“Yes! That is the word he used. Lice! It must have happened on the ship because it was too cold for it to have happened in Russia. Natalia, I assure you, I am not a man who normally has lice in my hair.”
This explained the eucalyptus oil. Dimitri looked mortified as he explained the procedure the barber recommended to treat the infestation and why he had to cut his hair so short and shave his beard as well.
“Let’s get checked into a hotel, and I’ll help you,” she said. “It doesn’t sound like this is something you can do alone.”
Natalia made arrangements for two rooms in the Palace Hotel, then went to Dimitri’s room to begin the long, exacting procedure for treating a lice infestation. Dimitri sat on the floor while she perched on a chair behind him. He’d already soaked his hair in the eucalyptus oil, and she pulled a fine-toothed comb through sections of his hair, leaning in to search for the tiny lice. The menthol made her eyes water, nose run, and skin tingle, but it was working. The pungent oil stunned the lice into immobility, making it easier to drag them from his hair.
Dimitri was in a better frame of mind, casually sitting with a towel draped over his shoulders while submitting to the treatment.
“Once this is over, we will never speak of it again.”
“You think?” she teased, scraping out a few more nits and dunking the comb in a mug of hot water. He was so lordly, but she felt no compunction to fall into obedience.
“Have you issued the quarterly dividend from my investment in the bank?” he asked.
Normally the bank issued a huge check to their investors on the fifteenth of March, but Natalia had put a hold on it, not sure how it should be handled after Dimitri’s bank account in Saint Petersburg had been seized. There had been no demands from the Russian government for Blackstone Bank to surrender Dimitri’s American assets, and she doubted they even knew about them.
“We’ve been keeping your funds in an escrow account,” she said. “They are yours whenever you wish.”
The tension visibly drained from his shoulders and neck. “Good,” he said simply.
She waited, hoping he would offer more details about what drove him out of his position at the railroad, but he added nothing. Dimitri clearly had no wish to discuss whatever happened in Russia, and for the first time since she met him in the telegraph office, an awkward pause filled the air. She blotted her eyes against the watering from the eucalyptus oil, then moved to another section of his hair.
“Did you get the copy ofLittle WomenI sent you?” she asked.
“I got it.”
“And?”
He released an exaggerated sigh. “I do not understand why you thought I would enjoy that novel. The only good part is when Beth dies.”
She threw the comb at him, but he caught it, laughing raucously as he shot to his feet and whirled to face her. “Did you think I was serious?”
“Iknowyou’re serious, and that’s why I want to strangle you!”
Dimitri slanted her a chiding grin. “Come, we both know it is a maudlin and sentimental novel. You must forgive me for not wishing to drown in sugary syrup.”
“I haven’t forgiven you for making me readWar and Peace, and I never shall.”
“It is an honest portrayal of the human condition,” he retorted.
“So isLittle Women.”
He looked heavenward as though pained. “It is a boring portrayal of mundane domesticity. Novels should be written on an epic scale to explore and celebrate the depth of human suffering. Don’t subject me to women chatting beside the fireplace.Little Womenis nothing more than a sleeping draught. That is not the purpose of literature.”
She stood up to face him. “You arrogant Russian snob! What gives you the right to decide the purpose of literature?”
A wickedly taunting grin lit his face. “Centuries of literary tradition agree that tragedy is more worthy than cozy domestic stories. Even though you are wrong about Tolstoy, I find your defense of sappy literature strangely appealing. Please continue.”
She smothered a laugh. It was fun being able to tease him without fear of offense, and it appeared he felt equally at ease returning fire. She really ought to defend her favorite novel more, but her eyes were still watering, and they had work to do.
“Sit back down and let me finish your hair.”
He complied and continued finding fault withLittle Women,but she quit listening when she came across something odd on Dimitri’s scalp. Near the base of his neck, a lump of raised skin. She ran her thumb across it.
“Be careful of that spot, please.”
His hair was short enough to see a scar about the size and shape of a nickel. “What is it?”
