Letters from beyond

— This witch is not worthy to be called by her name.

But Nicky really was in love with her.

— Any witch can enchant a man, especially if this witch is of German blood.

There was a silence, during which everyone thought about his own.

Robert came to his senses first.

— So you think that it was the queen who caused the death of the royal family?

She and only she. The Germans did everything to destroy our empire. They did not stint on any expenses, generously paid Lenin, sent him to Russia in a closed carriage on time, staged a seizure of power, and their German whore persuaded Nicky to stay in the country engulfed in flames, knowing in advance what fate awaits them. She ruined the entire royal family, she ruined the great empire.

Everyone froze at these words, but Robert, with professional persistence, continued to develop a topic that was so interesting to him.

“But after ruining the royal family, she ruined both herself and her children.

— This once again proves her essence as a witch. What difference does it make to her to burn at the stake with her brood or to die from a Bolshevik bullet? They don't even have a grave. A pile of bones probably lies in some kind of pit. The same fate was with everyone whom the inquisitors burned at the stake.

— You say terrible things, Madame Matilda! And how do you prove that if you were in Alex's place, you could save the king from reprisal, not to mention saving the empire?

“Rest assured, I would not allow the tsar to be shot as a criminal. I would take him away from that hell into which Lenin and the Bolsheviks turned Russia.

— But where? The English king George, the king's cousin, first invited him to England, but then changed his mind, — said Robert.

— You will not believe it, but it was Alex's mother who persuaded her brother Georg to refuse Nicky.

— It can't be! exclaimed Robert.

“I have documentary evidence,” Kshesinskaya answered with a deadpan tone.

— Mala! — Josephine intervened, — did mother Alex arrange so that her daughter and grandchildren remained to perish in Russia?

— Yes it is. That she and her mother are both identical German witches. They are capable of everything. All the royal courts of Europe have always envied the prosperity of Russia and, if possible, wished to destroy it. But if I were next to Nicky, I could take him out and save him, and it remains to be seen how the wheel of history would turn if there was a living Russian tsar in exile.

— So you knew how it was then possible to leave Russia without hindrance?

— Of course I knew. Not only to leave by yourself, but also how to take out the property.

Those present looked at each other meaningfully. It seemed to them that the moment of truth had arrived.

— You're not hungry? Let's have lunch, — Kshesinskaya suddenly changed the topic of conversation, — today I would eat fresh truffles.

— And from meat?

— From meat, I would prefer lamb in French.

Everyone sat down at the beautifully set dining table.

— Well, Robert? Did you manage to remember all the information that I told you? You didn't write anything down. So forget everything.

I hope I don't forget. But with your permission, I will come here tomorrow with an assistant and she will write everything down.

Matilda stopped chewing and a piece of lamb got stuck in her mouth. Marek looked reproachfully at Robert.

— The presence of a young stranger is not desirable. Let's do it. You listen to everything, and then you dictate to her separately from memory. Deal?

— Deal. In that case, I will leave you so as not to forget what I heard and have time to write it down.

Kshesinskaya did not want to part with Robert so soon.

— What is the name of your secretary? Did I correctly notice that she is not only your assistant in reporting, but also a partner in the field of escort services?

Robert was embarrassed and silent. Josephine intervened in a conversation on a spicy topic.

— Mala! Why do you measure all women with your yardstick?

— What is the name of your assistant, Robert? Kshesinskaya continued imperturbably.

— Monica.

— She is American?

— Yes, and her parents were also born in America.

Where are her ancestors from?

— From Ireland.

— It's good to be from Ireland. The main thing is that they are not from Germany.

— Mrs Matilda. Do you understand what's the matter? Tomorrow is her birthday and I wouldn't want to leave her alone in the hotel.

Matilda's face brightened and a kind smile appeared on her lips.

— Well, since such a thing, bring her here tomorrow. Our chef will prepare Irish stew especially for her.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief.

— Now, forgive me, old woman. I really want to go to bed. Good night everybody!

Congratulations, Robert! You have achieved great success, — said Josephine, when the servants drove Matilda far into the bedrooms.

— Do you mean tomorrow's invitation of my assistant?

— Not only. Today we finally learned that her jewelry was taken out of Russia.

“Yes, but where does she keep them then?” Marek intervened.

We'll find out about that tomorrow. Robert, you must use all your reporter talent, coupled with masculine charm.

— Do what you want, but get this information tomorrow, — picked up the doctor.

— Wait. I know who can do it,” Josephine said.

— Who?

— Your assistant Monika.

— But how? Do you think that Matilda will tell the most secret to a completely unfamiliar person?

— Exactly! All of us, especially me and Marek, she was rather tired of it. And Monica, a new, fresh character in her fading life, and it is very possible that she will tell her exactly.

“And you are a connoisseur of psychology,” Robert complimented Josephine.

— I just know Malya like the back of my hand. Tomorrow we will celebrate Monica's name day and let Malya drink too much.

— Jose! Do you want to destroy her?

— Vice versa. Bring it to the desired condition, find out where the wealth is, and then …

— What then?

— Then, the doctor is your concern.

Marek looked reproachfully at Josephine.

— OK! Don't look at me like a soldier looks at a louse. I was joking, — Josephine said with irony and added already referring to Robert, — you know, here in France, many annoying old women divorced in families. Not as colorful as our Malya, but senile and causing a lot of trouble. So, some of them, with the consent of the household, of course, family doctors, under the pretext of treatment, are quietly sent to the next world.

— Is that possible? Robert asked Marek.

He shook his head affirmatively.

— Perhaps in another way, — Josephine said instead of the doctor, — and our Marek knows perfectly well how it is done.

But he never will! — in the hearts exclaimed the doctor.

Josephine smiled ironically.

— He will do it, the time will come.

— Stop Jose!

— And there is nothing to do. You treat an old woman, inject her with heart medications, and at the right moment you spray a larger dose. That's all. And no court. honey. testing won't prove anything.

Marek's face became dark as a cloud at these words. Robert realized that a "thunderstorm" was coming and hurriedly got up from his seat.

— Well guys! I really have to go. I'm going to write down what I heard before I forget anything.

Monica met him in a nightgown, with sleepy eyes.

— Come on, my girl, wake up. Grab a pen and get to work.

Monica rubbed her eyes and obediently sat down at the table.

Robert began to dictate from memory and the lines fit neatly on paper. Robert looked at the assistant, who sat obediently with her back to him. Her head, neatly trimmed under a square, caused a surge of tenderness in Robert. He quietly approached her from behind and put his hands on her shoulders.

The clock outside struck midnight. Robert's hands moved to the girl's delicate neck and began to lightly stroke her. Beneath the thin skin, he felt the quickening of her carotid arteries. It was worth squeezing your fingers for a couple of minutes and death would be inevitable.

How fragile human life is, Robert thought, still under the impression of what he had just heard. Monica's head turned in his direction and their eyes met.

The clock has struck midnight, which means a new day has begun.

Monica dropped her pen and gently rubbed her cheek against his palm.

— Happy birthday, my girl!

The nightmare woke Robert up and he jumped out of bed screaming. Fortunately, Monica did not wake up and continued to sleep deeply, rather tired after strong male hugs.

Outside, a thunderstorm roared and lightning flashed, drawing ugly patterns on the walls of the room.

Robert calmed down and again stretched out along the assistant's compact body.

It must have been such a terrible nightmare! Josephine, disguised as a Bolshevik, was aiming a pistol at him. It was clear that such a terrible dream was the result of recently heard stories.

Robert decided that for rainbow dreams he needed positive emotions, so he slipped his hand under Monica's nightgown. Feeling the nipple of her elastic girlish breast, he finally calmed down and slept in this position until the morning.

He was awakened by the sound of Monica's hair dryer.

— Whoever invents a silent hair dryer will definitely be awarded the Nobel Prize, — grumbled Robert and put his head under the pillow.

However, Monica continued to dry her hair unperturbed.

— Female indifference — inherent in all the women in the world. Whether it's a reporter's assistant or a toothless midwife from a wild tribe of pygmies.

With these words, Robert got out of bed. Monica, well-groomed and ready for the celebrations, stood in front of him.

— Will I be bored alone again today? — doomedly asked she.

— No, my dear! Today you are invited to your own name day in the house of the prima ballerina of the Russian Tsar, — Robert solemnly announced.

Kshesinskaya at first literally bored the eyes of the young guest. Monica leaned closer and closer to Robert in embarrassment.

— So you are that Irish girl whose birthday is today?