The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  But in the meantime, he and Boris were drawing near to the ballroom where Yuri could already hear music and voices and laughter.

  The footman announced, “Count Boris Kozin and Prince Yuri Fedorcenko.”

  The man’s voice was not so loud that it caused any disruption of the activities of the three hundred guests. Yuri diverted his gaze from the glittering ballroom with several crystal chandeliers and yellow marble columns to focus on a small reception line at the door. Two older couples, the parents of Felix and Irina, shook hands with the new arrivals. Yuri’s hand trembled as he realized he was shaking the hand of the Grand Duke Alexander and the Grand Duchess Zenia, the tsar’s sister! All thoughts of the downtrodden Russian poor fled from Yuri’s mind.

  Princess Irina, the bride-to-be, apologized that her fiancé had been called away briefly. “I welcome you in his stead,” she said. “I will see to it that he greets you later.”

  Though Yuri did want to meet Prince Felix, he felt it would probably be best if he got through the evening as anonymously as possible.

  He and Boris then moved in among the guests, some of whom were dancing to a traditional waltz, while others were milling in small groups talking and sipping champagne. Neither young man saw a familiar soul. Thus, they stood in an awkward clique of two, trying to engage in easygoing conversation so they appeared as if they were having a good time. The last thing either wanted was to do anything that would draw attention to them.

  “Look over there,” Boris said, cocking his head toward where a small knot of three young women were standing. “They appear unattached. Shall we forge ahead?”

  As Boris started in the direction of the girls, Yuri clutched his arm. “Boris, how about something to drink first? I’m parched.”

  “Don’t be such a coward, Yuri. This is our big chance to meet women of substance—” Boris stopped suddenly. “Don’t look now, but I think they’ve discovered us, too.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” said Yuri without enthusiasm.

  Making a great effort to appear casual, Boris glanced in the direction of the girls and smiled. To Yuri he said, “The pretty blond one smiled at me. Are you coming or not?”

  “All right.” Yuri felt like a man resigned to his execution. As they approached the girls, he kept silently reminding himself that he was a prince, and not a bad-looking one, at that. And he was a doctor with a promising future. Even if he had no money, he had a lot to offer a young Russian debutante.

  Boris, who was far more the suave charmer than Yuri, immediately struck up a conversation with the blonde.

  “Forgive me for being so forward, but when I saw you I simply couldn’t take my eyes off you. You look so familiar to me. Have we met before? But surely I would not have forgotten meeting such a beautiful woman.”

  “I really don’t think so,” she said in perfect French. “I am Mademoiselle Blanche Fortier. I’ve only been here a short while from Paris.”

  “Ah, French . . . how delightful.”

  Yuri watched in awe his friend’s masterful approach. He, himself, could only smile awkwardly at one of the other girls. She smiled back, but he couldn’t think of anything glib or charming to say. As he searched his mind for some other line besides “Have I met you before?” two other men approached and moved in.

  Soon Yuri was left standing alone, silently cursing himself for his cloddishness. With a disgusted grunt, he strode toward the refreshment table. Even if he did risk bursting his suit, it was better to do something other than merely standing around like a boorish lump. But as he looked at the food, and an elegant spread it was, he realized he was far too nervous to have much of an appetite. He took a glass of champagne instead.

  As he turned away from the table, he collided into a woman. A tidal wave of liquid leapt from his glass, but Yuri only noticed the young woman’s silky amber-colored hair, cut and styled daringly short, and a flash of her brilliant blue eyes. It took his breath away almost as much as the mishap itself had. Luckily the flying champagne seemed to land only on his clothes, not hers. Nevertheless he was still flustered and apologetic.

  “I’m so sorry! Are you all right? I haven’t ruined your dress, have I? I shall never forgive—”

  “No harm done,” she replied, giving herself a careless appraisal. Her stylish gown of lavender tulle and satin trimmed with pearls appeared undamaged. She eyed the damp spot on his suit. “But I’m afraid you are going to be stained.”

  “Oh, it’ll dry and won’t show a bit then.” He paused. She was a beautiful young woman. . . . If only he could think of something clever to say. But his mind went blank.

  “If you’ll excuse me, then,” she said, “I’ll continue on my mission.”

  “Can I assist you?” he said hurriedly. “To . . . uh . . . make up for my clumsiness.” Hardly clever, but it was something, at least.

  “There’s no need . . .”

  “I’d like to, really.”

  “Well—”

  Yuri grabbed a plate. “What would you like?”

  “I only wanted some champagne,” she replied.

  Yuri glanced at the plate, feeling even more foolish. He started to replace it but in the process bumped a dish of canapes that was perched on a pedestal. The dish tottered precariously, but Yuri caught it before disaster occurred.

  The young woman made a poor attempt to restrain a giggle. Yuri felt the blood rush up his neck and cheeks.

  “I think I’d best get you away from this table,” said the girl. “Even the Youssoupovs can afford only so much breakage.”

  Much to Yuri’s surprise, the girl took his arm and led him a few paces away. “I’d suggest we dance,” she continued, “but I fear you might have the same grace on the dance floor that you do at a refreshment table.”

  “Not . . . not quite the same.”

  “Then, shall we?”

  Almost before he realized what was happening, his arm was about her waist and they were gliding away to a waltz. Seconds after they had begun to dance, the music stopped.

  The girl laughed. “My goodness! I do believe we are jinxed.”

  “I hope not,” Yuri said.

  She looked him up and down in a rather frank appraisal even for a modern society girl. “Yes . . .” she said meaningfully.

  “Maybe we ought to try to get off on a better foot.”

  “Quite literally!”

  They laughed, and Yuri relaxed a little. The more time he spent with this lovely girl, the more he did indeed want to improve his disastrous initial impression.

  “I’m Yuri Fedorcenko,” he said, offering his hand. He thought about adding prince, but he had already gotten off to such a bad start with her he didn’t want to appear pretentious. The use of doctor was so new it didn’t even occur to him.

  She took his hand with slim, graceful fingers. “And I am Katya Zhenechka.”

  “The vodka Zhenechkas?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it terrible? Some say my father is the cause of all the woes of Russia.”

  “I’m sure the people would find a way to get vodka whether your father produced it or not.”

  “And what do you do, Mr. Fedorcenko? You wouldn’t be related to—”

  A new voice suddenly intruded into Yuri and Katya’s conversation. “I’ve found him at last! Our party crasher.”

  Yuri’s insides gave a jarring leap as he spun around and found himself face-to-face with the party’s guest of honor, Felix Youssoupov.

  15

  Prince Youssoupov wore a grin that contrasted sharply with his startling words. He was a handsome man, slim, with sensitive, deep-set eyes, a long, finely chiseled nose, and expressive, thin lips. Twenty-five, according to the society newspaper columns.

  Yuri stood there, stunned and thoroughly confused when Youssoupov came up to him and slapped him on the shoulder in anything but a hostile manner.

  “At the time of your arrival, it didn’t dawn on my parents who you were,” Youssoupov continued, “until you were quite lost in the crowd. But
I had to appease my curiosity—”

  “Excuse me,” Katya said suddenly. “I really think I shall take my leave, if you don’t mind.”

  Yuri watched helplessly as she turned to go. “Please, Katya, I—” But he couldn’t think of what to say in his defense. He was a party crasher. He let her walk away.

  Youssoupov then realized he had stirred up something unpleasant. “Goodness! Did she think I really meant that about you?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Youssoupov laughed. “Why, it almost sounds like you believe it also.”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly invited here.”

  “You would have been, had we known. You are one of the Fedorcenkos? But, of course, you must be. How many Prince Fedorcenkos are there? Still, you dropped out of society for so long, I thought the name was lost forever. Whatever happened? I heard about old Prince Viktor, of course. But for the rest of the family to disappear also—”

  “It’s rather an involved story.”

  “Perhaps someday you can tell it to me in detail. In the meantime, you won’t have to crash another Youssoupov party again.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Prince Youssoupov. But I must tell you honestly that the Fedorcenko family has fallen somewhat from its former status.”

  “Do you think I care about status? At one time our grandfathers were friends. That is what’s important. But I am curious about what brings you back here now.”

  “I just graduated from medical school.”

  “Ah, so you are a doctor.”

  “Just barely.”

  “Well, I have a soft spot in my heart for physicians. You know, I was a sickly child and had doctors attending me always. Thank God I have overcome all that. Thank those doctors, also.”

  “If you ever have need of medical assistance again, I will gladly be at your service.”

  “Thanks so much. Now, what shall I do about Countess Zhenechka?”

  “I don’t understand, Prince—”

  “Felix, please. Well, did I break up a budding romance?”

  “We’d only just met.”

  “Then I’ve spoiled your first impression.”

  “I had already done that, I’m afraid.”

  “Come now. A good-looking, intelligent man like yourself should have no problem with impressing a beautiful woman. I’ll go see if I can repair the damage I did.”

  “You need not trouble yourself, Felix, really.”

  “Never mind. You just wait here.”

  Youssoupov hurried away, and after ten minutes, Yuri decided he’d not see his host again, nor would he see Katya. He found a chair near a wall, sat and tried not to look as miserable as he felt. Boris came up once and tried to interest him in dancing with some other girls, but Yuri had lost his enthusiasm. After five more minutes, he was ready to find Boris to tell him he was leaving. Then he saw Katya approach across the crowded dance floor.

  He was again keenly aware of her shimmering hair, the light from a chandelier highlighting its amber hue. But he now realized that the distinctive hair color was merely a frame surrounding the true work of art—blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, pale lips with but a hint of lip rouge. But those lips seemed to say more with a smile or a pout than a Tolstoy novel.

  She was smiling now, and Yuri felt every ounce of courage and strength of will ebb from him. He acknowledged her approach by standing, but he felt, irrationally, that he should kneel before her instead. He could be her slave if she wished.

  “I’m sorry I left so abruptly,” she said.

  “I don’t blame you. It was rather awkward.”

  “I felt if there was a scene, you wouldn’t have wanted anyone around.”

  “I appreciate that.” There followed an uncomfortable pause. Finally Yuri said, “Would you care to sit?”

  “I’d rather have some fresh air. The gardens here are quite worth a visit, anyway.”

  Yuri was glad to leave the ballroom, which had grown stifling. But more than that, the prospect of being alone with Katya was almost dizzying.

  They left the ballroom, passing through several grandly arched arcades all lined with statues and fine works of art. A final archway that resembled a Grecian temple opened out onto the garden. Now, in June, a soft breeze brought the scent of lilacs and roses. The white night glowed above the couple as they strolled down the path between fragrant shrubs and flowers. Yuri thought that if Katya looked beguiling under the bright chandeliers, she was breathtaking outdoors on a summer evening.

  They were quiet for a few moments as they walked. Only the distant sound of music could be heard.

  Katya’s voice, slightly husky with an intensity that made even her most trivial words seem important, floated over the silence. “Felix told me all about you.”

  “Well, you came back, so it must not have been too shocking to you.”

  She smiled rather mysteriously, then said, “Just intriguing. You came back to be a doctor, he said. But from where? Did you leave Russia?”

  He wasn’t exactly ashamed of his family’s convoluted history. He could hardly hide all of it anyway, since some was already a matter of public record. But why complicate his still-precarious relationship with this girl by airing all the sordid facts? It was best to keep things simple.

  “I’ve been abroad,” he said.

  “Was your family exiled?”

  “In a matter of speaking.”

  “You speak excellent Russian for not having been exposed to it.”

  “Well . . . uh . . . my parents didn’t want me to lose my Russian heritage. They hoped one day I would return.”

  “They are alive?”

  “My mother is.” Yuri seized the momentary pause to change the topic of conversation. “I’m glad you suggested walking outside. I’ve had my nose between the pages of books for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what pleasure there is to be found in a place like this.”

  “Medical school must have been difficult. I’m thankful my father is a die-hard conservative who believes education is for men only.”

  “You’ve no interest in learning, then.”

  “That’s different, isn’t it? I’m learning things every day. I don’t need to go to school for that.”

  “You sound like my brother. I have to admit, I loved school, and now that I’m through, I feel a bit of a letdown. But I do have internship ahead of me, and I think I’ve chosen a profession in which learning and challenge never stops.”

  “Then, you’ll be happy.” She said it as if she were speaking of some alien emotion, something as removed from her realm as the suffering and poverty that existed less than a versta from this grand St. Petersburg palace.

  “And you, Katya . . . ?” The sound of her name felt good on his lips.

  She laughed as if mocking him. Or was she mocking herself? “I have everything.” She shivered. “It’s chilly.”

  “Do you want to go in?”

  “No.”

  He was acutely conscious of her moving closer to him.

  His voice nervously rose an octave as he said, “Why did you come back, Katya? Did Youssoupov make you?”

  She laughed again. He was coming to love the sound of her laughter. And the sight of it, too, for when she laughed her eyes sparkled like starlight. He realized her laughter wasn’t always merry or even happy; sometimes there was ire and mockery in it. But it was never cruel. It was filled with honesty and even a kind of purity.

  But perhaps he was getting carried away, hopelessly enthralled with Countess Katya Zhenechka.

  “You wouldn’t believe that I was lured back entirely by your magnetic charm?”

  “We both know that can’t be true.”

  “Maybe I believe in fate.”

  “Perhaps we were fated to be jinxed?”

  “Oh, my, this is getting complicated.” She stopped walking, turned and tilted her head back so she could direct her gaze at him. “The truth is, I was bored, Yuri Sergeiovich. Bored with the very kind of suave gentleman you we
re trying so hard, and so unsuccessfully, to be. If you hadn’t nearly knocked over that compote, I would have left immediately. Felix’s arrival only confirmed my interest. If he hadn’t spoken to me, I would have found you anyway.”

  “I’m glad I could amuse you.” He tried to sound affronted, but it was difficult to pull off since his heart was racing because of her nearness. At least she had come back.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you. I really meant it as a compliment. So many society men are completely bankrupt of character. Be thankful you’ve been away from it.”

  He hardly heard her. All he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her.

  “Let’s have a better look around this garden,” he said. He had to do something before he made more of a fool of himself than ever.

  They walked for a while, then sat on a bench. They talked for an hour. But when they rose to return to the party, Yuri wondered what they had talked about. He hardly knew any more about her than when they began—and he wanted to know everything!

  Inside, they finally danced together, and Yuri was thankful that two years ago he had asked Talia to teach him to dance so he could attend society functions without embarrassment. The effort was more than rewarded now as he held Katya close, the sweet perfume of her hair intoxicating him.

  The first time another gentleman cut in, Yuri gave her up reluctantly. But she returned to him at the first opportunity. There were other such interruptions, but each time they found their way back to each other. But eventually the evening had to end altogether.

  “May I call on you?” Yuri asked as he helped her with her wrap.

  “Well, I . . .”

  Yuri felt himself fall from his euphoric cloud. Had he imagined everything this evening?