The Summer of Katya

* * *

When I asked Doctor Gros if I could use the sulky, he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Aiding and abetting, the judges will call it! Accomplice before the fact! My career will be in ruins. My reputation will be… well, my career anyway will be damaged. I don’t suppose it’s any use to appeal to your sense of honor, but you might at least—Montjean!” he called after me. “You could have the decency to hear me out, you know!”

* * *

Katya and I came within three minutes of winning our race against the weather, but from the point of view of our appearance when we arrived at the courtyard of Etcheverria, we might as well have lost by half an hour. We were soaked to the skin, as her white silk parasol was comically ineffective.

Just as we turned up the poplar lane, the sky broke open and a brash of warm plump rain burst upon us. By the time I reined in at the courtyard, the leather of the rig was glistening with water, the mare was steaming, and Katya and I looked as though we had just been pulled from a river.

Laughing at each other’s appearance, we entered the central hall, wiping the rain from our faces. My linen jacket hung grey and limp from my shoulders, and my trousers were heavy from waist to knee. For her part, Katya seemed delighted with the adventure, though her dress was sodden and wisps of hair were plastered to her temples and forehead. I suppose we were rather noisy in our excitement, for Paul Treville snatched open the door to the salon and glared at us in fury.

“Katya! For the love of God! Father is working!”

Our delight collapsed in an instant, and I stepped forward. “It’s all my fault, Monsieur Tre—”

“I had assumed as much, Doctor. Katya, what could you have been thinking of?”

“Really, Paul…” Her voice trailed off, and her whole demeanor seemed to shrink into a most uncharacteristic humility.

“We’ll discuss it later,” the brother said. Then he turned and stared through me stonily. “When the good doctor has seen fit to deny us his company.”

“Before I go, Monsieur Treville, I must tell you that I resent your tone, not only on my own behalf, but on that of Katya.”

“What right have you to resent anything I do or say? And by what right do you address my sister by her given name?”

I turned to Katya to make my farewells and was struck by her uncertain, deflated attitude. But it was her slight movement away from me as I began to speak that stung me and left me with nothing to say. I turned back to her brother. “You are quite right, of course, to say that I shouldn’t address Mlle Treville by her first name. It was the lapse of the moment. But I assure you, sir, that—”

“You need assure me, Doctor, of nothing… save for your intention to depart immediately.”

With my whole being, I yearned to hit him in the face. But I resisted for Katya’s sake. Gathering together what dignity my drenched condition and pounding pulse permitted, I bowed curtly and went to the door.

“Just a moment, Doctor!” It is impossible to describe the sudden change in Paul Treville’s tone of voice from that of the haughty, outraged aristocrat to one of concerned fatigue. “Just a moment, if you please.” He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “Do forgive me. I have been ungracious. Katya, could you look to that new girl in the kitchen? Father will want his supper soon, and she has the appearance of one who would open an egg with a battering ram.”

Without a word to me, without even looking at me, Katya left the hall, her head down and her shoulders rounded.

“And Katya?” Paul arrested her at the entrance to the housekeeping quarters, where she stopped without turning around. He smiled sadly. “Do warm yourself at the fire, and dry your hair. You look frightful.” She nodded and departed. He looked after her for a moment and sighed; then he turned to me. “Would you join me in the salon, Dr. Montjean? I’ve a fire going, and you look as though you could do with a little drying out yourself.

“Brandy?” he asked, following me into the salon.

“Thank you, no,” I said stiffly, uncomfortable and confused by his sudden change of attitude, and even more disturbed by Katya’s humble, almost servile, reaction to his burst of anger. The fire in the marble hearth was inviting, but I did not approach it, still too angry with him to accept any hospitality at his hands.

“Please sit down,” he said as he poured out two large brandies, not having heard, or choosing to ignore, my refusal. With only his left hand free, his empty right sleeve pinned against his bound shoulder, he carried the brandy glasses rather precariously between his fingers. I accepted the glass, not wishing to appear petty, and when he took a chair beside the fire, there was nothing for me to do but join him, my chill skin absorbing the welcome warmth, whether I wanted it or not.

“I take it your sister failed to tell you that she was coming into Salies to collect her bicycle,” I said with some distant dignity.

“You take it correctly. But then, she is not in the habit of accounting to me for her actions. But for more than an hour I have been searching everywhere for her. Consideration for others is not one of Katya’s attributes.”

“We took some refreshment at a cafй on the square. The weather turned threatening, so I offered to carry her and her machine home. There was nothing more to it than—”

“My dear fellow, I require no explanation of Katya’s behavior. And if I did, I should ask for it from her. My sister’s character and breeding are such that her actions are not dependent on the moral rectitude of her company. Good heavens! Did you imagine for a moment that I thought—” He burst into a laugh that was rather insulting. “No, no, Montjean. I am sure there is nothing but casual friendship between you. After all…” He waved his glass towards me, but was kind enough not to complete the thought. “No, Katya’s been kept too much to herself by circumstances, and hers is too open and generous a personality to enjoy being alone. However, we live—I need hardly remind you—in a small-minded and narrow community where reputations can fall victim to rumor on the slightest foundation.”

“In fact, I did fail to consider the evil of local gossip. That was thoughtless of me. But, after all? A glass of citron pressй and half an hour’s conversation in the public square? What could they make of that?”

“Everything. As my family has come, to its sorrow, to know, having been victims of savage gossip often enough. Therefore…” He finished off his brandy and took my empty glass with his to the side table. “…I feel justified in demanding that you do something to retrieve Katya’s reputation.”

“Yes, of course. Anything. But… what?”

“The honorable thing, of course.”

“And that is?” I asked with open astonishment.

He measured out the brandy with more precision than was necessary, taking his time before turning to me and saying, “I want you to call on her at her home, as a young man should. Be seen with her in the company of her family. I hope I do not ask too much?” He smiled, and I was struck by how, particularly in profile, he was the very image of Katya. There was something reassuring in this. And something disconcerting as well.

“I should, of course, be delighted to call on Mlle Treville.”

He shrugged. “That goes without saying. But I must require that you join me in an innocent little subterfuge.”

I rose to receive my glass and used the opportunity to cross to the other side of the hearth to complete my drying out. “What little subterfuge is that?”

“It concerns my father. It is imperative—absolutely imperative—that my father never get the impression that you are visiting Katya as a young man visits a young woman. Is that understood?”

“But why not?”

He ignored the question, leaving me to understand that his insistence was reason enough. “During supper last night, my father noticed that I was one-armed—really quite a feat of observation for him, lost as he is in his world of medieval village life. We shall introduce you at supper as my doctor, and your visits here will be for the