Letters from beyond - Тигрис Рафаэль

The shelter was located right on the famous Promenade des Anglais in Nice and, having gone out of the gate, Robert stopped to admire the seascape. Then he remembered lines from the Bible, as well as Kshesinskaya's warning not to disturb the king's grave, even if it was symbolic.

“That's right! I'm doing the right thing. It is impossible for the sake of gold to disturb the memory of the innocent deceased.

A florist stood at the gates of the orphanage. Robert went up to her, bought a large bouquet and returned again to the yard of the orphanage. The girl Rosie was still standing in the same place.

— Went. Help me with flowers.

He took her good hand and they returned to the gravestone.

— Come on, lay out the flowers neatly here.

Rosie began carefully to arrange the bouquet. Her flawed hand worked on a par with a healthy one just as skillfully and actively.

— Leave one flower for yourself.

— Thank you.

Together they returned to the exit.

— Well, let's say goodbye, Rosie.

— Uncle! Will you still bring flowers here?

— Why are you asking this?

— Next time you come, bring my mom. Do you promise?

Robert's heart overflowed with surging feelings.

— I promise, — he answered involuntarily.

— Then wait for me, I'll be right back.

Rosie ran into the house and returned with a piece of paper folded into four.

— What it is?

— This letter is for my mother. Give it to her as soon as you meet, — Rosie said and handed Robert a letter.

— Don't forget?

— Of course not.

Robert quickly withdrew, barely hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.

The southern sun of France beat down mercilessly and he sat down at a table in a street cafe. The waiter brought him cold water and a cup of coffee.

Robert opened the girl's letter, written in a small child's hand, and began to read.

“Dear, beloved mother! Please take me away from here. I have grown up and the hand does not interfere with me anymore. An uncle doctor came to us and said that when I grow up, he will make an artificial hand for me and it will be no worse than a real one. So if you don’t come for me because of her, it’s very vain. Loving you always your daughter Rosie.

Most likely, the letter was written in advance and carefully kept for a convenient occasion. It is very possible that other children in the orphanage had similar letters.

"I swear to you, I will find your mother and come back for you," he said to himself.

Without knowing it, he swore that it was practically impossible, because Robert had no idea who Rosie's parents were.

— Do you want something else, monsieur? — the waiter asked him.

— No, no, thanks.

Robert got up and walked towards the hotel, but then changed his mind and turned towards the post office. It was necessary to call America, and a telephone conversation from the post office was several times cheaper than from a hotel.

After the conversation, the postal worker called out to him again.

— Mr Jackson! There is a letter here for you.

Robert was surprised.

— Letter from whom?

— From Matilda Kshesinskaya.

— Again they write to me from the other world, — the journalist muttered and immediately began to open the envelope.

"Dear Robert. If you got to the post office in Nice, then you got to Nika's grave, but I guess you did not dare to disturb her otherwise you would have called America from the hotel and would not have gone to the post office in order to save money. You did the right thing, because I will tell you a secret — there are no jewels there and never have been. It was my bluff. I spent all my fortune on myself. Yes, there was a lot of it, but I lived a long life and during this time I managed to squander everything. Yes, I am a terrible swindler and my countless suitors knew about it. But here's what's interesting — the more I spent their offerings, the more generous they became. But for your prudence you should be rewarded. Go back to Paris immediately, find that jewelry store where I sent Monica to get her ears pierced and ask for documents for it. Let it be known to you that it belonged to me, but now you own it. I wrote in your name. Goodbye Robert. I hope we never see each other again."

It was difficult to imagine the state of Robert. He went to the post office of the city of Nice as a simple American reporter, and left from there as the owner of a jewelry store. He did not even dream of such a twist of fate.

And then Robert remembered Monica's diamond necklace and earrings. Where are they now? After all, it is obvious that the mortuary worker removed them from her, and what he did with them next is a big question. We must urgently return to Paris.

Robert rushed to the hotel, packed his things and took the first flight to the capital of France. From the airport, he went straight to the jewelry store, which by right of owner belonged to him.

The first person to meet him was Pierre.

— Mr Jackson! How nice of you to come.

— Dear Pierre! From today I am your new…

— I found her. Can you imagine, she's here in Paris, at St. Patrick's Hospital.

— WHO???

— My Monica!

Robert's jaw literally dropped in surprise.

— Why did you then say that she went to America? It's not hard to guess though — you just didn't want me to see her in that state.

Robert stood stock-still in surprise, unable to even move.

— It turns out that Monica fell from the third floor and nearly died. But God was pleased that she survived and that I found her.

Pierre said this with such enthusiasm