“Louisa, no. Stop it.” Boris reached his hand to her. She did not look at him.
For a moment, uncertain silence reigned.
Then, “Tell us,” Alice said, very softly, her spoon poised an inch from her mouth. “Tell us how Boris lost his arm.”
Anna could have killed her, cheerfully, there and then.
Louisa’s chin went up. “He lost it defending a Boer woman and her baby against a bunch of drunken Highlanders. Their officer was puking in a ditch. Two kids had already been cut to pieces in front of their mother. The woman had been raped. She’d hidden the baby in a barn. The soldiers had just found it when Boris came up with them. They were making her—” For the first time she looked at her husband, and at the sight of his bone-white face her voice lost its strength and faltered to a stop as tears filled her eyes. “I’m proud of him,” she said. “I don’t care what any of you say, I’m so proud of him.” She sat down suddenly and buried her face in her hands.
“James was not like that,” Josef said, very clearly and precisely, looking at no one.
“Of course he wasn’t! Most of them are not.” Boris’s voice was raw. “Uncle Josef, no one would suggest—”
“I should damned well think not!” Alex snapped, glaring belligerently at Boris.
Boris stood up, and awkwardly with his one hand shifted his chair back from the table. “I think it best perhaps if I leave.”
Alex, embarrassed at last, grunted. Alice applied herself demurely to her plate.
“Boris, please – there’s no need—” Josef was close to tears.
But Louisa was there now standing beside her husband, her hand upon his left arm, her chin high. In deepest silence they left the room.
* * *
“That beastly Alice engineered the whole thing! Did you see? Oh, what an odious woman she is!” Anna stormed about the bedroom, the temper she had been fighting to control finally defeating her. “The way she egged Alex on! And after snubbing poor Louisa like that! I should truly like to wring her neck like a chicken’s!” She flung her shawl upon a chair, kicked off her pale satin slippers with such force that one of them somersaulted in the air and landed on the bed. “I’ll never speak to her again. I swear, I won’t! Oh, wretched thing!” She was fiddling furiously with the buttons at the back of her blouse, “Joss – would you help me? My fingers are all thumbs.”
Joss, having already methodically discarded his own clothes and put them neatly away, had been seated upon the bed in his dressing gown watching her. His own anger at Alice’s bad manners and Alex’s treatment of Boris had been tempered by ten minutes of quiet talk with his brother before they had left the house that evening.
“Boris doesn’t want that,” he said now, walking to her and with surprising gentleness disengaging her fidgeting fingers from the offending buttons. “He said it particularly. He doesn’t want a rift in the family. People taking sides. Stand still, now. There.”
“But it was unforgivable!” Anna began to wriggle out of the blouse.
“Perhaps.”
She became aware suddenly that, his small task done, he had remained there behind her, his hands lightly upon her shoulders. She stood absolutely still, something more now than righteous anger making her heart thump. In the mirror of the dressing table she could see his face; dark, intent, strangely tender. She watched as gently he lifted his hands and unpinned the jewelled insect from her hair. Then one by one, inexpertly, he removed the pins that secured the coils. She was trembling a little. He leaned his face upon her loosened hair and murmured something.
She shook her head a little, sucking her lip. “You’ll have to translate,” and turned into his arms. They stood so for a moment before she felt his body harden against hers, and anger and distress forgotten for the moment she lifted her lips to him. Always he could trigger in her that surge of dark almost destructive excitement. The silken skirt slid, whispering, to the floor, and he laughed softly, reaching for her mouth again, his teeth sharp, his hands strong.
Some time later she lay, staring into darkness, his breathing soft and even beside her. Small waves of excitement lifted and ebbed still in her aroused body. She reached a hand to touch his hair, and he moved a little in his sleep. Would she ever truly come to know this strange, unpredictable man in whom cruelty and callousness seemed inextricably mixed with a tenderness and vulnerability that defeated her will and enslaved her heart?
Outside the window a late reveller staggered past, singing. Anna smiled into the darkness, content, and slept.
* * *
The exhibition in which Anna took part was an enormous success and for her something of a personal triumph. Her work was noted and discussed with enthusiasm, and she found herself to her own astonishment the centre of some very flattering attention. So sheltered had she been in the comparatively small world of her father’s workshop that it had never occurred to her that the wider world of artists and of craftsmen might be interested in her work. The biggest surprise of all, however, came upon the last day, when she had accompanied Beth, who had also done well and gained several commissions, to the exhibition rooms to take a last look at some of the lovely and inspiring pieces. Anna was inspecting a fascinatingly beautiful piece of stained glass when Beth bounced up to her. “Mr Spencer’s looking for you. He’s got someone with him who wants to meet you. Awfully impressive gentleman.” She rolled her eyes irrepressibly.
“Oh?”
“A Russian no less. And a prince to boot. Aren’t they all?” She waved an airy hand. “Shuvoski or Shuveski or some such—”
Anna stared. “Shuvenski? Prince Shuvenski? Surely not?”
“You know him?”
“Why no – but the name – Papa once cut and polished a wonderful diamond that was bought by a family of that name. But – surely – it can’t be the same man?”
Beth grinned. “Only one way to find out—” She waved a hand in the direction from which she had come.
Prince Vassili Shuvenski was a man of distinguished middle age, moustachioed, handsome, autocratic, and with the assurance of wealth and position charmingly disguised by perfect and attractive good manners. To Anna’s astonishment, she soon discovered that he knew a good deal more about her than she did about him, and he openly admitted to having inspected not only her pieces in the exhibition but many examples of her work that were in private hands. “I hope you are not offended.” His English accent was impeccable, better in fact, she noticed with wry amusement, then either her husband’s or her father’s. “I intended of course to contact your father and introduce myself formally, but when Mr Spencer informed me that you were here – well, it seemed absurd not to take advantage of a fortuitous situation. May I offer my congratulations. Your work is exquisite.”
Anna blushed with pleasure at the forthright compliment. “Thank you.”
Shuvenski watched her in pensive silence for a moment, one long finger stroking his luxuriant moustache. “I am right, am I not, in believing you to be the daughter of Josef Rose?”
“Yes.”
“And you know of the connection that exists between our two families?”
“You mean – the stone? The diamond my father cut twenty-five years ago?”
“Exactly. It is of the stone that I wish to speak to you. And to your father, of course.”
She waited.
“The stone – the Shuvenski diamond – is to be reset. I have never cared for the present piece – the Princess’s tastes were—” he paused, delicately “—not my own. However, now my only son is to marry the daughter of my very good friend and as a present to my new daughter I wish a necklace designed with the stone as a centrepiece.”
A strange combination of excitement and trepidation had robbed Anna of her voice. She cleared her throat. “Are you suggesting that I – that I might—” She faltered to a stop.
“Indeed I am. The thought was in my mind from the start that I should seek the advice of the man who cut the stone so finely. There are, of course, m
any excellent craftsmen in St Petersburg – my wife is much addicted to Monsieur Fabergé’s pieces—”
“Fabergé,” Anna repeated, faintly.
“—but since I was coming to London anyway, and since I had always harboured the hope that I might meet the man who created that wonderful stone, I waited. And now I am very glad that I did. There is no doubt in my mind whatever, Madame, but that Josef Rose’s daughter should design the necklace,” he smiled his warm, attractive smile. “Always providing of course that she is willing—”
“I – why yes! Of course! – if you really think I could. I’d be honoured. You say that you have always wanted to meet the man who cut the stone.” She smiled. “I love the man dearly and have always wanted to see the stone he cut—” She paused. Somewhere in her mind a small voice spoke, when had he said it? I shouldn’t like you ever to have anything to do with it. What nonsense. “Do you have the stone here in London with you?”
His eyebrows lifted, half-amused. “Why no. Of course not. The stone never leaves Russia.”
She stared. “Then—”
He waited, faint surprise in his eyes.
She swallowed. “You would want me to visit Russia to design the necklace?”
“But of course.”
“But – I assumed the piece would be made in my father’s workshop.”
He spread sorrowful hands. “To my great regret, no. You must understand, Madame. The stone is worth a very great deal of money. I simply could not take the risk—”
Disappointment was sharp as pain. She shook her head. “Then I’m sorry. I don’t think it will be possible. I couldn’t possibly travel so far alone. My husband would never hear of it.”
“Would he not accompany you? I had assumed—”
“No.” The sharpness of the word raised his eyebrows again, but he did not comment. “My husband would not be able to accompany me.” Anna continued more quietly, “And it would be quite impossible for me to travel alone. I’m terribly sorry.”
“What a pity. What a very great pity.” He picked up gloves and a silver-topped walking cane from the table, smiled the quiet smile of a man more used to getting his own way than not. “I suppose I must simply hope that you might change your mind.”
* * *
“Agreed? Joss, what can you mean? You can’t have agreed!” Anna stared in dismay at her husband. “I can’t go to Russia! You can’t have told him that I’d go – without telling me.” The volatile temper bubbled in her voice. “On my own? Are you mad?”
“You won’t be on your own.”
She lifted her head. “You’ll come?”
He moved abruptly. “No, Anna – you know I can’t do that—”
“Then what do you mean, that I won’t be alone?”
He meticulously re-arranged the papers on his desk. “I’ve asked Michael to accompany you.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve asked!. – Joss, what is going on? What other arrangements have you made behind my back? And Michael? What good would Michael be? He’d be a liability. I’d have to look after him.” In her agitation, unable to keep still, she was striding back and forth in front of his desk, her hands clasped tightly before her, as if to prevent herself from some physical action, which in her present state of mind was not so far from the truth. Now she whirled on him, threw her hands up in exasperated anger. “Joss – I can’t. I just can’t. I’d be terrified! How would I get there?”
“By train, of course.” His voice was patient. “You think I’d ask you to walk?”
“You appear,” she said, dangerously quiet, “to have omitted to ask me anything.”
He leaned forward. “Anna, listen to me. Don’t you see how important this could be to us? It’s the opportunity of a lifetime – for you, for Rose and Company. The Prince could have had anyone – literally anyone in the world – design that necklace. He has asked for you. He has the ear of the Russian Imperial. He is related to half the royalty of Russia. If you make a good job of this—”
“—and suppose I don’t? Has that even occurred to you? Suppose I make an absolute fool of myself?” A compound of anger and panic had brought her close to tears. “I’ve never worked with anything like the Shuvenski before! Supposing I can’t—”
“Of course you can.” The interruption was quiet, but emphatic.
“You don’t know that. And anyway – that isn’t the only thing, and you know it. Joss – how could you have been so highhanded about it all? Agreeing – making the arrangements – asking Michael – without telling – without asking me.”
“Anna, do please stop shouting.”
“I’ve every right to shout!” Nevertheless she lowered her voice, took a deep breath, watched him for a long moment. Shook her head. “I will never as long as I live understand you,” she said at last, flatly. “These last weeks – we’ve been happy, haven’t we? Really happy, perhaps for the first time since we were married. I began to feel that we were coming together at last. What was it Joss?” Her voice was bitter. “A whim? A game? ‘Let’s play being a good husband for a while?’” She had never spoken to him so before. He steepled his fingers, elbows on the desk, and watched her. “And now – a click of your fingers and you send me away.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m not sending you away.” He was impatient.
She ignored him. “And what of Victoria? What of our daughter? Have you made plans for her as well?”
He did not reply. She stared at him in utter disbelief. “You have. Haven’t you? Haven’t you?”
“Mrs Lacey has kindly agreed to stay for as long as she might be needed.”
There was a long silence. “Well, good,” Anna said at last, very quietly. “I’m really pleased to hear that. So you’ll be well looked after. And Victoria will be cared for. And I’ll have nothing to worry about at all. Thank you Joss.”
“Is there need for sarcasm?”
“Is there need for any of this? I had already told the PrinceI would not go to Russia. I told him – heaven help me! – that you would not allow it. What a joke! Joss – why didn’t you speak to me? Why?”
He stood up. “Because it never crossed my mind that you would do anything but accept the offer.” His voice was brisk. “Because I thought better of you than that you would whimper about being alone, about being afraid. Because I’m not as stupid or as insensitive as you believe me to be, and I know that the life of wife and mother is not enough for you—”
She opened her mouth. He waved a brusque, impatient hand and continued talking.
“—you talk of Victoria? How much do you see of her now? How long since you walked her yourself in the park? Chose a dress for her to wear? Oh – I’m not criticizing. We are not good parents, you and I. We never will be. We are too involved with our own lives. I ask you simply to see the truth, and not to lie to yourself.” He reached into the drawer of his desk and drew out a long envelope. “I have here two first class tickets to St Petersburg. The train leaves Victoria Station next Tuesday morning. The journey will take a little over two days. You will be met on its arrival. Now. If you are afraid to take this opportunity – afraid of the challenge – say so now and we’ll speak no more of it. But never repeat to me again the nonsense with which your precious Arabella fills your head. Independence, my dear Anna, is not something that anyone will hand you, prettily wrapped, upon a plate—” He extended his hand, the envelope held between two fingers.
The silence that followed his words was like a blade drawn between them.
Wordlessly then she snatched the envelope from his hand, turned on her heel and stalked from the office.
Chapter Thirteen
Her anger at her husband’s high-handed action did not leave Anna through all the whirlwind preparation for the trip, though Joss himself acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. In one thing, however, Anna could find no fault; the journey agreed, nothing it seemed was too good for her and Joss’s usual protestations of penury were completely forsworn. When fi
nally she settled herself, in a state of nervous excitement and apprehension that verged upon panic, into the comfortable window seat of their reserved carriage, and the train set out from Victoria Station and steamed powerfully southward towards the Channel, she carried with her in her new and smartly matching leather suitcases everything she could possibly require for her comfort, convenience and well-being. The Prince, Joss pointed out, had made it quite clear that the Countess Anatov, whatever her husband’s situation, was to consider herself an honoured guest as well as an admired artist. He had apparently failed to see that the thought filled Anna with more trepidation than she cared to admit even to herself.
“Well,” Michael settled himself opposite her, grinning, “here we go, then. Next stop, St Petersburg.”
She smiled back. “Hardly that.”
“I say, there was a spiffing girl. Did you see her? Baby blue eyes and lots of fluffy hair. She’s travelling with her mother. They’re in the carriage next door.” He winked and laughed at his sister’s expression. “I helped them with their luggage. See what a gentleman you have for a brother? They’re travelling all the way through to St P as well. Her father’s something in the Embassy there. They’ve been home for a holiday.”
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