The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  “I am afraid your father is growing quite impatient,” Anna had said. “The guests are arriving, Princess, and he was mumbling something about you shirking your duty in not being there to receive them.”

  “Well, I don’t care. I’m not budging until Dmitri arrives. There would hardly be any sense in making a grand entrance at all if the only one I am trying to impress isn’t here!”

  “But he is here, Princess. He stepped through the front doors when I was there. He has only just this minute come!”

  “Then let me be on my way at once! Oh, but Anna,” she added, feeling a momentary fluttering of nervousness, “are you certain the dress is—”

  “Perfect, Princess,” said Anna. “Everything is perfect.”

  Had Anna remained in the ballroom only a moment or two longer, she would have observed Dmitri more carefully. But as it was, she missed the one detail that would again smash all Katrina’s hopes and dreams to dust.

  8

  Katrina Viktorovna Fedorcenko descended the marble stairway into the ballroom of her father’s mansion with all the grace and aplomb of the grand Russian aristocrat and princess she was.

  Mother and father beamed radiantly where they stood to welcome her after the slow and stately descent. To the many pandering compliments directed her way, Princess Natalia nodded and murmured “Thank you” over and over, as if she had had a significant share in the nurturing of the girl. Viktor stood tall and erect, as befitting a man of his stature, nodding his respectful appreciation for the congratulations afforded him by his colleagues. And he did have to admit that Katrina was a beautiful young lady. She nearly made up for an errant son who was off God only knew where trying to find his soul, and then to write about whatever he found, for heaven’s sake. At least his daughter wasn’t filled with any such nonsense!

  Katrina was not oblivious to the admiring stares and praises being heaped upon her as she made her grand entrance. In truth, such flattery was rather commonplace for one in her position, and she would have noticed it more if she hadn’t inspired such comment. Even as she returned animated smiles and greetings to her guests, her mind focused on searching among the hundreds of faces present to find the one face above all the rest she desperately longed to see.

  Anna said she had seen him. Where was he? His height . . . the breadth of his rugged shoulders . . . he would stand out in any crowd! Why couldn’t she see him? He couldn’t have already slipped away somewhere!

  No! She dismissed the thought immediately. He would not have come only to leave before personally greeting the guest of honor. Ah, she had it! He had no doubt arrived thirsty and had only at that moment retreated to the refreshment table.

  Suddenly her probing eyes found him! Her heart leaped into her throat for a moment, but she swallowed it just as quickly.

  Dmitri stood on the fringe of the crowd toward the back of the hall, leaning nonchalantly against one of the walls. He almost seemed to want to remain unobserved. Surely the years away have not made him shy, thought Katrina.

  But no! He was staring directly toward her when her gaze finally turned in his direction. He had been looking for her! A thrill unlike anything she had ever known tingled throughout her entire body.

  A year in the frozen wastes of the distant east had not diminished the stunning handsomeness of his face and frame one degree. A year of war followed by a year in exile had, in fact, served to deepen what was most desirable about him. Slightly thinner, the power of his features was more clearly evident. His limbs seemed more muscular, his cheekbones more prominent, his eyes older, his gaze steadier. To the dashing glint of his eye and the sardonic slant of his grin a certain portion of character was added. The new element she perceived could not exactly be termed maturity—Dmitri remained still too spirited and careless for that. Nor did his bearing possess the depth of sensitivity of someone like his friend, Katrina’s brother Sergei Viktorovich. Yet what she saw somehow added still more mystery to his vast appeal.

  Such details of perception, however, passed so rapidly through Katrina’s consciousness that she was scarcely aware of them. What she did notice, however, in that tiniest of instants when their eyes met was a look—she was sure of it!—be it ever so fleeting, of mutual desire.

  Could it be that at last he saw her . . . with the eyes of a man?

  In that moment, had he remembered the touch of her lips against his? It had been nearly two years ago, but Katrina had never forgotten that instant of ecstasy.

  Without hesitation she began to make her way toward him. This was no time for caution or timidity. When she had learned of Dmitri’s return from Siberia, this evening had taken on but one single overpowering purpose—and now she bent herself upon its fulfillment.

  Two years ago, when she had put so much hope in the tsar’s New Year’s Ball, she had been but a child. She had grown and matured in many ways, more than merely in the contours of her body.

  To be sure, the influence of her gentle peasant maid had wrought much good in Katrina. If Dmitri’s gaze had been as insightful as it was keen, he would have seen the changes that maturity had brought about in her. More sensitivity accompanied by a degree or two less of self-absorption was plainly evident in the young Fedorcenko princess. Her strength of will had grown, it is true, although it had been somewhat mellowed by other attributes.

  Yet she remained a determined young lady, and the passage of time had certainly not dulled her feelings toward Dmitri—nor her will to make him her own. And now here she was, at last face-to-face again with the man she loved.

  She smiled with all the grace of her ripened charm and held her hand out to him with apparent confidence that at least this he would never reject.

  “Dmitri,” she said with as much calm as she could muster, although a trace of girlish cracking escaped into her tone. “I am so glad you could come!” Her voice reflected complete sincerity as well as youthful eagerness. He was, after all, a family friend returned from a long absence.

  “I would not have missed my dear Katrina’s coming out for all the best wine in the Crimea!” he replied. His tone lacked the patronizing quality she halfway expected. Yet it held some other inexact quality she could not readily define.

  “And I know how much you enjoy your wine!” she rejoined playfully. They both laughed.

  “You look lovely, Katrina,” he went on with unexpected earnestness.

  “A little less like my brother’s baby sister?”

  “Oh, a great deal less!” he answered with a knowing look.

  “There you are, Dmitri, darling,” interrupted a voice into the exchange of surface pleasantries.

  Katrina scarcely had time to turn her head before a young woman glided between them, slipping her arm possessively through Dmitri’s. He received the girl’s attentions with only a slightly disconcerted smile.

  “Katrina, you know Alice Nabatov,” he said.

  Katrina hadn’t seen Alice since the day the flirtatious young woman had spoiled her afternoon of skating on the river two winters previously. Alice Nicolayevna’s father, though not a hereditary aristocrat, was a wealthy industrialist and had lately been dubbed a count by the tsar, and the two girls ran in different social circles.

  “Yes, of course, we have met once or—” faltered Katrina. But before she could finish Alice broke in.

  “I hope you don’t think me a party-crasher, Katrina dear,” she said with a giggle. “But I told Dmitri it would be perfectly acceptable for him to bring his fiancee to your celebration.”

  At the word fiancee, Katrina felt as if she’d been broadsided across the face by the blow of a fist. None of the fantasies she had nurtured concerning this night had included this!

  Too shocked to utter a sound, she stood staring, a blank smile painted across her face as if etched in stone. She began to feel the color drain from her cheeks, but struggled to stand stoically like a well-disciplined soldier, a trait inherited from her father.

  “Fiancee?” she finally managed.

 
“Yes,” Alice tittered on. “Isn’t it wonderful? We plan to host a soiree to officially announce the event soon. I do so hope you will be able to come, Katrina dear. I know how close your whole family is to Dmitri.”

  “Yes . . . yes, of course,” Katrina mumbled graciously. “Thank you.” Her control began to slip. She had to get away! “Please, you will excuse me . . . I must greet my other guests.”

  She slid away, keeping her lips turned upward in the general shape of a smile, and somehow managed to stumble on through the motions of a proper hostess and honored guest. For the next thirty minutes Katrina functioned in a complete fog. As if from a distance she was aware of her legs and hands gesturing and her voice sounding, yet without any feeling of reality. She was amazed afterward to realize that she had apparently managed to keep from making an idiot of herself, for her father came to her side fifteen or twenty minutes later, gave her hand a loving squeeze, and whispered in her ear that it all seemed to be quite a success.

  The moment the greeting of guests was over, the orchestra began with a waltz, her favorite piece, which she danced as planned with her father. A second number followed, and with all the guests occupied, Katrina seized the opportunity of no longer being the center of attention. She excused herself politely from her father and slipped away to her room. She had to get a moment by herself to vent her pent-up emotions, or she was likely to explode.

  Anna could see instantly that something had gone seriously wrong.

  “He’s engaged!” cried Katrina, wasting no words, the moment the door closed behind her. “Engaged . . .” she repeated. Her anger had spent itself in the single outburst, and wounded hurt came in its wake. Tears of mortification and pain instantly began to flow.

  Anna approached her mistress and sat down next to her on the edge of the dressing table bench, laying a comforting arm gently around Katrina’s heaving shoulders. This was no time for her to act the reticent part of a maid. The two girls had come far enough in their relationship over the course of two years that Anna knew how desperately Katrina needed a friend in that moment.

  Many girls of Katrina’s acquaintance came and went around the Fedorcenko household. Katrina went shopping with some, to social gatherings with others. But she was far too independent and strong-willed to develop any deep and lasting relationships of intimacy.

  With Anna it had been different. She was neither threat nor rival. For all Katrina’s strength of temperament, there was a part of her that was too insecure to open her true self up to anyone else. But she had found safety in Anna. Neither harbored secret expectations from the other. And Anna’s innate gentleness had pulled Katrina easily into the kind of relationship that her insensitive, self-centered fellow-aristocratic girlfriends could never have cultivated.

  The two girls sat side by side together in silence for well over five minutes. Except for Katrina’s continued sobbing, there was no other sound in the room.

  At last Katrina spoke, and once the words came, they poured out of her like a rampaging flood. For ten minutes she raged and ranted—against Dmitri, against herself, but mostly against that wanton hussy Alice Nicolayevna Nabatov. In the midst of it, with sobs and sniffles, she berated herself for being such a fool. Then she started up raving angrily all over again.

  When most of the words had gushed out and the initial reservoir of tears had nearly emptied, she turned to Anna.

  “Oh, Anna,” she said despairingly, “what am I to do?” Her voice was drained and hollow. “I’ve tried absolutely everything with Dmitri. And now it seems as though it’s too late!”

  “Is the date set yet, Princess?” asked Anna.

  “No. But it will be soon. Oh, and it isn’t as if Alice Nicolayevna couldn’t find another husband. She’s attractive enough, I suppose . . . in a brassy sort of way. Why does she need to hang on to Dmitri so!”

  “Do you think there is any possibility Count Remizov does secretly care for you, Princess?” asked Anna.

  “Oh, Anna, how can you ask me something like that? I always thought he did. But after tonight, I’m not sure of anything anymore!”

  “Perhaps there is some other reason he has chosen to marry Countess Nabatov,” suggested Anna. “Something other than love.”

  “Hmm . . . there have been rumors that his family’s fortune has been declining,” said Katrina thoughtfully. “That is an interesting idea. If I were to, say, still be able to do something to discourage their plans, I would be doing them both a favor, wouldn’t I, Anna? No one wants a husband who cares for someone else. And I’m sure he does, even if but a little.”

  Suddenly Katrina perked up. She stood and faced her maid.

  “Thank you for letting me talk to you, Anna. I feel much better now. I think I can face the party again.”

  She glanced quickly in the dressing table mirror.

  “Oh, but I look a sight! My eyes are all red.”

  “Let me fix it, Princess.”

  In ten minutes Katrina’s appearance was restored to its previous loveliness. A cool washcloth had reduced the puffiness of her eyes. A deft turn of a comb had smoothed her ruffled curls. But Anna could do nothing to remove the hollow emptiness of Katrina’s countenance.

  Anna crossed herself on her mistress’s behalf and prayed for her as she returned to the party.

  9

  Katrina avoided Dmitri for the remainder of the evening, managing to swallow some of her wounded pride and have some semblance of a good time.

  She did not have to look far for a diversion from Dmitri. Dozens of rich, handsome, and titled young men were close at hand to pay her every attention she could possibly wish for. She danced until she was breathless, and soon was laughing and conversing enthusiastically.

  During a break in the music, she stood sipping at a glass of punch in the center of six or eight admiring and fawning young men, among them the two cousins of the tsar. As she chanced to glance beyond one of them, a man standing off by himself caught her eye. He was staring straight at her with a most intense and penetrating look. She was far too accustomed to the attentions of the opposite sex to be unnerved by it, yet neither was he unnerved that she had seen him. He did not glance away, and seemed not the least embarrassed at having been caught observing her. He did not smile, but when she smiled at him, he did allow the corners of his lips to twitch ever so slightly upwards.

  Katrina pulled her gaze back into the surrounding group of her admirers and went on with the conversation in progress, thinking little more of the incident.

  After a rousing quadrille some time later, Katrina and her partner, laughing, half-stumbled off the dance floor to take a break. When Katrina came to herself, panting from the exertion, there was the stranger again, standing only a few paces away, his eyes still upon her as if he had never removed them. The unexpected persistence of his gaze was momentarily disconcerting, even for Katrina, although she could not consider his attention altogether unpleasant, for the young man was quite handsome.

  In a second or two, the princess took in his appearance with a bit more care than she had earlier. He was a bit taller than Dmitri, but not so stocky in build, with wavy hair, thick and very blonde to match his thick, pale eyebrows. The lightness of hair and complexion was strikingly offset by stunning, dark brown eyes. They were extremely deep-set, rather close together, and filled with as much intensity and seriousness as Dmitri’s were with constant amusement. They gave the impression of looking at, into, and through all at the same time. They drew in their object and did not easily let go. Katrina felt her heart pounding within her, a condition that could not be entirely attributed to the dance just ended.

  “Nicholas,” she said to her partner, “would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of punch? I am utterly parched after all that exercise!”

  “Most gladly, Princess. Excuse me.”

  The moment young Nicholas was gone, Katrina made no pretense of trying to be coy or subtle. She walked directly toward the mysterious stranger.

  “Good evening,” s
he said simply.

  “Good evening, Princess Katrina.” He bowed slightly. Still he offered no smile and no attempt at the frivolous flattery in which most of the young men around her had been so thoroughly schooled.

  “I feel rather at a disadvantage,” she went on. “You know me, but I must admit I am at a complete loss to recognize you.”

  “We have met,” he replied, “but you can be forgiven for not recalling an event which occurred eight or nine years ago.”

  “Eight or nine years . . . I would have been about ten.” Katrina rubbed her chin in thought.

  “I am Basil Pyotrovich Anickin.”

  “You cannot be Dr. Anickin’s son!”

  “I am afraid so.”

  “There is nothing in the fact to be apologetic over. Our family greatly admires your father. He has quite a high reputation in St. Petersburg.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. You are very kind.”

  “And did you follow in your father’s footsteps? I mean, did you follow him into the medical profession?”

  “No. I read for the law.”

  “So you are a barrister?”

  “Yes.”

  The conversation was stilted, and Katrina was growing flustered at her inability to draw so much as a smile out of the fellow. She could not have misread the distinct impression that the doctor’s son had wanted to meet her. But now he acted as if he were being interrogated by the police! She decided to attempt a frontal assault.

  “Are you always so serious, Basil Pyotrovich?” she said, finishing off the words with her most bewitching smile.

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Well, this is a party, you know,” she went on. “And it is my party, a celebration of my eighteenth birthday. And I simply won’t have any dour guests on my hands. Besides,” she added, flashing her eyes at him, “I should feel as if I had failed altogether as a hostess if you did not have a good time.”

  “But I am having a good time,” he replied most earnestly. “I have greatly enjoyed watching you, Katrina Viktorovna.”