What had Donovalov meant by those confident words ‘When you are mine’?
Grimly she hunched her shoulders and, head down, walked on.
* * *
The first thing she heard when she reached the apartment building was Anna’s voice, coming through the half-open door of Andrei’s work room.
‘– Honestly, Rita! Whatever you do don’t let Papa hear you saying such things! He’ll put you under lock and key!’ The words were warm, light-hearted.
Lenka stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned, leaning against the newel post, listening.
Inside the room Margarita shrugged an airy shoulder. ‘I mean it. I do! I’m going to marry a soldier. And not just any old soldier, either, I can tell you! An officer. In one of the Cossack regiments, probably. The uniforms are so very dashing, don’t you think?’ Her voice was completely composed and matter-of-fact, her sister’s open laughter notwithstanding.
‘With a title thrown in, I presume?’ Anna enquired, grinning.
Margarita shrugged, blandly. ‘Why not? Stranger things have happened, you know.’
Anna laughed again. ‘Not a lot stranger!’
‘What do you think, Uncle Andrei? Don’t you believe that I could make a handsome young officer fall in love with me?’ Margarita cocked her head in the almost unconsciously coquettish way that so brought to mind her mother.
‘I have no doubt at all, my dear, that you could twist any red-blooded man around your little finger,’ her uncle agreed, soberly.
Margarita was not to be fooled. ‘You’re laughing at me too,’ she said, undisturbed. ‘I don’t care. I’ll do it. You’ll see.’ Her young voice was perfectly confident.
‘How are you going to meet this dashing young man of yours?’ Anna was still teasing. ‘You can’t exactly walk up and introduce yourself to him on the street, can you? And I don’t somehow see Papa allowing you to frequent the restaurants on the Islands!’
‘Why, at Cousin Katya’s, of course. You’ll be silly yourself, Anna, if you don’t take advantage of Uncle Mischa’s connections. Mama says it was just about the only worthwhile reason for coming to Petersburg.’ Ignoring the quizzical look that passed between her sister and her uncle she added imperturbably, ‘I’ve quite made up my mind. You just wait and see.’ Looking like a fresh spring flower in pale lemon sprigged cotton she moved about the room with her small, dancing steps. It always seemed to Anna that her younger sister moved to a music that no-one else could hear. Margarita had picked up the half-finished bow that Andrei had laid upon the bench and was inspecting it with some interest. ‘What funny wood. It’s sort of red, isn’t it? And it’s so heavy! Where does it come from?’
Andrei relieved her of it, gently but firmly. ‘Brazil. It’s called pemambuco. It was originally used as a dye wood – if you put it in water, the water turns red.’
She picked up a small, heavy block. ‘I know what this is. It’s ebony, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right. From Mauritius.’ Andrei was watching her, amused at her butterfly interest, fully aware that her questions were simply to keep his attention upon her. Anything he told her would go in one ear and out of the other; tomorrow they might well repeat the self-same conversation, and she would be as disarmingly ignorant again. ‘And the horse hair,’ he added, pulling a slim hank of it through his fingers, ‘is our own Russian horse hair. From Mongolia.’
She leaned against the workbench, with a slender finger gently tilting the finely balanced scales that he used to weigh the bows. ‘Uncle Andrei, if your bows are so famous, why do you still only use mother of pearl and silver to decorate them? If you used proper precious stones and gold, couldn’t you charge a lot more for them?’
‘Rita!’ Anna was torn between despair and laughter.
Andrei laughed outright. ‘My dear little Philistine! A Shalakov bow is not valued by its content.’
‘What is it valued for, then?’ Now she was being deliberately pert.
Exasperation won. ‘It’s valued for its weight, its strength and its balance,’ Anna said, shortly. ‘As you well know, I think. No amount of gold and diamonds could make them better. Ostentation isn’t everything, you know. Oh, Rita, for heaven’s sake, do be still for an instant! Now where are you going?’
Margarita had danced across the room and disappeared into the living room. Andrei and Anna exchanged glances again, smiling, unconsciously conspiratorial. Andrei bent his head once more to the unhaired bow he was oiling and polishing. Anna watched the practised movement of his hands, resisted the impulse gently to touch the thick silver hair that gleamed in the light that fell upon him through the window.
‘There’s a bow that isn’t finished in here,’ Margarita’s voice called from the other room.
‘I know,’ Andrei said.
Anna marched into the living room. Margarita was standing by the sideboard with the unfinished bow in her hand.
‘Rita! You really are the limit, you know! You’ve no business to poke about in other people’s rooms!’
‘Uncle Andrei isn’t other people, he’s Uncle Andrei,’ her sister said with irrefutable logic. ‘He doesn’t mind. Do you, Uncle?’ She did not wait for an answer; she was leaning forward, peering at the photographs. ‘Is that Aunt Galina? I suppose it must be. I’ve never seen a picture of her before. Wasn’t she pretty?’
‘Margarita, please!’ Anna hissed.
Andrei spoke from the door, his voice easy. ‘Yes, she was. Very. And as good and gentle as she was pretty.’ He moved to where Margarita stood, removed the picture from her hand and stood it back in its place. ‘Which is more than can be said for some.’
Rita laughed delightedly, enjoying herself. ‘Uncle Andrei, what can you mean? Oh – and who’s that distinguished-looking gentleman with the silver hair? Isn’t he handsome?’
Andrei regarded her with over-innocent eyes. ‘That’s me.’
She giggled. ‘No! Not you – the picture!’
‘Ah. The picture. That’s Guy de Fontenay. A very old and dear friend of mine who lives in England.’
‘He looks nice,’ Margarita said.
‘He is nice. Very nice. Something you’ll have a chance to discover for yourselves in a few weeks. Now, my dears, much as I love your company if I’m to finish what I’m doing I really think –’
‘He’s coming to visit?’
‘Indeed he is. He comes most years – partly business, mostly to see his many friends in the city, of whom I’m proud to count myself one. He never comes in the winter, for he detests the cold. But he loves the white nights, so usually he comes in June.’ They had turned and were walking back into the other room.
‘My birthday’s in June,’ Anna said, ‘and Mama says we may have a midnight picnic by the Gulf. Will he be here for that, do you think? Would he like to – ?’ She stopped.
Yelena stood in the doorway. Her hair was dishevelled, her brows a straight, glowering line. She greeted no-one. ‘Anna,’ she said, abruptly, ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Lenka? What’s the matter?’
‘Upstairs,’ Lenka said, and turned on her heel.
Three pairs of eyes watched her departure in astonishment, and, on Anna’s part at least, anger. ‘Lenka!’ she called, sharply.
Yelena did not reply.
Margarita grimaced ferociously. ‘You’d better go, Anna. That’s Lenka’s absolutely grousiest face. If she bumps into Papa in that mood there’ll be the most awful trouble!’
Anna’s anger was rising. ‘She really shouldn’t –’ She stopped.
‘Oh well, I suppose you’re right. I’d better find out what’s the matter.’
Lenka plodded miserably on up the stairs, ignoring her sister’s voice calling behind her. She knew she was behaving badly; but in those moments when she had stood, an outsider as always, listening to that silly, light-hearted conversation the grudge against Anna conceived in the past hour had hardened to resolve. Anna had broken her promise; in the walk from the river Lenka had convin
ced herself that there lay the root cause of her unhappiness. She had trusted her sister to talk to their father, to persuade him; and Anna hadn’t even tried. Nor had she listened when Lenka had tried to articulate her fears about Donovalov. She’d have it out with her. She would!
They faced each other in their shared bedroom, the sound of Seraphima singing about her work in the parlour down the hall an incongruously pleasant background to their low, angry voices.
‘Lenka, honestly, your manners get worse with every passing day!’ Anna was furious. ‘It’s no wonder you make people angry with you!’
‘At least I keep my promises! At least I don’t give a person my word just to keep her quiet and then break it!’
‘What are you talking about?’ The thin, pale skin of Anna’s face had flushed suddenly.
‘You know very well what I’m talking about! The University! You promised – you promised – to talk to Papa –’
‘Lenka, I haven’t had the chance –’
‘You should have made the chance!’ The floodgates were opened; all of Yelena’s misery and confusion, her anger against an unfair world, were vented upon her sister. And Anna, knowing in her heart that there was at least some justice in the other girl’s accusations, took refuge in anger. Furious, they faced each other; neither guarded her tongue. Small spites and small irritations were flung like wounding stones. Their voices rose. Both said things they did not mean; either one of them would have died before admitting it. The bitter quarrel was broken up eventually by a flustered Varya, afraid that the newly-arrived Victor would hear the raised voices.
With a wary but interested Margarita in her narrow pallet bed still awake and with ears cocked, they went to bed that night with a stony silence lying between them like a blade; a silence that was hardly to be broken, except for the most imperative and unavoidable of communications, in weeks.
* * *
The northern spring turned to temperate summer, and as the balmy evenings lengthened for a time at least the interminable dark days of winter were forgotten. Katya and her parents were preparing to spend several weeks, as they did each year, at their dacha in Finland, fifty miles or so north of the capital.
‘Oh, Anna, do come! I asked Papa, and he said you could. It really is such fun! We swim in the lake, and there’s riding and walking in the forest. The Molinskis always take the house on the other side of the lake – we get together for parties, and picnics – oh, do come?’
Anna shook her head. ‘I can’t, Katya, really I can’t. Mama needs me here.’
‘Oh, fiddlesticks! Sometimes, my chicken, you act as if you’re thirty years old. Do you know that? Come, oh, do come, at least for a time.’
‘I don’t think Papa would ever agree, Katya.’
‘Mischischa would get him to agree if I asked him.’ Once with her teeth into something Katya held like a terrier. ‘We have paper chases, and hay rides – and it’s so quiet and beautiful –’
‘Not for long after you arrive from the sound of it.’ Anna’s voice was amused.
Katya pulled a face. Then, impulsively and affectionately she took her cousin’s hand. ‘Do come, Anna? My parents could persuade yours, I’m sure they could. Won’t you let me try?’
Anna shook her head, gently obstinate. ‘No. Really, Katya – not this year. It’s best that I stay in St Petersburg.’
Katya eyed her, suddenly and astutely thoughtful. ‘Anna Victorovna! What are you up to?’
‘Up to?’ Oddly flustered, Anna disengaged her hand, set about tidying the desk that was littered with paper and books. ‘Whatever do you mean? Why should I be up to anything?’
Her cousin was still watching her with a disconcertingly shrewd interest. ‘What’s keeping you in St Petersburg when you could come to Finland?’ A sudden smile tilted her pretty mouth. ‘Oh, Anna – surely not? A man?’
Anna straightened, hands on hips, facing her. ‘For goodness’ sake, Katya! This is me you’re talking to – Anna – remember? Not one of your fly-by-night friends! A man indeed! How very silly!’
Katya shrugged a little, reluctantly surrendering the intriguing but she had to admit unlikely suspicion. ‘It was just a thought.’
It was indeed. It was a thought that occupied Anna on and off for the next few days. Just a few months ago she knew she would have been very tempted by the opportunity to spend the summer in Finland with the Bourlovs. Margarita, hearing somehow through her own obscure channels of the opportunity her sister had refused, had been openly consumed with envy and as openly incredulous. ‘Anna, how could you refuse? Oh, Lord, if only I were older! If they’d only ask me I’d go – like a shot I’d go! Just think of all the people you’d meet.’
‘I’d rather stay in St Petersburg,’ was all Anna would say.
Because of Andrei.
For her own peace of mind she came up with many other quite credible excuses. Her mother did need her; though she could certainly have managed without her for a few weeks. Her father would undoubtedly have disapproved of his eldest daughter gallivanting about Finland with what he quite openly perceived as an irresponsible and ‘fast’ – if not worse than ‘fast’ – set of young people; but with Mischa on her side she knew he could have been persuaded to let her go. She would have been an outsider, at least at first, and her meagre wardrobe and possessions might have marked her apart from the others; but with Katya to champion her not many would have cared to make too much of such social distinctions. And anyway for Anna it would have been the opportunity to explore the lovely, tranquil countryside of Finland that would have been the attraction rather than the social life offered. No. In her heart she knew that her reason for staying in the city was Andrei. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that the mere thought of being away from him for a matter of weeks, perhaps months, was something she simply could not contemplate. The disturbing depths of which feeling she did not care – or perhaps more honestly did not dare – to plumb too deeply.
That it might have been better for Andrei had she taken this opportunity to part them was something that did not occur to her until much, much later. She was, after all, very young; and first love is never easy.
There was, she assured herself in the spirit of her self-deception, a lot to be said for St Petersburg at this time of the year. Bands played in the parks and gardens: waltzes and military marches, operatic arias and popular songs from the stage. Small sails swooped about the wide river and across the seawater Gulf, graceful as birds in flight. The days grew warm enough to be, for northern blood, almost uncomfortable; but the evenings were, though still pleasant, fresh and magically lit. In the enchantment of those white nights in which the sun hovered dimly upon the horizon as if reluctant to leave the beauty of the lovely summer’s twilight, the Gulf of Finland to the north of the city was a still and limpid lagoon, the salt sea air mingling with the sweet fragrance of flowers.
Together with half the population of the city on one fine Sunday the Shalakovs took the train to Peterhof, where the Court of the Tsar spent the summer months and where, in a Versailles of gardens, palaces and pavilions set against the glittering backdrop of the sea, fountains played constantly, and the rich, the aristocratic and the ambitious vied for favour or simply enjoyed themselves. The common populace almost to a man came to watch, to wonder and often acidly to comment; whilst in the rides and parks those who ruled them rode, took carriage, paraded their riches with apparently little thought and much ostentation.
‘Oh look! Look! The lady in the black victoria! Isn’t she beautiful? I wonder who she is?’ Margarita was in her element. In honour of the season she had persuaded from her father a new outfit, quite the most grown-up she had ever worn, if for her own taste a little lacking in colour. Yet inadvertently the soft dove grey of the demure silk gown with its darker braid edging set off her blossoming good looks to perfection. Many a head turned as Margarita danced by; as for all her apparent indifference Margarita well knew. ‘I wonder if we’ll see the Grand Duchesses? Or the lit
tle Tsarevich? And oh, Mama – look at the gentleman on the grey horse, isn’t he splendid?’
‘A tailor’s dummy whose boots would feed a family for six months,’ Lenka muttered, scuffing along behind her.
Her father shot her a sharp, frowning glance.
‘I shouldn’t like to eat his boots,’ Rita said, sweetly, and was rewarded by her mother’s silvery trill of laughter. Margarita had not quite mastered that pretty sound, though not it must be said for want of trying. She smiled delightedly at Varya and resolved to try harder. She had seen men’s heads turn at the sound of her mother’s laughter.
‘There’s a concert in the gardens by the sea this evening, Father. May we stay for it?’
‘Why not?’ Victor was expansive. Things were going well, business was picking up very nicely and the Imperial contract was at last his, signed, sealed and delivered just before Donovalov had left the city on unspecified business of his own a couple of weeks before. ‘We can catch the later train back if you’d like. Andrei, you’ll stay with us?’
Andrei nodded. ‘Most certainly. I’d like to.’
Anna caught his eye, and smiled. The first few days after that emotional scene in the workshop had been difficult for both of them. Andrei, despite his promise, had avoided her, and she for that short while had been content to allow it. She had had much to think about. Every word they had spoken, every gesture, every touch she remembered. Treasured. He loved her; impossible it might be – even wicked perhaps – but the knowledge was a small flame of joy that could not be extinguished. Again and again she told herself: something so wonderful could surely not be wrong. Even Andrei had admitted that they could be friends; devoted friends. The words had a romantic, almost poetic ring to them. The memory of his kiss and the frightening emotions it had roused in her she buried deep, afraid to examine it, to confront the dangerous truth of her real feelings for her uncle. At last, unable to stay away, she had taken to visiting him again – though as he had suggested almost always in company of one of the younger children. And as these enchanting summer weeks had progressed, the tensions between them had seemed to drop away. There was an ease between them now, a shared but unspoken intimacy that delighted her. How perilous was this intimacy she, unlike Andrei, did not in the least understand; nor did she know the effort it cost him to sustain this apparently calm and easy friendship. While Anna in her youth and innocence happily deceived herself, Andrei could not. She would have been shocked had she known that his fiercest and most heartfelt prayers were that she should find another love, as young and innocent as herself, for only in her loss, he knew, could his own agonizing dilemma end. His own desires and feelings he could handle; but the look in those clear eyes, the perfect trust in her warm and ready smile, above all the music that she played, he knew, for him alone, sometimes all but broke him. At such times the vodka bottle was not enough. Anna would have been even more shocked to know of the redheaded young prostitute in the dockland cafe.
Strange Are the Ways Page 14