by ILIL ARBEL
“Well, then, allow me to make the introductions…but of course you already know Mr. Korolenko.”
“Yes indeed, Mr. Korolenko,” said Madame Koska. “I had no idea you vere one of the party. How nice to see you.”
There were Lord and Lady Plunkett from Ireland, Mr. and Mrs. Winston from London, and the Misses Plimpton-Anderson who had just returned from India where they spent a few months with their father, a highly placed government official. Their home was in the south of England, they told Madame Koska, but they were to stay a few weeks with their old friends the Howards. All the ladies were excited to meet Madame Koska and wanted to know all about her new collection. Mr. Howard and Gretchen were not there, as they had gone for lunch at a neighboring estate, where a friend of Gretchen was home for Christmas from her finishing school in Switzerland.
“How long does it take to create the collection?” asked Lady Plunkett. “Please, Madame Koska, I would greatly love an invitation.”
“But of course, Lady Plunkett. I vill send invitations to all of you, vith your permission. It usually takes about three to four months to prepare a decent collection, and I have already arranged for a place in April,” said Madame Koska.
“I can’t wait to see it,” said Mrs. Winston. “Can you tell us what you will present?”
“Not exactly, Mrs. Vinston. I am sorry, but it is customary to keep everything a secret…not that I expect any of the other houses to steal from me, but it is tradition.”
“But just a hint?” asked the elder Miss Plimpton-Anderson, smiling sweetly. She worked hard at looking like a young thing, and her clothes did not match her over-thirty looks.
“Vell, a little bit, if you promise not to tell too many people,” said Madame Koska; unlike other couturiers, she believed that a little hint would not go amiss. “As you may know, my style is Parisian, but this time I vant to inject a little Russian style into the designs. Russian style is very popular in Paris these days, because of the many talented émigrés, and ve don’t vant to lag behind, do ve? Now that I have adopted London as my new home, I vant to be even more innovative than Paris!”
“How thrilling!” piped the younger Miss Plimpton-Anderson, who dressed even younger than her sister. “We will come to London especially for your show!”
“It vill be lovely to see you there, Miss Plimpton-Anderson. I hope all of you vill come to visit the atelier as vell,” as Madame Koska.
“How thrilling! Gretchen told us all about it, how interesting the work is and how much fun she is having.”
“Yes, I understand that the Russian influence is strong in Paris,” said Mrs. Howard. “What type of innovations are you thinking about?”
“There will be some Russian embroidery of pearls and beads, highly traditional, and I am going to try and reintroduce the Sarafan and the Zipun, though of course, completely modernized.”
“The what and what?” asked Lady Plunkett, smiling.
Madame Koska laughed. “Yes, silly of me, I am rattling off these vords as if everyone must speak Russian. The Sarafan is a Russian peasant dress. It is a tunic that flows from the shoulders to the floor, and is embroidered all over vith beautiful colors; you vear a simple, long-sleeved blouse under it. The Zipun is a homespun peasant coat. Naturally I plan to make them from modern materials. The Zipun vill float over the Sarafan, and vill be made from transparent chiffon instead of traditional homespun cotton. The Sarafan itself vould look glamorous made from heavy velvet.”
“It sounds heavenly,” said the older Miss Pimpton-Anderson. “I simply can’t wait! Helen, dear, we must have these, these Sara… Zip…these Russian dresses!”
“And naturally, I vill use Parisian accessories. Handbags, shoes, hats… Vhat I don’t produce in the atelier vill come directly from Paris.”
“Do we have to wait so long?” said Lady Plunkett. They all laughed. Madame Koska knew that her system, which consisted of adapting to the audience she had at any point, was successful again. She would end this visit with at least five new clients—but surely they would also bring their friends.
After lunch, the snow started falling heavily. Most of the guests either went to have a short rest in their rooms, or read in the library, but Mr. Korolenko suggested to Madame Koska a stroll in the conservatory, which she accepted with delight. She was very fond of hothouses of any kind.
“They do keep a beautiful conservatory,” said Madame Koska with genuine appreciation.
“I have always liked winter gardens,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Strolling inside a warm and fragrant place, full of plants and flowers, while outside the snow is falling freely, is magical.”
“It’s a very big conservatory,” said Madame Koska, “but then the house is really an estate. I had no idea Gretchen’s relatives were so wealthy.”
“I suppose Gretchen’s wish to work gave you the wrong idea.”
Madame Koska was quiet for a minute. She thought about confiding in him about her plan of finding out about what Gretchen was really like, and checked herself. She did not trust him enough for that, and decided to reveal just a tiny part of her thoughts. “Well, yes. I have no idea why she would be spending her days at a busy atelier, doing the double work of mannequin and vendeuse-in-training, when she can have a life of leisure,” she said.
“She told me that she is bored doing nothing at home, and the atelier supplies her with great amusement,” said Mr. Korolenko. “It’s like a game to her.”
“Yes, that is what she tells everyone… I have no reason to think that she is not telling the truth, except…”
“Except for what I told you about her father not being killed, I suppose,” said Mr. Korolenko bluntly, looking at her directly. Madame Koska felt very uncomfortable, but nevertheless said, “Yes. There seems to be no connection, but still, for some reason it puts a different light on the matter.”
“I realize that. I am always wondering how much I can say without causing damage to anyone.”
Madame Koska looked at a flowering bush without actually seeing it. She touched a leaf, hesitated, and said, “It also bothers me that I don’t know what your connection is and how much you know about these matters, Mr. Korolenko.”
Mr. Korolenko sighed. “You think I am not exactly what I seem to be, am I correct, Madame Koska?”
“Well, it’s a possibility, but I would not know what you could be. You are neither part of the police and you don’t strike me as a criminal… I confess that I do know something about your past, but not enough to clarify anything.”
“What is it that you know?”
“That you were removed from the priesthood as a young man,” said Madame Koska.
“Oh, that…it is not a very important issue. I was nineteen years old, two years into the program, not even a priest yet, just a student. I was ridiculously handsome as a boy, Madame Koska, believe it or not, and some of the ladies took notice of it.”
Madame Koska nodded; she could easily believe he was a beautiful boy. He was still very handsome, but of course she did not say that. “So what happened?” she asked.
“It was such a cliché, a truly ridiculous situation. A noblewoman, ten years older than me, decided to initiate me into different mysteries than those of the church. She was a well-known society beauty, and since I only went to the seminary to please my family and had very little, if any, vocation, she did not find it difficult to persuade me to comply with her wishes.”
“Still, she must have been very special,” said Madame Koska; she controlled herself before she made the faux pas of asking the lady’s name. “I think so because surely you knew the risks.”
“Oh, yes, I knew the risks. But even now, as a cynical middle-aged man, I can understand the magic, the glamour, that seduced the younger me. Men were drawn to her, would risk a lot for her; she was very beautiful, but was also very witty, charming, and amusing.”
“What did she look like?” asked Madame Koska, intrigued with the old love story.
“She was small, slight
, and graceful; I used to think Titania must have looked like her. She had dark bronze hair, a little darker than Gretchen’s, and what used to be called Parma Violet eyes. I remember the first time I met her. Before I saw her, there was this light perfume in the air, preceding her entrance. She never was without perfume, it was her obsession. Always the same perfume—she never used anything else—it was a secret formula that was concocted especially for her, in one of the great perfume houses in Paris. You could go into a room and know she had been there some time ago. When she came in the day we met, she wore very high heels which made her sway delicately as she walked, and a deceptively simply dress embroidered in antique silver. I remember gaping like a young idiot, and she smiled at me; my fate was sealed.”
“But it did not last long, I imagine?”
“Of course not; I was one of a chain of young men. After two or three months she got tired of me, and decided to pick up another boy, so she allowed her husband to catch us. He was used to it, it happened many times before, and he played the part of the injured husband very well. When the rather mild scandal died down, I did not suffer much. My father registered me to a good university, gave me a lecture about discretion, told me that I was a fool to consent to go into the priesthood if I did not feel the vocation, and that was that…in the end it was a blessing since I was much more suited to the academic life than to the priesthood.”
“Which city did you live in?”
“We lived in Saint Petersburg. I never got used to calling it Petrograd…”
“Grigory, my husband, was from there too. He loved it, told me it was a lovely town.”
“It was a fairytale city, Madame Koska. Imagine priceless art collections, refined cuisine, every sort of cultural entertainment, theater, concerts, ballet, opera. Balls and parties and elaborate champagne picnics… Visualize elegantly dressed people strolling in the parks, or by the River Neva, walking their magnificent dogs, often four on a leash; the hounds could be as tall as small ponies. It was a sophisticated, worldly lifestyle, not at all like provincial Moscow.”
“And then came the Revolution and you were uprooted.” said Madame Koska.
“Yes, it was hard at first. But after the horrible conditions on the ship, the months I had to stay in Constantinople with the other uprooted refugees, and nearly starving in Paris, my life in London seems to be almost a luxury. At least I have steady work, good friends, and while not exactly peace of mind, at least acceptance.”
“Much like Madame Golitsyn,” said Madame Koska. “Sounds as if you took the same emotional journey.”
“It was the exact same journey in every way,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I met Madame Golitsyn on the ship…we all thought everything would be soon over, and we could return to our old life.”
“She never told me much about the journey,” said Madame Koska. “I don’t want to ask in case she might be saddened by it.”
“She behaved marvelously even under the horrible privations. Most of the noble ladies showed absolutely amazing strength,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“So very difficult for these gently brought up ladies,” said Madame Koska.
“It was surprising how well they stood up to it. For us, the émigrés from Saint Petersburg, it was a very long road. We had to go south—first to Kiev, then Odessa, and crossing the borders was the worst. They confiscated everything, including clothes, left us with what we had on our backs. And still, the ladies did not lose their sense of humor. I remember one woman making a joke that she saw a poor woman selling a piece of curtain. She said, ‘I just saw her pulling it off the window. It’s fresh, even the nails are there. Don’t you think it could make a lovely evening gown?’ Yes…I suppose they could keep their sense of humor because we were all so convinced the whole thing was temporary. Still, they had courage. When we got to Odessa, by the way, they rushed to the hair dressers and manicurists.”
“Well, certainly,” said Madame Koska. “One must keep one’s dignity, and unless your hair and nails are done, you can’t…and where did you end up?”
“Constantinople, though the issue of papers forced some ships to go further, to Egypt, Greece, Malta, what have you. Some were lucky to be able to get to Marseille. The stay in Constantinople was a real hardship. I mean, we needed to trade whatever objects we had left for food and water. It’s an Asiatic city, really…the living conditions were such that I will not describe them to you. Eventually we managed to get to Marseille, and then to Paris.”
“I am impressed by this story. I always knew, of course, that my friend was not only courageous, but quite resourceful and adaptable.”
“Yes, she adapted well to the new life, at least so it seems,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“So it seems? She is doing very well as a high-end caterer,” said Madame Koska. “Her business is excellent and constantly growing.”
“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Korolenko. “But how does she really feel about it? Should the opportunity arise, would she not welcome a life of luxury and ease again?”
“What sort of opportunity do you mean, Mr. Korolenko?”
“Let me see. Suppose…yes, suppose she could do a little service, a connection, an introduction, and in doing so secure a steady, large income for life…would she not be willing to do so?”
Madame Koska looked sharply at Mr. Korolenko. He was sitting quietly on the bench, looking thoughtfully at his hands as was his custom when thinking. She wondered if he meant to throw a hint at her, something that she did not grasp, about Madame Golitsyn. No, what strange fact could she learn about her friend, her confidant, that she did not know already? That was nonsense.
“No,” she said with determination. “I don’t think she would. I think she has overcome her past trials and is quite ready to live in the present. Come to think of it, this is a trait that impressed me in many of the noble Russian ladies I met in Paris, too. They were sad, they would have wanted very much to see the Tsar restored, but once they realized it could not be, they were courageous and practical and learned to live in the present. The only person I know who does not seem to adapt is Natalya Saltykov. She mourns the past, and since she is so timid, she is finding it difficult to steel herself to the realities of being a regular person without the support of the noble title.”
“Poor girl,” said Mr. Korolenko with sympathy.
“But she is getting better, I think. She is beginning to realize that she has a great skill that can help her not only survive, but succeed. I sense that she is beginning to feel pride in it, and from that pride, self-sufficiency will arise, I hope. She is a good person.”
“Yes…but I have never trusted weak, dependent people, Madame Koska. In my opinion, they are the most dangerous. When they think they are cornered, they strike very hard, just once, but it sometimes is sufficient to cause great damage.” He stopped talking as Gretchen was advancing on them. “Hello, Gretchen. Did you have a nice lunch with your friend?” he said.
“You look very vell, my dear,” said Madame Koska.
“That is because I am in heaven! Uncle gave me my gift early this morning so I could wear it to lunch to show my friend. Look at it, Madame Koska! What do you think?”
“It is such a beautiful ring, Miss Van der Hoven,” said Madame Koska.
Gretchen moved her hand back and forth, admiring the ruby in the heavy gold ring. “Isn’t it? Just what I wanted! It’s so fashionable.”
“I don’t know enough about quality of gems to be called an expert,” said Madame Koska, “But this must be a very good stone. It has such saturation of color.”
“I must show it to Miss Saltykov after the holiday,” said Gretchen, still looking at her hand. “She told me she knows everything about gemstones.” Mr. Korolenko and Madame Koska glanced at each other with surprise.
“Does she?” asked Madame Koska. “How did she become such an expert?”
“She said that she learned it by living in the Tsar’s court; she had access to seeing and studying both old and new designs, and it was
like a hobby for her. She said that most of the time she could recognize the jewelry house by just looking at a piece.”
“Quite a valuable skill,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I am sure it will be useful in her career.”
“I don’t think she wants to move to the jewelry business,” said Gretchen. “She is too happy doing her fantastic embroidery and beading. She loves working for you, Madame Koska. But then again, we all do. The atelier is such fun! Well, I must go. I promised Auntie I will help with the flowers for tonight…” and off she ran.
“I must tell you something, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko, looking thoughtfully after the retreating figure. “It was in Constantinople that I first heard about the Eurasian gang. A man came to me and told me that he heard I was good at languages. He offered a sum of money, enough to sound extraordinary to a starving man, if I would be willing to translate some documents, and also interpret a short meeting.”
“Did you realize what they were?”
“Yes, I did. But I was at the end of my rope, and the European help that was promised to the refugees did not arrive. I did what the gang requested, and used the money to buy food not just for myself, but for many others. And as if it broke our chain of bad luck, the next week we got on the ship to Marseilles.”
“I will not ask you what it was about, Mr. Korolenko, so please don’t look so anxious. I understand that you needed to survive.”
“Thank you, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I appreciate your practical and humane approach.”
“Not at all. Shall we go in? I think it’s time for tea,” said Madame Koska, and smiled at him as if none of the story signified. Nevertheless, to her it signified a great deal.
At dinner, the dining room sparkled. The chandelier exchanged lights with the many candles, the table crystal seemed to answer with its tiny rainbows, and the silverware gave its own deep glow. The flowers Gretchen helped with were mountains of crimson roses surrounded by lacey white gypsophila in silver bowls. Madame Koska, seated between Mr. Winston and Lord Plunkett, found their rather meaningless conversation restful, and enjoyed her excellent dinner. Suddenly, the conversation turned general when Lord Plunkett said, “Oh, excuse me, Madame Koska, I must tell everyone about a strange development—everyone, have you heard the news about the disappearance of the great sapphire?” Everyone looked up. “They are now certain it is in London,” added Lord Plunkett.