The Spaces in Between

by Collin Van Reenan

  I tried to take it all in. Before me stood the most stunning-looking girl that I had ever seen, even in a city like Paris where beautiful women were numerous.

  ‘Well? Are you going to ask me to sit down, monsieur?’

  ‘Of course, mademoiselle,’ I mumbled, trying to recover some of the dignity of my office.

  She sat in front of me, crossing her legs, the girl giving place to a sophisticated young woman evidently pleased to have had such an obvious effect on me.

  ‘Er, well, yes…I’d thought we would start by you giving me an idea of the extent of your spoken English. Would you just read the paragraph I’ve marked in this book?’

  Serious now, she read slowly and clearly, with an impressive grasp of the pronunciation of the language. Again I was surprised by her intonation, which was definitely more German-sounding than Russian – the same accent that could be heard in her French.

  As the lesson wore on, Natalie seemed to be trying hard to please me. Her slightly ‘diva’-ish debut was soon replaced by a serious, even prim attention to the niceties of social etiquette, and by the time we stopped for lunch she was every bit the regal princess again.

  When, after lunch, I received a message that ‘the Princess regrets…she will not be able to attend further today’ from Anya, I had to admit to feeling very disappointed. The change in Natalya since the previous day had so much confused me that I found myself confiding in Anya about it when we took tea together in the library.

  She listened to me, serious, with her head on one side as if concentrating on everything I was saying. Eventually, after a long silence, she put her hand on my arm.

  ‘Nicholas, it is a symptom of the Princess’s illness that she has mood swings, between elation and depression. You know, she bears a great responsibility in that she is one of the few last immediate descendants of the Tsar of all the Russias…’

  She stopped speaking to look at me and, when I didn’t answer, continued, ‘She is seventeen years old, with all the difficulties that age brings. She is on the verge of womanhood, a difficult enough time without having a depressive illness to contend with.’

  She remained looking at me, inviting a reply.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me, Anya?’

  ‘I’m not trying to tell you anything! I’m sure you understand!’ Her irritation sounded in her voice. ‘You are almost twenty-three years old, Nicholas. That’s maturity, when a girl is seventeen! You have lived in the modern world, outside, in a big cosmopolitan city like Paris. Perhaps you have lived in London too, I don’t know…but Natalie…she knows only this House and the people in it. She is, in every respect, an innocent, very vulnerable, and I worry about her.’

  ‘She’s safe with me.’

  ‘Is she, Nicholas? Is she, really?’

  ‘Is that some sort of a warning, Anya?’

  ‘Do I have to give you a warning, Nicholas?’

  She smiled then, to lighten the atmosphere and then continued, softly, ‘Well, there might be times…there might be occasions when Natalie’s behaviour may not quite come up to appropriate standards for someone of her rank and obligations. That is…’ She was getting flustered. ‘Oh, that is, you may need to employ some decorum – diplomacy – of your own from time to time. Now, let’s drop it, shall we? Natalie is officially in the hands of Madame Lili, her chaperone and spiritual mentor…’

  Her voice trailed off when, as if by some strange coincidence, Madame Lili appeared in the doorway, her heavy perfume instantly filling the room.

  She stretched a gloved hand towards me in such a way this time that I was obviously meant to kiss it. I managed a self-conscious touch of the lips against the black satin material, and felt her huge dark eyes boring into me.

  ‘Nicolai Feodorovitch…’ she greeted me, using the patronymic. ‘The Princess has conveyed to me her pleasure at her first studies with you; a good start!’

  Not sure what to reply, I nodded politely at the compliment. She looked past me. ‘My dear Anya Pavlova! I am so pleased to find you here too. I wish to ask a service of you both…’ Her deep voice made her French sound very pleasant. ‘I am expecting some guests this evening. We shall need this room. There is a conference…I fear the war is not going well for the White Army. You do understand, don’t you both?’

  I understood only that we were being asked to leave.

  ‘What war?’ I asked Anya as we walked down towards the kitchen.

  ‘The Civil War in Russia, silly!’ she laughed.

  ‘But that ended in 1923.’

  She stopped, turned to me and winked. ‘Nicholas, remember what I told you. This is a strange House and we are strange people. Try not to concern yourself about it.’

  We ate well with the staff but somehow the cosy, convivial atmosphere of the previous evening was not recreated.

  I found myself upstairs, alone in the schoolroom, still early in the evening. It was a fine spring night but quite dark, and the view from the open front windows did not even extend to the gravel drive below. High on the horizon was the amber glow from the streetlights of Paris and, here and there, a glimpse of yellow headlights, and red rear lights, and just audible was a faint rumble from the traffic. Heavy cloud blotted out the moon and stars. Paris was near, but fifty years away.

  Suddenly, the silence of the evening was broken by what sounded like horses approaching. Still nothing was visible from the window, but the sound of hooves on the gravel became louder and louder, finally ceasing, apparently at the front doors below.

  Curiosity got the better of me and I crept along the corridor towards the stair head, from where I could see the front doors; I was just in time to see the closing of the library door. Disappointed, and with nothing particular to do, I fell to wondering whom Madame Lili might be entertaining in the library.

  It was as I resumed my aimless wandering around the school room that I remembered the ‘secret’ stairs in the cupboard and, with a recklessness that later surprised me, I decided to creep down and take a look. What possessed me to do such a thing, I don’t know. My only excuse is that I was feeling rather light-headed and wondered later if Serge had added anything to the several glasses of Russian tea that he had given me after dinner.

  Whatever the reason, I crept down the narrow, dusty, winding stairs and very gingerly eased open the small door in the section of bookshelf running round the mezzanine balcony of the library.

  As the gap widened, I could hear the murmur of voices speaking in Russian, slowly and solemnly. A bit further and I was out on to the narrow landing that gave access to the very top bookshelves. I moved stealthily along to where I could look down into the room while still being hidden from view by the iron spiral staircase. Very cautiously, I lifted my head above the stair rails.

  Below me was the oddest scene.

  Standing around the long book table, poring over a map, were three soldiers in dark uniforms. One – who, because he stood between the two others, I took to be the leader – was short and heavily built. He had a grey beard and moustache, and the hair that escaped from his fur hat was white and unkempt. To his right stood a much smarter soldierly man in a military overcoat and peaked cap. But the weirdest of the three was certainly the man to the leader’s left.

  He was tall, unnaturally so, perhaps well over two metres, and this height was emphasised by both his extreme thinness and his strange, almost comical uniform. He wore a three-quarter-length coat pulled in tight at the waist by a wide leather belt holding a large curved knife, and, below, high black riding boots. His long, gaunt face ended in a goatee beard with a large black moustache. His long frame was topped off by a tall astrakhan Cossack hat.

  All three were clearly outlined by the shaded oil lamp that hung over the reading table. But there was something wrong with the picture that I didn’t take in until later when I went over the scene in my mind – just as with the people I had seen in the garden yesterday, they were grey, black and white! The whole scene was monochrome.

  S
uddenly, a movement in the shadows behind the man caught my eye. To my dismay, Madame Lili appeared in the circle of the lamplight and looked immediately up at me; that is, she looked up straight in my direction. There was no way she could have seen me, hidden as I was by the spiral stairs, but she knew, somehow, that I was there. I was sure of it, and even more sure about the anger on her beautiful face.

  Under the glare of her gaze, I shrank back further into the shadows and retreated furtively to the door in the bookcase, silently closing it behind me and creeping quickly up the stairs to the schoolroom cupboard. Back in my room, when I thought it all through, I tried to convince myself that she could not have seen me after all, and went to bed cursing my stupidity in laying myself open to such embarrassment.

  By morning, I had managed to put this rather trivial incident to the back of my mind and was looking forward to seeing the Princess again.

  She duly appeared right on time, dressed as before and this time wearing a heavy perfume reminiscent of Madame Lili’s, so heavy and strong that it was almost overpowering. On this occasion, she seemed less eager to study than before, and she appeared more relaxed, more ‘natural’, and not trying to impress me with a maturity which she did not yet possess. She smiled a lot, showing her pretty white teeth, and dutifully laughed at my attempts at wit. When she did that, there was something vaguely reminiscent of Madame Lili, and I wondered if they had common ancestry: both were tall and slim, both spoke French with a soft but unmistakable German accent, and both had a sort of ‘regal’ or aristocratic presence.

  The day passed too quickly for me. I surprised myself by finding great enjoyment in teaching English and at the same time enjoying the company of a very lovely young lady, unspoiled by big city ways.

  For her part, Natalie behaved in such a relaxed way that it was hard to believe that she could suffer from any sort of psychosis. It would be very wrong to suggest she flirted with me or behaved in any way inappropriate for a pupil/master relationship.

  Here and there, I learned more about the people and layout of the House. Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess was very old and kept to her suite of rooms on the third floor, served by the right-hand staircase and corridor. Nearby, her companion and spiritual advisor, Madame Lili, had her own sitting room and bedroom. On the ground floor was a large room that served as the main dining room and was also used for occasional soirées and Madame Lili’s séances.

  There was also a surgery with a small day-bed used by Dr Voikin on the occasions when Natalya was very ill and he needed to stay over. Natalya herself had a modest bedroom next door. Both she and Madame Lili ate with the Grand Duchess, as did Anya from time to time. This last information surprised me a little, as I had come to see Anya very much as ‘staff’. As the Grand Duchess’s secretary and housekeeper, though, she seemed to play an ambivalent role, with a foot in both camps. Before we parted, Natalya reminded me that I also would receive the occasional summons to attend dinner with the Grand Duchess – not something I felt I could look forward to experiencing.

  Natalie’s departure, after our several hours together, brought a pang of loneliness and I was pleased to go down to the kitchen for dinner.

  There followed another of those cosy, happy evenings with people I was already beginning to look upon as a new family. Again Amélie produced a superb meal and we ate and drank, as before, seated on the benches along the scrubbed table in front of the fire. Serge insisted on vodka interspersed with glasses of hot, sweet Russian tea. In spite of the food inside me, it wasn’t long before I began to feel a bit light-headed, and this wasn’t helped by the clouds of heavy Russian tobacco smoke thrown out by Serge’s pipe as he prepared to regale us with one of his tall stories.

  To my surprise, this happy atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by Anya who, after being called away, returned looking serious. She leaned over me from behind and whispered in my ear, ‘Madame Lili wishes to speak to you, Nicholas, in the library.’

  ‘What, now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, now! She insisted upon it. She seems very upset. You must go immediately. Do not keep her waiting.’

  I looked up at Anya, suspecting a joke and expecting to see her smiling. But she was deadly serious and obviously troubled. Reluctantly I stood up, her uneasiness communicating itself to me, and stifling the smart remark that had come to mind. Making suitable excuses, I followed her out of the kitchen and down the long wide passage towards the front of the House.

  ‘What’s it about, Anya? Did I do something wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s not a good idea to upset Madame Lili. She…’ Her voice trailed off. She hustled me along faster, stopped outside the library door and, when I hesitated, thrust me forward and whispered fiercely, ‘Be careful, Nico!’

  And I was into the room.

  All the main lights were out. Only a solitary oil lamp and the flickering red light of the fire lit the room. On one of the two small chairs around the table sat Madame Lili. She did not rise as I moved cautiously towards her, uneasy then, for the first time. Her perfume hit me like a wall of fragrance.

  ‘Nicolai Feodorovitch,’ she said in a low voice.

  There was no warmth in the greeting. I found myself in front of her, trying to pull my wits together and shake off the lethargy that risked overcoming me. I took her outstretched hand; her glove felt damp. I realised that I was meant to kiss her hand, not shake it, and I bent my head to do so. She looked up so suddenly that it startled me.

  I will never forget that look. Her eyes seemed almost black, the pupils filling the violet of her irises, and they penetrated my brain with almost physical force. Instinctively, I drew back. A tremor, starting in my bowels, ran up my spine, and I shuddered violently, vaguely aware that her sensual lips were open in a cynical smile, the big white teeth parted slightly. But I could not lift my eyes from that cold unblinking stare.

  My knees started to buckle under me and somewhere, far away now, her voice was ordering me to sit down.

  We faced each other then, across the small table. She was holding both my wrists tightly, so very tightly that it began to hurt. I could not speak to protest, and the odd feeling of detachment increased all the time. And still her eyes held mine and I could not look away.

  ‘Why were you spying on me, Nicolai Feodorovitch, last night, in the library?’ She hissed the question.

  I tried to answer but my mouth had gone dry.

  ‘I…I wasn’t spying, Madame Lili,’ I finally managed to blurt out.

  She seemed not to hear, and continued, ‘Do you not understand how terrible this war is? We Whites against that filthy Bolshevik scum – the anti-Christ dregs of Russia…’

  She seemed to be talking for her own benefit; I didn’t know how I was expected to answer and was more concerned about my growing physical unease.

  ‘I…er…don’t understand, Madame Lili. Please…I wasn’t spying on you…it was just my curiosity…it got the better of me…’

  I knew it sounded like grovelling and I didn’t care.

  ‘Curiosity?’ She spat the word. Then, as suddenly as it had erupted, her anger subsided. ‘Have you ever been to Russia, Nicholas?’ she murmured softly.

  I shook my head, not trusting my voice.

  ‘Do you know how vast it is? Can you imagine how cold it can be? Do you understand how savage this war is, Russian against Russian?’

  No, I didn’t know. Nor did I care; it had been over for forty-five years!

  I tried to look away from her. A terrible uneasiness had gripped my mind and the awful feeling of detachment completely overcame me. The room, the fire, the lamplight, all seemed to be receding into the background as if I were seeing the room through the wrong end of a telescope. Giddiness hit me, and the colours around me kaleidoscoped. Realising that I really was ill, I tried to pull away, wanting to get to my feet, make some hurried excuse and leave. But Madame Lili intensified her grip on my wrists with extraordinary force and I felt the strength ebb fr
om me.

  ‘Look at me, Nicholas! Look at me! Now, listen to me, listen to me, listen to my voice…’

  The room had gone cold and dim; only the vaguest outlines were discernible.

  ‘Listen to me. Listen to my voice,’ she said again, seemingly from a great distance.

  For a moment, I felt I was floating, and then what was left of the room turned faster and faster and everything went white – a bright, dazzling white…

  It was cold. It was very, very cold. It was cold like I had never known, and with the cold came a brilliant clarity that I had never before experienced. I saw everything as though the edges had been outlined by a black pen. The sky was black and the stars glittered like sparks. The snow stretched away around me, flat, monotonous, endless; the only horizon a dark fringe of pines miles away across that frozen waste.

  The snorting of my horse brought me back from the emptiness of this awful place and my own mind.

  Great clouds of steam emanated from the horse’s nostrils, its ice-encrusted head turned towards me. Without any warning it crashed to the ground, pitching me head-first on to the smooth wind-driven snow. I staggered up, my long greatcoat heavy with powdered snow. The horse whinnied pitifully and rolled its great bloodshot eyes. It was dying, and my heart went out to it. I took off my mittens, dragged the heavy revolver from its stiff leather holster on my belt and held its muzzle against the horse’s head. The shot was deafening. Its sharp report startled me and reverberated around the empty starlit waste like thunder.

  Suddenly, fear gripped me. What if they had heard…they must be close behind… And even as I said this to myself I looked up and my stomach churned. There, on the horizon, a thin black line appeared and grew darker and wider even as I sought to focus on it. They were coming…!

  Automatically, I started to run. The snow was knee-deep and slowed me down as in a nightmare. The trees, the dark trees…but even as I turned towards them my heart was sinking. Those trees were mile upon mile away.