White Ice

by Celia Brayfield

  The applause was rapturous throughout the first act and if the audience were disgusted by the Prince’s unusual exposure they showed no sign of it. Lydia and Leo were happy to give two encores, and Tata, who had been practising her dying fall for weeks with a mattress to save her bruises, collapsed without undue pain.

  Backstage was in an uproar during the interval, and the Director himself erupted through the door leading to his box, coat tails flying as he rushed in pursuit of Vaslav.

  Lydia, who was not needed for the second act, washed and changed while the elation of the performance drained away. She had hoped at least for a token from Orlov, but all her bouquets were from her fans. He had not sent so much as a rose. Was it foolish to hurry home and prepare herself for his arrival later? Common sense told her it was. He would not come. The dresser, who admired all her clothes, lovingly stroked her sable wrap before settling it around her shoulders, but nothing would warm her heart.

  As she made her way to the stage door she passed one of the management offices where Alexandrov, still in his costume, was in deep conversation with another man who was unseen behind the desk.

  ‘Are you sure, Mischa? She really was offended? I couldn’t see into the Imperial box from where I was.’ It was the Director speaking.

  ‘I’m positive. I could see everything, she was white with shock. It’s my belief she didn’t make a fuss out of respect for the other artists – she’s a wonderful person, so thoughtful about things like that.’ Once she had passed the doorway Lydia paused to eavesdrop.

  ‘Did you hear what she said? If only I could be sure. Vaslav’s a prodigy but this … it would be too much if the Empress had been offended. If that stupid boy causes a scandal at the Court I’d have to resign myself … the little fool, he’s running with a fast pack now he’s with Diaghilev. He’s just a kid, he doesn’t even know he’s being manipulated.’

  ‘Let me find out, why don’t you? I know the Empress’s lady-in-waiting well enough to ask her what was said. Although really I’m in no doubt. I’ve never seen her look so horrified as she did at his first entrance. If I can make use of your telephone later tonight I’ll find out from the horse’s mouth.’

  She heard the flap of his heavy cloak as he stood up, and hurried on before she was seen. To her surprise Leo, also in his street clothes, was waiting for her by the doorkeeper’s office.

  ‘I just thought …’ he began abruptly, then changed his mind and started again. ‘You’ve got quite a crowd tonight, I thought I’d see you to your carriage. Inna’s in the second act so she’ll be a while.’

  To her surprise she was pleased to see him and taken with his thoughtfulness. The ecstatic scenes of her early days of success had died away, but there was a small, loyal band of her admirers waiting outside, not nearly enough to make an escort necessary. ‘I suppose this is one way to pass the time – what do you usually do if you have to wait for her?’ she inquired casually as she signed some souvenir postcards for a dapper old man with a crystal-topped cane.

  ‘There’s a bar over there, the Stray Dog.’

  ‘Shall we go then?’ She tossed him a flirtatious look as she put the last picture back in the febrile kid-gloved hand, smiled gaily and tucked her arm through his. He hesitated, nonplussed, then muttered, ‘Well, just for half an hour’, and led her across the square.

  The Stray Dog was more of a night club than a bar, a wide, smoky room full of raucous conversations which almost drowned the saxophone trio on the small stage. Enjoying the attention she attracted with her smart sable evening wrap, Lydia boldly led the way through the crowded room to a vacant booth and asked for vodka.

  ‘Leo, tell me, could you see the Empress’s reaction when Vaslav made his entrance tonight?’

  ‘What reaction? She didn’t move. At least, it’s hard to tell from the wings …’

  ‘Mischa’s putting it about that she was scandalized.’

  The vodka was set in front of them without ceremony and Leo poured her a glass. At the next table a tall, melancholy woman in lilac silk, whose hair fell in a limp fringe to her Roman nose, complained to her escort that happiness made her feel smothered and was quite unbearable.

  ‘That’s rubbish.’ Leo gulped his drink without taking his eyes off her. ‘It’s all a plot, I’m sure of it. This is Sergei Pavlovich at work.’

  ‘How can it be? He’s in Paris.’

  ‘Don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. We both know that man’s got long arms.’

  The woman with the Roman nose flung a black shawl around her shoulders and Lydia was forced to duck to avoid tangling with it. ‘You know he’s putting his own company together?’

  ‘Precisely. And he can’t move without Vaslav, he’s the trump card in Paris, and they’ll never let Vaslav go. He’s a sensation but he’s too young and he hasn’t got enough clout to bargain with the Director.’

  ‘So this way, Vaslav creates a scandal, Mischa’s paid to fan the flames, the Director is forced to chuck Vaslav out …’

  ‘And he’s free to join Sergei Pavlovich at once. Clever huh?’

  Lydia finished her glass and, unconsciously companionable, pushed it towards him to be refilled.

  ‘A hard-drinking life, is it, among the aristocracy?’

  ‘Don’t be bitter, Leo.’

  ‘I’m not bitter, just surprised. I thought it would be French champagne every night.’

  ‘It is. Tonight I fancied a change. Have they asked you to join this famous Diaghilev company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And …’ There was a commotion as the woman with the Roman nose was joined by two friends. They pulled out sheaves of paper from their bags, passed them around and began to read out loud around the table.

  ‘And I refused.’

  ‘But you could do anything you wanted with him – all those dreams you’ve had, new ideas, new styles …’

  ‘I know. I was tempted but it wasn’t really a hard decision. He asked Inna too, and she will go, but I need my salary. I wouldn’t get much of a look-in with Fokine in the company already. Leon Samilovich has fallen out with him, he expected to be appointed artistic director and Sergei Pavlovich chose someone else. And for all he’s so persuasive, he can’t get really first-rate dancers. Kchessinskaya’s broken her contract with him, which says a lot. And we all need to eat, it seems. He’s got Tata, granted, and I think Lulu Kyasht will do a season, but he’s scratching round in Moscow looking for people and I heard he’s had to go to Warsaw for the corps. Fatal. They just aren’t good enough.’

  The poetry reading at the next table was gradually dominating their corner of the room, as more and more people fell silent to listen. Lydia sipped her vodka without speaking for a while and let her thoughts wander. Would her sable wrap be stolen in this rough dive? If things went badly with Orlov this lousy place would be what she would be reduced to for amusement – but was she really so desperate she needed to lead on poor Leo?

  ‘I’d go with Diaghilev if you went,’ Leo said suddenly, shooting one of his old penetrating stares at her.

  ‘I won’t go. I hate the man, I don’t trust him, I don’t believe those stories about Paris and I want to stay here in Petersburg …’

  As she spoke the shadows of sadness deepened around her eyes. He had heard gossip that her protector was neglecting her, but decided not to pry for fear of making her angry.

  ‘You’re very beautiful tonight.’

  ‘You’re very corny.’

  ‘That’s not so bad, is it? Would you like me to get one of these poets to be my Cyrano and give me better words?’

  A weak smile illuminated her face. ‘Aren’t they ugly? Look at that man with a pointed head, like an egg on legs.’

  ‘But what about his soul?’

  ‘I can’t see that, can I? All I know is he spoils the view right now.’

  They fell silent again, although she glanced furtively at her little diamond watch and saw that nearly an hour had passed. The thought of Inna in a jealous
fret was comforting.

  Leo drained the last of the vodka into his glass and drank it as if he needed courage. ‘I’ve been given a new ballet after Easter, quite a big number.’

  ‘Well done.’

  ‘Salome attracts me very much.’

  ‘She had that effect on men, so I understand.’

  ‘Leon Samilovich will design it.’

  ‘Wonderful for you.’ Their eyes met as if by long-arranged appointment. The poets concluded their reading to a ragged outburst of clapping and stamping.

  ‘So whose head would La Kusminskaya like on a plate?’

  ‘Better not ask,’ she smiled and, before she knew what she was doing, leaned across the table and kissed him.

  Her spirits in general were so low that within two days she was on the point of changing her mind. Orlov visited her, but had little to say other than to warn her that he would be travelling the country for some weeks. He admired the boy, bestowed a brief embrace upon her then unwound her arms from his neck and departed.

  Lydia collapsed in despondency. She rehearsed their conversation a hundred times in her mind, searching for double meanings in her lover’s words, and then fell prey to violent doubt about her life in general. Was it really wise to agree to do another ballet with Leo? He had been clever, but everyone knew that at bottom he was another revolutionary like Fokine, and the association surely would harm her. He had done his last two ballets with Inna, who obviously fancied herself a far better dancer than she really was. And if Tata and one or two others joined Diaghilev, there would be more good roles for younger dancers. On the other hand, Tata’s advancement, and the great improvement in her dancing in the past year, were due to her success with Diaghilev; had she been wise to spurn his approaches?

  ‘Are you quite well, Madame?’ the governess inquired, hearing her sigh deeply. It was the late afternoon, when the baby Kolya was brought to play with his mother, but Charlotte had long ago ceased to expect Lydia to take much notice of him. She watched him closely as he staggered cheerfully around the room. The tables were crowded with trinkets – snuffboxes, picture frames and the little animals carved in agate or quartz with diamond eyes which the Prince used to pick up at Fabergé to charm his mistress in happier days – and if the child was not supervised closely he would amuse himself by throwing them into the fire.

  ‘I’m well, Charlotte – it’s just that life is so difficult. Everything used to be simple, and now – I can’t make up my mind about anything. What do you think – should I agree to do a new ballet with Leo Volinsky?’

  ‘Oh yes, Madame.’ The girl had a very definite way of speaking, using few words with an air of absolute certainty. ‘You’ve told me that he is the best young choreographer in the company and it seems to be a general opinion.’

  ‘But it will be a lot of work and I may lose the opportunity to do one of the big classic ballets if I do it.’

  ‘It will attract a lot of attention though, being a première.’

  ‘That’s true. But suppose …’ She was about to say that if the Prince renewed his affection for her she would need to give him all her time, but the possibility seemed sadly unlikely.

  Charlotte guessed her train of thought. ‘His Highness has always admired Monsieur Volinsky’s work. I think he told me that it was his first ballet which brought you together?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lydia sighed again. She did not feel it was proper to discuss her love affair with the governess, but since the girl visited the Orlov Palace every day to work in the library she might have heard useful gossip. ‘Tell me what is your impression of His Highness, Charlotte? What are people saying?’ She felt her cool expression breaking up as she tried to control her emotions. ‘You know what I mean, Charlotte, I mean – what’s the matter? Is it something I’ve done, does he talk about me at all? I’m at my wits’end with him, I don’t know what to do …’ She silenced herself, afraid of breaking into tears.

  The girl straightened her angular shoulders, having clearly anticipated the question. ‘He is preoccupied with his work, Madame.’

  ‘Oh, that …’

  ‘He has been charged with implementing the Tsar’s plan for the reorganization of all the armed forces, Madame. It must be a terrible responsibility, he talks of nothing else.’

  ‘But that doesn’t take up all his time, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Davidov, his valet, has to wait up until past midnight for him to return from the Ministry, Madame. I do assure you that if he is able to leave at a reasonable hour, then he calls upon you and nobody else. And if I have a query for him I have to wait for weeks sometimes before I can see him.’ Incomprehensible as Lydia found this explanation, she knew it must be the truth. Charlotte was a transparently honest creature without the imagination to invent anything, even when it would be politic to do so.

  ‘Still, if he loved me he would contrive to pay me more attention,’ Lydia murmured, half to herself.

  ‘His Highness recalls all your ballets with real pride, Madame. He often tells me how much pleasure your dancing gave him, how incomparable is your talent.’ Flattery was also beyond this plain girl’s capabilities, so Lydia pondered the significance of this observation.

  ‘Do you mean you think he would be pleased if I did something new?’

  ‘I believe he would, Madame.’

  The notion pierced her despondency like a sunbeam. All at once she was resolved. ‘Then that is what I shall do.’

  The young governess could not guess, and her mistress herself chose not to contemplate, a more personal reason for the blight on their love. Both Lydia and Orlov had been scarred by the suffering and ugliness which had attended the birth of their child, but in agreeing never to inflict the experience on Lydia again they had put a curb on their passion. The restraint was fatal to the Prince’s desire. He came to bed to lose himself, and the need to be careful prevented it. Calculating her least fertile days and monitoring his sensations to make sure that he did not ejaculate inside her body left him too conscious for true abandoned pleasure. Lydia also had changed. The delight she had first felt in making love had evaporated; most of her feelings seemed dead, and in their place had arisen a queasy terror.

  Being a man of considerable pride and some conscience, Orlov could not resolve the decline of his libido by discarding his mistress and his child. If challenged – but she had been careful not to confront him – he would have protested that he loved her as much as ever. He found Lydia’s company relaxing for a short time but irritating in long periods. Cerebral distractions could not blunt the desires which she had awakened in him, but the call to serve his Emperor, protect his country and apply his intellect to ordering a small part of the chaos which amounted to its government was more powerful. The Imperial decree to restructure the armed forces of all the Russias had not only relieved his frustration, but allayed some of the despair which had precipitated it. He allowed himself to drift into this new obsession without ever acknowledging that the old one had passed.

  Orlov travelled the immense breadth of the empire on a self-imposed mission to see his orders carried out. It was not an inspiring journey. The army and reserves accounted for more than six million men; the navy, desperately depleted since the defeats of the war with Japan, raised the total closer to seven million. Russia’s potential defenders were as numerous as the population of the largest cities in the world, and throughout this multitude he heard the same complaints, with cynicism from the Uhlan commanders in Poland, fatalistically from the Kalmuks in Mongolia, with passion from battle-scarred Cossack leaders who hacked their boots with their whips in frustration, with no expression from the Caucasians whose men put their trust in Allah and silkily, diplomatically from the admirals commanding what the Japanese had left of the Baltic and Pacific fleets.

  All these men were wary, being sure that a high official from Petersburg could not be visiting their distant province simply to see the plans on his desk in operation. He had needed to gain their confidence, and then they had
offered him a single opinion. The plan was unworkable. Its emphasis was all on mobilization, the question of supplying the troops in the field had been neglected. It did not answer their needs, which were urgent. There had been mutinies, fomented by Bolsheviks, anarchists and democrats in the ranks. The commanders had been tough, but brutality alone treated symptoms, not the disease. Morale was low and training was a priority. At this point his informants to a man had paused, gazed thoughtfully at their boots or stroked their moustaches, then approached with the greatest delicacy they could manage the suggestion that training officers, especially senior officers, was the most pressing necessity of all, especially since – and here the speakers had regained their confidence – so many experienced commanders had died heroically in the war with Japan.

  Orlov returned dismayed but resolute. The plan needed immediate modification, but since this opinion had been impudently advanced by the new parliament as soon as His Imperial Majesty had announced his intentions, the Prince gave much thought to the best way to get his views accepted, but he was no diplomat, and his superiors dismissed his proposals with alarm. A man of his stature could not be dispatched to the kind of post which usually removed a thorn from the government’s side, commanding the labour camps in Siberia or the garrison in Vladivostok. Within a month of his return to the capital he was elevated to the office administering the Imperial Household Regiments and the Tsar himself invested him with the diamond star of the Order of St Gabriel, a decoration in his personal gift.

  Thus on the night of the première of The Legend of Salome he was driven through the April slush to the Maryinsky Theatre in a troubled mood. Attending the event was, as he saw it, another duty necessitated by his position in the world. His guests, whom Lydia had invited, were General Count Besobrasov, an erudite elderly balletomane whose conversation he had much enjoyed in the days of his first enthusiasm for the dance, and his wife. They sensed their host’s abstracted mood and, after a few gracious remarks, fell quiet, content in the expectation of the great spectacle to come.