Zadruga

by Margaret Pemberton

  The front door opened and Diana entered, swathed in furs against the December chill. She stopped short, her eyes flying to the kitbag. As Natalie saw the joy flooding her friend’s face she forgot all about the complications besetting her.

  She began to run down the stairs, calling out euphorically, ‘Julian’s home, Diana! He’s home and he’s seen Papa and he’s taking me to Nice for a reunion with Mama and Katerina! Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it unbelievably wonderful?’

  They crossed from Dover to Boulogne, travelling by train via Montreuil and Abbeville to Paris, keeping as far west of war-ravaged Flanders and Picardy as was possible. On the long journey south to Nice Stephen amused himself by beating excitedly on the train windows every time he saw a cow or a horse in a field and Natalie rejoiced every time she glimpsed the French flag waving triumphantly from a farm or house window.

  Her own excitement, as the train finally drew into Nice, was almost beyond bearing. She was on the verge of being reunited with her mother and Katerina and she knew that once she was, it would be as if the intervening years had never happened.

  With a disconcerted nanny in tow holding tightly on to Stephen’s chubby hand and Julian striding in amusement by her side, she practically ran from the station.

  ‘Oh, hurry!’ she exhorted Julian in a fever of impatience as he paused at the cab rank for the porters carrying their luggage to catch up with them. ‘Do you think Mama and Katerina will already be at the Negresco? Do you think they will be waiting for us?’

  ‘Will they recognize you if they are?’ he said to her, his amusement deepening.

  Her hand flew to her newly-shorn hair. The crown had been brushed into glossy submission and then at jawlength, below an embroidered headband worn rakishly Indian-fashion, her ebony curls rioted untamed. The cherry-red dress and coat she was wearing were equally avant-garde, arrow-straight without even the slightest indentation at her waist, the vivid colour offset by the dramatically long black sable scarf that was thrown around her throat, the ends falling behind her back to her hemline.

  She giggled, remembering all the old battles that had taken place over her clothes.

  ‘I remember once I wanted to wear a devastatingly sophisticated mauve brocade ballgown and neither Katerina nor Helga would allow me to,’ she said as the taxi was loaded with their luggage. ‘Instead I had to wear demure white, decorated with pink rosebuds. It was the night of Mama’s Summer Ball. The night you proposed to me.’

  He felt his throat tighten with emotion at the memory and said as lightly as he was able, ‘Thank heaven they talked you out of the mauve. If you had been wearing it I would probably have proposed to Vitza instead.’

  Laughingly they stepped inside the taxi and Julian lifted Stephen on to his knee. Happiness, bone-deep, pervaded him. Though Natalie was still as oddly incapable of putting her love for him into words he hadn’t the slightest doubt that she did, indeed, love him. The future stretched before him dazzlingly. He was demobilized; he had a brilliant career in the Foreign Office to which to look forward; there would be other children, maybe another boy, perhaps even a girl…

  ‘The Negresco!’ Natalie exclaimed joyously. ‘We’re there! Oh do look to see if you can see Mama at any of the windows!’

  As they stepped out into the bright winter sunshine Stephen added his voice to hers, jumping up and down excitedly, shouting, ‘The sea, Mama! The sea!’

  For once Natalie paid no heed to him. If her narrow skirt would have allowed her to run into the opulent foyer she would have done so.

  ‘Oh, hurry!’ she pleaded again to Julian. ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry!’

  They hurried. Leaving Nanny to placate Stephen and ignoring their luggage they entered the hotel. There were no familiar figures seated in the reception area and Natalie’s heart began to beat in heavy, painful strokes. What if they were not there? What if they were not going to be able to be there? She already knew that her father wouldn’t be at the hotel, for he had told Julian he was travelling direct from Corfu to Belgrade. What if Katerina and her mother had decided to join him and wait for her there? What if all her high hopes of being reunited within minutes, or at the most within a few days, were in vain?

  Julian was at the reception desk and when he turned away from it she saw to her dizzying relief that he was grinning.

  ‘Your mother and Katerina are taking afternoon tea in the sun lounge.’

  She closed her eyes fleetingly in a silent prayer of thanks and then said urgently, ‘Where is the sun lounge? Is it on this floor? Ask a bell-boy to take us there immediately! Please, Julian! Please!’

  ‘There’s no need for a bell-boy,’ he said, tucking her arm in his. ‘I used to stay here regularly with my grandparents when I was a small boy.’

  As he was talking to her he was leading her across the reception lounge and towards a large, sunny room so green with giant potted palms and trailing vines that it looked more like a conservatory than a lounge. As they crossed the threshold she was aware of huge gold-framed mirrors lining the walls and the coolness of pink marble beneath her feet. Then she saw them.

  They were sitting at a small round table in the far corner of the room. Her mother was wearing a pale eau-de-nil silk day-dress, her dark hair swept elegantly into a Grecian knot. Katerina was wearing a long, toffee-coloured skirt and creamy silk open-necked shirt, the sleeves prettily flounced at the wrist. She looked so sophisticated that for a brief, heart-stopping second Natalie wondered if it was really her and then Katerina turned her head towards the door and their eyes met.

  A sob of joy broke from Natalie’s throat. Uncaring of the elegant figures at the other tables, uncaring of her narrow skirt and her dignity, she began to run.

  Through the tears of happiness distorting her vision she saw Katerina and her mother rise to their feet, saw Katerina begin to run towards her and then, as waiters dodged apprehensively out of their way, Katerina’s hands grasped hold of hers and all the intervening years went spinning into sun-shot oblivion, just as they had when Julian had come home and taken her again into his arms.

  ‘Natalie! Natalie! Is it really you?’ Katerina was saying, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Your hair! It looks wonderful! Oh, I’ve missed you so much! You’ll never know how much! Never, never, never!’

  The elderly couple at the table nearest to them prudently steadied their cake stand so that any further frenetic activity would not unbalance it completely and watched the encounter with interest.

  From somewhere behind her Natalie could hear Stephen’s toddling footsteps and a plaintive, ‘Mummy! Mummy! Want to see the sea!’

  Katerina dragged her eyes from Natalie’s and towards her nephew and the tall, broad-shouldered figure about to scoop him up out of harm’s way. Natalie’s eyes, brilliant with tears, met those of her mother.

  ‘Mama …’ she said in a choked voice, releasing her hold of Katerina and beginning to walk unsteadily towards her mother. ‘Oh, Mama!’

  At last her mother’s arms closed around her. At last the long, painful separation was over.

  ‘Champagne, I think,’ Julian was saying as, Stephen high in his arms, he accompanied Katerina back to the table.

  He turned to where Nanny was standing, her cheeks scarlet with the embarrassment she felt at being employed by a family who indulged in such ill-bred, Balkan displays of emotionalism.

  ‘I think it might be a good idea if you asked to be shown to the suite into which we are booked and if you checked on the sleeping arrangements for Stephen,’ he said pleasantly, aware of her discomfiture. ‘Stephen has yet to be introduced to his grandmother and aunt and when he has been, and when the excitement becomes too much for him, I will bring him upstairs to you.’

  She nodded assent, escaping from the room with vast relief, grateful he, at least, was British and conventional.

  Natalie and Zita were now seated, their hands clasped, and Zita was looking towards Stephen.

  ‘So you are Stephen,’ she said gently, stretchi
ng her free hand out towards him. ‘Are you going to come a little nearer and say hello to me? I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.’

  Happy to make friends Stephen placed his chubby hand in hers. ‘Want to see the sea,’ he said confidingly. ‘Want to see the waves.’

  Zita smiled and for the first time Natalie became aware of the web of fine lines beneath her mother’s carefully applied face-powder. She felt a pang of shock. The war had achieved what she had always thought impossible. It had aged her mother.

  She looked swiftly towards Katerina. She was standing next to Julian and suddenly she saw the strain beneath Katerina’s outwardly serene radiance.

  ‘It’s all over,’ she said to her impulsively. ‘Nothing awful is ever going to happen to us again.’

  Katerina smiled, but an expression very like pain still lingered at the back of her thick-lashed eyes.

  A waiter arrived with champagne and as he did so Natalie said ebulliently, ‘I always thought we would drink our reunion glass of champagne together in the Konak.’

  No-one spoke. No-one was able to.

  Natalie grinned, knowing they were all wishing they were in Belgrade rather than Nice. ‘Never mind,’ she said philosophically, bending down to Stephen in order to lift him on her knee, ‘our next reunion will be in Belgrade and so we still have something absolutely wonderful to look forward to!’

  Over the top of Natalie’s bent head Zita’s horrified eyes shot to Julian’s. Reading the reason he still had not told Natalie about her permanent exile in his anguished eyes, she said a little unsteadily, ‘I think it’s about time Peter was woken from his afternoon nap and brought down to meet everyone. When he has been, I’m going to satisfy Stephen’s craving to see the sea and it would be nice if Peter came as well.’ She turned again to Julian. ‘Would you like to join us?’

  He nodded, grateful for the way she had created a situation where they could talk together out of Natalie’s hearing.

  Katerina fought down her horror at Natalie’s ignorance as to what the future held for her and, understanding what was going on between her mother and Julian said, ‘I’ll go for Peter now. Do you want to come with me, Natalie?’

  Natalie sprang to her feet. She most certainly did want to go with her. Not only was she impatient to meet her nephew, she wanted to question Katerina about her late husband. She wanted to know when she had met Major Zlarin and where, and she also wanted to know why they had married so precipitately.

  ‘I met Ivan shortly after you left for Britain,’ Katerina said as she

  lifted a still sleepy Peter from his bed. ‘War was imminent and

  Papa had realized he would not be in Belgrade for much longer. As Ivan had been instructed to remain in the city and to defend it, Papa asked him if he would afford Mama and myself as much protection as was possible. Ivan said he would do so and Papa brought him to the house to meet us.’

  ‘And you fell in love straight away?’ Natalie asked, taking a bewildered Peter from Katerina and sitting him on her knee.

  Katerina hesitated. She still felt so much guilt where Ivan was concerned that she found it almost impossible to speak about him.

  ‘Not really… no …’ she said awkwardly.

  Natalie’s eyes widened like saucers. ‘Then why…’

  Katerina didn’t let her finish. Mindful that Peter was now fully awake and listening, she said hurriedly, ‘I’ll tell you later. When we’re alone.’ She began to ease Peter’s legs into a pair of warm leggings. ‘Do you know about Hélène’s husband?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘He was murdered by the Bolsheviks.’

  Natalie sucked in her breath and Katerina added quickly, ‘Hélène is safe. She and her little boy are now in Switzerland.’

  ‘Is everyone else safe?’ Natalie asked, pale-faced. ‘Are Great-Aunt Eudocia and Vitza safe?’

  Katerina nodded and Natalie said, ‘And Max? Is Max still alive?’

  A shadow crossed Katerina’s face and Natalie was sure she was going to say that Max had been killed in action. Instead she said, ‘Max and his men were among the first troops to enter Belgrade. He’s there now, with Sandro.’ She hesitated for a moment and then said, an odd note in her voice, ‘He’s married. He met a Greek girl in Salonika and…’

  ‘A Greek!’ Natalie couldn’t have been more astonished if Katerina had said Max had married a Turk. ‘What on earth must Aunt Eudocia’s reaction have been?’

  Katerina had knelt down and begun to slide Peter’s arms into the sleeves of his coat and Natalie could no longer see the expression on her face. ‘Goodness knows,’ she said as she began to fasten Peter’s buttons and then, after another pause, ‘They have a son. Xan.’

  Natalie shook her head in disbelief. ‘I can’t imagine Max married.

  I wonder if he’s still as moody and taciturn. I used to dread him marking my card at dances. He was always so clumsy and…’

  ‘He’s shy,’ Katerina said unexpectedly, smoothing the deep-blue velvet nap on the collar of Peter’s pastel-blue coat.

  Natalie’s jaw dropped. ‘Shy?’ she said incredulously when she had recovered her powers of speech. ‘How could such a giant of a man be shy? And he’s a war hero! Heroes aren’t shy!’

  ‘Max is,’ Katerina said in a voice of utter certainty. She leant back on her heels. ‘Come on, let’s take Peter downstairs to meet Stephen.’

  Natalie remained where she was sitting. There was someone else whose welfare she needed to ask about; someone she didn’t want to speak of in front of her mother and Julian.

  ‘Have you heard any news of Gavrilo and Trifko and Nedjelko?’ she asked, her eyes anxious. ‘Do you know if they are in prison in Bosnia or Austria?’

  At the expression on Katerina’s face she felt fear clutch her heart. ‘What is it, Trina? What’s the matter? Does no-one know where they are? Does…’

  ‘Let me take Peter into my bedroom,’ Katerina said, increasing her fear.

  In an agony of apprehension Natalie waited as Katerina led Peter to the inter-connecting door, opening it for him and saying, ‘I want you to wait for me in here, my love. You can play with my trinket-box. I shan’t be long. I promise.’

  When she re-crossed the thickly carpeted room her face was grave.

  ‘What is it?’ Natalie asked again, unsteadily. ‘Is Gavrilo sick? Is he…’

  Katerina sat down opposite her, taking her hand lovingly in hers. ‘He’s dead,’ she said thickly, knowing there was no easy way for her to break the news.

  Natalie tried to speak and couldn’t. She felt as if she were being sucked into a swirling, bottomless pit. Gavrilo couldn’t be dead, not now, when to so many millions freed of Habsburg tyranny he would be seen as a saviour, not a criminal.

  ‘He died in Theresienstadt, a fortress somewhere between Prague and Dresden. A Czech doctor who befriended him there wrote to Sandro…’

  ‘And Trifko and Nedjelko?’ Natalie whispered. ‘Are they dead too?’

  Katerina nodded and Natalie gave a low moan, hugging her arms tight around her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Natalie. Truly I am.’ She hesitated for a moment and then said gently, ‘They were all suffering with tuberculosis and the disease killed them.’

  She didn’t add that the conditions in which they had been imprisoned, in cold, damp, windowless cells, would have killed anyone. Nor did she add what she knew of Gavrilo’s last, agonizing days on earth. ‘He sustained a broken rib and a crushed arm when arrested,’ the doctor had written in small, meticulous handwriting. ‘He received no proper medical attention and the arm began to suppurate and the infection to spread. In 1917 it was amputated and thereafter, handcuffs no longer being possible, he was shackled with leg irons, and in leg irons, barely conscious, coughed himself into eternity.’

  It was a hideous image and one with which she had no intention of burdening Natalie. ‘Let’s go downstairs,’ she said gently. ‘Let’s introduce Peter to Stephen.’

  Natalie’s grief for her friends’deaths was deep but
it was not a grief she could display publicly for she had the sense to know that her mother would not want reminding of the incident that had led to their long separation.

  Later on in the afternoon, trying to distract herself with other thoughts until the time when she could be alone and could weep as she longed to weep, she noticed that although Peter was younger than Stephen, he was the same height. She wondered again about Major Zlarin. He had obviously been a tall man and, if Peter’s, silky-black hair was anything to go by, dark. She wondered if he had also been handsome; as handsome as Nicky.

  At the thought of Nicky she was inevitably faced with the dilemma as to whether she dare tell Katerina about him. She wanted to. She wanted to be able to tell Katerina of the responsible position Nicky would soon hold in the National Assembly. Her head ached as she struggled to come to a decision, wishing that just for once life could be uncomplicated.

  That night, with Stephen and Peter sleeping amicably together in a room nearby, Natalie sat at the end of Katerina’s bed, nursing a cup of milky cocoa. Both she and Katerina were in their nightdresses and, apart from the fact that Natalie wasn’t going to remain in the room sleeping in a bed twin to Katerina’s, it was just like old times.

  ‘It was at night, just before I went to sleep, that I missed you most,’ Natalie said with touching frankness. ‘I missed exchanging confidences with you, giggling…’

  A smile touched the corners of Katerina’s generously curved mouth. ‘What confidences?’ she asked teasingly.

  Natalie remembered the secrecy of her visits to the Golden Sturgeon and had the grace to blush. ‘I would have confided in you about Gavrilo,’ she said awkwardly, ‘only I was so frightened of your disapproval.’

  They fell silent for a moment, Katerina thinking how differently things might have turned out if Natalie had confided in her and Natalie mortified by the knowledge that yet again she was not confiding in Katerina as she longed to do, and again was not doing so because she feared her disapproval.