The Rose Stone

by The Rose Stone (retail) (epub)

  “But there’ll be so many Cossacks,” Elena demurred.

  Katarina laughed. “But how many will be blond and handsome?”

  “And how many,” Anna asked a little tartly, “will be in danger of decapitating half of the guests at one stroke?”

  For herself she chose a charmingly old-fashioned soft pink ball gown, long outdated with its swaying crinoline skirt and deep, scooped neckline, signs of wear in its stretched seams and worn hem.

  “That was Mama’s, years ago.” Katarina said. “I wore it two years ago as Catherine the Great. Not a very authentic Catherine the Great,” she added with a giggle.

  “But – who are you to be?” Elena asked of Anna. “The dress suits you beautifully, but you must be someone—”

  “Something.” Anna’s head was buried in a trunk. “Ah – there,” she emerged triumphantly waving a leaf-green, slightly tattered shawl. “Perfect.” She held the dress to her, draped the shawl about her shoulders. “An English rose!” she said.

  It took a moment or two to sink in. Then Katarina clapped her hands. “How very clever! Of course! We must raid Mama’s garden and find some roses for your hair—”

  “And green slippers! I have some green slippers you can borrow—”

  Over the heads of the laughing girls Anna’s eyes met Nicolai’s. His no longer smiled. She coaxed him with a little, tender smile of her own and was rewarded by the sudden brightening of his sombre face.

  That night she pondered, standing by her open window, on the events of the past few days. Forty-eight hours from now she would be on the train and heading home. Towards Joss. Away from Nicolai. She could feel his presence, close to her, within the house. She looked to where water glimmered and the darkness of the forest began. Easily – oh, so easily – she could have been meeting him there, now. She turned from the window.

  No.

  She would not have it spoiled.

  * * *

  The next two days passed in a whirl of activity that gave her scarcely time to draw breath, and no matter how she tried to hold the time, it flew on treacherous wings. The party was a kaleidoscope of faces and names that her benumbed brain refused to register, and a number of struggling, well-meaning conversations with people whose words she never came close to understanding and whose polite smiles and bemused eyes indicated the self-same problem in reverse. She danced with a great many young men and noticed only one of them; Nicolai’s brilliant eyes held hers as he swept her around the lawn in a gay polka, the silks and satins of his Eastern costume gleaming in the light of the lamps that were strung from the trees and from the verandah. “Later,” he said, his voice brooking no argument, “I will see you. We must talk.”

  But they did not. When they met in the dark shadow of the barn beside the house they clung and they kissed, but they could not find the words. On the lawn in front of the house Mitka was singing now, the deep bell-tone of his voice ringing through the night with no accompaniment but the sighing of the wind in the trees. Anna stood with her face buried in Nicolai’s shoulder, listening, the moment crystallized in her memory like a precious stone. Like the glittering teardrop of the Shuvenski diamond.

  “You leave tomorrow?” Nicolai asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you write?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  He put a finger beneath her chin, tilted her face to him. “I’ll never forget you,” he said.

  She stood on tiptoe, wound her arms about his neck and drew his face down to hers. “Neither of us,” she said softly, “will ever forget.”

  * * *

  They gathered on the verandah to see them off: all of the family, including the cousins, some of whose names Anna had never actually managed to register in her memory. That odd and slightly discomfiting distance that always develops at the start of a journey between those staying and those leaving was already apparent. Anna shook hands, touched cheeks, made promises – to write, to come again, to entertain them all in London – and wished, simply and fervently that the goodbyes be over and they should be on their way. When she found herself by the pony and trap with Nicolai she could barely look at him. In front of them all they could do nothing, say nothing. The pain in his eyes she knew reflected her own. He took her hand, raised it to his mouth, lightly and courteously. Over his bright, bent, head the sun blurred and she blinked rapidly.

  “Goodbye, Anna.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “I shall be in London again, perhaps, one day. Might I presume to call?”

  “Of course. We’d be delighted to see you.” She hated to use that hurtful pronoun, needed now simply to leave. To run away.

  He handed her into the trap and stood back. The pony pawed the gravel, the little vehicle turned in a sweep in front of the house, the assembled company waved and called.

  Nicolai stood like a statue, his face in shadow, and watched them go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  To Anna the first part of the journey home seemed entirely unreal, an interlude, of melancholic adjustment in which her confusion and dawning guilt wrapped her like a veil which little penetrated. She sat for hours, unspeaking, watching sightlessly the passing countryside, trying hard to forget that one face, that one voice, the feel of that one body. At first it seemed an impossibility. A train thundered by her window, streaming northward, and her heart went with it, back to the lighthearted laughter of Lemorsk. Back to Nicolai. But then, against expectations, her common sense exerted itself. What good to dream if the dream were totally impossible? And, even if it had been offered, which she knew it could never be, a life with Nicolai would be unthinkable: she could never leave her family, her country, her work. Victoria. Joss. Above all, she suddenly found herself thinking, Joss. Despite what had happened that she still truly loved her husband was undeniable. As they sped towards the Channel she forced herself to think of their life, of their relationship. How much of her disappointment was her own fault? She demanded too much; he gave too little. But if that were in the nature of the man now it always had been, and she must have known it. So, she must either learn to live with it or show him by example the satisfaction and joy of giving. Stoically she ignored the pang of physical pain that brought, remembering Nicolai and those brief moments that had shown her so much. Joss. She loved Joss, her husband. She would remember that. She would cling to it. And when she saw him, the very first moment, she would begin again. She must have learned something? She must use it constructively. Use it to build a future with Joss. During the blessedly calm crossing of the Channel she studied that thought, leaning on the ship’s rail watching the misty, smudged horizon that was England as it took firm shape, and colour and reality. Joss would be waiting for them at the station. Then and there she would begin anew. She would make it work.

  But Joss was not at the station to meet them. It was Boris who stood at the barrier, his bright head unmistakable in the crowds, his face uncharacteristically and unconcealedly sombre.

  After the greeting, Anna looked around, still half-expecting to see her husband. “Where’s Joss? Isn’t he here?”

  “No. He was – detained—”

  “But – I told him the train we were coming on—” She looked sharply at Boris. “What is it? Boris – what is it? Has something happened to Joss?”

  He shook his head. “No. I promise you. Joss is all right.”

  “Then what? Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  Boris took her hand in his. “It’s your father, Anna. A heart attack.”

  “What? Oh, God! Why didn’t someone tell us? Send for us?”

  “Please – calm yourself. It was on Josef’s specific instructions that you were not informed. He’s ill, yes, but the doctor assures us that he will be all right. It was a mild attack.”

  “I want to see him. Now. At once. Is that where Joss is? Why didn’t you tell us at once? Michael – quickly – find a cab—”

  “There’s one waiting,” Boris said. “I guessed you’d want to go straight
to your father. But – Anna—”

  Anna, looking round distractedly for a porter, turned sharply at his tone. Michael appeared to have been struck dumb by the news.

  “Joss is not at Bayswater,” Boris said.

  “Then where is he?”

  “I don’t know. At work perhaps—”

  She stared at him. “Something has happened to Joss,” she said flatly. “Hasn’t it? Hasn’t it? You’re keeping something back.”

  Michael found his voice at last. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Anna – he’s already told you Joss is all right. It’s Papa we should be thinking of – we have to go—” Michael raised his voice. “Porter! Here, please! Boris – where’s the cab?”

  The journey to Bayswater, spent mostly in an awkward silence that was broken only by Boris’s stiltedly polite enquiry as to the trip and Anna’s equally stilted reply, was thankfully short. When the vehicle stopped outside the house Michael tumbled from it and took the steps to the front door two at a time. Anna about to follow him, found herself restrained by Boris’s hand. She stilled, and looked at him. “Tell me,” she said. “What’s happened to Joss.”

  “It’s as I said. Nothing’s happened to him. It’s what he—” he hesitated “—what he appears to have done.”

  “Done? What do you mean?”

  “Anna, I can’t let you go in there – face them – without telling you—”

  “What? Telling me what?” Her voice was sharp with apprehension.

  “Joss – Joss seems – indirectly – to be the cause of your father’s illness.”

  “What?”

  “We can’t altogether discover what happened – your father absolutely refused to discuss it – but the facts—”

  “What facts?” Anna’s voice was suddenly calm. The front door of the house had opened and Michael had disappeared inside. A figure appeared at the top of the steps – Alex, his face like the crack of doom. “What facts, Boris?” she asked, urgently.

  Boris shook a helpless head. “You’ll have to come inside, Anna. Everyone’s there. They’ll explain.”

  “Tell me something first. Are you saying that you believe that Joss – deliberately—” she stopped.

  “No.” He could not hold her eyes. “That is – I don’t know, Anna. Joss won’t say anything. Neither will your father. Joss refuses to defend himself. And on appearances, I have to say—”

  Alex was beside them. “Anna.” His voice was heavy, and held no greeting. “You’d better come in. Father heard the cab. He’s asking for you.”

  * * *

  Everyone was gathered in the drawing room – Alex and Alice, Boris and Louisa, Ralph and Michael – waiting for Anna when she came downstairs from seeing her father. As she entered the room the heavy silence of antagonism rang in her ears. Boris stood by the window, his back to the room. Alex, feet astride, hands behind his back, stood before the fireplace. He was putting on weight, Anna noticed, and his face was florid. Alice and Louisa sat one each end of the long sofa, as far from each other as possible. The two had not spoken unless absolutely forced to it by social necessity since the quarrel some months before, as indeed neither had Boris and Alex. Ralph sat in an armchair upon whose high back Michael leaned, his usually carefree face dark with worry. He it was who broke the silence. “May I go up now?”

  Anna shook her head. “I’m sorry. He’s gone to sleep. The nurse said perhaps in half an hour or so.”

  Michael turned away abruptly. Ralph put out a gentle hand. “He’s going to be all right, Michael. It wasn’t a bad heart attack.”

  Anna surveyed the room, sensing the hostility, hurt and confused by it. “How did it happen?” she asked flatly.

  “Father didn’t tell you?” Ralph asked.

  She shook her head. “He absolutely refused to speak of it. Simply said he’d guessed it was coming and should have taken more care of himself.” She looked to where Boris stood. “He didn’t mention Joss.” Her eyes moved then to Alex, sensing that it was from him that the greatest hostility emanated. “Will someone please explain?”

  Boris turned from the window. Alex stepped forward. “Are you telling us that you truly have no idea?”

  She made an impatient movement. “I? How should I have? It may have escaped your notice, Alex, but I have been away. A very long way away. For nearly three weeks. Hardly a lifetime, I know – but long enough.”

  “Long enough for your husband to ruin our father and bring him to death’s door.”

  Anna could not have been more shocked had he struck her. “No,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “And do you really expect us to believe that you knew nothing of what was going on? That you didn’t connive with Joss to inveigle Michael away from father so that he’d have no one to turn to?”

  “What are you talking about? No!”

  “Alex, that’s enough!” Boris lifted his head sharply. “You’re jumping to conclusions. We’ve no proof of anything—”

  “Proof? How much proof do you need? My father is lying up there, his business – my sons’ inheritance – gone, the very roof above his head gone – and you talk of proof?”

  “Will someone tell me what is going on!” Anna’s control was all but gone. Tears were rising. She swallowed them fiercely. Louisa’s eyes were sympathetic, Alice’s totally hostile.

  Alex lifted a finger and stabbed it at his sister like a prosecuting counsel. “I’ll tell you. In words of one syllable. Father had seemingly got himself into some financial difficulty – God knows how, or why, but that apparently was the case. To recoup he borrowed heavily on the house and the business. From Joss. He then invested the money he had borrowed in some dud shares that Joss advised him to buy—”

  “Joss did not advise him. I keep telling you that.” Boris’s voice was sharp with anger. “Josef himself insists on that. Joss did not advise him. Josef overheard something that Joss said to someone else, and thought to use the information to recoup his losses. He must have misinterpreted what he heard. You can hardly blame Joss for that.”

  “Overheard?” Anna’s voice was faint. She saw again that scene in the hall, her father’s stealth, Joss’s voice, unusually loud – something stirred uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. “Boris is right. I don’t see how you can blame Joss for that.”

  “You can blame him for foreclosing on the loan when the shares crashed,” Alex said, grimly. “For that’s what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Anna was stone-white. She looked at Boris in desperation. “There must be some mistake. Joss wouldn’t—”

  Boris shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid so. The house – the business – Joss, quite legitimately, is claiming them both. Then – Josef became ill—”

  Alex turned on him. “You speak of it as if it were an act of God – instead of the direct result of your brother’s dastardly underhand actions—”

  “That’s not fair!” Louisa snapped. “How was Joss to know what might happen?”

  “The same way we all would.” It was Alice, her sweet, cultured voice vitriolic. “Father-in-law had been unwell for years and we all know it. What would you expect to happen?”

  “Please, please!” Anna put a hand to her head. “I’m sorry.” She was battling hard to hold her composure. “I still can’t believe what you’re saying. You’re trying to tell me that Joss lent Father money, accepting Rose and Company and this house as surety? And that – oh, no – it simply isn’t possible. There’s some mistake.”

  Ralph shook his head. “There’s no mistake, Anna.”

  “What we want to know—” It was Alex again, aggressively quiet, “is how much you knew about all this before you packed Michael off to Russia with you, leaving the old man alone—”

  Anna stared. “What are you saying?”

  “That’s a bit thick, Alex.” Michael made a dismissive gesture. “What on earth makes you think—”

  Anna interrupted him, turning fiercely upon her older brother, “And what of you? Where were
you whilst all this was happening? This hasn’t blown up over three weeks! Couldn’t you have helped Papa? Lent him the money? Why did he go to Joss in the first place? Why did he accept the terms?”

  Ralph stood up. “That’s one of the things none of us can understand, Anna. Father didn’t approach any of us. He didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t ask anyone’s advice. We didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. You saw yourself – he won’t speak of it, won’t explain. He appears simply ready to accept what Joss has done with no argument and no attempt to defend himself. The business he’s spent a lifetime building up – the house—” Ralph made a small, defeated gesture, “it seems to mean nothing to him that Joss has taken them.”

  Anna shook her head. “I knew nothing of this.” Her voice was intense. “I swear it. I never would have gone away if I had guessed—” Small, sharp images pricked like nettle stings in her mind. Joss’s unexpected determination that she should go to St Petersburg. His challenge to her, that he knew her pride would force her to accept. His unusual generosity. His choice of Michael as her escort. “What does Joss have to say about it all?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Boris turned from her, avoiding her eyes. “He refused to speak of it.”

  “There’s nothing he can say,” Alice said. “What can excuse what he’s done?”

  In the silence that followed the words children’s voices called from the garden. Down by the little pool Anna could see two sturdy, handsome small boys, Alex’s twin sons, with their nanny. Not far from them Louisa’s Sophie stood, a little apart, watching, her thumb in her mouth.