Yuri nodded dumbly. Why should he be surprised? Katya had done little to encourage him beyond that glorious week in the Crimea. But that week had been so—he shook his head, trying to erase those sweet memories. He looked at his friend, hoping he appeared cool and aloof.
“Then, I guess that’s it.”
Vladimir’s brow furrowed with concern. “You’ll be all right?”
“Of course. Why not? It was just a whim, nothing more. We . . . we were practically strangers. She didn’t mean a thing to me. I’m happy for her. I think I will send her a congratulatory note—yes, of course, I must wish her happiness and a long life with Count Prokunin—a happy marriage. She deserves it—”
“Yuri?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” Yuri ran a finger under his collar as if he were choking.
“I know just the thing for you. Let’s go.”
“I’d best tell my mother,” Yuri said. “She came with me, you know.”
“I’ll meet you outside.”
Anna, Talia, and Raisa were talking together as Yuri approached. “Mama, I’d like to leave now. Do you think Grandfather could see you and Aunt Raisa and Talia home?”
“I’m sure that would be fine, Yuri. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course.” But his voice was thin, strained.
“Are you certain?” Talia asked.
“I’m not certain of anything.” Why hide it? “Except that I have to get out of here.”
“Andrei will be disappointed,” his mother said.
“He’ll understand.”
Talia caught his arm as he turned. “Did you have another fight?”
“No,” he answered shortly, then realizing she didn’t deserve his ire, added more contritely, “Nothing like that. I’m just a bit mixed up right now, that’s all.”
“Do you need some company?”
If only Katya had reached out to him with such genuine concern. “I don’t want to spoil your evening.”
“We can explain to Andrei. As you said, he will understand.”
The last thing Yuri wanted just then was to face Andrei again. His next words were completely selfish, but he didn’t really care at that point. “He looks busy right now—” Indeed, Andrei was conversing with what appeared to be interested patrons. “Mama, would you let Andrei know as soon as he is free?” Then, without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Talia’s hand and practically fled the gallery.
28
The boisterous atmosphere of the St. Petersburg nightclubs did little to numb Yuri’s wounded heart. He moved in the midst of the noise, the music, the laughter detached and unaffected. He couldn’t laugh; he could barely smile. He could hardly taste the wine. Even the gypsy music at the Villa Rhode left him unmoved. When, at some point during the night, Vladimir met an old female acquaintance and begged to be excused from Yuri’s glum company, Yuri didn’t protest.
Anyway, he still had Talia, though he had been as detached from her as from everything else.
“Are you ready to leave?” he asked her when they were alone. No sense dragging her down with him.
“Whenever you are, Yuri. I’m just here to . . .”
When her voice trailed away, probably unable to define just why she was there, Yuri patted her hand and managed a thin smile. “You’re here to support me, Talia, just like always.”
“What else are friends for?”
“And you are the dearest friend a man ever had!”
“Yes . . .” Her brow knit together and her eyes were sad.
“I’m sorry, Talia dear, for making you sad.”
“It’s not that, Yuri.”
“What is it, then?”
“Do you still want to leave? I could use some fresh air.”
They took a cab from the Villa Rhode back into downtown, then Yuri suggested they walk for a while. He didn’t want to admit that the evening had drained his pocketbook and he couldn’t afford a ride the rest of the way home. Anyway, it was a fine June night. The sky was clear, and though the air was crisp, the snow was all melted.
They walked for a while in silence. He hadn’t even mentioned the cause of his mood to Talia, but the distractions of the evening had been no help. He decided perhaps he did need to talk after all.
“Talia, are you happy with your life—with the ballet and all?”
“Yes, for the most part. I enjoy dancing, but I don’t think I will ever be a great dancer like Pavlova. Ballet simply doesn’t consume me as I believe it does her. My contentment isn’t entirely contingent on dancing. I want other things out of life.”
“What do you want?”
“A husband, children—very simple things, I suppose.”
“And have you a prospect in mind—for a husband?”
“Oh, Yuri,” she sighed. “What a question . . .”
“I want you to be happy, Talia. At least one of us should be.”
“And you are not, poor, dear Yuri.” Her words were a statement of the obvious, not a question. She gazed up at him with those sweet doe eyes of hers, not with pity but with such an open love that it caught his breath. He tried hard to focus on her words, not on that disturbing look. “I want so for you to be happy, too,” she said. “I want you to have only good things from life. If I could, I’d shield you always from pain and grief and . . . from anyone who would try to hurt you.”
“I do believe you would.” He smiled softly. “And I think you could, too, even with your delicate body.” Impulsively, he put his arm around her. He felt a momentary tremor in her shoulders, then she seemed to relax and lean ever so slightly closer to him. “You’ve always taken care of Andrei and me, haven’t you? Our little Talia, so strong, so caring.”
“I’ve loved you . . . both.”
“Andrei and I . . . we’re very lucky.”
She did not respond, and they walked again in silence. After a while they crossed the Senate Square. It was deserted now, and their shoes echoed against the cobbles. They paused before the bronzed statue of Peter the Great. He seemed so very lonely at this hour of the night. Yuri felt a knot rise in his throat as if he might actually start to weep for the lone tsar seated regally on his rearing mount, with no one to appreciate his awesome might.
Yuri and Talia came at length to the Nicholas Bridge. Then they noticed the lights in the sky. At first, they thought it was lightning, but there wasn’t a cloud to be seen—it was clear and shimmering with the pale light of a white night. They paused at the mid-span of the bridge, finally able to discern the peculiar quality of the light. It was the northern lights—the aurora borealis. Ribbons of pink streaked across the night sky. As the heavenly show progressed, from green to blue to purple, Yuri’s spirit began to be touched. His mood lifted a little and he felt safe and hopeful. Yet he knew those sensations had more to do with the woman at his side than some astronomical phenomena.
“Talia, I’m so glad you’re with me now!”
“I wouldn’t want to enjoy this with anyone else,” she replied. Their voices had a hushed, dreamy quality.
“It’s not just that. I feel so safe with you, Talia, so whole. How am I able to survive when you’re not here?” He turned to face her, gazing down into her upturned face, plunging into her beckoning eyes, allowing himself to be embraced by her steadying presence. “Oh, Talia, I need you so!”
“Yuri . . .” she breathed.
And before he realized what he was doing—before he could think about or analyze his actions—he pulled her to him. When she didn’t resist, he pressed his lips with urgent passion against hers. And the intensity of her response made him slightly dizzy. Katya had never kissed him so hungrily. Katya had never held him with such strong emotion.
“What’s happening?” he murmured, still kissing her, but trembling now with both fear and longing.
“Don’t you know?” she said. “I love you so much, Yuri. I always have.”
“I’ve been a fool, my dear Talia. How could I have not seen the treasure in my own house?�
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“I doesn’t matter. You see now, don’t you, Yuri?”
He let his kisses be his response. He didn’t need the love of a faithless woman. He didn’t need to torture himself any longer over something that would never happen. There was love and acceptance in his own backyard—in his own home!
The sound of an approaching carriage made them break suddenly apart. They were trembling and breathing hard. Yuri took Talia’s hand—it was ice-cold. He brought it to his lips, gently kissing it.
“How thoughtless of me,” he said, “keeping you out here in the cold.”
“I hardly noticed. But it’s just as well there was an interruption.”
“Yes . . . I suppose so.”
“We should get home. It must be very late.”
“Then, let’s not lose another minute.” With her hand still in his, he broke into a run, and they kept it up for ten minutes, until, laughing so hard they could barely catch their breath, they paused under a streetlamp. Yuri had needed the exertion to help blow off some of his emotional energy and to clear his head.
They walked the rest of the way home. As they entered the flat, closing the door behind them, Talia said, “Yuri, did it really happen? Did you truly kiss me the way you did?”
“We couldn’t have both been dreaming.”
“It was wonderful.”
“And, Talia, did you really say you loved me?”
She nodded, then stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He responded by seeking out her lips again. Katya could not have tasted this good, this sweet. Katya could not have aroused in him such yearning, such hunger. He tried not to think of the Crimea, nor of the luminous eyes that had searched him with passion and vulnerability there on the balmy, sunlit beaches. That was a fading dream, with no substance, no hope.
Talia was reality. Talia wanted him.
The creaking of a floorboard stopped Yuri this time. He thought, somewhat guiltily, of his mother and what she would think of this display. Or worse, what of Raisa? But it was neither of their mothers coming down the hallway.
Andrei didn’t mean to spy on Talia and Yuri. His mother had suggested he spend the night since they had returned home from the gallery after midnight. They had talked for a while, then his mother and Raisa had begun to worry about Yuri and Talia being out so late. Andrei had calmed them with assurances that all was well, and finally the two mothers had gone to their beds. His assurances, however, had not allayed his own worries. But he was less worried about their safety than he was about . . . other things. What if they ended up alone? Talia had looked so beautiful. How could Yuri not notice her? And what if he did? She had no reason to resist him—it would only mean all her dreams had finally come true.
Thus Andrei was awake when the front door opened. It seemed natural that he would come out to make sure it was them and they were all right. Wasn’t it? And besides, they would probably be eager for one of their late-night talk sessions, like they had when they were children.
He regretted his curiosity—that’s all it was—the moment he came around the corner of the hall and saw them in each other’s arms . . . kissing. But before he could make a hasty retreat, he was caught. It was almost impossible to be stealthy when he weighed two hundred and twenty pounds and stood over six feet tall.
“Andrei?” said Yuri.
“I . . . didn’t mean . . . that is, I—yes, it’s me. Mama was worried.”
An awkwardness hung among the three friends as it never had before.
“We lost track of time,” Talia finally said. But she looked slightly away from Andrei. She couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Well, at least you’re all right.”
“Yes . . . we are . . .”
Then her eyes lifted and her gaze momentarily met his. And she looked more beautiful than ever. She was glowing. Glowing! All her present embarrassment and guilt couldn’t conceal the joy coursing through her. But it was Yuri who had elicited that joy from her. Not Andrei. He only hoped she wasn’t going to talk about it. He couldn’t stand that.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” Talia said. “But I’ll see you both in the morning.” Her eyes, however, were only on Yuri as she spoke. She let go of his hand reluctantly and walked—no, floated—down the hall to the room she still shared with her mother when she was home.
The brothers watched mutely until she disappeared into the room, then Yuri said, “I’m going to bed, too.”
Andrei hadn’t wanted to talk to Talia about what happened, but he wasn’t ready to let his brother off so easily. He stepped in front of Yuri, blocking his path. “And that’s it?” he challenged.
“It’s late, Andrei, and I’m tired.”
“What happened, Yuri?” pressed Andrei. “A few hours ago you hardly realized Talia existed. Now, suddenly you are lovers!”
“Calm down, Andrei. You are behaving like an outraged father.”
“Do you deny the implications of what I saw?”
“I deny nothing!”
“How could you?”
“Me? I don’t believe I was alone. Talia was a willing participant—very willing, I might add.”
“Why you—” Andrei lunged forward, grabbed Yuri’s collar and shoved him up against the wall. “If you hurt her—”
“You have a nerve, Andrei, to even think I could do such a thing. If anyone else tried to make such accusations I’d answer them with a fist. But since you are my brother, I will try to respond with reason—heaven knows, one of us should! I would never hurt Talia. She is the dearest creature on earth to me. Now let go of me.” He wrenched himself free of Andrei’s hold before Andrei could respond.
“Just know this,” Andrei warned, his voice shaking with passion, “I’ll kill you if you hurt her.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Andrei!”
Andrei took a sharp breath. Yes, he must indeed sound crazy. He had to rein in his emotions. There was nothing wrong with what Yuri and Talia were doing. They had no idea they were ravishing his heart with their actions. Yet it was still inconceivable that Yuri could have changed so suddenly toward Talia. That simply was not in his character. Andrei could not keep from being suspicious.
“I don’t understand, Yuri. Do you truly love her?”
“Do you think me incapable of love?”
“Of course not. But it wasn’t so long ago that you were madly in love with that countess. What happened to her? How can you love someone so much one minute and then the next love someone else?”
“Andrei, life is never as simple as you would want it to be. Things happen, that’s all. Things change. But you tell me something—why are you so outraged by what is happening between Talia and me?”
“Talia is my dearest friend in the world.” And I can’t imagine how you can possibly love her more than I. But he couldn’t tell Yuri that. He could never reveal his feelings for Talia.
“She’s my friend, too,” Yuri said softly, earnestly.
“You won’t hurt her?”
“How can you ask?” Yuri said. And Andrei knew he had wounded his brother with that question.
“Well, let’s go to bed,” Andrei said, making an attempt, even if half-hearted, to repair the damage.
They went to the room they had shared for so many years. Andrei could not remember the last time they had been there together. The room hadn’t changed a bit, though now it was occupied only by Yuri. The things on the walls were the same—that handbill from a circus they had attended years ago when their father had still been alive. A few photographs of faraway places that as boys they hoped to see one day—one of the Statue of Liberty, one of the Great Wall of China, and one of a balmy, palm-tree-lined beach in the South Seas. Three drawings that Andrei had done, the one of their father in an especially prominent position. Yuri had changed the room little since Andrei had moved out. Had that been mere laziness on his part, or was it a pointed expression of how much their relationship meant to him? Yuri was not the lazy type. He was, however, extremely sentimental.<
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Andrei lay awake long after Yuri’s steady breathing and soft snores filled the silent night. Nothing had changed . . . yet everything was different. And Andrei did not know how he would face tomorrow knowing that his brother and the woman he loved were now dreaming of each other and anticipating a future together.
29
The monk Iliodor had been a thorn in Rasputin’s flesh for years. Once a close friend and confidant, Iliodor had quickly turned jealous at Rasputin’s rise in Imperial favor. Rasputin knew for a fact that it had been Iliodor who had leaked his letters from the tsaritsa to the press, and he now realized he had been a fool to trust the man with something so personal. Since then, Iliodor had been actively trying to further discredit Rasputin. He wrote letters to the tsaritsa’s friend Anna Vyrubova detailing Rasputin’s sexual and social misconduct. He vigorously called upon the Synod of the Church to defrock Rasputin. But Rasputin responded with a barrage of appeals to the tsar himself.
And in the end, it was Iliodor who was expelled from his holy orders and sent under house arrest to his native village. Rasputin basked gloriously in his victory. Full of confidence in his Imperial standing, he followed the royal family that spring to Yalta and stayed in the best hotel, living like a king. It was now clear to his detractors that any who would attempt to disgrace him risked their own necks.
Sitting in a tavern frequented by many of the hotel staff with whom Rasputin had become friendly, he drank large quantities of Madeira while regaling avid listeners with boasts and sermons.
“Mama and Papa are lost without me,” he said, wiping his silk sleeve across his mouth. “I cannot count the times Papa has looked to me for wisdom with regard to matters of state. Why, only last week he sought me out in the appointment of a railroad administrator. ‘Grigori,’ he said, ‘please look into so-and-so’s eyes and see if he is a man of honor.’ Well, I did and found the man to be not at all satisfactory. He was filled with cunning and evil. I told Papa that Popugaev would be better for the job. You need not ask who now holds the position.”
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