A Proposal to Die For by Vivian Conroy Page A

wonder if she will actually talk back.’
    Indeed, when the countess had ended, with a stamp on the floor to underline her point, Oksana began to speak, so fast it sounded like water rushing: wshwshwsh…
    Alkmene wished she knew a little Russian just to get the gist of it. Was this a confession?
    Was it a defence?
    Was it…
    The countess turned to them. ‘Oksana says you have come here to accuse her wrongly. That you do this because she is a foreigner and foreigners are always suspected. She claims to know nothing about the brooch and how it got in the box curtain.’
    â€˜And she doesn’t know anything either about going into the Metropolitan hotel and asking for information about the American actress Evelyn Steinbeck?’ Dubois said in a cold tone.
    Oksana blinked rapidly.
    Alkmene was sure she had at least understood something of what he said, but it might just have been the names Metropolitan and Evelyn Steinbeck. They were of course familiar to her, so the response might merely be to them.
    The countess looked puzzled. ‘What do the hotel and that American heiress have to do with my brooch?’
    â€˜When we were in the tea room together,’ Alkmene picked up the thread of interrogation, ‘and you sent Oksana Matejevna off to go to the dressmaker’s ahead of you, what did you tell her exactly? Did you ask her to go to the hotel across the street and inquire about Ms Steinbeck?’
    The countess looked puzzled. ‘Of course not. What for? I hardly know Ms Steinbeck.’
    â€˜Still,’ Dubois said, ‘she went there and paid a bellboy for information. I suppose with your money.’
    Oksana Matejevna took a step forwards as if she wanted to say something to her defence. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes flashed. But she kept her thin lips pressed together.
    The countess looked at her and asked a question in Russian.
    The maid shook her head.
    Dubois laughed. ‘Come on, I saw her there. Lady Alkmene here can confirm I am telling the truth. We both saw her there.’
    Alkmene quickly explained, ‘I went after Mr Dubois to give back his handkerchief like you had asked me to. We happened to see Oksana Matejevna talking to a bellboy and offering him money. I saw it clearly; there can be no mistake.’
    Dubois said soothingly, ‘I do not dislike foreigners. Most people consider me a foreigner so I should know what prejudice can do. I don’t want to accuse anybody. I am just pointing out that if she denies that, while it is true, she might be denying other things that are true as well. We should get to the bottom of this.’
    The countess turned to her maid again and seemed to translate the gist of what Dubois had said for her. The maid looked at her, then around past the canary cages and icons. She seemed to be searching for a clever reply.
    Then suddenly she clapped her hands to her face and began to sob.
    The countess exhaled. ‘No, Oksana, no tears to solve it.’
    She turned to Dubois and Alkmene and said in an apologetic tone, ‘She often uses tears to get her way, like a little child. But this is too serious to let pass.’
    Oksana muttered something.
    Dubois pressed, ‘She has taken the brooch on purpose. That is not clumsiness or forgetfulness. That is theft.’
    The maid’s head came up, and she stared at Dubois. If looks could have killed, he would have fallen on the spot. Russian words lashed at him, probably curses.
    Dubois stood it quietly. Then he said, ‘Why don’t you tell me what you think of me in a language I can understand? You know a lot more English than you pretend to do. Why not drop the pretence now and talk to me? Unless you’d like to tell your story to the police.’
    â€˜No police,’ Oksana Matejevna said in a rushed tone. ‘It will hit the papers, and my mistress will be hurt.’
    â€˜Oksana,’ the countess exclaimed. ‘You speak English!’
    Oksana