Anna nibbled her lip, trying not to laugh. In honesty she felt a touch sorry for the little Frenchman – Katya had behaved abominably all morning, chatting affably to her cousins over Monsieur’s attempts to explain, in French of course, the basics of English grammar, dismissing his attempts to extract from her the dates of the reign of Peter the Great with an airy ‘Oh, Lord, how on earth should I know? Really, my dear, it was all so long ago, wasn’t it? Papa says that history is best ignored, and I’m quite sure he’s right.’ Now, with no by-your-leave she got up from the table around which they were all sitting and wandered to the window. She was right; it was a most beautiful day. Overnight the temperature had dropped like a stone, and fresh snow had fallen. Now sunlight glittered upon the golden spire of the Admiralty that soared in the distance into the bright sky like a needle of light. The frozen Fontanka glittered. A few flakes of snow still drifted in the quiet air. Sledges, the sound of the harness-bells muted by the winter windows, flew down the wide street below that edged the riverbank. Katya tapped her fingers restlessly upon the window sill.
‘Mam’selle Yelena.’ Monsieur Drapin, very creditably Anna thought, held precariously to his patience. ‘Perhaps you could oblige me by pointing out the approximate situation of Prague upon our small map?’
‘Oh, fiddle to Prague!’ Katya turned from the window. ‘M’sieu, dear M’sieu –’ there was, surprisingly, real if exasperated affection in her voice ‘– I insist. You cannot expect us to sit about a table in a stuffy room playing silly games with maps when we could be out skating. Now can you?’ She smiled again, dazzlingly.
‘Mam’selle Katya –’
‘If Papa were here I’m sure he’d agree. He doesn’t expect you to stuff us full of facts like the Easter goose, you know. Lenka and Anna have worked far harder than I have this morning – they deserve a rest.’
‘We haven’t any blades with us,’ Anna began.
‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ Katya shrugged, hands wide. ‘There’s a houseful here! So, it’s settled. We go to the river. And, my darling Jean Pierrovich –’ with cunning she used the teasing, Russified version of his name that she well knew, privately, he rather liked ‘– I’d be very greatly obliged if you’d take a message for me to Ludmilla Gavrilovna. She’s in my dressing room, I believe, mending the ball gown that was torn last week. Tell her please that I’ve changed my mind about this evening – ask her to have the dark blue ready for six. Oh, and I’m perfectly sure she’d be happy to share a pot of chocolate with you, if you should order one. Tell her I said she’s working too hard.’ She opened wide, earnest eyes. ‘Like my cousins here she deserves a rest, don’t you think?’
There was a brief, telling silence. Monsieur’s pale, plump face had pinkened very slightly, and his ears, Anna noticed with interest, had turned a fiery red. ‘Mam’selle –’ he began again, doggedly, and then stopped.
‘That’s right,’ Katya said, kindly. ‘As Papa always says, never enter into battle unless you’re certain of victory. Best to give in gracefully, don’t you think? I really am quite determined. I tell you what – I promise to discover the whereabouts of boring Prague by tomorrow. There, does that satisfy you? Now, off you go, there’s a pet. If you don’t hurry Ludmilla may well have finished and be gone.’
The little man folded his map, collected his books, bowed stiffly to the girls and left the room.
Katya, not bothering to hide her laughter, danced across the room behind him and shut the door. Yelena was watching her, wide-eyed and with a trace of awe. To treat an adult so – and in particular an adult in a position of some authority – was so far beyond her that she could barely believe her eyes and ears. ‘Who’s Ludmilla Gavrilovna?’
‘My maid. Poor M’sieu is very sweet on her. He pursues her with Gallic enthusiasm. And she, bless her, torments him to death. It’s all very entertaining. Now – goodness, look at the time! Let’s go and find the skates.’
Anna eyed her suspiciously. ‘What has the time got to do with it?’
Katya smiled, innocently. ‘Nothing at all, of course, cousin dear. Nothing at all.’
* * *
They arrived at the frozen river half an hour later, escorted by a young male servant called Yuri who was obviously so overawed by his young mistress that he jumped nervously every time she addressed him. After he had helped them strap the blades to their boots Katya deposited him near one of the bonfires that had been lit on the banks of the river. ‘There,’ she said, briskly. ‘You can stay here and keep warm. There’s no need to come with us, we’ll be perfectly safe. Come on, you two, off we go.’ She flew onto the ice like a graceful bird, cutting her way through the laughing skaters with enviable ease. Rather more gingerly – neither of them had ever become particularly accomplished skaters – Anna and her sister followed.
They had come to that part of the river that stretched, almost a mile wide, between the Winter Palace and the Fortress of St Peter and St Paul. Here on New Year’s Day the Tsar, in a solemn and brilliant ceremony, each year blessed the waters of the Neva, the Imperial troops parading on the ice in colourful splendour, watched from the windows of the Winter Palace by the Imperial Court and its honoured guests. Now those windows glittered, giving back the fiery light of the low winter sun, and bonfires and braziers glowed ruddily upon the banks of the river. Near the Island bank sledges were racing. A band played upon the ice and skaters, singly and in pairs, swooped and spun in time to the music. Spectators leaned upon the Palace Bridge, watching. Vendors of chestnuts, of Lenten pancakes dripping with cream and honey, and of hot drinks moved amongst the crowds; there was an air of holiday. Anna and Yelena, holding hands, smiled at each other as they skated across the ice towards the spot where Katya had disappeared into the crowds.
‘Where is she?’ Anna skidded to a halt, put her hand up to shade her eyes. ‘Can you see?’
Yelena shook her head. ‘She can’t be far – oh, look, isn’t that her? Yes, there she is –’ Yelena craned her neck. ‘Who’s that with her?’
The young gentleman with Katya proved to be a very tall and improbably handsome young captain of hussars. He and his friends, a half-dozen or so boisterous young officers in scarlet and blue, had quite obviously been waiting for Katya to join them. Her cousin’s anxiety about the time, Anna thought a little ruefully, now made rather more sense. As, a little shyly, they skated up to join the group, Katya broke away from her companions, laughing, and skimmed across the ice to her cousins, stopping neatly beside them in a dashing spray of ice. She was dressed in burgundy and white, dark skirt swirling as she moved, white fur cape and muff brilliant and soft, the tiny collar standing up about her bright face. A small white fur hat was set at a becoming angle upon her fair head. She looked quite breathtakingly lovely. ‘Anna – Lenka – come and meet Kostya – and Oleg, and Tolya and all the others whose names I’ve entirely forgotten and so shan’t be able to introduce to you! I suppose it must be terribly bad form to skate with someone to whom you haven’t been introduced?’
Fleetingly Anna considered her father’s possible reaction to such light and lax social arrangements, then hastily put it from her mind. She knew perfectly well that just the sight of these glittering young men within a mile of his respectable daughters would very possibly be enough to cause an explosion that would be heard back in Moscow. She allowed Katya to seize her hand and draw her to where the young men stood, nodded and smiled, vaguely, through the confusion of introductions. The ease and laughter within the group told of long-standing friendship. The jostling and horseplay had but one inspiration; an obviously highly-prized place at Katya’s side. Anna allowed herself to be squired about the ice by a dark young man rather quieter than the others, thankful that he did not apparently expect from her the kind of perilous verve that Katya and her partner were displaying as they swooped and whirled across the ice. She saw that Lenka too was skating with a young man, albeit a young man whose eyes were for the most part openly fixed upon the graceful burgundy and white figure
of their cousin. She answered the polite questions of her escort; yes, she was new to St Petersburg, yes, it was indeed a most wonderful city, and no, she had no invitation to the Kirolski ball the following week, nor was she expecting one.
The red sun slid across the sky, dipping towards the islands and behind the vast bulk of the Fortress, the slender, improbably beautiful spire of its cathedral spearing the darkening sky like a glinting rose-gold needle. Suddenly, with the walls shadowed and mysterious, Anna remembered the whispered stories she had heard of the place; imprisonment, torture, death. Tales to curdle the blood and chill the soul. One could disappear into the Fortress’s granite heart and be gone for ever, so people said, with no redress and no comfort for those left behind. What kind of person would you have to be to torture another human being? She shuddered a little. Her well-mannered escort was immediately all attention. ‘You’re cold?’
‘A little.’
‘Come, a warm drink –’ He guided her with a firm hand upon her elbow towards the bank.
It was there, perhaps half an hour later, that a slightly anxious Yelena found her. ‘Anna, it’s getting late – we should go.’
‘Yes. Where’s Katya?’
‘I don’t know.’ Yelena glanced a little nervously at the young officer beside Anna. ‘She – seems to have disappeared.’
‘Disappeared? What do you mean?’
‘Gone. I think she might have gone on a sledge ride. With that young man – Kostya something I think his name is.’
‘Oh dear.’ Quite suddenly it was getting dark. Flares had been lit around the ice and lamps glowed warmly in windows. They should, Anna knew, have been home some time since. It really was too bad of Katya.
‘Please, I’d be happy to escort you home.’ Her skating partner, in all his brass-buttoned and braided glory, very properly, had straightened beside her, bowing a little, though it could not be said that his offer had been delivered with any degree of real enthusiasm.
‘Oh, good heavens no!’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘That is, thank you, but no. We really don’t have far to go.’ The thought of the consequences of turning up at the apartment squired by this handsome young peacock produced in her alarm and laughter in about equal degrees. A glance at her sister’s face showed the same emotions in slightly different proportions. Poor Lenka, with good reason, always automatically expected trouble. ‘Honestly, we’ll be perfectly all right. Lenka, we really should go.’
Yelena, balanced precariously on one foot, was already unstrapping her skating blades. ‘And Katya? What about her?’
‘We can’t wait, she must know that. Yuri is waiting to escort her home. She’ll be all right. Oh, yes – goodbye – it’s been very nice meeting you –’ Anna lifted a hand to the dark-haired young man who was obviously anxious now to be gone, watched as he struck out across the ice with strong, sure movements. ‘She’ll be all right,’ she repeated, drily. ‘I have the strongest suspicion that our Katya is more than capable of looking after herself. I don’t think she’d want us to worry about her.’ She slipped her hand through the crook of her sister’s arm, and dropped her voice, reflectively. ‘I very much doubt if she’s worrying about us.’
* * *
They hurried through the freezing, darkening streets. It had started to snow again. By the time they reached the street called Venskaya it was drifting quite heavily around them. They paused at the entrance to the apartment building to brush it from their shoulders, kick and stamp it from their boots and shake it from their scarves and hats.
‘Anna! At last! I’ve been waiting for you.’ Andrei’s door opened, and warm air gusted into the dark hall. He was dressed, as he often liked to when at home and relaxing, in full-sleeved peasant shirt belted over baggy trousers that were tucked into soft leather boots. His silver hair was tousled. ‘I’ve found that piece by Paganini that we were talking about – Lenka, hello, how are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you.’ Yelena accepted his brief kiss, crushed the sudden rise of swift resentment as he turned to Anna, face intent.
‘Have you got a moment or two?’ His arm was linked in hers. Anna was laughing. ‘Just come and have a look – see what you think –’
They disappeared into the work room, and the door closed behind them. Yelena stood for a long moment, alone in the cold darkness of the hall. The stairs were dirty, grimed by melted ice and snow. The air was bitterly cold.
Slowly, very slowly, and with a suddenly heavy heart Yelena climbed the stairs to the apartment. It wasn’t possible – it wasn’t right! – that she should be jealous of the relationship between her sister and their uncle. It was perfectly natural that Anna and Andrei, the two most musically talented of the family, should have discovered such a rapport. But – she paused for a moment, between one step and another – but Anna was hers. Anna was her only friend. Her only ally. The only person in the world who understood her, who cared about her. She couldn’t share her. Couldn’t lose her! Her young heart almost stopped beating at the thought. For a brief, almost frightening moment she allowed the floodgates of her soul to open; she’d hate anyone who came between her and Anna. Hate them from the bottom of her heart. She’d hate Anna herself if she allowed it to happen, for then she – Yelena – would be alone. Totally alone. For ever.
From behind her, lifting from the darkness of the stairwell, came the sound of Anna’s violin; light and happy, played with a sure and confident touch. Yelena knew how long it was since Anna had played like that. She mustn’t resent it. She mustn’t! Young and utterly confused as she was, even she could see the seeds of disaster in that.
She rang the doorbell. ‘Hello, Seraphima.’
‘Yelena Victorovna. You’re very late? And where’s your sister?’
‘She’s downstairs with Uncle Andrei. I don’t think she’ll be long. Is Papa home?’
‘Yes, he is.’ Seraphima was busying herself with Yelena’s coat and boots. ‘He’s in the parlour, with your Mama and the others.’ The girl smiled a little, mischievously, leaned towards Yelena. ‘Your Mama has just spoiled the dinner again. Your Papa has finally agreed to hire a cook.’
Yelena almost smiled. ‘Thank the good Lord for that.’
In the parlour, now comfortably furnished with the pieces brought with them from Moscow, Dmitri sat opposite a scowling Margarita at the big table, both of them with notebooks and pencils, whilst on the small round table in the corner the samovar sang its comforting song. Her mother and father sat in the overstuffed armchairs that were set in the corner near the stove. Her father was reading a newspaper which he set aside as she entered. ‘Lenka. You’re home.’
‘Yes.’ She was surprised and made immediately wary by the use of the diminutive, the determinedly pleasant tone. ‘I’m sorry we’re late. Cousin Katya couldn’t decide where Prague was. Anna’s downstairs. Do you want me to fetch her?’ There was a decidedly unappetizing odour in the air.
‘No, no. Don’t bother her. We won’t be eating for a while yet.’ Victor shot a significant glance at his wife who, impervious, worked with neat dexterity at her crochet. Victor steepled his fingers, looked at Yelena over the tips. ‘Prague,’ he said, heavily thoughtful.
Yelena pushed her hands into the pockets of her skirt and hunched her shoulders defensively. Never so long as she could remember had her father taken the slightest interest in anything she had ever said or done, except to criticize or to punish. This conversation was making her extremely uneasy. ‘Cousin Katya said she didn’t need to know geography to get on a train.’
At the table Margarita pushed back her mass of hair and grinned. She had set aside her notebook and was carefully colouring a tiny cardboard figure of a king, complete with crown and trailing robes, a key actor in the new play she had written for her beloved theatre.
‘Hmm. Too clever by half, that cousin of yours.’ Victor picked up the newspaper, folded it neatly. ‘And you? Did you know where it was?’
Yelena was growing more wary by the moment
. ‘Not absolutely exactly,’ she said, carefully. ‘I mean, I know it’s in Czechoslovakia, and I know where that is –’
‘But can you spell it?’ Margarita asked, smartly, from the table.
‘Quiet, Rita,’ Victor said, then, to Yelena, added expansively, ‘The atlas is over there, if you want to check.’
‘Thank you, Papa.’ Embarrassed at being the focus of attention she caught her foot on the chairleg as she passed. Her father’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. There was a moment’s silence as Yelena pulled out the big old atlas and ran her finger down the index.
Her father craned his neck. ‘Found it?’
‘Yes, Papa. It’s here. On the river –’ she strained her eyes ‘– Moldau. I shall know if Monsieur Drapin asks tomorrow. Thank you.’
‘Ah. No.’ Her father withdrew rather suddenly behind the wings of his chair, like a turtle drawing into his shell. ‘Not tomorrow, Lenka. I’d like you to stay at home tomorrow.’
In the act of replacing the book Yelena turned, surprised. ‘At home, Papa?’
‘Yes.’ A hand reached out, picked up the newspaper again. The paper too disappeared into the armchair amidst much rustling. ‘Pavel Petrovich is coming to lunch. Your mother is otherwise engaged. I was going to ask Anna to stay but Pavel Petrovich particularly asked that you should be here.’
The long moment of appalled silence was so obvious, so dense with sudden terror that Yelena was amazed to see that the other occupants of the room continued with their separate occupations as if nothing had happened. She stared at the back of her father’s chair. ‘I –’ Frantically she fumbled the atlas back onto the shelf, all but ran around the chair to confront her father. ‘Papa – must I?’
He was apparently absorbed in his newspaper. ‘Yes. If you please. It is important to me.’
‘But –’
‘No buts, Yelena. You are to stay at home tomorrow and help Seraphima with the lunch. There’s an end to it.’ The familiar edge of ill-temper was showing in his voice, but his eyes avoided hers.
Strange Are the Ways Page 7