Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  ‘You’re not going to die, my little one,’ he said tenderly, an edge of amusement in his voice. ‘Everything is going to be very strange for you at first but wherever we find ourselves, London, Paris, Petersburg, or maybe even Brussels or Rome, life will be exciting and fun.’ He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his. ‘Far more fun than Geneva,’ he added with the crooked smile that was quickly becoming comfortingly familiar.

  ‘I didn’t want to go to Geneva,’ she said, shuddering at the very thought. ‘I lived there when I was a little girl and every day I was there I cried and cried because I wanted to be in Serbia instead.’

  He stared down at her thoughtfully. ‘Is that why you have agreed to marry me? Because you couldn’t bear the prospect of returning to Geneva?’

  She shook her head and said with earth-shattering honesty, ‘No, I told Papa I would marry you because I couldn’t bear the thought of him and Mama being separated. They love each other very much, you see.’

  He saw. He had known, of course, that she hadn’t agreed to marry him because she had suddenly discovered she couldn’t live another second without being his wife, but he had hoped she had realized that she was in love with him, if only a little. He said slowly, already knowing the answer, ‘You’re not in love with me?’

  Gold-green eyes held his. ‘I like you,’ she said truthfully, ‘and if I have to leave Serbia then I would rather live with you anywhere, than in Geneva with Mama.’

  He took a deep, steadying breath. Liking was the most he was going to get from her for the time being and he had to decide if it was going to be enough. She stirred against him, sensing his indecision, slipping her hands up against his chest so that she could see into his face more clearly.

  The movement unleashed all the desire that he felt for her. He wanted her more than he had wanted any woman before in his life; more than he would ever again want any woman.

  ‘And I would rather live with you, under any circumstance, than without you,’ he said thickly.

  For the first time in days a hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. Julian Fielding had a talent for making her feel safe and secure and he was criminally handsome. A criminally handsome husband would at least be diverting company through the long agony of her temporary exile.

  Katerina watched the comings and goings between the Italian drawing-room and her father’s study in ever increasing bewilderment. What on earth was going on? Why had her father left Natalie alone and then very obviously sent Julian in to speak to her? Had her father told Julian about Natalie’s friendship with Gavrilo Princip and the disastrous meeting in the Oriental bazaar? Was Julian offering Natalie advice of some kind and if he was why was he doing so in such extraordinary privacy?

  When Natalie and Julian finally emerged, hand-in-hand, her bewilderment deepened. Natalie was still pale and drawn but there was a new calmness about her and for the first time since she had been told she would have to leave Serbia she was not crying. They began to walk towards Alexis’s study door and she sprang from her chair, hurrying to intercept them.

  ‘What is happening?’ she asked urgently.

  It was Natalie who answered her. ‘Julian is being recalled to London,’ she said, her voice husky with fatigue. ‘I’m going to go with him. It means Mama won’t have to leave Papa and …’

  ‘Recalled to London?’ Katerina felt as if the ground were shelving away at her feet. Her eyes flew to his. ‘You can’t be recalled!’ she protested, sick with horror. ‘Not so suddenly! And what does Natalie mean by saying she is going with you? How can she go with you? Who will chaperone her?’.

  Julian shot her his easy smile. ‘Don’t worry, Katerina,’ he said, intending to be reassuring. ‘Natalie won’t need a chaperone. We’re to be married this evening.’

  Chapter Seven

  Katerina swayed and as she did so the study door opened and Alexis said peremptorily, ‘I’d prefer it if all discussions took place behind closed doors, Natalie.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ Natalie said contritely, her hand still comfortably in Julian’s.

  ‘Papa … I don’t understand …’ Katerina’s shock was so deep she thought she was going to lose consciousness. ‘Julian says he and Natalie are to marry …’

  ‘Behind closed doors, please,’ Alexis repeated, wondering why neither of his daughters seemed able to understand the need for absolute discretion.

  He opened the door wide so that they could all file past him. Only when it was safely closed behind them did he say to Natalie, ‘From what I overheard I take it you have agreed to marry Mr Fielding?’

  ‘Yes, Papa.’

  Alexis gave a deep, shuddering sigh of relief. No matter how fraught and difficult the next few months were going to be, they were going to be bearable. Although he would be parted from his daughter, he wouldn’t be parted from his wife. Under such circumstances he could survive.

  ‘Then the next step is for the King to be informed. The situation is going to have to be fully explained to him. Once it is, I think we can rely on him to see to it that Mr Fielding is released immediately from his duties. There is an Orient Express departure from Budapest tomorrow morning. The wedding will take place in time for you both to be aboard it.’

  ‘But Papa … please … surely Natalie and Mama would only be in Switzerland for a few months,’ Katerina protested, the blood drumming in her ears. ‘Surely it isn’t necessary for Mr Fielding to … to …’ she tried to say the word ‘marry’and couldn’t do so. ‘… to go to such lengths,’ she continued, not daring to look in Julian’s direction, knowing that she would break down completely if she did so.

  ‘We have no way of knowing how long Natalie might be obliged to remain abroad,’ Alexis said gravely. ‘The officer who saw her with Princip may have paid no attention to Princip and not recognize him as being the Archduke’s murderer. There may be no demand for Natalie’s arrest. If there isn’t, and once the assassins have been tried and sentenced and the affair is over, then she will be able to return to Belgrade. If, however, a warrant is issued for her arrest there is no telling how long she will have to remain abroad. Certainly she will have to do so until the Austrians can be persuaded to drop all charges against her. Even if they do, she will still be unable to return if political embarrassment will be caused by her doing so. That being the case it is far better that she travels to Britain as Mrs Fielding, than that she travels to Switzerland with your mother.’

  For a sick, giddy moment, Katerina wondered if she were mad or if everyone else were mad. How could her father possibly think the situation warranted Julian sacrificing himself in such a manner? And how could Julian do so? It didn’t make any kind of sense. Even if Natalie accompanying him to London was a more practical alternative than their mother having to accompany her to Switzerland, why was it necessary for him to marry her? A chaperone could be found to travel with them and surely in London Julian had female relatives with whom Natalie could stay?

  ‘Papa …’ she began hesitantly, about to put her thoughts into words and to bring sanity into an insane situation. ‘Papa, don’t you think that perhaps…’ She got no further. She had been so terrified of establishing eye contact with Julian that she had scrupulously avoided looking in his direction. Now both he and Natalie moved slightly, entering the periphery of her vision and for the first time since she had entered the room with them she became aware that he was still holding Natalie’s hand.

  ‘Yes, Katerina?’ Alexis prompted, looking at his pocket-watch, trying to estimate how long it would take him to reach the Konak and explain things satisfactorily to Peter, how long it would then be before the British minister was contacted and the wedding arranged.

  Katerina stared at the two clasped hands. Natalie’s nails were short and buffed to a pearly sheen. Julian’s hand was sun bronzed and capable. She remembered how he had held her hand as they had waltzed at the Summer Ball. She remembered how close he had held her just a very short while ago, before he had spoken privately w
ith her father, before he had then entered the Italian drawing-room and spoken to Natalie. When he and Natalie had walked from the room together she had assumed he was holding Natalie’s hand in platonic comfort. She did so no longer. Slowly, with a sense of inescapable doom, she lifted her eyes to his.

  He was looking at her with affectionate concern. In a moment of barbarous reality she realized that affection was the most she had ever seen in his eyes.

  ‘Katerina?’ Alexis prompted again, putting his watch back in his waistcoat pocket, anxious to be on his way. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Nothing, Papa. It doesn’t matter.’ The pain in her chest was so crushing she didn’t know how she was continuing to breathe, let alone to speak. He didn’t love her. He had never loved her. She remembered her shy confidence to her father, indicating otherwise, and burned with shame. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have read so much into so little?

  ‘Will you excuse me, Papa?’ she said stiffly, knowing she had to leave the room before even the remnants of composure abandoned her. ‘I have a headache. I’m going to lie down for a while.’

  He nodded. She certainly looked as if she needed to lie down. He hadn’t realized just how greatly shocked she would be at the prospect of being parted from Natalie. It was understandable, of course. There were only two years between them and they had never spent so much as a night apart. As the door closed behind her he knew with a heavy heart that his family’s unity was being destroyed and that there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  ‘I’m going to the Konak,’ he said abruptly. ‘Julian, you need to pack and you need to be available for an interview with your minister. Zita, will you see to it that Natalie has a suitable dress to wear for the ceremony?’

  Without any more ado he followed Katerina from the room and it was only as he was stepping into his landau that he remembered their conversation on the night of the Summer Ball. Surely she had intimated to him that she was the one in which Julian Fielding was romantically interested? Wasn’t that the reason he had been so disorientated when Julian had asked his permission to propose to Natalie, and to do so for a second time?

  ‘The Konak,’ he said tersely to his coachman. Obviously he had made a mistake. He remembered the stunned disbelief in Katerina’s eyes when she had first learned Julian and Natalie were to marry and wasn’t so sure. ‘Damn and blast,’ he said beneath his breath, wondering if life was ever going to be uncomplicated again. ‘Damn and blast!’

  Katerina leaned against the bedroom door, her hands splayed against the wood, tears streaming down her face. When had it happened? How long had Julian been in love with Natalie? Why, oh why, hadn’t she been aware of it? If she had been aware of it she wouldn’t have allowed herself to have fallen in love with him. Now it was too late. She loved him and she didn’t know how to stop loving him.

  Dimly she heard voices in the hall and a carriage being called. It would be for Julian. He would be returning to his legation. In another few moments Natalie would be coming to confide in her. She pushed herself away from the door, crossing to the wash-stand. She couldn’t throw herself down on the bed and sob her heart out as Natalie had so recently done. It would cause comment. Someone, her mother or her father or even Natalie, might guess the reason for her anguish and then she would never be able to face Natalie and Julian again.

  She poured water into the bowl with an unsteady hand. Had Julian perhaps already guessed her feelings for him? Did he know she was in love with him? She thought back over all their conversations together, conversations she had treasured, mistaking entirely their tone and intent. She had said nothing shamingly revealing. She had simply assumed that his interest in her, and in her family, was because he was falling as much in love with her as she was with him. And she had assumed wrongly. It had been Natalie in whom he had been interested, Natalie with whom he had been falling in love.

  Tears, hot and scalding, coursed down her cheeks. She bent her head over the bowl, splashing cold water on her face. She had, at least, an excuse for tears. Until Natalie was safely aboard the Orient Express her freedom was in jeopardy, and even when she was safely aboard, no-one knew when she would be returning home. In those circumstances, distress on her part was natural. What wouldn’t be natural was if she broke down completely.

  She lifted her head, pressing a towel to her face, struggling for control. Somehow she had to survive the wedding. She had to survive seeing Natalie and Julian leave aboard the night train for a new life together and she had to survive a future bereft of the hope that one day Julian would love her as she loved him.

  The door burst open and Natalie said, her voice breaking, ‘I don’t know how I’m going to bear it, Katerina!’ She threw herself face down on the bed. ‘All Papa keeps saying is that I might be away for years and years! Why should I be? Gavrilo won’t admit to knowing me. I doubt if he’ll even admit to knowing Nedjelko! And now in order that Mama and Papa are not to be separated I have to marry an Englishman!’

  Her voice broke completely. ‘What if the Austrians don’t ask for me to be extradited? What if I’m able to come back in a few months time, when Gavrilo’s trial is over? Will Julian divorce me or will I have to stay married to him even though I will be living in Belgrade and he will be in London or Paris or Timbuktu?’

  Slowly Katerina put her face towel down. ‘Is that what you intend to do? Return to Belgrade and leave him?’

  Natalie pushed herself up on one elbow and stared at her. ‘Of course! What other choice is there?’

  Katerina clasped her hands tightly together. ‘You could stay with him. Surely that’s what he is expecting you to do?’

  ‘Stay with him? Even when it is safe for me to return to home?’ Natalie’s voice was incredulous. ‘You can’t mean it, Katerina. No-one can expect that of me, not even Papa.’

  It was Katerina’s turn to stare. All through the nightmare of hearing the plans for Natalie and Julian’s marriage it had never occurred to her that Natalie was oblivious of what was expected of her. Or was she oblivious? Perhaps the marriage was merely an act of British eccentric gallantry. Perhaps Julian had made it quite clear to Natalie that it was to be a marriage in name only.

  Hope entered her heart, so slender and tenuous she hardly dare put the question that had to be asked into words. ‘Julian is in love with you, isn’t he?’

  ‘Of course he’s in love with me.’ Natalie was affronted. ‘Why else would he have offered to marry me? But I’m not in love with him. I told him I wasn’t in love with him when he proposed to me at the Summer Ball and I told him so again, today.’

  Katerina remembered her happiness that evening, her certainty that Julian was about to ask her to marry him, the ecstasy of being held in his arms as they had waltzed to ‘The Blue Danube’. And yet some time that evening he had proposed to Natalie.

  ‘I didn’t know he had proposed to you before,’ she said stiltedly, wondering if there was a limit to pain, wondering if she had finally reached it. ‘And if he is marrying you because he loves you, then he will most certainly expect you to stay with him and to travel with him wherever he is posted.’

  Natalie sat up on the bed, hugging her knees. ‘I won’t do so,’ she said vehemently, dark curls, tumbling around her face. ‘I’m marrying him only so that Mama and Papa won’t be separated. I can’t be expected to be unhappy for the rest of my life, just because I was seen with Gavrilo hours before he killed the Archduke, and I’m not going to be. I’m going to return home just as soon as all the fuss dies down.’

  The fuss was a long way from dying down. In King Peter’s study in the Konak both the King and Prime Minister Pasich heard Alexis’s story in grave silence. He had given them his eye-witness account of the assassinations immediately on his return from Sarejevo. Now he told them of Natalie’s meetings with Princip and Cabrinovich in the Golden Sturgeon, of her accidental meeting with Princip in the Oriental bazaar and of how Max Karageorgevich had also admitted to knowing Gavrilo, though not perso
nally.

  ‘Apparently a well-wisher pointed Princip out to him, telling him that he was a troublemaker. He says that’s all he knows of him and that he’s never had a conversation with him. He said he was perturbed to see Natalie in such company and that he asked Vitza to let Katerina know of it. Apparently he was sure Katerina would be able to deal with the situation and put an end to any further such meetings. He has also, of course, sworn on his life not to mention Natalie’s acquaintanceship with Princip to anyone. As to Natalie, I have arranged for her to leave the country this evening. All that is necessary is for arrangements to be made enabling Mr Fielding to leave with her.’

  Pasich, older even than the King, stroked his long white beard. ‘I’ll see to it immediately,’ he said as Alexis had known he would. ‘You’re quite right in thinking it the safest course of action. The Austrians have already demanded a Moslem suspect be extradited from Montenegro. Quite what King Nikita is going to do isn’t yet clear. The attitude of the Montenegrins is that Princip is a hero.’

  ‘Our attitude has to be that he is not,’ King Peter said in a voice sepulchral with fatigue. ‘Alexander, as Regent, has ordered an eight-day period of mourning. His shoulders are broad enough and young enough to bear this burden. Mine, I’m afraid, are not. When I handed over my responsibilities to him, I did so not a day too soon.’

  There was no way Alexis could disagree with him. Peter’s shoulders were stooped, the rheumatism in his hands and legs more noticeable than usual.

  ‘The news from Vienna is not good,’ Pasich continued, taking Alexis into his confidence as always. ‘The militarists are clamouring for war. They’ve been itching for years to draw the sword against Belgrade and now, thanks to Colonel Dimitrievich, they have an excuse to do so.’

  Alexis felt as if cold water were being trickled down his spine. ‘Apis? He’s admitted involvement?’

  A tremor passed over Pasich’s aged face. Ever since Dragutin Dimitrievich had murdered King Alexander, thereby enabling Serbia to return to Karageorgevich rule, he had been a thorn in his flesh he could have well done without.