“You may have wondered why I have not given your father champagne to drink, but I thought claret was a better tonic.”
“He is very fond of claret,” Militsa replied, “and I thought that was perhaps your reason for seeding him such old and excellent vintages.”
“I was sure he would appreciate them,” the Duke said.
They entered the Saloon and he knew that Militsa appreciated the excellent dishes that the chef provided.
At the same time, when she looked at him, the fear was still in her eyes.
He set himself out to talk to her about things that he knew would interest her mind and by the time dinner was finished they had had several spirited arguments.
He was aware that he was talking to her as he might have talked to Harry or any of his other close men friends and he could never remember dining with a woman and enjoying a conversation that was so entirely impersonal and at the same time so intelligent.
Once during an argument Militsa made a little gesture of her hand as she said,
“You know so much on so many subjects that you make me ashamed of my ignorance. Please tell which books I should read so that the next time we talk about controversial issues I can be a more able opponent.
“Is that what you want to be?”
He was aware that most women wished to agree with him because they thought in that way they would ingratiate themselves into his affections.
“Papa has always said,” Militsa answered, “that arguments clarify the mind and compel us to analyse our convictions, which we are often too lazy to do until we are forced to put them into words.”
“That is an excellent analysis of what you have been making me do this evening,” the Duke said.
“But you have so many opportunities for expressing in words what you believe.”
The Duke raised his eyebrows and she explained,
“You can speak in the House of Lords and I am sure that you entertain many Statesmen and politicians – as Papa used to do before the Revolution.”
She gave a little sigh.
Then she said,
“If only I had been old enough then to listen to what was being said!”
“You will find plenty of men now only too willing to talk to you if you will listen to them,” the Duke pointed out cynically.
“Perhaps I was foolish – not to join you and your friends when you asked me to,” she said in a low voice.
The Duke realised that she was humbling herself in making to what was to all intents and purposes an apology.
He told himself that if she had been at the meals in question she would have been disappointed.
Dolly always made quite certain that there was never a serious political or intellectual discussion when she was present. Instead they had mostly laughed and capped one another’s stories.
The discussion he had just had with Militsa was very different from anything that had been said in the Saloon on other nights.
They went on talking for a long time after the Stewards had withdrawn leaving the Duke with a glass of brandy at his side, which he preferred to port.
Then at last almost reluctantly they left the Saloon and now there was no longer a table between them the Duke was aware that Militsa was once again uncertain of herself.
“I think Papa will be – asleep,” she said, “and perhaps I too – should go to – bed.”
The words seemed almost to drag themselves from between her lips and the Duke was aware that she was afraid of what would happen now.
“I think that is a good idea, Militsa,” he replied. “It has been a long day with many worries and you must be tired.”
He realised that she was looking at him questioningly and after a moment he added,
“I hope tomorrow morning that you will breakfast with me at about eight-thirty, if that is not too early?”
He saw by the expression in her eyes that she understood the message he was giving her.
“I shall be awake much – earlier than – that,” she said in a voice with just a little tremor in it. “Goodnight – Your Grace!”
“Goodnight, Militsa!” the Duke replied gravely.
*
The following evening he knew as they sat down to dinner that she was eager to begin to talk about his visit to India and he was sure that she had been considering during the day on what subject she could pick his brains.
The questions she asked him were sometimes unanswerable, but once again the Duke found that he was enjoying himself talking to her.
He also found it extremely flattering to be listened to as if he was the source of all wisdom, a compliment that neither Dolly nor any of his other loves had ever conferred on him.
When at last the time came to say goodnight, he was sure that Militsa was wondering what he might do and telling herself that whatever it was, she was obliged to obey him.
He conducted her along the passage to her cabin, but once again he said ‘goodnight’ without attempting to touch her and made her aware that he would not see her again until the following day.
Now, as she leaned over the rail near him, the Duke felt that she was like a wild animal who was beginning to trust him and yet was still wary and easily frightened.
“It is so beautiful!” Militsa sighed, almost as if she spoke to herself.
She was watching the sun disperse the morning mist that lay over the sea.
“I have always believed that Russians feel beauty and are more sensitive in other respects than other people,” the Duke replied.
“That may be true,” Militsa said, “but, when we were so afraid and so hungry, it was very difficult to forget the physical and reach out towards the spiritual.”
The Duke thought with a little smile that few people could have put what they had experienced so simply.
He had known himself in moments of danger and when suffering from lack of water in the desert that it had been almost impossible to think about anything but what was actually happening.
“Now everything seems more – vivid, more – wonderful than it has ever done before,” Militsa was saying.
“That is what I want you to feel,” the Duke answered, “and it is easier to appreciate beauty when there are not lots of people to distract one’s mind.”
He was thinking of Dolly as he spoke and how she saw beauty in nothing but jewels and therefore prevented him when he was with her from appreciating many things that would otherwise have interested him.
He had a sudden wish that he could be with Prince Ivan searching for the treasures of the past in the Valley of the Kings at Luxor and he thought that, when his present task of bringing the Grand Duke back to health was over, he would return to Egypt but this time without Dolly.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Militsa said,
“I am sure if we had not hurried you away in such an – inconvenient manner you would have found not only – beauty but also – treasures you wished for in Egypt.”
“Prince Ivan will do that for me.”
“But it will not be the same as finding them – yourself.”
“There is plenty of time for that in the future,” the Duke replied. “Now I have to look after your father and you and that is more important than the long-dead past.”
“I don’t wish to feel that we are the – encumbrances that we – undoubtedly are,” Militsa said.
“I think you are being hyper-sensitive about your present position in my life,” the Duke replied. “Perhaps I should tell you that I am a very selfish person and, if I had really wished to go treasure hunting with the Prince, I would have arranged for you and your father to go to Monte Carlo without me.”
He saw that this idea had not struck her and for the first time since she had joined him she turned her head to look at him.
“Why did you not do that?”
“Because I wanted to make sure that your father’s operation was successful. Moreover, I can say in all sincerity, I am enjoying every moment of this trip and
especially our conversations.”
“Do you really – mean that?”
“I always say what I mean.”
“You know that I enjoy them too because you tell me so much I want to learn.”
“Then there is no need for either of us to make apologies to the other. We are both doing what we want to do.”
“Yes – that is – true.”
As if again she felt a little shy, she turned away to gaze out at the sea.
Now the mist had vanished before the warmth of the sun and the Duke felt that it was an omen.
After they had eaten breakfast, he spent some time with the Grand Duke and he had the feeling that the old man was growing weaker.
He also learned from Dawkins that the bouts of pain were more severe and more frequent.
Because he thought it was a mistake to talk about this to Militsa, the Duke concentrated on interesting her with his tales of different lands, the political situation in Europe and the way England, after the crises of war, was gradually moving towards a somewhat precarious prosperity.
“There is still a vast amount of unemployment,” he said and saw by the expression on Militsa’s face that she thought in that case it would be difficult for her to find herself a job.
He knew that sooner or later he would explain to her that he intended a very different type of life for her from a struggle to make a living in what was still a male-dominated society.
But he felt that this was not the moment and therefore changed the subject to something that did not concern her personally.
That night, after Militsa had left him rather later than usual to go to bed, he had sat for a long time in his private cabin thinking.
He had intended to read and had actually brought several books from the library to look up the dates of various subjects that he intended to discuss the following day.
Instead he found himself thinking about her until at one o’clock in the morning he decided that he should go to bed.
He was walking towards his cabin when he heard a door open and saw Militsa come out of her father’s cabin and stare about her wildly as if she was seeking help.
The Duke hurried towards her.
She put out her hand to hold on to him as he reached her.
“Papa!” she exclaimed. “I think he is having some sort of – seizure and I don’t – know what to – do.”
The Duke moved quickly past her into the cabin.
One look at the Grand Duke told him that Militsa was right and the old man was gasping for breath.
The Duke lifted him higher on his pillows and said sharply,
“Brandy and a spoon!”
Militsa brought them to him and he gave the Grand Duke a few drops of brandy. After a moment the colour came back a little to his face and he began to breathe more easily.
The Duke made him as comfortable as he could and then sat down beside him, taking his pulse as he did so.
The Grand Duke’s hand was very cold and his pulse was so faint that the Duke found it hard to locate.
Militsa was watching him from the other side of the bed.
“He should have a doctor,” she whispered.
The Duke had the feeling that no doctor, however experienced, would be able to do anything for the Grand Duke now and at that moment he opened his eyes.
It was obviously difficult for him to focus on anything and Militsa moved a little nearer to him to say,
“Are you all right, Papa?”
It took the old man a second or so to realise that she was there.
Then, as if he recognised her, he said,
“Militsa!”
“I am here, Papa, and so is the Duke. We are worried about you.”
With what seemed a great effort, the Grand Duke looked at the man whose hand was on his wrist.
Next he said slowly and faintly,
“Look – after – Militsa.”
Then, as he said the last words, his eyes closed, his head fell sideways onto his shoulder and the Duke could no longer feel his pulse.
He knew what had happened, but Militsa stared at her father wildly and then went to the bedside with the bottle of brandy.
“Give him some more brandy – quickly!” she cried.
The Duke rose and put the Grand Duke’s hand gently down on his chest, then turned to say to her,
“There is nothing more we can do.”
It seemed as if for a few seconds Militsa did not understand. Then with an inarticulate little murmur she moved as if instinctively towards the Duke and hid her face against his shoulder.
He put his arms round her and was aware as he did so, that she was wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that she had borrowed from Nancy.
Her hair streaming over her shoulders reached to her waist, but since entering the cabin he had been too preoccupied to think of anything but the Grand Duke.
Now holding Militsa against him he knew that he wanted to protect and look after her and he felt differently about her from the way he had felt about any other woman before in his life.
He could feel her trembling against him. She was not crying, only fighting for control, feeling as if her whole world had collapsed about her and she was conscious not of herself but of the ruins of it.
“It is hard to think of it now,” the Duke said very gently, “but your father has been saved a lot of pain. It is doubtful in fact, if the operation, if it had taken place, would have been successful.”
“I cannot – believe he has – left me,” Militsa said in a voice that was hard to hear and which broke on the last words.
“He is at peace,” the Duke murmured.
He took Militsa to her own cabin and sent for Dawkins.
“I was afraid this would happen, Your Grace,” Dawkins said. “His Royal Highness has been getting weaker and weaker every day.”
“I thought that too,” the Duke agreed.
“Do you intend to have him buried at sea, Your Grace?”
“That is a good idea, Dawkins.”
He went from the Grand Duke’s cabin to Militsa’s.
She was lying on her bed as he had left her and, as he expected, she was not asleep but staring wide-eyed in front of her as if she was looking into the unseen.
She did not seem either embarrassed or surprised when he came to her and he had the feeling that she was numb with shock and could think of nothing but her father.
He sat down beside the bed and took her hand in his.
“I want you to listen to me, Militsa,” he said, “and it is important.”
Her fingers tightened on his, but he knew that it was an entirely impersonal reaction since for the moment he stood for the only thing that was secure and stable in her life.
“I have been thinking,” he said, “that it would be a mistake to let the Bolsheviks be aware that your father is dead as they wished him to be. Let them go on worrying as to whether he is alive or not and I think, from your own point of view, it would be easier for you not to have to answer questions about your escape from Russia.”
“I – think I – understand,” Militsa said, after a moment’s hesitation, “and I have no wish to – talk about – Papa to strangers.”
“Of course not,” the Duke agreed. “That is why I am asking whether you would like him to be buried at sea. That way there would be no enquiries, no gloomy Church Service and, above all, no publicity.”
“I would, of course, hate all that!” Militsa replied.
“Then if I have your permission,” the Duke continued, “I will bury His Royal Highness tomorrow morning at dawn.”
It was impossible for her to speak and the Duke rose.
Her hand was still in his and he raised it to his lips.
“You are very brave,” he said quietly and went from the cabin.
*
The following day, as the sun rose over the horizon, the Grand Duke was committed to the deep.
The Duke thought it had been a very moving ceremony in which the Captain
had read the Burial Service before the Grand Duke’s body was lowered gently into the sea.
To the Duke’s surprise Militsa joined him at luncheon and ,although she was very pale, he had the feeling that she had not cried and he remembered, when he looked at her, the line that followed the words that occurred to him so often.
“And burning pride and high disdain
Forbade the rising tears to flow.”
Could pride be more effective, he asked himself, than in checking the tears that would have brought any other woman to a state of hysteria.
He was filled with admiration when during luncheon she talked naturally of her father, describing what he had meant to her when she was a child and how even in the worst days of their years in hiding she had been happy and in a way content because she was with him.
Once or twice her voice quavered when she spoke of the old days, but the Duke thought that her overall courage and perhaps her pride gave her a new beauty.
Only after luncheon, when usually she had left him to go to her father, did she seem somehow at a loss.
Perceptively the Duke was aware that, if she went below, she would be acutely conscious of the empty cabin next to hers.
“I am going on the bridge,” he said. “Why do you not join me? I would like you to see how we navigate The Siren.”
“I would like to do that,” Militsa answered.
“I think you ought to take a coat with you,” the Duke said. “It seems warm at the moment, but the wind in the Mediterranean at this time of the year can be very treacherous and it would be wise to bring it.”
Because he saw that she hesitated he sent a Steward to her cabin to fetch it for her.
He then carried it over his arm and they walked along the deck to the bridge.
He thought how slim and frail she looked. Life seemed to have dealt her blow after blow, yet while most women would have been bemoaning their fate and trying to evoke sympathy, she was behaving in a manner that he wondered in similar circumstances if he himself would have found possible.
She found the navigating of the yacht extremely interesting as he had thought she would and afterwards he took her down to see the engines.
He wondered when she left him whether she would make some excuse not to dine with him, but she said nothing.
Princes and Princesses Page 87