White Ice

by Celia Brayfield

  Lydia was elated from dancing, from her triumph and with the anticipation of long-awaited pleasures ahead. Her sensibilities were all overcharged, showing in a pink flush on her pale face which the night air heightened to a bright rose. Even Marie, pale as she was, had a little colour by the time they arrived at Cubat’s. It was the most fashionable restaurant in the city, the expected venue for all the receptions held after the ballet or opera, with an immense dining room at ground-floor level and a gallery above, from which opened a honeycomb of private suites.

  Mischa was an expert with nervous girls. A little care, a little kindness at the beginning always paid off – it cost nothing to put them at their ease at first and they would be much more amenable when they had a little confidence. Stooping fondly to whisper quiet directions in their ear, with a gentle touch under the elbow or at the waist, he guided them through the glittering press of people to the cloakroom, where they shed their coats and velvet theatre bonnets, smoothed their hair and admired each other’s dresses one more time.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t chosen this red.’ Marie’s gown was a bold scarlet chiffon trimmed with braid. ‘It looks terribly brassy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No, not at all, it’s wonderful with your colouring. I feel absolutely washed out in this. Is your heart beating? Mine is, I’m sure I won’t be able to say a word.’

  ‘I think my stomach’s going to do my talking for me – I’m starving.’

  Clutching each other’s hands, unaware that they were attracting attention only by their fresh beauty and their state of nervous animation, they braved what they supposed was censure in the eyes of the maid, the swooping waiters and the major-domo. Alexandrov held out his arms and made them walk either side of him – he used the same gesture with which he always led the Polonaise in Boris Godunov, which made them giggle – and swept them up the wide, carpeted staircase to the gallery. Lydia felt an uncomfortable knot of tension under her ribs. She had a brief impression of scores of white tables and hundreds of people below them, and then attendants pulled open double doors to a lobby and they heard their names announced.

  ‘The little man with Dandré is your host, General Alexander Nikolaevitch Ragosin,’ Mischa murmured in Lydia’s ear as he drew her forward.

  ‘Saints alive – it’s a banquet! I’ve never seen so much food,’ Marie hissed behind her as the General took her hand. For an instant she thought he would kiss it, but he merely paused. Ragosin was indeed slightly built, but intimidating nonetheless with his chest almost paved with decorations and the diamond star of an Imperial order at his throat.

  ‘Mademoiselle Kusminskaya – ladies, gentlemen – the new star in our heavens.’ In a few seconds he seemed to have weighed her character and determined the next action. She found herself being presented to the whole room, where forty or so people turned from their informal conversation to applaud her once more. The majority were men wearing the rich blue uniform of the Horse Guards.

  ‘More arrivals from the theatre.’ Tactfully Mischa drew his protégées forward to meet their fellow guests. ‘Let me introduce you – the general’s nephew, Major Alexis Ragosin, Major Basil Nikonov, Major Andrei Lazarev.’ Three expectant young officers bowed and the tang of conspiracy in the air told Lydia that the last pair were the men who had asked Alexandrov to provide them with company for the evening. They were very much of a piece with the young Ragosin, although whereas he was baby-faced Nikonov was dark and ruddy and Lazarev appeared colourless and hollow-cheeked.

  ‘We must confess the ballet has not been one of our passions until now, but after your marvellous performance this evening Andrei and I have promised to make up for lost time.’ Nikonov patted his abundant moustache, below which he was constantly smiling. His lips were narrow and very red, and with his bright round eyes gave him the appeal of an impertinent little boy.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Now we are aware of the terrible gap in our artistic education we intend to repair it as fast as possible. Perhaps you could advise us on what to see first?’

  ‘Ignore him, Mesdemoiselles, the man’s a fool. We shall simply attend every performance decorated by your participation. When are you dancing next? Soon, I hope?’

  ‘Gentlemen, for heaven’s sake! If you sincerely want to appreciate our art you must choose what to see carefully. What do you think, Lydia – should they proceed historically, beginning with the old romantic ballets?’ Marie was starting to enjoy herself, although she was still so nervous that her fingers picked at the braid on her sleeve.

  ‘Not for Andrei! No romance for him, he’s too susceptible, poor fellow, and an officer can’t come over all sentimental, it’s bad for morale.’

  Lydia looked teasingly at her shoes and traced some of the carpet design with her toe. If she could have purred with satisfaction she would have done so – this was precisely the style of badinage she had always envisaged herself enjoying at such an event. ‘Are we to understand, then, that you are the hard-hearted member of this partnership?’ She looked up at Basil under her eyelashes.

  ‘Certainly!’ Andrei interrupted his friend at once. ‘He may seem quite civilized here in these elegant surroundings but Basil is a poor unfeeling brute at bottom, alas.’

  ‘You liar. Don’t listen to him, Mesdemoiselles, he’s slandering me. I’m a serious man, that’s all. My poor heart is exceptionally tender, and so I take good care of it. I would hate it to fall into the wrong hands, it’s so easily bruised.’

  ‘What nonsense you boys are talking – and improper, too. You’ve hardly been introduced to these ladies and you’re flirting already.’ Chirruping like an annoyed bird to discover younger competition, Lulu Kyasht joined them and dropped a possessive hand on her beau’s arm. ‘Alexis, can’t you keep them in order?’

  There was an awkward pause, broken by a waiter who presented a tray of tiny glasses. ‘Ah vodka – excellent!’ Mischa nodded firm encouragement at Lydia. The spirit felt harsh but was soon nothing but vapour in her throat. ‘Try some, Mademoiselle, it stimulates the appetite.’

  ‘My appetite is in fine form already,’ Marie told him, then blushed almost as red as her dress as the rumble of her empty stomach emphasized her point.

  ‘Heavens – you must forgive us! You are both famished and here we are standing around making useless conversation …’ Basil immediately strode towards the buffet, summoning more waiters with a glance.

  ‘Delightful conversation,’ Andrei corrected him, offering Lydia his arm. ‘Can we find something to tempt you here? If you don’t see anything you like you’ve only to ask – they’ll make anything you can name.’

  An elaborate feast was piled before them. Around an ice sculpture of seven stars and epergnes stuffed with hot-house roses there were at least thirty hors-d’oeuvre dishes, including red and black caviar, mushrooms marinated in oil and meat balls with a rich cream sauce.

  ‘The fish is always excellent here,’ Andrei prompted. In hungry confusion Lydia’s eyes roamed over marinated fish, smoked fish, dried fish, pickled fish, fish in hot sauce, fish in wine, fish in pastry, fish poached with herbs, stuffed fish and fish cutlets.

  ‘You must try these.’ At Andrei’s command the waiter removed a silver cover from a hot dish and a spicy aroma billowed towards her. ‘Little sausages sizzled in butter, they’re my favourite. And some potatoes – in olive mayonnaise, perhaps, do you like that? Or these, in sour cream? They’re delicious. Or those little cheese tarts, heaven, so light and moist …’

  The vodka was snarling in her empty stomach and Lydia felt mildly nauseous. Beside her Marie was smiling in helpless adoration as Basil ordered the waiters to pile a little of everything on her plate and, when it was heaped so high that an avalanche threatened, he had a second plate started on her behalf. ‘If you can’t decide the only thing to do is taste everything,’ he told her as if imparting the whole secret of gourmandism.

  ‘The cheese things are nice,’ Mischa encouraged her, sensing some difficulty.

  ‘Olivier mayonnaise i
s a must, you have to try that,’ Lulu advised over her shoulder while intent on her own selection.

  ‘I really …’ Andrei hung attentively on every hesitant word. ‘I really think I need to eat something quite simple,’ she began, feeling more and more certain of her exact desire as she spoke. ‘What I would really like is some plain rice pudding.’

  There was a shocked silence. ‘Please – don’t disgrace me just because you’ve never been to a restaurant before;’ Mischa hissed under his breath. No one moved.

  ‘Rice pudding, that’s novel.’ With a sarcastic look, Lulu invited the company to laugh. She had relaxed. Obviously these absurd girls would never be invited anywhere smart again.

  ‘It really is what I would like.’ Lydia turned unhappily to Andrei. ‘You did say they could make anything.’

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for – fetch Mademoiselle the finest rice pudding in St Petersburg at once.’ The speaker was a tall man with a measured, amused voice. Lydia had noticed him in her panicky first glance into the room because his uniform was of a different colour, a pale blue the colour of spring sky. ‘Would you care for jam, Mademoiselle?’

  She nodded, feeling ridiculously powerful. ‘Raspberry jam would be nice.’

  ‘I’m sure it would.’ The major-domo clapped his hands softly, a waiter slipped through the service door and the general conversation returned.

  Alexandrov, now obliged to present the stranger, gave an irritated cough. ‘You’ve caught Prince Orlov, my dear. He’s a miserable bastard so heaven help us all.’ He raised his voice and stepped forward as the man approached. ‘Your Highness, will you allow me to present Mademoiselle Lydia Alexandrovna Kusminskaya. Mademoiselle, may I introduce His Highness Prince Nikolai Konstantinovich Orlov.’

  ‘My compliments, Mademoiselle.’ He barely touched her politely extended fingers. ‘I could not bear to see a dancer of such potential excellence starve in the face of plenty.’

  ‘Your Highness is most kind.’ His use of the word potential annoyed Lydia, but hunger was now her predominant sensation and she left her anger aside. She looked up at his face, noting the high forehead and fleshy chin. His eyes seemed inaccessible. The impression was as noble as her imagination demanded of a family who had been close companions of the Imperial house for many generations. One hundred and fifty years ago, his ancestor, Count Grigor, had won their title as the most prominent of the Empress Catherine’s many lovers.

  ‘Not really,’ he contradicted in a detached tone, and then said nothing more, despite Alexandrov’s floundering attempts at small talk. They drifted towards the small tables intended for dining at the margin of the room. The pudding, in a crystal bowl on a silver platter, arrived as Marie embarked upon her second plate of hors-d’oeuvres, with Basil and Andrei now both in attendance.

  Orlov watched her consume the dish in systematic spoonfuls, methodical in her greed, taking care to spread the jam over each morsel. Eating in silence, it crossed her mind that she ought to feel embarrassed, but did not. At last he spoke again. ‘A rare treasure. You know precisely what you want, don’t you?’

  ‘Is that truly a rare quality, Your Highness?’

  ‘In a woman, yes, I think so. You still don’t recognize my uniform, do you?’

  ‘Your Highness must excuse me, I know so little of military affairs …’

  ‘When we met it was such a dramatic encounter I was sure you would remember it for the rest of your life.’

  ‘Don’t tease me.’ Now she was fast becoming tired and fretful. ‘We can’t possibly have met.’

  ‘Forgive me. I am certain and I remember your name exactly. Actually I sometimes wondered what happened to you after that day. I wondered if you would cut your hair.’

  Warmth, a full stomach and tiredness were softly overwhelming her. The long preparations for this evening, her irritation with Leo, her eager anticipation of this party, were all resolved but her energy was depleted. She swallowed a yawn before she spoke, but goaded herself to launch her irresistible sidelong smile in his direction; what could she be thinking about, becoming dozy when one of the wealthiest and most distinguished unmarried men in the country was claiming her acquaintance? ‘My hair? In some quarters, Your Highness, it is very much admired – I couldn’t possibly consider cutting it. I’m afraid there would be an outcry.’ Conveniently, one lock had worked free of pins at her neck and she could twirl it around her finger before tucking it back in place.

  ‘It is never an inconvenience, then?’ His tone was odd. She felt that he was trying to make a joke but had had little practice.

  ‘Well, I must admit that very long hair is heavy when one is dancing, and needs to be quite firmly dressed for the stage, but a woman must always suffer to be beautiful and I would rather have my curls than a light head.’

  ‘Another wise choice, if I may say so. Tell me – what would you like to do now?’

  The room was hot and noisy, ringing with the officers’ loud laughter. Marie had propped her drooping head on her hand and was glancing at her suitors with eyes which periodically closed with fatigue. Lydia herself had a distinct vision of her soft, white bed. ‘Go home,’ she replied and then, feeling that she might be judged ungrateful, added, ‘It’s been a simply divine evening, I’ve had a wonderful time and I wish it could go on for ever, but in the ballet we can’t have too many late nights.’

  ‘No dancing at the Aquarium tonight, then?’

  ‘Isn’t the Aquarium a night club?’ With alarm she saw that Marie was swaying on her chair, although her companions were still chaffing each other and did not appear to have noticed.

  ‘With an American negro tap-dancer. He’s quite amusing, you should see him some time.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly think of such a thing.’ Instinctively, she felt it important to set high standards at once; to her disappointment, however, he did not press any other invitation on her, but looked around for Alexandrov and called him over with a frown.

  ‘Your delightful companions are quite exhausted – please take my carriage,’ he said abruptly and then took formal leave of them all with equal courtesy. Looking over her shoulder as she left Lydia saw him join a tall woman in an extremely fashionable velvet dress; she was long-bodied and languid in her movements, and her jewels seemed to drip from her like heavy dew.

  Orlov’s carriage was enclosed and the size of a small room. Small braziers under the seats made the interior warm and fragrant, but although there was no need of rugs the coachmen assiduously covered them with sable blankets. Marie at once slumped in a corner and leaned her cheek against the red plush upholstery.

  ‘Do make him hurry,’ she pleaded in a faint voice. ‘I feel ghastly.’

  ‘You look it as well, dear. I suppose you’d better have the window open.’ Mischa hauled up the leather strap and lowered the sash, then plumped back into his seat with a pout.

  ‘Don’t be angry, Mischa, we’ll do better next time.’ Lydia suddenly saw her social career reaching an untimely end.

  ‘I suppose you don’t realize … no, how could you, you’re as green as cabbages … that was Prince Lvov I was talking to when I got my orders to take you two away. He and Vaslav have been hot and heavy but now he’s bored. He’s got a friend who’s interested but Vaslav – God, that boy’s such a fool, he keeps his brains in his legs if you ask me – Vaslav’s convinced it’s all true love and keeps moping around Lvov making calf’s eyes at him … so Uncle Mischa’s got to sort it all out. Oh believe me, girls, it’s not all cherry pie keeping the aristocracy happy. Whoa there! Steady on, you fellows!’ The oversprung carriage wallowed around a sharp bend, throwing the three of them into a corner.

  ‘Our Vaslav? Vaslav Fomitch? I didn’t know he liked men.’ The cold night air and the prospect of gossip revived Lydia a little; she reflected that the young Pole had been wearing some stylish new clothes lately.

  ‘Nor did he until Lvov took him to Fabergé. Now he’s in love – that’s the way of all flesh, you’ll find out. Yo
u certainly will, Lydia dear, the way Orlov moved in on you like the Tartar hordes.’

  ‘I thought he was rather cool,’ she said carefully, probing for information.

  ‘God no, that’s just his way. He’s always in a frost, getting a smile out of him is like getting blood out of a stone. Fancies himself as an intellectual and a cut above the rest because he studies archaeology. Actually I believe he is quite cultured. But you managed to warm him up, my dear – congratulations! I can’t say I wasn’t surprised – he’s been with some German woman for years. I expect you noticed her, very modern clothes she always wears. She’ll never land him, though.’

  ‘Why not? She is beautiful, even you must allow that, Mischa.’ Beyond a certain point she mistrusted his judgement, because he seldom had a good word to say about any woman, and was most contemptuous of those who planned alliances.

  ‘Got no class, dear, common as muck. Beauty’s nothing to an Orlov, it’s breeding that counts. You won’t catch that great pike without twenty pages in the Almanach to bait your hook, let me tell you.’

  ‘What almanack?’ Marie’s feeble voice inquired from the corner. The coach lurched again as it turned onto a wide bridge over the Neva, and continued to oscillate rhythmically as the horses gathered speed.

  ‘What Almanach! Listen to the dear dumb kitten! There’s only one Almanach you need to consult, the Almanach de Gotha, the register of all the noble houses of Europe, essential reading for every amateur fortune hunter in the Western world. Whoops! Here we go again!’

  Another violent shudder marked the carriage’s turn along the river embankment.

  ‘Mischa, make them stop.’ Marie suddenly dragged herself to her feet. ‘I’m going to be sick, I know it. Quick, quick!’