Strange Are the Ways

by Strange Are the Ways (retail) (epub)

  Anna had been sitting very straight and still, head turned, listening. From beyond a small stand of trees came male laughter, and a loud splash. Dmitri laughed again. Out through the still, silvery water a sudden dark shape cut, graceful and speedy. Andrei was a powerful swimmer. Strong arms lifted rhythmically, hardly disturbing the glimmering water through which they sliced.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama?’ Anna’s voice was abstracted.

  ‘A game?’

  ‘Oh – no, I think not if you don’t mind. I’d like to walk a little. I’m quite disgracefully full of Sonya’s lovely cake.’

  ‘Very well. But don’t go far.’

  ‘No, Mama.’

  ‘Lenka, you partner Rita and I’ll take Natalia – come, Natalia dear, you play bridge of course?’

  Anna stood up, shook out her skirts. Guy, sitting propped with his back against a log, another cigar between his long fingers, saluted her with a lazy smile as she passed, quite evidently content and enjoying himself. Her father was beside him, head on his chest, pince-nez dangling, snoring very gently.

  She walked into the woodland. The sandy ground was soft beneath her slippers. The sky was light and milky, a pale, lingering dusk cloaked the trees and the water.

  A white and silver night, she found herself thinking, mysterious and exciting – a night for enchantments and for the weaving of spells.

  Behind her she could hear the voices of her family. Varya laughed her pretty, bell-like laugh. The girl along the beach was singing again, her voice not strong, but soft and haunting. The small path Anna was following turned back towards the water, led down onto the shingle to a tiny, enclosed beach. Trees edged the strand, stooping gracefully as if to admire their own perfect reflections. Oars splashed, and some way out into the Gulf a narrow skiff sped across the sky-lit, lustrous mirror of the water. Further still away from the shore a small sail swooped like a sea bird. She leaned against the straight, paper-barked trunk of a huge silver birch, tilting her head back, closing her eyes. The world rustled about her.

  She never knew what told her that he was there. Certain she was, though, before she ever opened her eyes. He stood poised a few paces from her, watching her. He carried his jacket slung over his shoulder, and his boots in his other hand. His feet were bare. His silver hair was dark and slick with water. His skin was still wet, the loose white shirt sticking to chest and shoulders, open at the collar to reveal the pale skin of his throat.

  She did not move. Even breath seemed suspended.

  In the distance the girl sang, a siren sound in the whiteness of the night.

  He was smiling at the sight of her, a small, unwary smile of love.

  She pushed herself away from the tree. Stood straight, her eyes almost on a level with his.

  The smile died. Almost reflexively he shook his head sharply, his wet hair falling across his face. But he did not move. He stood as if rooted there beneath the rustling trees.

  She it was who moved to him, slowly, as if in a dream. The bones of his face looked sharp and fragile, shadowed in the strange, unnatural light. He smelled of the water; his skin was cold with it. He stood unmoving, his hands by his sides, as she touched his face, very gently, with her warm finger.

  He swallowed. Fascinated by the movement she ran her finger along his jaw, gently lifting it, then with neither thought nor consciously formulated intention she leaned to him and kissed the wet skin at the base of his throat. He stood for a moment longer like a statue, head thrown back, tensed against movement. Then he broke. His hands were in her hair, his mouth on hers. As suddenly, instinctively savage as he, she arched her body into his; felt the hardness of him against her belly, only half-understanding. He kissed her with brutal unrestraint, all the pains and frustrations of these past months released into this one moment. They stumbled back against the tree. His hands lifted to her breasts. Wild with delight and desire she lifted her arms, braced against the tree behind her, offering herself to him. He fumbled with the buttons of her bodice; she felt the cool air against the naked skin. He bent his mouth to her bared nipples. The most exquisite sensation she had ever experienced flared through her body. She dropped her arms, buried her hands in the thick, springy damp hair, holding him fiercely to her. In that moment, in that perilous and wonderful moment, so wholly and unguardedly did she love him that she thought she might die of it; would have been happy to have died of it. In that swift, single moment there was neither right nor wrong; the rest of the world with its narrow ways and strictures simply did not exist. She flung back her head again, arching her back, feeling for the first time in her life beautiful; glad that the faery light was bright enough to display her nakedness to the man who, despite all, must surely be her first and only destined lover.

  In the oddly shimmering depths of the woodland beyond the tiny clearing a shadow flickered, indefinable yet unmistakable. The pale blur of a face was there, and then it was not. Ghostly, it melted and was gone.

  It took a moment for her to understand what she had seen. He felt the change in her. Straightened, grasping her shoulders. ‘Anna? Darling, what is it? – I’m sorry – Oh, my God, I’m so sorry! – I shouldn’t –’

  ‘Someone was there.’ Her voice despite all efforts shook like the leaves above their heads. ‘Someone was watching. Andrei, someone was watching us!’ She clung to him, trembling, the woman fled, a child again, caught in wrongdoing. Caught in a wrongdoing so great as to be beyond forgiveness. The world, held at bay for those few transcendent moments, had its revenge. She shook with terror.

  He soothed her, as best he could, his own face taut with worry and with self-repugnance. Disgrace for himself was nothing. But for Anna? The thought was unbearable. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘I d-don’t know. But it was someone, I tell you! And he – she? – I don’t know! – was watching, Andrei, watching us! Oh, it’s horrible!’

  He put his arms about her as she leaned, trembling, to his shoulder. ‘Come now, Anna. Come now. Try not to distress yourself. It may be no-one – no-one who knows us, that is –’ No-one who understands what they saw. The thought was with them both, though neither spoke it. Uncle and niece. A man caressing and suckling the bared breasts of his brother’s daughter. They could not look at each other. What had been clean and beautiful between them now was dirtied, broken beyond mending.

  Back in the picnic clearing nothing appeared to have disturbed the peace. Victor still snored. Guy sat now upon the fallen tree, smoking and watching Varya play patience. Seraphima busied herself packing the last of the hampers. Dmitri and the three girls were at the water’s edge, playing with the small, lapping waves. No-one so far as Anna could see paid the slightest extra attention to the new arrivals. ‘Ah. Here you are. Time to go home, I think.’ Varya stood up, packing the cards neatly with a practised hand into their box. ‘I trust you have enjoyed your birthday, Annoushka?’

  Anna forced a smile, too brightly. ‘Certainly I have, Mama.’

  ‘Good. And now I think we shall truly appreciate M’sieu de Fontenay’s contribution to the evening – a walk to the station or to the landing stage I fear would be entirely beyond me! Dmitri, do wake your father up. Come, everyone. Andrei, give Seraphima a hand with the other hamper, would you?’

  The drive back was quiet, the hour late, everyone drowsy. Anna sat in a dark corner, head turned to look out of the window, her mind and her heart in a turmoil. Despite herself she had felt a twist of bitter disappointment when Andrei had opted to travel in the other car. Despite all, as she leaned to the window, watching as they sped through the glimmering woodlands in the pale light, she could not forget – did not want to forget – the feel of his hands, his mouth, upon her body. Horrified as she had been to know that they had been spied upon, much as that knowledge had flawed that perfect moment, yet some small part of her clutched at the straw of hope. Perhaps, indeed, it had been a stranger who watched. Who in the family could have observed and not in outrage spoken? Perhaps, still, their s
ecret was safe.

  Her nerve was steadier now. She could face what they had done. The dreadful flood of guilt and shame was receding, to be replaced by this small, defiant flicker of hope; perhaps, after all, all was not lost; perhaps somewhere, somehow, they would together find shelter, and happiness, if only for the odd stolen moment such as tonight’s? He loved her, of that she was now utterly certain; right or wrong she would hold to that. She had nothing else.

  The cars purred over the gleaming river and into the just-stirring city. Dogs barked. In the half-light small groups of ill-shod and inadequately-clothed early workers walked the pavements, slow-footed, hardly lifting their heads as the polished limousines glided by.

  * * *

  Andrei stood tense, his hands upon his workbench, his back to his visitor, shoulders hunched. ‘So,’ he said, after a very long, quiet moment. ‘It was you.’

  Guy looked tired. His face was drawn. For the first time that Andrei could remember he looked every year of his age. ‘Yes. It was me.’

  The silence that stretched between them was not a happy one. Andrei refused to turn, refused to face his old friend and mentor.

  ‘Do you realize,’ Guy asked at last, ‘how lucky you both were that it was I who saw you? Jesus Christ, Andrei –’ his voice, though so low as to be almost inaudible, was rough with angry emotion ‘– it could have been anybody. What in God’s precious name are you thinking of?’

  Andrei shook his head, unable to answer.

  Guy waited for a moment. Someone ran, calling, down the stairs outside, and the entrance door slammed. ‘She’s a child,’ Guy said, very quietly. And then, ‘Your brother’s child.’

  Andrei rested his elbows on the bench and buried his face in his hands, the shock of silver hair covering his fingers.

  ‘Even if you can ignore the hurt you will do to her.’ Guy was remorseless. ‘Even if you can be that blind, that selfish, think of the scandal. Incest, Andrei, that is the name the world will put to it. Incest.’ He saw the other man flinch from the word; his even voice did not falter. ‘Anna will be ruined. You will be ruined. The scandal will besmirch Varya and the other girls. And your brother’s business? What of that?’

  ‘I’ll go away.’ Andrei’s voice was muffled.

  ‘On what pretext?’ Andrei had never heard his friend’s voice so cold, so harsh. ‘And to what purpose? For now Victor’s business depends much upon your contacts, your reputation. You know it. You’ll abandon him now, just as he’s struggling to establish himself ? And what of Anna? Would she accept such a solution? From what I know of infatuated young women and from what I saw last night I take leave gravely to doubt it. Could you prevent her from following you? From throwing her life away for you, and in doing so ruining her family? Ruining you? I ask you again, Andrei Valerievich, what in God’s name have you been thinking of?’ The controlled tenor of his voice broke at last and it lifted, edged with disbelief and with something that Andrei could only recognize as revulsion.

  He straightened and turned, his back to the bench, his face pale as bleached bone. ‘What am I going to do, Guy? Tell me!’

  Guy neither moved nor spoke.

  ‘You’re right. I know you’re right. Anna’s the one who’ll be hurt. And, sweet Jesus, I can’t stand the thought. I love her, Guy. I love her!’ There were tears in his voice. ‘I tried to warn her! Tried to stay away from her! I did! But –’

  The man he respected above all men watched him in sombre, ungiving silence. Andrei’s shoulders slumped. He shook his head, tiredly. Guy watched him. His first reaction when he had stumbled upon the scene by the lake had surprised him; it had been so long since he had experienced anything so barbarous as the stark fury that had assaulted him that he had barely recognized the emotion. He had stood rooted to the spot. Anna’s face, fragile and radiant in the milky light, the gleam of her naked skin, the swell of her young breasts, had burned itself into his memory; it haunted him still. He had left the scene fighting revulsion, disbelief, a savage and destructive rage of which he would have said until that moment he was no longer capable. He could in that first moment have beaten Andrei bloody with his bare hands. It had taken a long, sleepless night of brutal self-examination to reveal the astonishing basis of these violent feelings. ‘Andrei,’ he said suddenly, after a moment. ‘How far has this gone? Have you –?’ He stopped.

  There was no mistaking the genuine and swift horror in the lift of the other man’s head, the widening of his pale eyes. ‘No! I swear it! Last night – was as far as –’ He could not go on.

  Guy despised himself both for the impulse that had made him ask the question and for the small lift of relief that eased the tensions in his muscles and the tightness in his stomach at the answer. The decision would not have to be made then; she was whole in body, if not in heart. And if she had not been? Who in God’s name was he to judge her? Or, in honesty, to condemn Andrei?

  ‘Andrei,’ he said, very quietly, ‘I have a suggestion to make.’

  * * *

  ‘Marry you?’ Anna said. And then again, the emphasis different, ‘Marry you?’

  ‘Is it such a strange idea?’

  The three – Andrei, Guy and Anna – were in Andrei’s living room. It was evening. Anna had come gladly, summoned by a brief note from Andrei; had found herself facing a formidable Guy and an Andrei battered by emotion almost to dumbness. She understood well how he felt. The knowledge that it had been Guy there in the shadows last night inflicted upon her a greater humiliation and shame than she had ever believed might be possible; yet to her own surprise she had not cried, nor had she attempted excuses. She had gritted her teeth and lifted her chin; tried not to see the attitude of utter defeat in Andrei’s bowed head. For him Guy’s involvement had been insupportable. Literally insupportable. She could not fail to notice that he had hardly met her eyes from the moment she had entered the room. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong,’ she had said, stubbornly, not once but several times. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong. You won’t make me think we have.’

  Still Andrei had not spoken.

  ‘Anna.’ Guy had been stern. ‘You are an intelligent woman. You aren’t a child, to lie to yourself and to others. You cannot outface the world! You cannot be so recklessly stupid. It is not you alone that will suffer. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘We’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Guy’s eyes had flicked from one to the other. ‘In thought and in deed,’ he had said, softly. ‘Pure as the driven snow?’

  She had flushed, painfully. Had refused to answer.

  ‘Oh, Anna, Anna! I say again – you can’t take on the world! You’ll lose. You’ll be destroyed. And not you alone. Don’t you see that? Andrei could be prosecuted. Sent to jail. Your family would be ruined. What of your sisters’ prospects, your father’s business, your mother’s –’ he paused, turned the knife quite deliberately ‘– your mother’s sanity? For you know, I think, that that is what it would amount to? You’d jeopardize them all for your own selfish ends?’

  ‘No-one needs know,’ she had said, sharply, battling still, holding his eyes defiantly with her own. ‘If you say nothing, no-one needs know.’

  ‘Not now, perhaps. Nor even tomorrow. But the next day? Or the next? You haven’t behaved exactly with restraint.’ His voice was dry, renewing the colour in her cheeks. ‘Anna, in God’s name, anyone – anyone! – could have come across you last night! How long before someone else, someone far more dangerous, discovers what’s going on between you?’

  She had turned from him. ‘Nothing is going on between us,’ she had said, quietly and obstinately.

  ‘I see.’ He had let the quiet hang heavily in the room. ‘You regularly put on the kind of performance that I accidentally witnessed last night?’ he had asked, gently.

  Even Andrei came out of his self-absorbed misery to protest at the cruelty of that. Guy had ignored him, his eyes steadily upon Anna. At last, chin still defiantly high but with anguished eyes she had turned to him. ‘What should
we do?’

  ‘One of you must leave,’ he had said.

  She watched him, wary and unblinking.

  Andrei lifted his head. ‘Guy –’

  Guy did not waver. His eyes were steady upon Anna. ‘That one should be you.’

  Anna waited for a very long time. At last she asked, very softly, ‘Is there a way?’

  ‘There’s a way.’

  His proposal had been made calmly and unemotionally. Anna’s outraged reaction had been far from either. He let the storm blow. She stood finally silent, turned at last to her uncle, hands stretched in a gesture very close to pleading. ‘Andrei –?’ She stopped.

  Andrei determinedly would not look at her. He had picked up a piece of ebony and was smoothing it with regular, compulsive movements between his fingers. In that single, sharp moment she understood; it was already all but agreed between them. ‘You’ve already talked of this?’ she asked, calmly, her voice still ragged and hoarse with tears. She was speaking to Guy. Her eyes were upon Andrei.

  ‘Yes,’ Guy said.

  Something was happening to her, something almost physical, so strong was its effect upon her mind and upon her emotions. Suddenly and absurdly she was reminded of Monsieur Drapin’s science lessons, little appreciated, of – what were the words? Mutation? Transmutation? Metamorphosis. Yes. That, surely, was it. Metamorphosis. An immutable change.

  The men waited. Her eyes were straight and steady upon Guy’s, searching. She saw for the first time the tiredness in his face. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, suddenly. ‘To save Andrei from me?’

  He waited for a moment, his handsome, grave face pensive. ‘Say rather to save Andrei from himself,’ he said, quietly. And then added, ‘And, eventually, to make you happy, I hope. I’m making no sacrifice, Anna, believe me. We could do well together, I think.’