“Farewell, Crom.” Liza held out her hand.
“No, not farewell. Until next time!” He kissed her hand. “It’s only ten days.”
The train pulled out. Liza was standing beside Nikolai in the vestibule, waving her handkerchief and laughing. Natalia Vladimirovna turned her face away from the window. A tear rolled down her cheek. Liza cried out in alarm.
“Natasha!”
She hadn’t seen her mother cry in a long time. Natalia Vladimirovna drew her shoulder back irritably.
“Leave me alone,” she said, before going through to her compartment.
Liza shot a confused look at her brother.
“Why is she crying?”
“Boris hasn’t come with her. He had a space reserved in her compartment. That’s why she had Bunny take the morning train.” Nikolai shrugged and leant out the window. “She tried so hard, only for him to pull a fast one. She’s hurt.” He laughed. “Anyway, let’s go and take our seats in second class. We’re far enough from her admirers now, so they won’t witness us getting moved out of the wagon-lit. Let’s go.”
But the door to the vestibule opened again.
“Liza,” said Natalia Vladimirovna. “Stay with me tonight. You can take the top berth. It’s free. I’ll pay the extra fare, don’t worry. I don’t want to be alone tonight. Kolya, you may go. Goodnight.”
Liza walked into the compartment, still pressing the flowers to her chest. Natalia Vladimirovna had already removed her hat and coat. Her face was pale and visibly upset.
“She’s not pretty at all.” The thought suddenly struck Liza. “I’m better looking.”
“Go to bed, quickly. No chatting. I have a headache.” Natalia Vladimirovna gave her daughter a kiss. “Up you go, little bird.”
Liza undressed and lay down on top of the cool sheets. She had to take care, lest she go flying off the berth. Then she’d be a real little bird! She pressed her back against the wall and set the flowers down beside her. It was a good thing that Boris hadn’t come, otherwise she’d be rattling around in second class now, trying to nod off, with Nikolai jabbing her in the ribs. It was so comfortable here! She stretched out, delighted.
“Go to sleep now, I’m turning out the light. And, please, don’t make any noise.”
It was almost pitch-black. The only light was a tiny blue lamp embedded in the ceiling directly above her.
Liza buried her nose in the flowers, and then she remembered the chocolate! She took the bar out from under her pillow and carefully tore off the wrapper.
“Chocolate with hazelnuts, my favourite!”
The roses gave off a sweet, heady aroma. The sweetness of the chocolate tickled her throat.
The carriage rocked gently from side to side. Liza listened to the rhythm of the wheels. “Where to? Where to?” they were asking, seriously and insistently. “Far, far and away, far, far and away,” hurried the rods in reply, each rushing to speak over the other.
Liza sighed. Here she was on the train, while with every passing minute Cromwell receded farther and farther into the distance. She kissed the flowers. “Cromwell,” she sighed. “Crom.”
Beneath her, she could hear sobbing, muffled by the noise of the wheels.
Natasha was crying. Liza looked warily over the edge of her berth. Natalia Vladimirovna was lying with her face to the wall. She could just make out her shoulders shaking ever so slightly.
Liza lay back and pressed her cheek into the pillow again. The flowers smelt just as heady and the chocolate was just as delicious, but Liza’s shoulders started shaking ever so slightly, too, just like Natalia Vladimirovna’s.
“Poor Natasha.” But the pity she had for her mother was immediately rechannelled to Cromwell. “He must be at home now. He’ll be sad. He must be thinking of me. Poor Crom.” She sighed and put another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Darling, darling Crom! Things always get worse,” she recalled saying. “It’s true—things always get worse.”
Her heart clenched with a terrible premonition. Something awful, something inevitable was going to happen. A chill crept up her legs. She could hardly breathe.
But the wheels pounded ever more regularly, and her eyelids grew heavy as they lowered themselves over her tired eyes.
IX
LIZA WAS AWOKEN by an almighty jolt. Their carriage kept lurching and swaying from side to side. The engine’s shrill whistle pierced her eardrums. Liza lifted her head and looked around. Where was she? She smiled sleepily. She was on a train. She was going to Paris, to Andrei. She drew up her knees and rested her head on her arm, basking in the snug warmth. Something tickled her cheek. Ah, yes, it was the flowers. She pushed them away and they fell to the floor with a soft rustle.
“Never mind. I’ll be in Paris soon, with Andrei.” She lay there, smiling to herself. The pillow clung to her cheek unpleasantly. Liza felt its dampness. Why was it damp? Surely, she hadn’t been crying? Surely, she hadn’t been upset and afraid? No, not her, not Liza! What was there to be upset about? What was there to be afraid of? After all, she was going to Paris, where Andrei was waiting for her.
Natalia Vladimirovna touched her shoulder.
“Get up, Liza darling, we’re nearly there.”
Liza sat up and dangled her naked legs off the edge of her berth.
“See, we’ve made it without any accidents.”
Natalia Vladimirovna’s eyes were puffy.
“Didn’t you sleep well, Natasha?”
“No, I have a migraine.”
“So, when you’ve been jilted by a lover, it’s called a migraine. I must tell Kolya,” thought Liza, kicking her feet in the air.
“I slept wonderfully! I’m so glad to be back in Paris. Aren’t you?”
Natalia Vladimirovna was powdering her face in front of the mirror.
“Quickly now, Liza, get dressed.”
Liza looked out of the window. Were they nearly there? Nearly? Now a tall wall with big black letters across it drew into view: “PARIS”.
Liza clapped her hands.
“Mama, Paris!”
Natalia Vladimirovna turned to glare at her.
“How many times must I tell you not to call me ‘Mama’! Don’t forget our umbrellas and your flowers.”
Liza glanced down at Cromwell’s flowers. It wasn’t worth taking them—they had already wilted. She kicked them aside and stepped out into the corridor.
The train drew to a halt. Liza was first to jump down onto the platform. Andrei, where was Andrei?
But Andrei was nowhere to be seen. In vain she scrutinized the crowd of onlookers. Nikolai alighted from one of the second-class carriages. He looked drowsy and irritated. He gave Liza a mock bow.
“Did you sleep well, Your Highness?”
“Leave me alone.”
The three of them clambered into a taxi. A cold, driving rain pelted the car windows. Umbrellas glistened in the streets. Nikolai shivered.
“What a cold reception Paris has given us! What’s the matter with you, Liza? You should have had a good night’s sleep.”
“I have a headache. And so does Natasha. So you can cut your prattling.”
In Auteuil, in their little pink villa with its large windows, the maid and Bunny were already waiting for them.
“Did a telegram arrive?” Natalia Vladimirovna asked as soon as she walked through the door.
“No, madame.”
Natalia Vladimirovna proceeded straight to her room, without bothering to remove her hat. Bunny remained in the parlour, standing quite awkwardly in the middle of it.
“What are you doing out there?” she shouted. “Do you need an invitation?”
Liza washed and changed. Heavens, how long it all took.
“Kolya, why do you suppose he didn’t come to meet us?”
Nikolai was busy unpacking.
“Who, Cromwell?”
“Don’t be so stupid—Andrei.”
Nikolai shrugged.
“He must have overslept, your Andrei.”
“Overslept? He couldn’t have overslept.”
“Then he must have fallen under a tram.”
Liza stomped her foot.
“Be quiet!”
Nikolai laughed.
“As if I’d be scared of you! You’re like an angry kitten. Come on, hiss at me!”
Liza ignored him and quickly put on her gloves and coat.
“If she asks, tell her I’ve gone to Odette’s.”
“All right, all right. Go, she won’t ask. She’s got other things on her mind. She’s having it out with Bunny now, and afterwards she’ll either have a fit of hysterics or go to her dressmaker’s.”
Liza ran out of the house and carried on running all the way to the end of the street, without stopping once.
“What if he’s fallen out of love with me? Or died?” she thought, climbing the stairs. “What if he’s not at home?”
Andrei’s aunt opened the door.
“Liza darling, are you all back already?”
Liza curtseyed politely.
“Yes, we got back this morning. Kolya sent me to ask if he could borrow Andrei’s algebra book.”
“Come in, come in. Andrei is ill. He’s got a sore throat. Andrei, you have a visitor.”
She pushed open the door and Liza saw Andrei. He was lying in bed, covered up with a red blanket. His hair was dishevelled. A chequered sock was tied around his throat.
“He must have taken it off his left foot,” thought Liza.
He turned his gaunt face towards her and blushed deeply.
“Liza? You mustn’t see me like this. Step outside for just a moment and I’ll make myself presentable.”
Liza held out her hand.
“Hello. I’m so happy to see you. I thought that—”
He shied away from her hand.
“Wait, let me get up.”
“Please, you needn’t.”
“All right, you two, I have things to do. You stay here and talk,” Andrei’s aunt said before leaving the room.
Liza looked at Andrei, at his worried face, at the cover hanging off the bed, at the disarray in his room. All of it—his illness and his worry, the crumpled shirt he had on, the impoverished surroundings—made her heart clench with tenderness.
She laid her hat on the chair.
“Andrei, my poor darling!”
“So that’s what your haircut looks like! It really does suit you.”
She sat down on his bed.
“We haven’t said our hellos yet.”
“No, wait, step outside for just a minute. Let me get dressed. I’m embarrassed to be seen like this.”
She held him close.
“You’ve lost weight. And your eyes are so sad! Did you miss me?”
“Awfully.”
“I missed you too. Oh, Andrei, I couldn’t wait to come back. But just look at you—you’re so sad.” She sighed and said, “‘Et alors, parce qu’il était toujours triste, on l’appela Tristan.’* That’s from that book about you and me. You’re Tristan and I’m Isolde.”
Andrei frowned.
“What about that Englishman?”
Liza shook her head.
“The Englishman doesn’t exist any more, it’s over.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“I swear.”
They heard his aunt call from the hallway. “I must be off now! If anyone rings, please answer the door, Liza dear!”
They heard the front door shut. Andrei laughed.
“As if we’d ever open that door! Come on, Liza, give me a minute and I’ll get up properly.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Don’t you dare. You’re ill, so you must stay in bed. And to save you embarrassment, I’m going to get into bed with you. Hold on.” She quickly threw off her coat and shoes. “There. Now you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” She threw back the cover and got into bed beside him. “You know, when Tristan was dying he called out to Isolde, but she couldn’t get to him in time. She sailed to him aboard a ship, but he was already dead. And so she lay down next to him, placed her arms around him and died too. Close your eyes and come closer to me. Don’t say anything. Just like that. That’s how they lay there, both of them dead.”
* Et alors… Tristan: “And so, because he was always sad (triste), they called him Tristan.”
Part Two
I
BUNNY RUSHED OUT of the building. He had a startled, slightly unhinged look about him. His bowler hat was askew and tears were streaming down his face.
“Fifty francs! Fifty!” he kept repeating in astonishment. “Me! Fifty francs!”
He threw out his stubby arm, as if to push something aside, and broke into a run along the pavement, tears still streaming down his face. At the corner, he stopped suddenly, remembering that his taxi was waiting, and turned back.
“To the Claridge,” he said to the driver.
The usual thoughts raced through his head. “The window on the left side is open. I ought to close it, it’s a bad omen.” But he didn’t close the window, he just shook his head helplessly. He didn’t have time for bad omens when everything, absolutely everything, was going to hell in a handcart.
“Fifty francs! To me! Me! A man to whom Witte himself once paid his respects.”
Bunny sat up straight. His round blue eyes flashed under his pince-nez. “That’s right, Witte! And not only Witte! Just last year, in London… And now—a mere fifty francs!”
His eyes darted this way and that. “That’s who you were then, but who are you now? What do you have?” he whispered to himself in a mocking lament. “They wouldn’t lend me a thousand francs. Only fifty, with no obligation to repay. As if I were a beggar! So what’s to happen now? What’s next?” He drew in his neck, as if bracing himself to receive a blow. This was the beginning of the end. This is what he had been afraid of. He had fooled himself into thinking that everything was all right, that everything would be fine, but it hadn’t been fine for some time now. Not since that very day, that very hour, when he met Natalia Vladimirovna at the Deauville races. His stable, quiet existence had ended there and then, and the hitherto solid ground beneath his feet had turned into an abyss.
“An abyss,” he repeated aloud, drawing his feet up in alarm, as if his small lacquered shoes were not resting on the grey mat covering the taxi floor, but rather hovering precariously over death and despair, over a terrifying abyss. The very abyss he had feared all his life, which had yawned open so unexpectedly under his feet.
The taxi drew to a halt. Bunny started in surprise, but quickly composed himself, fixed his bowler, smoothed down his jacket and for some reason put on a pair of bright yellow gloves. He then twisted his lips into a scornful, indifferent smile, and calmly, confidently strode into the lobby of the Claridge. It was the kind of calm confidence that a lion tamer adopts when walking into the lion’s cage.
“Pay the driver,” he instructed the doorman over his shoulder.
The doorman’s sharp, angry gaze tracked him for a moment, like a bloodthirsty lion ready to pounce on his tamer. His clipped moustache bristled. But he nodded obediently, doffed his gold-rimmed cap and turned on his heels in the direction of the taxi.
By that time, Bunny was already going up in the lift.
“Oof, got away with it that time,” he whispered to himself. But that was the easy part. The hardest part was still to come.
He screwed up his face. “I want to do good, but all my life I’ve been treading the path of evil. I’m not a bad man at heart… I’m a man of the Sixties, after all. How did it all come to this?” Pity for his wife made his throat tickle. “But what am I supposed to do? What if she refuses? What if she doesn’t let me have them? No, she wouldn’t dare. I’ll force her.” He clenched his stumpy fingers into a fist. “I’ll force her! I’ll put her through a meat-grinder if I have to! That’s right, a meat-grinder!”
He knocked on the door forcefully.
“Come in!” his wife
called out.
He stopped in the doorway. His wife was playing the piano. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew that she could see him in the mirror.
“Fanny,” he said. “I wanted to ask you…”
She carried on playing, as if he weren’t even there.
“Fanny, listen to me!” He tugged at his collar as if it had suddenly grown too tight. “Can’t you stop playing for just one minute, for God’s sake! I don’t want to shout.”
The playing ceased abruptly. His wife turned around and looked at him in just the same way as she had been looking at the score. The expression in her big, kind, bulging eyes—the eyes of a dairy cow—didn’t change. They wore a look of fear. The fear had set in as soon as Bunny had entered the room.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
“I wanted to ask. If you could…”
Her broad round face blanched. Her full shoulders, clad in a black woollen dress, began to tremble.
“I wanted to ask.” He tugged at his collar again. “It would only be for three days. Three days only…” He lost his train of thought. “Give me your earrings!” he suddenly blurted out in a pleading, high-pitched, womanish voice.
Immediately, she raised her hands to her ears.
“It will only be for three days. There’s a hitch with the business. While the money from Berlin is clearing. You needn’t worry.” He was speaking much more calmly now.
She was trying to take off her earrings, but her hands were shaking too much. The locks of her grey hair kept getting tangled in the diamonds.
“Just a moment, just a moment,” she kept repeating in bewilderment.
“It will only be for three days… You needn’t worry so much, Fanny.”
At last she managed to take them off and held them out to him in the palm of her trembling hand.
He took them and kissed her hand, which was still shaking.
“Thank you, Fanny. You’ve been a great help. Don’t wait for me to have dinner, I’ll be back late.”
He bowed before taking his leave. In the hallway, outside, he paused.
“I’ve robbed her. That was all she had left and I’ve taken it. What’s she doing now behind that door? Is she crying?”
Isolde Page 5