Odette nodded.
“I’ll have the same.”
Cromwell drank whisky.
“Lovely weather, don’t you think? Though it is rather hot… They say that Russians are first-class riders.” He really wanted to say something nice to Nikolai.
Nikolai laughed.
“That may be so, but I’ve never sat on a horse.”
“No, really?”
Liza leant in to speak to Cromwell.
“Wouldn’t it be much nicer on our own?”
“Yes! Tomorrow it’ll just be the two of us.”
“Tomorrow?” Liza looked over at the neighbouring table, dreamily. “Crom, tomorrow is so far away.”
Nikolai jabbed her with his elbow.
“See, everyone’s staring at you again. It’s your hair.”
Liza shrugged him off.
“Leave me alone.” And she leant in to speak to Cromwell again. “Crom, you haven’t kissed me once today.”
Later that evening they went out to an expensive restaurant. Odette self-consciously studied the stiff white tablecloths, the flowers and the chandeliers that shone too brightly. Liza smiled serenely. She liked everything, especially the music and the women in their evening gowns. She was positively beaming with pride. It was, in essence, she who was treating her friend and her brother to a night out.
“Don’t be shy,” she said to Nikolai in Russian. “Order whatever you like.”
“We must drink to our friendship! Shall we?” Cromwell poured champagne for everyone. “To a real friendship, a friendship that will last for ever, in life and in death.”
Liza clinked glasses with him first.
“I’ll only drink to life,” she laughed. “But—our whole life.”
Cromwell held his glass out towards Nikolai.
“Then you and I must drink to death.”
Nikolai laughed too.
“When it comes to champagne, I’ll drink to anything!” They clinked glasses and he drank. “Are you having fun, Cromwell, old chum?”
“In spades!” Cromwell nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, such fun!” Liza clapped her hands.
“Be quiet, everyone is staring at you as it is!”
Liza shook her head.
“They’re staring because I don’t look like anyone here, because I’m Isolde.”
It was late by the time they set out for home. Cromwell was at the wheel, while Kolya and Odette sat in the back. At a sharp bend, Liza turned to them.
“Listen, you two…”
But they weren’t listening, they were kissing. For some reason, Liza found it distasteful.
When they reached Odette’s house, Nikolai clambered out of the car after her.
“I’ll see her across the garden and then walk myself home. It’s just a stone’s throw from here.”
“Goodnight!” Cromwell shook his hand. “See you tomorrow. And don’t forget our friendship in the morning!”
“Of course not. Goodnight.”
Cromwell started the engine.
“Five more minutes,” Cromwell kept saying. “Just up to that house, see there, and then the tram stop.”
Liza would agree wearily but happily. They drove around like that until daybreak. Liza sighed.
“What a shame it is to say goodbye! But I’m practically asleep. Goodnight, Crom!”
She opened the gate and entered the garden. A long black shadow darted across the path.
“Who’s there?” Liza cried out in fright.
“It’s me, it’s me.”
“Bunny? Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m waiting.” Bunny sat down on the bench. “I’m waiting for Natalia Vladimirovna.”
“I expect she must be singing at the Château Basque right now, you should go there.”
“I’m not allowed to.”
“Why not?”
“She forbade me. Come and sit with me, Liza dear.”
Liza sat down next to him.
“Aren’t you cold, Bunny?”
“Of course, I’m cold. But it’s all right, it’s all right. I’ll catch a cold, then pneumonia, then I’ll die and she’ll be ashamed of herself.”
Liza laughed quietly.
“You’re like a schoolgirl, Bunny.”
But Bunny wasn’t listening.
“No, she won’t be ashamed, will she? She’s shameless. Shameless, cruel and base. That’s right—base. Oh, how she torments me!” Suddenly he was sobbing. “Base! She’s there with her lover, that Boris. While I have to sit here. Oh, Liza dear, if only you knew!” He started wailing, shaking uncontrollably.
“Please, Bunny, please, don’t cry.”
He rested his head on her shoulder, still sobbing.
Liza gazed into his round, flaccid, sorry face. She knew that she should be offended on behalf of her mother, but the very sight of him was so pitiful. He was crying. While Natasha was singing, with everybody listening and admiring her. He was here, and she was far, far away.
Liza put her arms around his neck.
“Don’t cry.” She tried to console him, stroking his thinning hair. “My poor little Bunny, poor little fluffy Bunny. My lovely, quite remarkable little Bunny.”
“She’s devious, devious!” he sobbed.
Liza dabbed his face with her lace skirt. As usual, she didn’t have a handkerchief in her pocket. He was beginning to calm down, and only now and again sighed pitifully. His head rested heavily on her shoulder.
“Bunny dear, I must sleep. And so should you.”
“No, no!” he interjected suddenly. “She’s not devious, no! She’s wonderful, kind and noble. She can do anything. She’s proud. She’s the Queen of Sheba. She must be worshipped. Worshipped!” He stood up straight, while his puffy round eyes bulged with an unhinged stare. “She’s a saint! A saint! You must love her, Liza. Love and obey her. I don’t deserve her. How can I dare judge her? If she wants a lover, so be it.”
Liza had grown quite bored.
“Bunny dear, do go home.”
“Home? Very well.” He turned on his heels and bounded down the garden path, without saying goodbye.
“Don’t say a word about this to her!” he shouted over his shoulder as he opened the garden gate and shot through it.
Liza looked up at the waxing moon hanging above the tips of the pine trees. It seemed to be gently swaying. She let out a deep sigh, partly from tiredness, partly from sorrow, and went into the house.
“Sleep, I need to get some sleep. It must be six already and Kolya’s still with Odette.”
She undressed and lay down in her bed. Damp air was coming in through the window. The rustling of the trees merged with the dull rush of the ocean.
Liza rested her head on the pillow and thought she could see stars circling the transparent sky like great, white, luminous butterflies.
“Cromwell,” she whispered and fell asleep, smiling.
She heard the door open. Someone walked into her dream. Into her dream and into her bedroom.
Liza opened her eyes and looked at the figure with her bright, vacant eyes.
“Are you asleep?” asked the unknown but very familiar voice.
She wanted to reply but lacked the strength.
“Why are you staring at me like that? Don’t you recognize me?”
“I do,” Liza whispered, barely moving her lips in her sleep.
“So who am I? Andrei?”
“No, you’re someone else.”
Sleep weighed heavily on her head and she couldn’t make anything out.
“So who am I then? Who? Answer me.”
Liza lifted her head, slowly coming round.
“You’re Nikolai Nikolaevich Coffee-Pot,” she said with some difficulty.
“Coffee-Pot? Splendid. Now Coffee-Pot is my new surname. And yours, too. Hello to you, Elizaveta Nikolaevna Coffee-Pot.” Nikolai shook her arm violently.
Liza opened her eyes wider. Nikolai leant over her.
“Wake
up, Coffee-Pot!”
What Coffee-Pot? What did he want from her? Why was he laughing? Liza rubbed her eyes. She was quite awake now.
“Stop it, Kolya. What is it?”
But Nikolai went on laughing.
“You’re lucky you weren’t born in mediaeval times. They would definitely have burnt you at the stake, for being a witch. And they would’ve been right, too, you green-eyed witch.”
“I’m a witch and you’re a coffee pot.” She sat up. “Once upon a time there lived a brother and a sister, a coffee pot and a witch. One day, the coffee pot said to the witch, ‘Boil me!’” She laughed out loud. “You’re right, I’m a witch. Look at my birthmark.” She unbuttoned her nightdress. Underneath her barely formed breasts was a dark triangular birthmark. “See? They say witches always had birthmarks.” She lay back down and pulled the cover over herself. “Where have you been all this time?”
Nikolai shrugged.
“Odette wouldn’t let me leave. It was so dull.”
“She loves you. And no wonder! What a handsome thing you are.”
“You’re only saying that because I look like you.”
“No, that’s not it. I would have fallen in love with you if you weren’t my brother.”
“Of course, you would have—you fall in love with everyone. It wasn’t so long ago that you were pining for Andrei, and now it’s this Cromwell chap.”
Liza blushed.
“You don’t understand a thing.”
“What’s there to understand? You’ve fallen in love with an Englishman.”
Liza shook her head.
“No, no, I love Andrei. Cromwell… Cromwell is good-looking and fun. He has a car. I like him. But…” She clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, I can’t explain it to you!”
Nikolai sneered.
“Don’t worry. What do I care anyway? Fall in love with whoever you like. Look, it’s gone six already. I’m going to sleep, and I suggest you do, too.”
With that, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
V
LIZA FELT SOMETHING cold press against her neck and woke up with a startled cry.
“What, what’s going on?”
It was already light. Sunlight was streaming into the room. Nikolai was standing over her bed. He was dressed in his pyjamas and holding a pair of scissors in his hand.
“What?” Liza said again.
“What? Take a look in the mirror.”
Liza sat up. She rubbed her eyes with her fists and suddenly saw strands of her long blonde hair lying on the pillow. They were arranged in quite a particular fashion, each lock separate. They looked like live snakes, shiny and coiled up in the sun. Liza stared at them, not quite comprehending what had happened. Then she felt the back of her head with her hand.
“Kolya!” she cried out. “How could you? What have you done, Kolya?” Tears streamed down her face.
He put his arm around her.
“Come on, Liza dear, don’t cry. You’re far more beautiful like this. The long hair—it was getting absurd.”
She pressed her face into his shoulder and cried.
“How could you! I loved my hair, I was so proud of it!”
“You would have had to cut it soon anyway. You didn’t want to do it, but now it’s been done for you. You’re going to be a grown-up soon…”
“I’m never going to be a grown-up,” she said.
He laughed.
“What do you mean, you’ll never be a grown-up?”
She pressed her face into the pillow and sobbed violently.
“Why? Why did you do it? How could you?”
Three days later, Liza wrote a letter to Paris:
My darling, darling Andrei! Something terrible has happened to me. Kolya cut my hair off. I cried and cried, although it does suit me. But I’m so upset! When I had long hair, I was Isolde. That’s what Cromwell calls me. He’s an English boy I met here. There’s a book about Isolde. I’ll bring it back with me and you can read it for yourself. Cromwell is rich. We go out every day and have lots of fun, but I feel sad without you. When I’m out swimming and the salty water gets in my mouth, it makes me think of us kissing. I lie on the sand with my eyes closed and pretend you’re lying next to me. I feel so sure you’re there that I reach out to touch you. But you’re never there, and that makes me cry. A girl drowned out here recently…
VI
CROMWELL’S MOTHER had just returned home.
“Three in the morning… He’ll be fast asleep,” she thought, quietly opening the door to her son’s bedroom.
But the room was empty and the bed hadn’t been slept in.
“Where could he be at this late hour?”
She turned the light on, sat down in an armchair and picked up a magazine.
She wasn’t worried. The idea that some misfortune could have befallen her son didn’t even occur to her.
She leafed through the pages of the magazine absent-mindedly. She wasn’t reading, she was thinking. She was thinking about her life and about her late husband; he had been killed in the war. He had been so tall and so cheerful, with a dazzling set of teeth. She smiled at her reminiscences of him in exactly the same way that she used to smile at the man himself. Cromwell was turning out to be just like his father. As her thoughts shifted to her son, she contemplated him with as much devotion as she had afforded her husband.
The door silently swung open, and Cromwell walked in.
“How late you are, Cromwell!” She smiled and laid the magazine to one side. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
He blushed.
“Thank you, yes.”
“I stayed up just to wish you goodnight. Sleep well, Cromwell. I’m glad that you like it here.”
She got up and gave her son a kiss.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you, Mama.” He blushed a deeper shade of red. “It’s very nice here, but devilishly expensive. And I…”
“Is it really that devilishly expensive?” She laughed. “Do you need money? How about five hundred francs?” She gave him another kiss and made as if to leave, but paused in the doorway. “You’re not playing baccarat, are you, Cromwell?”
“No, Mama.”
“Please don’t. I’ll give you the money in the morning.”
He stepped towards her.
“There’s something else. I’d like to go to Paris on Tuesday, on my own.”
She shook her head.
“No, Cromwell darling. You know full well that we’re going to Paris in two weeks’ time, on the first of October. You’re not going there any earlier. Please work around that.”
With a slight bow she left the room.
VII
IT WAS NOON. A fierce rose-coloured sun stood high up in the brilliant sky. White waves were surging and crashing one after another. Bathers were jumping up and down, while holding onto a rope. The sound of music drifted down from the casino, its syncopated rhythms barely discernible.
Liza was lying on the hot sand next to Cromwell.
“Crom, give me your hand. Are you unhappy?”
“Why should I be unhappy?” he asked.
“Why? Because I’m leaving.”
“True, but two weeks from now I’ll be in Paris.”
She sighed and paused in thought.
“So much can happen in two weeks. Perhaps two weeks from now, Paris and Biarritz will no longer exist. The road to Paris will no longer exist. We shall no longer exist.”
He laughed.
“Where would it all go?”
“It would disappear, turn to dust, vanish into thin air. And even if it all stays where it is, it won’t be the same. It could very well be better, but it would never be the same as it is right now.” She shook her head. “No, it won’t be better. It’ll be worse. Things always get worse. Haven’t you noticed that, too?”
He said nothing.
She turned to lie on her side, nearer to him, drawing her naked legs up to her torso. The wind was blowing her sho
rt blonde hair in every direction, making a halo around her head.
“Oh, Crom!” she sighed. “I don’t want to leave you.”
She stood up, wrapped herself in a fluffy robe and walked down to the water’s edge.
“You know, I want to swim far, far away, until I’m too tired to swim any farther, and drown. Just like that girl, remember?”
She looked out across the water.
“Isolde!” he called out faintly before walking over to her. “Isolde, are you crying?”
She said nothing.
“I love you so much,” he said, breathless with emotion. “Don’t cry, Isolde.”
She turned to him, her face happy, smiling.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be so wet! It’s all nonsense anyway.” She threw her robe down onto the sand. “I’ll race you to the rock. On your marks, get set, go!” And she threw her arms into the air and ran into the sea, splashing as she went.
VIII
IT WAS THE NIGHT of Liza’s departure. They were at the railway station: Cromwell had brought her a bouquet of roses, Odette—a large bar of chocolate. Liza carried the flowers in her arms and smiled absent-mindedly, just like Natalia Vladimirovna—save that Natalia Vladimirovna’s absent-mindedness was merely for show. In fact, her white-gloved hands were trembling, and the corners of her mouth twitched.
“Say,” she whispered to Solntseva, who was standing beside her. “Where is he? It’s almost time.”
“He’ll be here, don’t worry. He promised you’d leave together, didn’t he? Don’t upset yourself. People might notice…”
Natalia Vladimirovna fixed her hat and again smiled absent-mindedly to all those who had come to see them off.
“Well, I’m sorry to be leaving!” she announced, as if she were on the stage. “I’ve had such fun!” She paused. “And I’m terribly afraid of railway disasters!”
All of a sudden she looked frightened. She blinked and blinked again, as though she were on the verge of tears. Everyone hastened to reassure her.
She paid them no notice and just stood motionless by the window, tearing petals off the flowers.
“He won’t make it now. Tell him, Tanya… Oh! Liza, get on! Quickly!” She interrupted herself. “The train’s about to leave!”
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