He licked his lips. “Well, you see, Sonia...you do not mind my calling you Sonia?”
“It is my name, Captain.”
“Well...” Another circle of his lips. “You, I, are both innocent victims of circumstance. But the circumstance is there. Now you no longer have a husband, while I…I…I am still as much in love with you as ever. So...well...I would take it as a great honour if you would dine with me.”
“Where?”
“I thought of the Restaurant de Paris. The food is very good there.”
“It is a very public place.”
“It is a popular restaurant, yes.”
“You mean you wish to be seen with me, in public?”
Korsakov smiled. “I am hoping you will allow me to see you in private as well, Sonia.”
“I do not think that would be a good idea.” Sonia rang the bell.
“My dear woman,” Korsakov said. “What have you got to lose? Your marriage is over. And I adore you. I would make you very happy.”
“I doubt that, Captain. Only one man has ever made me very happy: my husband. Antonina, Captain Korsakov is leaving.”
Korsakov glanced from her to the maid, then stood up. “Do you find me that unattractive, Princess?”
“I do not find you unattractive at all, Captain. You are a very attractive man.”
“But you cannot accept that you are no longer married.”
“I am married, Captain, until my husband marries again. Thank you for calling.”
*
“You are doing very well, Your Excellency,” Dr Geller said, carefully folding the bedclothes back over Anna’s shoulders.
“You mean I am going to live,” Anna remarked. She and Geller had known each other for many years. Ewfim Geller’s father had been doctor on Bolugayen before him, and it had been the obvious, and natural, step for his son to succeed him as soon as he had qualified.
“For many years yet, Your Excellency,” he assured her.
“Well, when may I leave the house? I am beginning to feel as if I were in prison. I have been in prison, you know, Geller, and I did not enjoy it.”
“I think you may now leave the house, Your Excellency. Why, I would say that you can attend Easter service. Father Valentin will be most pleased, I know.”
“Well, that is good news.” Anna dismissed the doctor, had her maid dress her, and went in search of Alexei. She knew where she would find him: sitting in his office with the estate books open in front of him. But that was a subterfuge. He would not be reading the books.
“Why, Aunt Anna,” he said. “You are looking very bright this morning.”
“I have just received my usual pummeling from Geller,” she said. “And the news is excellent. I am fit again. I can go out. I am going for a ride. Will you accompany me?”
Alexei frowned at her. “Geller said you could ride?”
“Well, he said I can go to church in the village. How else am I to get there? I certainly do not intend to walk.”
“I will drive you there in my automobile.”
“Ha! That is far more likely to do me a mischief than any horse.”
“I do not think a woman of seventy-four should ride, even if she is as fit as a fiddle,” Alexei said. And smiled. “After all, Aunt Anna, you are once again chatelaine of Bolugayen, and are likely to remain so for a considerable time. I cannot afford to lose you.”
Anna went to the sideboard and poured them each a goblet of brandy. “This brooding is doing you no good. When last did you have a woman?”
“Is that any concern of yours?”
“Of course it is.” She handed him the goblet. “A healthy man should have a woman not less than twice a week. And a healthy woman should have a man not less than that either.” She chuckled as she sat down. “Although perhaps not at seventy-four. Brooding on that child is a waste of time, and unhealthy.”
“She said she would come to me when she is twenty-one.”
“What, you expect her to keep that promise? Three years? A lovely girl like that? Be sensible. You turned her head, with your wealth and position, with the immensity of Bolugayen, with your aura. Once she gets home she will very soon forget all about you. You really were very naughty, and very stupid, to have attempted to get her in the first place.”
“Thank you, Aunt Anna. Now, if you do not mind, I am very busy.”
“Busy! Poppycock. Why...” Anna turned her head at the sound of the horn. “There’s the post!” She finished her drink and stood up. “They should be home by now. I asked Alix to wire me once they reached Boston, to let me know they got there safely.” She went to the door, towards which Gleb was hurrying, carrying his silver tray laden with letters and newspapers.
“There is a telegram, Your Excellency.”
“Just what I expected.” She frowned at Gleb’s expression. “Well? Give it to me.” Gleb licked his lips as he held out the envelope; it was edged in black. Anna tore it open. TERRIBLE NEWS STOP ALIX DROWNED AT SEA STOP TOTAL DISASTER STOP LETTER FOLLOWS JAMES.
Alexei was standing behind her. She handed him the paper without a word. “It is in the Gazette, Your Excellency,” Gleb said.
Anna took the paper, not quite sure that this was actually happening.
‘DISASTER AT SEA,’ the headline read. ‘TITANIC HITS ICEBERG AND SINKS IN HOURS. OVER A THOUSAND LIVES LOST.’
“Good God,” Alexei said. “They said she was unsinkable.”
“They! Who are they? My daughter is dead. My daughter!” Anna’s voice did not rise, but her knees gave way, and Alexei had to catch her and seat her in a chair.
“Brandy,” he told Gleb.
“I must go,” Anna said.
“You cannot go,” Alexei told her. “Geller may say you are well enough to go to church in the village, but you are certainly not yet strong enough to travel six thousand miles and cross an ocean.”
“She is my daughter.”
“Who is dead. You cannot bring her back to life. I will go,” Alexei said. Anna raised her head. “Your son-in-law does not mention Priscilla.”
“You think...”
“While there is life there is hope.”
Anna continued to gaze at him. “You mean to bring her back?”
“If she is alive, Aunt Anna, I will bring her back.”
“Then let us send a wire, and find out,” Anna said.
*
“Alexei?” Priscilla’s eyes were enormous. “Oh, how splendid to see you.”
It had taken Alexei three weeks to reach Boston, travelling by train from Poltava to Sevastopol, then by ship from Sevastopol to Southampton via Naples, and then again by ship from Southampton across the Atlantic. He had only stopped in England long enough to change ships, as Duncan and Patricia had already left for the States more than a week earlier. “To come so far,” Priscilla said.
“Do you realise,” Alexei said, “that I am forty-eight years old, and this is the first time I have ever been out of Russia?”
“I thought Mom said you had been in Port Arthur?”
He grinned. “When I was in Port Arthur, we thought of it as part of Russia.” He held her hand. “Do you wish to speak of what happened?”
They sat on the verandah of the Robbins’ house on Chestnut Hill, and could look down at the harbour. As with all the survivors of the disaster, Priscilla had been confined to bed after reaching America, suffering from both exposure and shock. But now she looked almost as well as ever he remembered her, save that her cheeks were unnaturally pale. “I don’t remember much about it,” she confessed. “It was so unexpected. The ship was just great, you see. It was like travelling in a good hotel. Everyone was so kind and attentive. And that night...Mom and I went to bed early. We always did. We were sharing a cabin.” She looked at him anxiously; perhaps Bolugayevskis never shared cabins.
“Go on,” he invited.
“Well, neither of us heard the impact, or even felt it. We didn’t wake up until the steward knocked on the door and told us we ha
d to go on deck, wearing our lifejackets. We thought it was some kind of drill, and Mom was quite annoyed at the idea of having to go on deck, well, virtually at midnight. The steward had said we had to go right up, but Mom absolutely refused to go up in her nightclothes. So we dressed. That took some time, I guess, because by the time we left the cabin it was obvious something was wrong; the ship was down by the head and walking up the stairs was difficult. Then there was such a crush of people on the next deck. I think the passengers from the lower classes had been allowed up. Anyway, we were separated. I remember calling for her, and then shouting and screaming. Some sailors put me in a boat. One of the last boats, I think. But I couldn’t see Mom. I never saw her again.” She stared at him with enormous eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Not only about your mother. I didn’t mean you to have to relive such an ordeal.”
“I’m glad. I’ve never really talked about it, before. I wanted to. It seemed like the end of the world,” she muttered. “It was the end of the world. I’m not talking about Mom, about all the other people who drowned. I’m talking about all of us. We were so secure. We had so much. We had everything. We were so happy. Even the steerage passengers were happy, Alexei. We used to look down on them, on the after well deck, playing their games. Most of them were Irish, but one of the pursers told us there were some Russian emigrants as well. That ship was a big city, a huge chunk of society. A happy society, because everyone believed they were going to a better life. And then...it was gone. It makes you feel, well...” she bit her lip. “If such a thing could happen, well don’t you see, it could happen to all of us, at any time. If the Titanic could sink in a couple of hours, well...is there anywhere on earth that is really secure?”
“Yes,” he said.
She glanced at him. “I’m so glad you came, Alexei.”
“Would you like to come back with me? To Bolugayen?” Her eyes seemed larger yet. “I know it’ll mean crossing the ocean again,” he said. “But I’ll be at your side. And you’ll never have to go to sea again in your life after that, unless you wish.”
“I’d love to come back with you, to Bolugayen. But Pa...”
“Did your mother tell him about us?”
“No. I’m sure she didn’t. Mom would never tell Pa anything like that in a letter. I think she intended to when she got back, though.”
“Then all it needs is a little lie. A white lie, Priscilla, my darling. For your happiness.”
“To Pa?”
“Don’t you think he’d like you to be happy?”
Her eyes were bigger than ever. “And Mom?”
“I think she would probably be happy too.”
It was easier than she had dared hope. “Shucks, baby,” James Robbins said. “You’re aiming to fly right out of sight of us ordinary folk. Princess Bolugayevska! But say, don’t get me wrong, this prince seems a nice fellow, and I know he’s sort of being family, but...he’s kind of old, isn’t he?”
“I don’t find him old at all,” Priscilla said. She had convinced Alexei that this exploratory meeting, as it were, should be conducted tete-a-tete: Alexei had accepted that she would know best how to handle her father.
“And then there’s this business of changing your religion. I’m not sure your Mom would have approved of that.”
Priscilla drew a deep breath. “Mom thought it would be all right.”
“You know,” James Robbins said, “that’s what’s puzzling me. The way your Mom never mentioned it in any of her letters. I mean to say, it’s a mighty big step.”
“Mom was going to discuss it with you when we got back. She didn’t feel it was the kind of thing one could put in a letter.”
“It’s a point. But hell...you’ll have to change your style a little. Quite a lot.”
“Grandmama will be there to help me.”
“Yeah.” Like so many men, James Robbins had always felt vaguely nervous in the presence of his mother-in-law. He peered at his daughter. “You’re sure it’s what you want?”
“More than anything else in the world,” Priscilla assured him.
*
Sonia decided that the Restaurant de Paris was a place people went to in order to see and be seen; they could hardly go there for the food. When she remembered the mouth-watering meals that had been prepared on Bolugayen by Boris the chef, the pressed caviar and salted cucumbers, the smoked sturgeon and milk piglets, the ice cold champagne...not that there was any shortage of such delicacies, but nothing was quite the same — even the champagne was not really cold. But Bolugayen was not a place to be thought of, ever again.
Over the past year she had almost allowed herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. She had bought herself this little house, and she had waited. She had actually hoped that Alexei would come back for her and tell her that all was forgiven; they had shared so much, and so much love, it was impossible that it should just end, that she should never see her children again, that she should never see Bolugayen again either.
Polonowski’s letter had come like a slap in the face. That nearly a year had drifted by without contact was not because Alexei was punishing her, and he would, in time, forgive her; it was simply because even for princes, obtaining a decree nisi had required time. That time had now elapsed.
That letter had been devastating, but the following week’s Gazette had been worse. Alexei had wasted no time in marrying again. He had, it seemed, had his next wife already in residence, long before the decree became final. Sonia wondered if he had waited until then to possess her. But of course he would have. She had lived several months on Bolugayen before their marriage, and he had never laid a finger on her until their wedding night. Alexei was, above all else, a gentleman. Had he not been so complete a gentleman, he would never have divorced her for not, as he believed, being a lady. Certainly he would not have set her up as a millionairess, even if in a minor key. Thus this Priscilla Robbins would have gone to the altar a virgin. But now she was Princess of Bolugayen. An eighteen-year-old girl! But one who already had the Bolugayevski blood in her veins. Alexei would be quite sure that she would never step out of line, although with a sister like Patricia he was perhaps being optimistic.
The wedding of Alexei and Priscilla had been in a very low key, socially. Not only was she not a member of the Russian aristocracy, but the Prince was still officially in exile, and divorced men did not remarry in a church. Which did not mean he had not been married in great splendour, by his own priest, in his own drawing room, with all of his family around him. Sonia wondered if Sophie had attended. She imagined all of his servants bowing obsequiously, and all of his tenants gathered outside in the yard to praise their master and their new mistress. How that little girl’s head must have spun.
But as she had once said, that column in the Gazette had meant the end of the line for her. Korsakov, of course, had merely been waiting, and watching, and reading the newspapers. He had called the day following the announcement. And this time, truly, she had had no reason to refuse him. Now he was like a dog with two tails. “See how they look at you, behind their fans,” he said. “You are the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“They are staring at me because I am the most notorious woman in the room,” Sonia pointed out, and emptied her third glass of champagne. And why not there, either? She had been drunk often before, many years ago, when she had been escaping across Siberia, and the men she had been forced to lie with had given her vodka, and kept giving her vodka, in the winter so cold it had to be sucked through lumps of black bread held in the mouth. Now it seemed a good idea to get drunk again, because she was on her way to suffering the same fate. “And because they assume, as I have been divorced for it, that I am your mistress. Do you wish me as your mistress, Paul? Or as your wife? I assume I also am now free to marry again.”
“Certainly. And I would very much like you to be my wife. But I am concerned about this trouble in the Balkans. There is a rumour that we may have to become involved and that my re
giment will be amongst the first sent to Rumania if that should happen.”
She studied him, wondering what the truth of the matter was. But then, did she want to marry this man, or any man? The only man she wanted to have as a husband was Alexei Bolugayevski, and as that was now impossible...she was not even absolutely certain she wanted to have sex with any man save Alexei. But that also was now impossible, and this man was so desperate...He was watching her, anxiously.
“I think,” she said, reaching for her fourth glass of champagne, “that we should begin at the beginning. I shall be your mistress, until you return from the war, if there is one, at which time we may reconsider the situation.”
Korsakov was obviously unused to having the decisions in his personal life made for him by a woman, but he was prepared to overlook the issue where Sonia was concerned. As they drove home from the restaurant in the hired carriage, he took her in his arms to kiss her. She was pleasantly surprised. His touch was both gentle and experienced. The door was opened for them by Antonina, who made a point of never going to bed until her mistress had retired; Sonia only employed four servants — there was no necessity for more, as her needs were few, and while she still enjoyed drinking champagne on every possible occasion, her instincts and background were all against unnecessary expense.
Now it was Antonina’s turn to be surprised, as Korsakov gave her his cap and gloves and cape: it was already just on midnight. “You may go to bed, Antonina,” Sonia said. “I will see Captain Korsakov out.”
Antonina backed away, then turned and scuttled for the stairs to her attic quarters.
“You mean you are not inviting me to breakfast?” Korsakov asked.
“I may.”
He took her in his arms and again kissed her, and now for the first time, he allowed his hands to wander, across her shoulders, under her arms to caress her breasts. What am I doing? she wondered.
He continued to fondle her as they went up the stairs, only released her, in the bedroom, to remove his clothes. They undressed together, gazing at each other. He was a fine figure of a man, not as powerfully built as Alexei, certainly, but perhaps even better endowed. While she... “You are exquisite,” he said, coming against her. Once again his hands slid over her body, but now she was naked. She could not resist a shiver. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his mouth against her ear.
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