The Spaces in Between

by Collin Van Reenan

  The sun had dropped low in the sky and now shone directly on us with a warm, golden glow. The wine, the warmth of the sunlight, my emotional exhaustion, all conspired against me, and for just a moment I must have closed my eyes.

  ‘Nicholas!’

  I started awake. The seat opposite me was now empty – Tatiana had, once again, disappeared. Almost immediately, Madame Lili appeared; it had been her voice that had called me. ‘With whom were you speaking, Nicholas?’ she demanded sharply in her precise French.

  ‘Er, no one,’ I replied stupidly, trying to avoid the inevitable third degree that I knew would follow if I mentioned Tatiana.

  She came very close to me as I stood up for her, her lips pursed over her beautiful teeth, in a familiar gesture that seemed to signify anger.

  ‘Nicolai Feodorovitch.’ She almost spat the words. ‘You seem always to have a perverse desire to lie to me.’

  Before I could reply, she slapped me so hard across the face that I flinched back out of range, hardly believing she could do such a thing to me again.

  ‘I ask you again, monsieur. You do not talk to yourself. Who was with you just now?’ She leaned closer, her deep voice reinforcing the threat. ‘Do not try to deceive me again!’

  ‘Tatiana,’ I blurted out. ‘It was Tatiana.’

  Madame Lili sighed deeply, sat down uncomfortably close to me and remained silent for several minutes, then looking me straight in the eyes, said quietly, ‘You know, Nicholas, one could be tempted to believe that this Tatiana is a figment of your imagination.’

  I thought that a strange thing to say, given that she had seen her at the séance, and I said as much. She confined her reply to a grunt of disgust and continued to stare out across the garden as if looking for someone.

  I waited patiently to see how the situation would develop, surprised at how easily the woman intimidated me. I wondered whether, now that she seemed to have calmed down, she would offer some sort of apology for striking me. But I waited in vain.

  ‘Yes, it doesn’t make sense,’ she murmured, seemingly to herself, and then turned to me again and asked, ‘Who is she, monsieur?’

  It was the first time that she had addressed me so formally and an obvious sign of her continuing displeasure. Anxious to defuse this growing tendency for violence on her part, I tried to avoid any trace of flippancy in my voice. ‘She said she was one of the “Old Ones”, whatever that means.’

  ‘And do you believe her?’ she asked flatly, staring at me intently.

  ‘Well, er…I don’t really understand what she meant by it. I mean, the family…the Tsar and his family…are all dead, murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918…’

  ‘In the House of Special Purpose,’ she said slowly, enunciating every word and staring unblinking into my eyes in a way that made me feel very uneasy. Not knowing what on earth I was rambling on about or what to say next, I just nodded. She said nothing more, and the silence grew so uncomfortable that I felt obliged to continue.

  ‘She does seem to know a great deal about the Imperial Family, though – and she really does look incredibly like the photos of the Grand Duchess Tatiana in the books in the library…’

  My voice trailed off as I noticed a frown disfigure Madame Lili’s lovely face. She was more uneasy and disturbed than I had ever seen her before. Always in control, she now looked drawn and ill at ease, and I cast around for something to say to take advantage of her unwonted vulnerability. Before I could say manage it, she sat up and asked, ‘How do you summon her?’

  ‘I don’t. She just appears.’

  ‘But always to you,’ she said with a sneer.

  ‘It seems so, yes.’

  ‘Have you ever touched her, Nicholas?’

  I felt a trap opening and to give myself time to think, repeated her question. ‘Touched her?’

  Madame Lili sighed her impatience. ‘Held her hand? Kissed her?’

  ‘We held hands at the séance,’ I offered, pleased at my smart answer and at the same time avoiding any mention of things more intimate.

  ‘And does she question you about us?’ She nodded her head towards the House.

  ‘No, never, Madame Lili.’

  My answers seemed to reassure her a little and her frown relaxed. After a moment, she got up to go. I struggled to stand, the effect of the wine weighing heavily upon me. She turned towards the House but then turned back to me, reached out and gently touched my face where she had slapped me. She said nothing but offered a slight smile, which I took to be an apology of sorts. I watched her long, dark shadow glide towards the House as the sun set blood-red behind her.

  I missed Tatiana then: a free spirit to talk to when everyone else seemed to have a hidden agenda, following some carefully laid plan. Nothing in the House was what it seemed. Nothing happened there that was spontaneous; everything was pre-planned. I hadn’t just stumbled into this House by accident, I realised that now. This whole scenario was carefully staged. Obviously, Natalie’s needs needed to be addressed and, for whatever reason, it had to be me.

  For weeks I had been tricked, deceived, drugged, hypnotised and now slapped and threatened with prison. How had it come to this? Why had I not left as soon as it had started to become unpleasant? Just walked out? If I stayed, it would continue, but now I would be with Natalie and under her protection. Who knew: I might even turn the tables on them all – exert a little moral blackmail of my own.

  In the meantime, I needed to talk to someone I could trust. I willed Tatiana to reappear and waited in vain. What and where were these ‘spaces in between’ that she mentioned?

  Now that the euphoria of the wine was wearing off, a hint of depression was edging in and the sunshine was fading fast. I still felt drunk and closed my eyes again, only to hear a soft footfall on the path. For a moment, I thought Tatiana was back. But it was Anya. I suppose my disappointment must have shown in my face, because she greeted me with an attempt at a smile that failed miserably.

  ‘Madame Lili thought you might need some coffee,’ she said flatly, putting down the coffee pot just a little too hard. She poured me a cup, but not one for herself. The implication was that I was the one who was drunk. She sighed and plonked herself down opposite me.

  There had been a time when Anya and I had been close – friends, that is, or at least so I thought. When I had first met her, she had been so nice to me, in a sisterly sort of way. We were both misfits, neither family nor servants, and we had had a kind of complicity, an unspoken agreement that we would look after each other. I had trusted her when I found I could trust no one else. That now seemed a long while ago. It was very clear which side Anya was on now, and I no longer trusted her at all. Exactly when this change had occurred was difficult to say, though it seemed that she had cooled towards me after Tatiana’s appearance holding my hand at the séance. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. She was, after all, part of the House. As the English say, she knew which side her bread was buttered.

  This afternoon she seemed almost hostile, probably because she had found out what I had done to Natalie. She just sat there considering me, with a look of disdain. I felt dismayed by this. She had been my last refuge in the House, and without her support I would now be totally isolated. Of course, there was Tatiana, but she was nebulous, ethereal, out of reach, without any means of contact, and, very possibly, quite mad. I tried, clumsily, to mend some bridges.

  ‘How are you, Anya? Long time no see…’

  She was having none of it. ‘You so disappoint me, Nicolai Feodorovitch – so smug, so confident and yet such a fool, outwitted every step of the way…’

  Her eyes narrowed and she almost spat the words. For the first time in a long while, she used ‘vous’ instead of ‘tu’, and the new formality was not lost on me. Unprepared for that level of hostility, I cast around for something expiatory to say. But she had not finished with me yet.

  ‘Just look at you,’ she continued relentlessly. ‘Drunk again! You just don’t get it, do you? Everything you do her
e is manipulated by others. You’ve behaved like a tomcat in a cattery. I must be the only one you haven’t fornicated with!’

  So that was it! She knew what I’d been up to and she felt neglected, scorned, and a woman scorned… I heard myself saying, ‘Oh, that! Well, it’s not too late…’

  I heard myself saying it but was powerless to stop. It was an outrageous, unforgivable thing to say. She jumped up and, for a moment, I thought I was going to get the hot coffee thrown in my face. I would have deserved it. But she stopped suddenly and her contorted features gradually relaxed into a smile belied by the fire in her eyes and I knew instinctively that I had made a dangerous enemy out of a caring friend.

  Unable to think of anything to say to redeem myself, I watched as she slowly reached for a cup and poured me a thick black coffee. Still not sure whether it would be thrown in my face, I reached out and accepted it warily. Anya sat down and watched me with a look that seemed to say, I’m smiling now but I will settle with you when the time is right. I could only hope to fall into the hole that I had stupidly dug for myself and wake up on another planet.

  Even as I sipped the coffee, I knew I was making a big mistake. Accepting any sort of a drink in this House was to invite the unknown. But I just didn’t care any more.

  I had not long to wait. Within moments, whatever had been put into the coffee began to take effect. Though the afternoon sun was weakening towards evening, it seemed suddenly very bright, dazzlingly bright, and the roses around me took on an amazingly colourful hue and the leaves jumped into a fluorescent green, while the ground seemed to drop beneath my feet.

  Almost as quickly as this beautiful kaleidoscope appeared, it began to fade into ugly dark patterns that somehow seemed full of menace and danger, reaching out to drag me down.

  I looked across at Anya, a mute appeal for help, only to receive a sneer and then a look of pure malevolence; then, as I looked at her, her face metamorphosed into a leering, fleshless skull. I gripped the edge of the table and closed my eyes, fighting the onset of whatever drug had been in the drink. But it did no good! Even with my eyes tightly shut, I continued to see Anya’s face turn into a skull, the black eye sockets and the rictus of the clenched teeth leering ever closer to my face. In an effort to escape I struggled to my feet, knocking over the table, coffee pot and chair. Staggering, I lurched towards the House, trying not to look back at the hideous face I knew was right behind me. The last thing I can remember was Serge gripping me tightly while Anya laughed in my face…

  Even sleep couldn’t save me from the terrors of that ‘trip’, and I awoke next day feeling totally drained and very miserable. The House and its denizens carried on as normal – if, indeed, ‘normal’ is the right word – and moved around me as though I had become invisible; I passed what was left of the morning wandering about the many rooms and in and out of the gardens without seeing anyone who wanted to talk. How I longed to see Natalya or, perhaps, Tatiana, but no one came.

  Whatever had been put into my coffee the afternoon before eventually wore off. I decided not to confront Anya about it – after all, I considered I deserved to be punished for the way I had behaved towards her. I decided to treat it as a warning – as if one were necessary after all this time – and avoid any food or drink that was not being served to others.

  Perhaps now that they had achieved their purpose, of finding a suitor for Natalya, and had the situation completely under their control, they would leave me alone and concentrate on the engagement event. I call it an event because, if I had expected a party – I mean festivities of some sort – I would have been seriously disappointed.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Wedding

  ‘So you will be delivered from the forbidden woman, from the foreign woman with her smooth words, who forsakes the companion of her youth and forgets the covenant of her God; for her house sinks down to death and her paths to the departed; none who go to her come back, nor do they regain the paths of life.’

  PROVERBS 2:16–19

  Something had definitely changed in the House. Of course, with the coming of summer it was bound to be different; without the dark nights, coal fires and the constant use of oil lamps and candles, the cosiness had gone out of it.

  But there was a different change – a change of atmosphere. In some indefinable way, the House had taken on the different attitude of its people. Since the recent events, relationships seemed to have altered; a subtle, almost indefinable change, but a change nonetheless.

  The evenings spent round the kitchen fire were no longer so welcoming. Something in the demeanour of the others was just not the same, making them less approachable, less relaxed around me. They no longer seemed to know how to address me in a relaxed and familiar way. I was no longer one of them and now belonged, they clearly thought, ‘upstairs’. Of course, no one actually said that, but it was clear to me that I was in No Man’s Land, too posh for the servants and not posh enough for the masters. To some extent, I suppose I felt the same. How could the fiancé of a princess be seen to get drunk with the ‘staff’?

  Yet I missed them. I could not imagine any sort of social intercourse with the likes of Chermakov and Voikin, nor was I invited to join Madame Lili and the Grand Duchess, and even Natalya seemed too busy to spend much time with me. Only Anya sought me out, and that was merely to discuss plans for the wedding. Her attitude was cold and businesslike. My appalling behaviour and the episode with the drugged coffee was never mentioned, and I felt that Anya’s revenge was far from over.

  I found myself wishing for the good old days of flirting with Natalie during her lessons. For the first time in many weeks, I thought of my old life in Paris. My mind left out the miserable bits and, conveniently, recalled only the good times. The city must be back to normal by now, bearing, no doubt, some scars from the riots, and the Left’s constant obsession with yet another revolution, sated for a few decades. The Sorbonne would be open for lectures again and the nearby cafés thriving and alive with the pseudo-academic conversations that students need to bolster their ‘intellectual’ image.

  What had become of Bruno, Aurélie and Max? Was it business as usual at the café, with Jean-Marie serving endless croissants and coffees, while moaning that the students never left tips? What would they make of all this, my friends? Me marrying a Russian princess! I could hardly believe it myself. Nostalgia for my student life rolled over me.

  Still, you can’t go back, can you? As my mother used to say: ‘You’ve made your bed and now you must lie in it.’

  It seemed that the protocol for Russian engagements was very different from that of Western Europe, at least among the aristocracy in general and this House in particular.

  It took the form of a sort of garden party, with a long trestle table brought out to the big lawn at the front of the House, carefully laid with silverware, white linen and glass. Drinks – mainly Russian champagne – were served at about 3pm, accompanied by blinis with smoked salmon or caviar.

  The food was excellent and everyone was there. Despite the warm, sunny weather, all the men wore dark suits and ties, except for Sergei, who again wore his new rubashka and long Cossack coat open at the front to reveal his cartridge belt and dagger. Chermakov even sported an ancient butterfly collar and a suit that reeked of camphor and mothballs.

  All the women wore long dresses, even the maids and Amélie the cook, who for a day appeared to be guests rather than staff. Of course, Natalya and Madame Lili stole the show. In contrast to the sombre men’s suits, the women wore long white dresses pulled in at the waist and with high collars and jewels on a black ribbon at their throats. Natalya wore dainty, light blue satin shoes, while Madame Lili appeared to be wearing white patent leather, high-buttoned boots. Both carried white parasols, and Madame Lili wore long-sleeved white gloves. Natalie’s arms were bare, showing her hands and the diamond engagement ring which I was supposed to have given her.

  While she was talking excitedly with Anya and Madame Lili, I took a seat next to Ser
ge, or ‘Sergei’ as I felt I should call him that day. Resplendent in his uniform, he was nevertheless more relaxed than I had ever seen him. He sat back, smoking his black Russian Balkan Sobranie tobacco, and seemed to be taking a well-earned rest. He didn’t speak, but sighed contentedly like a man contemplating the completion of a job well done. He was not alone in that – all the ‘staff’ seemed to be unusually laid-back. All pretence of formality had gone, and the social barriers dividing the inmates of the House seemed to have broken down in the face of a state of general wellbeing, as though a great and difficult task had been accomplished.

  It suddenly dawned on me that that was actually the case…the betrothal of Natalya had been achieved. Such had been the plan all along. I was merely the ‘fall guy’, the dupe who had fallen for the whole scheme, and now they were all part of the same celebration of a job well done. Each had played his or her part to perfection, and tomorrow the wedding would be their crowning achievement.

  But still I didn’t actually care! I didn’t care that I had been set up. I didn’t care that I had been blackmailed and threatened and I didn’t care that I had been drugged, hypnotised, deceived and even physically abused because, in my mind, I believed that I had won – I was getting the girl of my dreams and, in so doing, I would eventually be controlling the situation. I didn’t listen to that little voice that was telling me, ‘You are too clever by half, Nicholas!’

  The most dangerous lies are the lies we tell ourselves.

  Towards late afternoon, when the shadows on the lawn were long and thin and the sun reduced to dark red, low on the horizon, Madame Lili came to me. No warm familiarity there, no pretence at the newfound easiness of the others. Madame Lili held herself as aloof as on the first day we met. Her only concession to the relaxed tone of the afternoon was to lift the veil of her hat. The dark eyes bored into mine, and the slow smile seemed forced and insincere.