl cufflinks gleamed, matching the pin on his thin silk tie. “Gentlemen,” he said.
    Immediately the Bruissons rose, proffering their hands. Prince Ivan ignored them, and chose a small chair near his son’s desk. “My son tells me that you could handle the building of our factory in Ribécourt,” he said.
    Paul Bruisson, his face red and beginning to show beads of unwelcome perspiration, nodded. “Our firm has built quite a few factories, of all types,” he said. His voice was sweetly unctuous.
    Prince Ivan nodded. “I have seen the records. And whom would you send to Germany for the materials?”
    Claude cleared his throat. “I would be the one, your Excellency. I speak fluent German.”
    Misha was chewing on the left side of his lower lip, listening. “And you can select the best materials?” he asked.
    Claude turned to him, and Misha was surprised to see the smug look on his face—almost a look of silent triumph. “Oh, most certainly, my dear Prince.”
    Misha heard the words as if they were chalk grating on a blackboard. “My dear Prince.” It wasn’t the first time Claude had called him that, instead of “your Excellency.” He’d used the words in front of the girl, at la Béhague’s party. He focused his green eyes fully on the young man, and smiled. He knew how to make his lips smile alone, and the effect was chilling. “We always check,” he said evenly. “Nobody’s word is good enough. If the factory is built wrong, we can lose a harvest. If we lose a harvest, we can lose a season. It’s a game of dominoes. Don’t ever forget that when dealing with us, Bruisson.”
    Claude had colored. But it was his father who replied. “Oh, we wouldn’t have it any other way. Business is business.”
    â€œThen tell your lawyer to call mine, and we’ll draw up the contract,” Misha declared.
    To signal that the interview was at an end, Prince Ivan rose. Misha rose. The Bruissons scrambled to their feet, hands extended. This time they both held out their hands to the son, not the father. For a second Misha stared at them, levelly. Then, inclining his head with an ironic half smile, he put out his own hand and allowed the two contractors to shake it. But from Claude, he withdrew his own almost at once.
    At the door, the young man suddenly turned, and Misha noted that his eyes were once more glittering with something not unlike bravado. “Your Excellency,” he said softly, “I forgot. My sister, Liliane, sends you her best regards.”
    Misha smiled. “How charming of her. Please convey to her my humble greetings.”
    The two men exited, and Prince Ivan sat down again. He looked at his son. They both started to laugh. “The father is a pork and the son a weasel,” Prince Ivan stated.
    â€œWould that we didn’t have to deal with such scum.”
    â€œNevertheless, this is France. We can’t ignore these people. They’re still one step above the Blums and the Herriots who will soon be leading this country, pushing it closer and closer to what we fled from in