Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  Natalie clung to Julian as he forged a way through the crush and back to the point where they had left the chauffeured Mercedes. For the last week she had found international events hard to follow. If Britain had come to Serbia’s aid by declaring war on Austria-Hungary she would have been shouting ‘Zivio!’, the Serb equivalent for ‘Hurrah’, as loudly as everyone else around her, but as far as she could understand this was not what had happened. Britain was at war with Austria-Hungary’s ally, Germany, because Germany had marched her armies through neutral Belgium. And she didn’t want to be alone in London just for the sake of Belgium.

  ‘It isn’t just for Belgium,’ Julian had said to her patiently. ‘It means Britain is Serbia’s ally, just as France and Russia are. It means the Kaiser is going to get a bloody nose and the Habsburg empire is finally going to disintegrate.’

  She held fast to that thought now as Julian pushed and shoved a way through the throng. If Julian’s going away brought the day of South Slav freedom nearer, then she would conquer her horror at the thought of being alone in London. She would think of it as a sacrifice for a future Yugoslavia.

  The Mercedes was still waiting for them, the chauffeur sitting with his window open, his cap pushed to the back of his head as he joined in the chant that had been taken up around him. ‘Down – with – Germany! Down – with – Germany!’

  He stopped immediately he saw Julian, pulling his hat forward, springing out to open the rear door for them, his face scarlet.

  Julian merely grinned. ‘Get us home as quickly as possible,’ he said, wondering how many days it would be before the young man enlisted and his parents had to find an older and less physically fit man to replace him.

  Natalie scrambled into the car with relief. Trafalgar Square was now a sea of flag-waving, shouting humanity and the Mercedes’s interior was a blissful oasis of comfort and calm.

  ‘Why did I always think the British were reserved and undemonstrative?’ she asked as the car began to inch its way out of the square and a group of young dare-devils began climbing Nelson’s column, their shoulders draped in Union Jacks. ‘They’re just as crazily passionate as Slavs.’

  ‘I thought you had already found that out,’ he said in amusement, drawing her close.

  She giggled and uncaring of the crowds pressing dangerously close to the sides of the slowly moving car, slid her arms around his waist. The heady, intoxicating pleasure of their lovemaking had come as a delicious surprise to her, so much so that there had been times when she had almost forgotten the circumstances under which they had married. Now, mindful of their coming separation she said huskily, ‘I shall miss you, chéri.’

  His arm tightened around her. He loved the way she often used French for endearments, Serb when she was angry. ‘If the pundits are right and the war is over by Christmas, we won’t be parted for too long.’

  ‘What shall I do while you are away?’ The car was now free of the worst of the crowds and picking up speed. ‘Will I be able to do something to help with the war?’

  ‘What on earth could you possibly do?’ he asked, the amusement she always roused in him back in his voice.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her dark, delicately winged eyebrows pulled together in a deep frown. ‘There must be something.’

  She wondered what her mother and Katerina were doing in Belgrade. They would most certainly be doing something. She remembered the way in which Katerina had run from their Daimler in Sarajevo in order to help the injured after Nedjelko had thrown his bomb. Katerina wouldn’t be sitting with her hands in her lap.

  ‘I could be a nurse,’ she said musingly, ‘there’s going to be a need for lots of nurses.’

  ‘There’s going to be a need for lots of qualified nurses,’ Julian amended. ‘There’s also going to be a need for bandages. Rolling bandages is the sort of thing you and Mother could do at home.’

  Her head had been resting comfortably against his shoulder. Now, hardly able to believe her ears, she pushed herself away from him, saying incredulously, ‘You can’t mean that? Rolling bandages? With your mother?’

  She didn’t know which idea most appalled her. Rolling bandages sounded to be the most boring occupation on earth and was certainly far too mundane a task for a Karageorgevich. As for embarking on such a task with his mother … She shuddered.

  If Lady Fielding had exploded with wrath over their marriage Natalie would have understood and may even had some sympathy with her. What she didn’t understand, because it was so totally foreign to her own volatile nature, was Lady Fielding’s chill, contained, antipathy. The prospect of living with her without Julian’s mediating presence was so appalling she felt physically ill. How he could envisage the two of them rolling bandages together was beyond all understanding.

  ‘Well, what else can you do?’ he was asking reasonably, impatient to reach home. Impatient to make love to her. ‘There’ll be lots of charities you can support and …’

  With difficulty Natalie dragged her thoughts away from the domestic horror laying in wait.

  ‘Serb charities? Charities that will send money to Serbia?’

  ‘I was thinking of more general charities,’ he said, mindful of her forays into Belgrade’s kafanas and not wanting her to become involved with any Serb-dominated organization in his absence, however seemingly innocuous. ‘The Red Cross, for instance.’

  Natalie’s interest waned. Raising money for charity sounded no more interesting than rolling bandages. She wanted to be doing something important; something exciting. She was sure that Katerina would be doing something exciting. Belgrade was under attack from Austro-Hungarian forces across the Danube and Sava and she longed to be there with Katerina; to know what was happening; to be involved.

  As the Mercedes glided through the gas-lit streets she wondered what her father was doing, if he was fighting and if so, where. Sandro would be fighting. As Commander-in-Chief of all the army he would be leading his men from the front. Max would be fighting, too. He had covered himself with honour when fighting the Turks and would no doubt be doing so again now he was fighting the hated Austrians.

  ‘Mother and Father will be waiting up,’ he said to her as the car slid to a halt outside the house. ‘I shall be leaving early in the morning and they’ll want to say goodbye to me tonight. You go straight up to bed. I’ll be with you as soon as possible.’

  Natalie pushed her tumbled hair away from her face. It was now after midnight. How many hours were left to them? Five? Six? Begrudging his parents every minute of the time Julian was going to spend with them she stepped into the chandelier-lit entrance hall.

  Almost immediately the drawing-room doors opened and Lady Fielding walked swiftly towards them, her long taffeta skirt crackling around her ankles. ‘We heard the announcement on the wireless,’ she said tautly to Julian, ignoring Natalie as if she didn’t exist. ‘We’re now at war with Germany.’ Her voice shook slightly and Natalie was intrigued. It was the first time she had heard a throb of emotion in that cool, flute-clear voice. ‘I can still scarcely believe it. Can we really be at war with Germany? All because of a foolish incident in the Balkans?’

  Natalie sucked in her breath and Julian said quickly, ‘Go to bed, sweetheart. I shan’t be long.’

  For the first time Lady Fielding’s eyes flicked towards Natalie. As her eyes took in her daughter-in-law’s riotously unpinned hair a spasm of distaste crossed her face. Natalie read the look perfectly. In Lady Fielding’s eyes she was an east European gypsy. A Balkan. Her eyes flashed fire. Only for Julian’s sake did she keep silent. With a surge of self-control that neither her mother nor her father would have believed her capable of she crossed the hall and mounted the stairs, her head high, every line of her body declaring that far from being a gypsy she was a member of the Royal House of Karageorgevich.

  Later, in bed, she said passionately, ‘I hate your mother!’

  ‘Don’t. It’s a useless exercise.’ He lay on one elbow, looking down at her, his hard-muscled chest shee
ned with perspiration after their rapturous lovemaking. ‘She didn’t mean to be rude when she described the war as being triggered off by a damn fool thing in the Balkans. It’s the way many English people view what has happened and you can hardly blame them.’ With his free hand he began to stroke the inside of her thigh. ‘Serbia and Bosnia are as remote to most of them as the stars.’

  ‘She doesn’t like me,’ Natalie persisted, finding it hard to hold on to her indignation and fury when he was once again arousing in her the deep, delicious ache that only his lovemaking satisfied.

  ‘True.’ It was a truth so obvious he had long ago been forced to accept it. ‘What you have to bear in mind, sweetheart, is that we cheated her of all the pleasures of a formal engagement announcement and of a splendid wedding at St Margaret’s, Westminster. Even if our wedding had taken place in Belgrade, in the cathedral, she would have been happy. European royalty would have been among the wedding guests, King Peter would have been there, Prince Alexander, his sister and her husband, the son of Grand-Duke Constantine, Princess Xenia and Prince Danilo of Montenegro and perhaps even King Nikita. My parents would have been guests at the Konak, your father would have impressed my father with his political statesmanship, your mother would have charmed mine immediately and everything in the garden would have been lovely.’

  His hand had moved over the tightly curling tangle of her pubic hair, his thumb gently brushing her clitoris.

  ‘As it is, my mother hasn’t met any of your family and finds it hard to believe in their existence. She’s not a foolish woman but she’s an unimaginative one. Our wedding was rushed and consequently, in her eyes, not respectable and so she thinks of you as being not respectable either.’

  Natalie slid the palms of her hands up against his chest, succumbing lasciviously to the fierce, chaotic tumble of urges he was arousing in her. It no longer seemed important that his mother disliked her and she could no longer concentrate on the reasons he was giving for her not doing so. All she wanted was to be once more united with him, to be a part of him.

  ‘Love me,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Now, chéri. Again.’

  His eyes darkened with answering heat and as she parted her legs further, pulling him down on top of her, he abandoned his attempt to explain his mother’s hostile reaction to her, entering her velvet-soft flesh with ardent urgency.

  It was five in the morning when he left her. ‘I’ll write,’ he said, dressing in civilian clothes for what he knew was going to be the last time for weeks, perhaps months. ‘Diana will be home by the end of the week, so you will have company. You’ll like her. She’s enormous fun.’

  Natalie sat on the bed in her lace-trimmed nightdress, hugging her knees, unconvinced. If Diana was anything like her mother she would most certainly not like her and anyway, she didn’t want his sister’s companionship. She wanted his.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said truthfully.

  His fingers trembled slightly as he finished fastening his collar on to his shirt. He knew she would miss him and he was profoundly grateful, but he wanted her to say more. He wanted her to say she loved him.

  ‘How will I hear news of Serbia now you are no longer at the Foreign Office?’ she asked anxiously, the words he so yearned for remaining unsaid.

  ‘You’ll have to rely on the newspapers.’ He kept his disappointment from his voice with difficulty. ‘News from all the war fronts is going to be sparse, though. You mustn’t expect too much.’

  He put on his suit jacket and straightened his tie. His bags were already packed and waiting in the hall. He didn’t feel like a warrior going off to battle. He felt like a man being cheated out of time with his wife by rabble-rousing, warmongering politicians, generals and emperors.

  ‘Goodbye, sweetheart,’ he said thickly.

  She sprang from the bed, running towards him, flinging her arms around him. ‘Come home safe!’ she begged, wondering how she would survive in Britain if he did not do so. ‘Come home before Christmas!’

  He kissed her one last time, hard and deeply, and then he strode out of the room knowing if he stayed for even a second longer his self-composure would desert him.

  She stood very still as his footsteps receded, as she heard him run lightly down the stairs, as he crossed the hall to the front door. The door opened and then closed. Very faintly she could hear the sound of the Mercedes’s engine revving and then its distant throb as it faded into the distance. Then nothing.

  Slowly she turned back to the bed and sat down on its edge. For the first time she was truly alone. Alone and among foreigners. Tears glittered on her eyelashes. How was she going to endure living beneath the same roof as her hostile mother-in-law? Who was she going to talk to? She had no friends in London. No blood relatives. She thought of her old friends and brushed her tears away, burning with shame. Gavrilo, Nedjelko and Trifko were enduring the horrors of Austrian imprisonment. Compared to them she had no burden to bear. Patriotic zeal pulsed through her. Somehow she had to be able to do something for Serbia.

  Bella was cavorting at her feet and she picked her up, hugging her close. London was one of the biggest cities in the world and she couldn’t be the only Serbian exile in it. She remembered the way exiled Bosnians and Croatians had gathered in the Golden Sturgeon and the Acorn Garland and the Green Garland. Wherever there were exiles there were meeting places for them. All she had to do was to find the meeting place for Serbian exiles in London.

  Fizzing with purpose she scrambled back beneath the rumpled sheets to wait until the day had properly begun. Bella struggled to join her and she obligingly allowed her to do so. Life had purpose again. She wasn’t going to be either bored or lonely. She would have her breakfast in bed as usual and then she would dress and take Bella for a walk, and in the course of it she would track down some fellow Serbs.

  It wasn’t as easy to do as she had supposed. London wasn’t only vast, its streets and squares were a hideously complicated maze. She could find no heart to it, no easily obvious Bohemian Quarter. Tired and exhausted, having to resort to a taxi to get her home, she trailed into the Fielding home late in the afternoon.

  ‘Milady has been most anxious about you,’ the butler said in kindly warning as he opened the door to her. ‘Miss Diana and Mr Edward have arrived.’

  Natalie was uncaring. She didn’t want to meet either of them. She wanted a hot bath, a substantial English afternoon tea and peace and quiet in order to work out a future strategy for the finding of fellow Serbs.

  She had barely set foot in the entrance hall when all her hopes were dashed. The drawing-room doors opened and Lady Fielding swept out, resplendent in a gown of cream silk and a heavy rope of pearls.

  ‘Natalie! Where have you been? London isn’t Belgrade! You can’t stroll the streets unaccompanied!’

  It was the first time emotion of any sort had entered Lady Fielding’s voice when talking to her and the first time she had condescended to address her by her Christian name. Natalie’s puzzlement was momentary. Emerging hard on her heels from the drawing-room was a lively-faced, blonde-haired girl wearing a dress with a daringly avant-garde V-neck and a tall, lean young man who, apart from his narrow shoulders, bore a startling resemblance to Julian.

  ‘I took Bella for a walk,’ she said truthfully, adding even more truthfully, ‘and I got lost. Even following the river didn’t help.’

  The blonde-haired girl didn’t wait to be introduced. She darted past her mother, kissing Natalie effusively on either cheek, saying with husky, unchained laughter in her voice, ‘I’m not surprised! If you follow the river you’ll end up either in Gravesend or Henley! I’m Diana. Julian has told me all about you in his letters. A member of the Royal House of Karageorgevich! Lord, I’m so impressed! Do you know Crown Prince Alexander? Is he as dashingly attractive as his photographs? Does he really have to wear pince-nez or does he wear them in order to try and look older and even more distinguished?’

  ‘You are being extremely vulgar, Diana,’ her mother
interposed crushingly. ‘I’m sure Natalie doesn’t have a close acquaintanceship with the Crown Prince and …’

  ‘He’s my cousin,’ Natalie said to Diana, knowing she had met with a kindred soul, ‘and my dearest friend.’

  ‘There! I knew he would be!’ Diana said triumphantly, tucking her arm companionably through Natalie’s. ‘Mama’s being rather lax. She hasn’t introduced you to Edward yet. Poor Edward is en route to the North Somersets. At least the North Soms are cavalry so he’ll still be among his precious horses. Do say hello to Natalie, Edward. She’ll be thinking you’re deaf and dumb!’

  The tall, leaner version of-Julian stepped forward and shook her hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he said a trifle shyly. ‘It must be difficult for you, being abandoned by Julian before you’ve had chance to make any friends in England.’

  He didn’t have Julian’s strong personality but she sensed the same compassionate, generous nature and forgot that she had wanted to take her tea alone.

  ‘I was looking for friends today,’ she said engagingly, much to. Diana’s delight and Lady Fielding’s horror. ‘There must be other exiled Serbs in London and I want to meet with them.’

  ‘You mean you’ve been out on your own … walking the streets … looking for Serbs?’ Lady Fielding had turned the sickly cream-colour of her tea-gown. ‘Dear Lord! What if you had been seen? Recognized? Edward, please explain to her that she cannot walk around London looking for … looking for Serbs!’

  A suspicion of a smile tugged at the corner of Edward’s mouth. ‘You’ll never find anyone just walking around London looking for them,’ he said kindly. ‘If you want to make contact with fellow Serbs, and I can understand your wanting to do so, there are easier ways of going about it.’