Katerina drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Only Zita was still bewildered. Lovingly Xan crossed the room towards her, taking her hands in his. ‘The time has come for Aunt Natalie to return home,’ he said to her gently. ‘The time has come for the best family reunion ever.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Natalie stared at Stephen, as bewildered as her mother had been. ‘I can go home?’ she said dazedly, ‘I can return to Belgrade?’
‘Yes,’ he said patiently for the second time, Rosie sprawling welcomingly across his feet.
As realization flooded through her she put a hand out to the mantelpiece to steady herself. Through the drawing-room window she could see two youths strolling on the tree-lined Embankment looking almost as incongruous in their ill-fitting demob suits as Stephen did in his.
She wondered what kind of demob suits Yugoslav soldiers would now be wearing and smiled at the very idea of Yugoslavs squeezing themselves into any kind of a suit. Her fellow countrymen would be wearing knee high boots and breeches and sheepskin waistcoats.
‘Just as soon as it’s safe for you to travel across Europe,’ Stephen was saying, ‘Xan will arrange the weddings and …’
She looked at him in disbelief. ‘But it’s safe now! Returning refugees are criss-crossing Europe in their thousands! It says so in the newspapers!’
‘Conditions are still chaotic,’ Stephen said dryly, remembering the horrors of his own journey across Italy only days previously. He looked towards his father for support. ‘Perhaps by the end of the month Father will be able to arrange suitable travel arrangements with the Foreign Office.’
‘End of the month!’ Natalie’s eyes were wide with incredulity. ‘End of the month?’ she said again, regarding her beloved son as if he was an escapee from a lunatic asylum. ‘I’ve waited over thirty years to return home and now that I can do so, you suggest I wait another month! Never! I’m going now! Today! This very minute!’
Like a human whirlwind she made a dash towards the door. Julian stepped restrainingly in front of it. ‘I understand your impatience, sweetheart,’ he said gently, ‘but Stephen is right. Europe is still in chaos and …’
Natalie spun around. ‘When are you going to return to Olga?’ she demanded, her cheeks flushed, a note of hysteria in her voice. ‘Are you going to wait until the end of the month? Is Zorka going to wait until the end of the month before being reunited with Xan?’
‘No,’ Stephen said uncomfortably, ‘but that’s different. We’re accustomed to the difficulties of wartime transport …’
Natalie drew in a deep, quivering breath. ‘For the last six years I have lived in a city that has taken everything Hitler was able to throw at it. How can you possibly imagine I am going to fall to pieces at the sight of an overcrowded train? I don’t care if I have to stand every inch of the way through France and Italy. I don’t care if I have to sit on the roof! I’m travelling with you and Zorka to Belgrade and I’m going upstairs to pack a bag now!’
She meant every word and Julian knew it. ‘Give me a few hours on the telephone,’ he said persuasively. ‘I might be able to pull a few strings where the travel arrangements are concerned and it will give you time to find a suitable present for Olga.’
‘We’ll leave by this evening? You promise?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his throat tight. ‘I promise.’
With tears of joy brimming her eyes she stood tiptoe in her perilously high wedged-sandals and kissed him on the mouth. He had never let her down once in all the years they had been married and she knew that he wouldn’t let her down now. Thirty-one years and two world wars after leaving home she was, at last, about to return.
Despite all Julian’s best efforts it was an horrendously uncomfortable, exhausting journey. Food had to be bought on the hop at whatever station the train decided to stop and the little available was rarely fresh. There wasn’t enough money in the world to buy wagon-lit accommodation and as their train trundled from France into Italy nights were spent huddled cheek by jowl with their fellow passengers in crowded, ill-ventilated carriages. Neither Natalie or Zorka or Stephen cared. All had loved ones waiting for them. All were counting the minutes until the train edged into Yugoslavia.
When it did so, Natalie burst into tears. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she kept saying to Julian time and time again as they stood in the cramped, swaying corridor and she feasted her eyes on hills and rivers and distant mountains. ‘Despite everything that has happened, the landscape is still the same! Lakes are still where they used to be! Forests are still where they used to be!’
As they began the final approach to Belgrade, on a railway line Stephen claimed he and Mitja had once bombed, she said, ‘Will you all excuse me for a few moments? I’m going to change.’
‘Change?’ Zorka stared at her in bewilderment. ‘Change into what? Change where?’
Natalie hugged a bulky brown paper parcel to her breast. ‘You’ll see,’ she said, her eyes feverishly bright. ‘As to where, in the water-closet if necessary.’
Side-stepping a small child on a chamber-pot and a family of Moslems eating lunch off their knees she squeezed out of the carriage and into the corridor. Thirty-one years ago she had made a vow to herself and it was one she intended keeping, no matter what the difficulties. As she pushed and shoved her way towards the tiny and inadequate water-closet she knew that the difficulties were going to be considerable.
When she had removed her blue, peplum-waisted costume from its layers of tissue-paper and mothballs not even Diana had been able to help her squeeze into it. ‘It’s no use,’ she had said despairingly, ‘you were seventeen when you last wore this, for the Lord’s sake! You’ll need a shoe-horn to get into it and even then it won’t button up!’
In the tiny, vile smelling water-closet Natalie cursed her pleasingly plump curves and breathed in as deeply as she was able. She had let out the ankle-length skirt seams herself and she held her breath as she nudged the skirt up over her thighs. The material strained and then miraculously accommodated itself to the difficult task being asked of it. With a sigh of relief she fastened the hooks and eyes on the waistband. At least the skirt was on, though it was so narrow at her ankles that she wondered how she had ever managed to walk in it.
She stepped into the pearl-grey, Louis-heeled shoes she had originally worn with it and turned her attention to the nip-waisted jacket. With its sable collar and cuffs it was as pretty now as it had been when she had first worn it to a Konak tea party. It was also still as small.
Wondering how and where her extra inches had come from, she squeezed herself into it and began to fasten the long line of tiny covered buttons. The top one burst from its anchorage seconds after being fastened but the others held. Triumphantly she secured the little nonsense of a hat to her hair with a hat-pin and looked in the cracked mirror at the result.
In all due modesty she had to admit that she looked sensational. The blue was still as singing and vibrant as ever and the flaring peplum flattered her hips and accentuated her waist. The jacket was tight across her bosom but it was voluptuously tight, the burst button looking exceedingly provocative. As for the hat crowning her riot of shoulder-length waves and curls, with its vivid yellow feather it was still as jaunty, still as heart-stoppingly defiant as ever.
As she stepped triumphantly out into the crowded corridor she saw through the grubby windows that countryside had given way to bomb-damaged houses and streets. Her breath caught in her throat. They were entering Belgrade. She saw an onion-shaped dome she recognized and caught a glimpse of one of the bridges across the Sava.
As the train began to slow down and more and more people with bags and bundles began to throng the corridor she saw Julian pushing his way through the crush towards her.
‘Stay where you are!’ he shouted over a sea of heads. ‘Stephen and Zorka are getting out down here. We’ll get out at the door nearest you.’
As he squeezed past the last of the people separating them and he saw what she was we
aring his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
Despite her almost paralysing nervous anticipation she giggled. ‘Do you recognize it?’ she asked unnecessarily. ‘I had a little bit of a struggle getting into it. Do you think these buttons are going to hold?’
Julian looked down to where the tiny buttons were straining over her magnificent breasts. ‘They may do for a little while,’ he said, keeping loving laughter out of his voice only with the greatest difficulty, ‘but I don’t think they will for long.’
The train begun to shudder to a halt. She put her hand in his. ‘This is the happiest moment of my life,’ she said simply.
Quite unable to speak he squeezed her hand tightly and then opened the train door. ‘This is it.’ His voice was raw with emotion. ‘You’re home.’
As she stepped out on to the platform she saw that the station was just as large and cavernous as she remembered it being. Ahead of her she could see Stephen and Zorka running towards the crowd of faces waiting at the barrier. She saw a fair-haired girl begin to run towards Stephen, her eyes shining, her face radiant. She saw Stephen’s arms close around her, saw his mouth come down hard on hers. She saw Zorka hurtle into Xan’s arms and saw Xan exultantly swing her round, lifting her bodily off her feet.
Despite her long narrow skirt she began to run also. Through a blur of tears she recognized the faces waiting for her; her mother and father, Katerina and Max, Peter, Cissie and Vitza. Everyone had come to meet her. Everyone she loved was there to welcome her home.
She saw Katerina burst past the barrier; saw her running towards her.
‘Oh, Trina!’ she gasped, flying into her welcoming arms, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘Oh, Trina! I’m home! I’m home!’
From the moment Katerina had first glimpsed the defiant, jaunty,
vibrant yellow feather she had felt as if her heart was going to
burst. Knowing the chaotic conditions that still existed in Europe no-one, not even Xan, had expected Natalie to return to Belgrade so soon. When the telegram announcing her impending arrival had been delivered, Katerina had felt almost disorientated with joy. It just didn’t seem possible that after so many years the Karageorgevich, Vassilovich and Fielding families were at last going to enjoy a zadruga-style reunion.
Even now, as she released Natalie from her embrace in order that their mother could give her the hug she had looked forward to giving her for so many, many years, she could scarcely believe that as a family they were all at last truly united.
Understanding how deeply emotional the moment was for her, Max slipped his arm around her shoulders. She raised her hand to his, pressing it lovingly against her lips, deeply grateful for his instinctive sensitivity.
Stephen was introducing Julian to Olga and a smile touched the corners of Katerina’s mouth. Over the last few weeks she had become very well acquainted with Olga and she knew that Julian was going to be delighted with his new daughter-in-law.
As he turned away from Olga and accepted an affectionate kiss on the cheek from Cissie, their eyes met. What they silently conveyed was more than anyone around them, apart from Max, could ever imagine. That they were both idyllically happy; that they had no regrets about the past; that they would always be each other’s dearest friend.
‘It’s good to see you again, Julian,’ Max was saying to him sincerely, giving him a typically masculine Slav bear-hug. ‘Will you be having a few words with Tito on behalf of the British government while you’re here?’
‘Quite possibly,’ Julian said, amused as always by Max’s perspicacity. ‘Though the person I really want to speak with to get a true picture of what is happening politically, is yourself.’
‘We’ll do that tonight,’ Max said agreeably, ‘over a bottle of Alexis’s best klekovacha.’
Katerina slid her hand once more into her husband’s. He knew about her affair with Julian for it had been one of the first things she had told him when they had embarked on their own love affair. He hadn’t been remotely surprised or disturbed about it. Right from the very beginning he had known about her feelings for Julian and he knew what her feelings for Julian were now. He knew that she regarded him as a deeply loved friend and nothing more; that he, Max, was the real love of her life and always would be.
Over the hubbub of Natalie and Olga’s emotional introduction, Peter and Stephen’s exuberant reunion, Zita’s loving exclamations as to how Zorka had become even more beautiful since she had last seen her, Vitza’s voice rose in pained disbelief, ‘Why on earth are you wearing such an outmoded costume, Natalie? It looks as if it’s come from a museum. Surely even the war hasn’t reduced London women to such desperate straits?’
Peter shouted with laughter. Natalie rounded on Vitza in high indignation. Alexis began to shepherd them all out to the two waiting cars.
‘Cissie and Vitza can go with Xan and Zorka in Peter’s car,’ he said, judiciously separating Vitza and Natalie as Natalie began to remind Vitza of a particularly hideous blue brocade dress Vitza had once worn to a Vassilovich ball.
‘It was ruched and draped like a lampshade,’ Natalie said to Olga as Peter handed Vitza and Cissie into a battered, open-top car. ‘Vitza has never had the slightest dress sense, not ever, and marriage to a Russian hasn’t improved it.’
‘Natalie, you come with your mother and Katerina and Olga in my car,’ Alexis instructed. ‘Stephen and Max and Julian can walk.’
The Vassilovich car was so ancient that Natalie marvelled at its being mobile. The hood was down and as it rolled away from the station she took hold of Katerina’s hand, suddenly silent. This was the moment she had waited thirty-one years for; this was the moment when she could look around at her city and know that she was truly home.
Both Julian and Stephen had warned her of the changes and devastation she would find. ‘It’s not just been one world war since you were last home,’ Julian had pointed out to her gently, ‘it’s been two. Very little will be the same as when you left in 1914, perhaps nothing.’
As the car trundled across the cobbled square fronting the station she steeled herself for the worst and the worst was terrible. Shattered buildings. Cratered streets. She knew that Katerina was watching her, fearful of her reaction, terrified it was going to be one of crushing disappointment. She squeezed her hand and said quietly, ‘It’s what I expected, Trina. London is a half-wrecked city, too.’
She looked around her and saw beyond the destruction and dereliction. High on its hill overlooking the Sava, the ancient fort in the Kalemegdan Gardens could still be seen, peeping over the tops of the trees surrounding it. Tram lines still ran down the middle of the streets. Ochre-stoned houses still boasted little rickety verandahs. Acacia trees still sprouted in the tiniest of gardens.
They turned into a chestnut-tree lined street named after Marshal Tito. Seeing her bewilderment Katerina said with amusement in her voice, ‘You always wanted Prince Milan Street to be renamed and now it has been.’
‘I didn’t expect it to be renamed after a Croat!’ Natalie said indignantly and then, as their eyes met, she began to giggle and by the time Alexis drove between the high ornate gates of their family home and into the dearly familiar little courtyard they were both helpless with deliriously happy laughter.
For everyone in the family the next few days were days to treasure. Katerina and Natalie walked together in Kalemegdan Gardens, giggling and chattering as if they were seventeen and nineteen again.
Peter, Xan, Max and Julian discussed politics far into the night and though Peter and Max’s views were far more to the right than Xan’s, they were agreed on one thing. If under Tito, Croats, Serbs, Catholics, Orthodox and Moslems could live in something approaching harmony, then they were prepared to accommodate Tito’s nationalistic brand of communism.
Cissie and Vitza sat sewing Zorka and Olga’s wedding gowns, Vitza discussing at long, interminable length what she would wear on the great day.
On one memorable evening as they all sat down to dinner together
, Zorka spoke enthusiastically of the little house she and Xan had found in which to live.
‘It’s absolutely exquisite, Aunt Trina,’ she said as Julian passed a dish of peas across to Max, and Alexis topped up Stephen’s glass of slivovitz. ‘It’s a little Hungarian-style house half-hidden away in a tiny cobbled street behind Terazije Square. There’s a lilac tree in the garden and roses rambling up the walls and …’
The dish of peas dropped clumsily to the table.
‘… the most wonderful portrait of old King Peter still hanging on one of the downstairs walls.’
Katerina choked on her wine.
‘… and two ancient Turkish divans upholstered in peasant needlework,’ Zorka continued, pouring her aunt a glass of water. ‘I know we’re going to be unutterably happy there. Does Uncle Max still want those peas or are they going begging?’
When it came to a decision about what she was to wear for the weddings, Natalie hadn’t a shred of doubt. ‘I’ve taken my blue costume to the most wonderful tailor and he says he can make it look as if it were made to measure for me.’
‘It was made to measure for you,’ Katerina pointed out, her voice thick with loving laughter. ‘The only problem was it was made to measure for you thirty-one years ago!’
Natalie threw a cushion at her head and said: ‘We’re lucky, aren’t we? We’re gaining two wonderful daughters-in-law. You’ve loved Zorka ever since you first set eyes on her and Olga is the most amazing girl. She looks so quiet and gentle and yet she has the courage of a lion.’
‘Yes,’ Katerina said quietly, thinking of Max and her much-loved son and stepson, ‘we’re very lucky.’
Zadruga Page 49