‘Like life, I think,’ she said archly, standing up suddenly and producing a piece of paper with vocabulary she must have noted from her Victorian novel. ‘Monsieur Nicholas, please to explain. What means “osculate”?’
‘Oscillate?’
‘No. Osculate.’
To my embarrassment I couldn’t place the word at all, and admitted, sheepishly, that I did not know. To hide my embarrassment, I made a show of taking down the huge Oxford dictionary and looking up the word.
‘“Osculate…poetic, from the Latin meaning ‘to kiss’.”’
I read it out loud and, when I stopped, I realised that Natalie was standing close behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and gently pulled me round to face her. Her closeness intimidated me but I made no move to pull away.
‘So now, Nicholas, will you osculate with me?’
I’d fallen into a trap.
She leaned her face close to mine, pursed her lips and closed her eyes. My brain went into neutral; I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak, unable even to formulate a simple thought. We stood like that for what seemed an age and nothing happened. Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and, blushing with embarrassment, stepped back.
‘Oh, Monsieur Nicholas, forgive me. I have made a large mistake…!’
A tear ran from the corner of her eye. And that did it. I leaned forward, put my arm around her fragile waist and kissed her; a long, heartfelt kiss that was my second step on the road to disaster.
After that initial kiss, Natalie had complete control of the situation. Her naïveté seemed to vanish and she took my hand and pulled me through into the small room that served both as my sitting room and study; then she headed straight to my bedroom.
Every step we took broke down my resolve and yet, even as she pulled me down beside her on the bed, my conscience was screaming ‘No!’
But I had ceased to listen to my brain; my body was calling to me now, and its needs and desires overrode all reason.
The fragrance of her youthful body intoxicated me and the touch of her gentle yet urgent hands sent little shocks of pleasure through my skin. She was no longer the shy, bashful, aloof Natalya I had seen only moments before, and I wondered at the sudden change from coy, naïve teenager to determined young woman. It was almost as if she knew what to do and what to expect of me, yet how could she have had any experience of romance in this sterile House?
It is impossible for me to describe adequately the pleasure I felt – we felt – in each other. Everything seemed to proceed so naturally, so easily, as though we had rehearsed it in our heads a thousand times; as though, even when we were behaving formally in the classroom, this more intimate scene was running in our minds. It sounds so stupid now, but it was almost like a déjà vu experience for both of us.
Without any embarrassment, awkwardness or even word spoken, we climaxed together, and it was – at least for me – the release of my pent-up desire and longing for this young woman. I had the sense to enjoy it to the full before the guilt and remorse that I knew would inevitably follow.
I hoped that I wasn’t rough with her. She seemed so slim and delicate that I was afraid of holding her too tightly and hurting her. In fact, I scarcely behaved as a gentleman should, such was my longing for her. I tried to make up for it by being attentive and considerate afterwards. To my intense relief, Natalie did not appear to have been made uncomfortable in any way. I had never made love to a virgin before and had expected it to be different somehow. But Natalie seemed to have enjoyed it as much as I did and, as we both lay exhausted across my bed, she took my hand and kissed it, making little sighing noises which I understood to be pleasure.
Neither of us spoke for a long time. We both knew that everything had changed now. The line had been crossed. The guilt was creeping over me, as I had known it would, and only then did I start to deal with realities. I was her tutor: she should have been able to rely on me to make sensible decisions, do sensible things to protect her, look after her. Instead, I had taken her virginity. What if she got pregnant?
I sat up abruptly, startling Natalie, who seemed on the verge of sleep.
‘Nicholas? What’s wrong?’ She sat up too, eyes full of questions. What could I tell her? That her lover was a stupid, inconsiderate idiot? That he was so selfish that he had given no thought to the consequences of his actions? It was too late now to think of all that. There was no form of contraception available to us in that House, and I wasn’t about to ask Natalie about her menstrual cycle and suchlike, even if I had understood it myself.
Mercifully, this train of thought was broken by Natalie herself when she looked at her watch and realised that she must go.
We dressed in silence, picking up the articles of clothing we had discarded between the schoolroom and the bed. The hurried kiss goodbye seemed awkward and embarrassed and then she was gone, and, with her, the sunlight.
After Natalya left, I sat down on the sofa in my small study next to the fire and thought about the future. To have kissed Natalie was one thing; to have made love to her was, frankly, a shock, and changed things irrevocably. If I could have been honest with myself, I should have admitted that I was falling in love with this girl. All the signs were there; I just chose to ignore them because I didn’t know how to deal with the problem. It was typical of my conduct in general, drifting about in Paris, no fixed address, few close friends and no special girl.
I got up and walked about the room. This was definitely a no-win situation. To pursue an ‘affair’ with my pupil was strictly not on, and once it was revealed I would certainly be dismissed. If that happened, I would not be able to see Natalie again. On the other hand, how could I not respond to her when, in spite of every obstacle, I had fallen in love with her?
Finally I resolved to do what I always did – let it go, stop thinking about it. Something would happen, and it would all come right in the end. It was a frame of mind I’d inherited from my father, a fatalism that seemed to fit in well with my study of existentialism. In any case, I could see no alternative.
Having dismissed the business of the mind, I then considered the needs of the body. I was elated but I was also hungry; the two things always went together with me and, although it was only 4.30pm, I showered and went down to the kitchen to seek some company.
No one seemed surprised to see me so early, and it appeared almost as if they were expecting me. When I enquired about dinner, they looked at one another and smiled.
I hate conspiracies. ‘Did I say something amusing, Serge?’ I asked, trying to keep the note of annoyance out of my voice.
‘Not at all, Nicolai Feodorovitch. You obviously have not been told—’
‘Told what?’ I cut in, a bit abruptly.
‘You and Anya are eating with the Grand Duchess tonight.’ Seeing my consternation, he continued quickly, ‘I hope you have your dinner suit ready.’
A murmur of amusement swept the kitchen.
‘I don’t have an evening dress suit…’ I said in dismay.
‘Yes, you do, Nico. I have it here.’
It was Anya, framed in the doorway, a package in her arms.
‘You remember, Nicholas, when I interviewed you, I said suits would be supplied? Well, here is your evening wear. You’d better try it on. Dinner is at 8pm in the great dining room. I’ll collect you from your rooms at 7.30.’
She pushed the parcel into my arms and was gone. The others looked on in amusement and I beat a hasty retreat to my rooms to get out of their way.
The suit fitted perfectly, as the others had done: black, double-breasted, with old-fashioned wide lapels faced with shiny black silk. I’d never actually owned a dinner suit. The ones I’d worn in the past were always hired from Moss Bros – for Ladies’ Nights at my father’s lodge in London – and returned the next day.
I managed everything, including the cummerbund, but was beaten by the bow tie and old-style butterfly collar on the dress shirt, being used to the modern clip-on bows. When she came to
fetch me Anya tied it for me and then we both sat, self-consciously, in the library to await the summons to dinner.
CHAPTER 7
The Séance
‘Fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a Spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof…’
JOB 4:14–16
It was with considerable misgiving that I walked past the right-hand staircase towards the great dining room. Anya held my arm and, though her presence was reassuring, I felt uneasy and uncomfortable. Madame Lili would be there, and meeting her had so far been an ambivalent experience. She was, beyond doubt, a most alluring and bewitching woman, yet at the same time she was capable of causing me ‘fear and trembling’, as it says in the Bible. As for the Grand Duchess, she was treated with such respect – even reverence – by those around her that she was bound to intimidate me. Added to all this was the discomfort I felt from wearing such formal clothes. No doubt every part of my behaviour and conversation would be scrutinised by the other guests.
I need not have worried. We were told on entering the room that unfortunately the Grand Duchess was slightly indisposed and would not be joining us. I was able to relax slightly.
The dining room was huge and impressive, comprising most of the right wing of the ground floor. The whole front wall was taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows covered, although it was still daylight outside, with heavy and elaborate crimson curtains. Oil lamps hung overhead and from brackets on the walls, casting a bright yet soft glow and giving off a faint smell of lamp oil. As expected, in spite of the warm spring evening a coal fire burned in the grate of the huge marble fireplace. The brightness of the room was increased by a huge silver candelabrum in the centre of the white linen tablecloth, its light glinting off the silver settings and cut-glass vases of fresh flowers.
Anya introduced me to two elderly men, who clicked their heels and bowed in an old-fashioned, Eastern European way. The first, who vaguely resembled an old photograph I had once seen of Dr Crippen, was a man in his sixties with a white moustache and grey hair – it was Dr Voikin, whom I had met very briefly when he and Serge had dragged Natalie off me on the night of the attack. As well as being Natalie’s personal doctor, he also looked after the Grand Duchess and had a surgery in the right wing of the House, where he sometimes slept when twenty-four-hour care was required.
The second man was much taller, and so thin that he looked as though he might need the good doctor’s services himself. His thinning, oily hair was dyed black, his cheeks hollow, and long face drawn, giving an overall impression of furtive deceit. He was introduced as Maître Chermakov, and the fact that he was the family lawyer did not surprise me at all.
Neither man qualified as congenial company. The women were much more interesting.
Madame Lili was, as usual, all in black, her heavy silk dress falling to almost cover her buttoned-up boots; a sort of lifted-up veil covered her hair, which was piled up on top of her head, revealing her pale, aristocratic face and the intense darkness of her eyes. As I stepped forward to greet her and kiss her proffered hand, she parted her lips slightly and narrowed her eyes in a penetrating glance. It would not have surprised me if those big white teeth had included fangs.
Natalya, however, looked much more welcoming, resplendent in a long, cream silk dress with matching gloves and shoes. She wore her hairpiece that night, piled up on her head and then cascading down her back, soft and honey-coloured in the glow of the oil lamps. A narrow black velvet band circled her graceful neck, and a small gold locket hung down from it to her throat.
She treated me to a long, warm smile and fixed me with her blue-grey eyes as if to convey a sort of complicity that marked us out as different from the others. She took my arm in a possessive way and, with Anya on the other side, drew me to my place at the far end of the table, directly facing Madame Lili who, in the absence of the Grand Duchess, assumed her place at the head of the group – a gesture of superiority which seemed to be acceptable to all the others present.
I was disappointed to find that both Natalya and Anya were separated from me by the presence of the two men, and surprised to learn that there would be no other guests, except a certain Father Feodor, who was expected later.
To my relief, dinner was served and eaten in an almost informal way and everyone, including my somewhat taciturn male companions, engaged in an attempt at small talk. Of the two, Dr Voikin proved to be the most affable, though he had little competition from Maître Chermakov, who seemed to be struggling to conceal his obvious dislike of dinner engagements. No mention was made of any of the recent events in the House, other than the doctor enquiring, out of politeness, whether my ‘malaise’ had passed. The lawyer confined himself to a few questions about my family and background, posed with little subtlety, and my answers were not received with great good grace.
The food was excellent, however, and had the men not been there the evening could have been quite pleasant.
The meal finished and the men, myself included, withdrew to the far end of the room and both Voikin and Chermakov lit cigarettes. In spite of disliking smoke, I felt obliged to stand with them, and cast around for something to say during the awkward silence that ensued. Not daring to discuss Natalya’s illness, I settled finally on asking after the health of the somewhat mysterious and elusive Grand Duchess.
Voikin eyed me suspiciously and then reluctantly offered, ‘For her age, she is well. She is currently indisposed. Not serious, I think, but something that may be expected at her time of life. Nothing you should concern yourself about,’ he added, fixing me with another hard look and emphasising the word ‘you’. ‘And yourself, monsieur?’ he deftly changed the subject, continuing, ‘I recall treating you last week…some symptoms of giddiness, wasn’t it?’ He didn’t wait for a reply but dismissed his own enquiry by adding, ‘I assume you are better now?’
I was still considering whether I should tell him that I was actually feeling much worse, and should perhaps detail the strange feelings of detachment that were becoming more frequent, when Chermakov gestured towards Natalya and Anya. ‘They seem to wish you to join them.’
His relief at this showed on his face. Both women were looking towards us, smiling, and giving me an excuse to leave the two lugubrious old fossils who obviously preferred each other’s company.
Both women seemed to be enjoying themselves: as I drew near them, I could hear their animated chatting in French. In fact, no one in the House ever seemed to speak Russian. Anya had once told me that the Grand Duchess had forbidden it, saying that French was the language of the Russian Court and Russian was only to be used to address the servants. Even the ‘servants’ spoke French all the time, albeit with varying degrees of fluency. As I listened, I was again intrigued by the distinctly Germanic accents of Natalie and Madame Lili. Only Anya spoke French without a German accent. ‘How chic you look, Nicholas!’ Natalie whispered in my ear, and squeezed my hand. ‘It gives me great sorrow to have to leave you, but the Grand Duchess has asked me to read to her. It helps her with the sleeping,’ she said quaintly. She turned her back to the others, winked at me and, after making excuses to the other guests and giving a quick glance back over her shoulder to me, left the room.
My disappointment must have shown in my face, because Anya drew me aside and whispered that the real reason for Natalie’s absence was her dislike of all things spiritual or occult. By this time, Agnès and Serge had cleared the tables of everything except the candelabrum, and it was then that I learned we were going to have a séance and Anya’s talk about the occult made sense.
In spite of my total scepticism, I felt excited at the prospect of watching Madame Lili perform; an excitement tinged with uneasiness as I recalled the troubling effect she had previously wrought on me.
We took our places as directed by Anya, but Natalie’s seat to my immediate left was now empty. No one spoke. Madame Lili sat at the head of the tabl
e, pale and serious and, I was surprised to see, seemed tense and perhaps a little nervous. She stared down at the white tablecloth and appeared to be composing herself, sitting perfectly still and breathing deeply.
As Agnès quietly left the room, Serge, who had earlier disappeared, re-entered, resplendent in high boots and cavalry breeches and wearing a white rubashka, a Russian shirt, embroidered with classic blue and gold at the neck and cuffs. He was, though, bare-headed, his Cossack hat not to be worn indoors.
Extinguishing the oil lamps one by one, he eventually arrived at the table and there snuffed out all but the central candle of the candelabrum. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the dim light and I noticed that Serge was now standing impassively behind Madame Lili like a sort of élite bodyguard. It was Dr Voikin, an unlikely convert to spiritualism it seemed to me, who stood up and recited a prayer for divine guidance for what he referred to as ‘Our undertaking, this night’.
Those around the table to the left and right of me remained only just discernible in the dim light emanating from the lone candle in the centre of the table, but everything beyond our circle was now in complete darkness.
At some point, Father Feodor must have entered the room – he had not been there at dinner – and was just visible seated to Madame Lili’s right. He stood up, appearing sinister in what could be seen of his dark robes and hat, and intoned what I took to be a prayer in Russian, then produced what looked like a silver tube with holes in it and sprinkled water around the table.
Next, it was the turn of Madame Lili. She took up a small sack that contained white powder, presumably salt, and drew a circle around the single candle. Closing her eyes, she murmured slowly in French, ‘Spirits of the Dead, pass among us. Be guided by this light of our World and visit upon us.’
She then sat down, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Sceptic and atheist that I was, I could at least applaud the setting and drama of the piece. The atmosphere was somehow disturbing, the air suddenly cooler. I found myself wishing that Natalie were sitting beside me.
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