At that moment when she felt on the verge of dying, she heard screaming, her own voice, and remembering the child pulled Orlov’s hand to her mouth. In their ecstasy he felt nothing when she bit through the fleshy edge of his palm. They looked in amazement at the smeared blood in the morning.
Through the small window, a ray of pale sunlight slowly strengthened, reached the table and brought the brilliant stones of the necklace to life.
‘You are right,’ he said at last, standing over the jewel and pushing it into a crescent with the tip of one finger. ‘This could betray you. It’s too big, and even an ignorant eye could see that it must be the property of a great family. My mother was often painted in it.’
‘The boy doesn’t wake early, but he may hear us.’ She was buttoning her dress, shaking out its creases. He did not respond, so she crossed the room and offered boldly to tuck in his shirt. ‘It is the Orlov necklace, it should stay with you. Maybe…’
‘I haven’t got any faith in “maybe”.’ He spoke with difficulty. The instinct that he had given her a child was choking him.
‘But you must hope.’
Kolya’s sleepy voice murmured from the next room.
In the next instant Orlov kissed her for the last time. ‘Go and see to him. I’ll put these back in the safe.’
The child’s bed creaked and he appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes.
‘But the house will be unguarded. A safe only tells thieves where the valuables are – shouldn’t we send them to Fabergé? Or to a bank?’
‘If things break down, there will be looting, mobs on the streets – a bank won’t be safe.’
They looked at each other uncertainly while the child came to the table and made the jade leaves on the willow twigs swing at his touch.
‘Peasants hide things under the floors, in the chimney …’ They thought of the rooms downstairs, the parquet waxed to the sheen of satin, the walls hung with silk.
‘The walls in the scullery are only whitewashed. There is a chimney, it used to be for the copper until we built the laundry room.’
‘Very well.’ He poured the necklace back into its case and snapped it shut. ‘We shall wall up the treasure like Electra. Tell Mischa to bring me some tools, then send him away. No one must know except us.’
Later when darkness gathered the servants became tearful. As the time of their departure approached Kolya too began to weep, and Charlotte’s eyes were brimming as she comforted him. All the small household gathered unbidden in the hallway, and together they observed the peasant custom of sitting down and crossing themselves before a journey. Orlov, in a plain coat borrowed from his driver, came with them to the Finland station and saw them installed on the train under the care of a young marine officer.
The journey northwards was wearying but uneventful. The train crawled across flat tracts of snow, whether land or lake it was impossible to tell. They saw a few elk, and men hunting them from sledges. Kolya ran up and down the corridors and the sailors spoiled him, taught him their ribald songs and gave him hard biscuits from their rations which dispatched two of his baby teeth.
Charlotte leaned in a corner by the window, fear and sensuality churning painfully in her mind. Her eyes smarted from gazing at the snow. She was afraid for Orlov, afraid for the boy and afraid for herself, now that she knew what terrible excesses she could commit. Her roused senses would not be subdued, and she forced her mind to find distractions. Never had she imagined so many hues of white. What a strange beauty this desolate landscape had, with the snow to hide its black marshes. Only a few trees, stunted and tortured by the howling winds, stuck through the blanket of whiteness as reminders of the ugliness beneath. She had a pencil and a sketch pad, packed for the child, but seeing him already amused she took them herself and began to draw.
On their first day at sea the news of the abdication of the Tsar was telegraphed to the ship and announced to the handful of passengers by the Captain. The voyage continued through the savage, grey waters until they reached Aberdeen at the end of March. In London, Charlotte found her family in mourning for her two brothers and the fiancé of her elder sister. Their mother was fading towards her own end at last. German U-boats had sunk hundreds of merchant ships in the Atlantic and no line was willing to accept passengers.
She felt a stranger in England, and even more of a stranger in her family home. People bemoaned the bread rationing, and were offended when she told them they had no idea of real hardship. Her sisters were cold, and before long she understood that they were jealous, because she had a man, and he was safe and alive, and did not deserve to be. The older girl called him a coward outright, and Charlotte sensed the hostility of others in their circle. The smug, petty pretensions of the English disgusted her.
She applied for permission to visit Walter at the internment camp, and found him brawny from working in potato fields and as excited as a puppy to see her. ‘I didn’t think you’d come back,’ he confessed, looking at his coarsened hands. ‘You seemed so set on being in Russia, even before the war. I wish we could be married now – the day the war’s over and they let me out of this place. No more waiting! Say you agree … why not Gretna Green, if that’s what we have to do.’
Kolya developed bronchitis, and she herself felt weak and blamed the dirty air of London. Two letters came from Orlov, hastily written, telling her of his new appointment under the provisional government of Prince Lvov. They seemed plain and unaffectionate to her, although he signed himself ‘Devotedly – Niki’.
The first convoy of merchant ships arrived in London under navy escort from Gibraltar in June. Using money from the account, she paid an absurd price for a passage to Marseilles for herself and Kolya.
In the blazing heat of high summer, they arrived at the Villa Cassandra to find twenty people lunching under an awning on the terrace. Flowers cascaded from every pillar and a miasma of perfumes, cologne, cigarette smoke and garlic hung in the hot air.
Charlotte, having for months imagined Lydia as a frail invalid, was stunned to silence by the sight of her – raucous at the head of the table, her hair cut short and curled, her face heavily made up. She was smoking a cigarette in a white agate holder, and her low-cut afternoon gown of flame-red chiffon caught with black silk roses revealed rounded arms and a swelling bosom. In fact, she was plump.
Kolya ran to his mother immediately and snuggled awkwardly into her side, leaving Charlotte to stand alone, struggling with her emotions. Eventually Lydia greeted her, giving her perfunctory kisses on both cheeks. ‘My poor dear, you must have endured a terrible journey. Tell us about it when you have recovered your strength,’ was her final word of greeting, and a maid showed Charlotte to a small, stuffy room at the back of the house.
She found Lydia utterly changed, but wondered later if, in her innocence and inexperience as a young girl in Petersburg, she had not merely been blind to the woman’s true nature all along. When the trunk of winter clothes was opened, the seams slit and the jewels revealed, Lydia flew into a temper and demanded to know how she was expected to maintain her position on the Côte without the Orlov necklace.
‘You lying bitch – don’t tell me he sent you here without it!’ Even her voice had become shrill. ‘You’ve stolen it, haven’t you? Your worthless family in London will be living off my necklace for the rest of their lives!’
For an instant, Kolya’s loyalty wavered. ‘Papa wouldn’t like you to talk to Charlotte like that. It’s my fault we didn’t bring it, Mama. They wanted to hide it in my lion but I wouldn’t let them. Papa hid it in the wall, with your little trees because they were too heavy.’
‘Darling boy, such a good heart.’ His mother kissed his forehead without much feeling, leaving a smudge of red lipstick. ‘Well, who knows what else I’ve lost? Especially now. Petersburg is in chaos, I hear. Who would have dreamed that His Imperial Majesty would have to leave the throne? Extraordinary. It can’t be true. And when is the Prince coming?’
‘He did not say. Now t
hat he is in the new government … ?
‘Oh, he’s so stupid. I must write and tell him how much fun it is here.’ Lydia’s interest waned at once; she simply walked away, with Kolya trotting adoringly at her side.
In a few days Charlotte discovered a filthy child who lived around the kitchen and would not speak. Lydia’s new French maid whispered maliciously that it was Madame’s child, born in the first months of the war, which she hated and instructed the staff to ignore. ‘She hates the sight of it,’ the girl whispered. ‘She’s crazy. She pretends it belongs to one of us. There must be something bad, some secret about this child. After all, terrible things can happen to a woman in wartime. The old couple who were here in the beginning, they took it to the priest and he baptized it, so its name is Marie, but it doesn’t answer to anything.’
Charlotte felt that her heart was being cut to pieces. The silent waif preyed on her mind. Was she Orlov’s child too? Kolya, enchanted with his mother, and the sunshine, luxury and food which seemed to come with her, ignored his governess. She had no position in the unhappy household, and no respect for its members or its guests. There was enough Petersburg aristocracy on the Côte d’Azur for parties every night. For patriotism they disbelieved all bad news, and toasted God, the Tsar and victory. A tragedy was considered to be the rationing of dress fabric to four metres per outfit.
Kolya was safe, his little fortune had been delivered. She could leave, and felt unwanted, but leaving would sever her last tie with Petersburg, and end her seven enchanted years. At home there was the war, her sour family, and poor Walter. And here was the silent child. She resolved to speak to Lydia.
‘What child?’ She was shuffling a pack of tarot cards, waiting for the arrival of a new acquaintance, a former opera singer who now made her living telling fortunes.
‘The child who hangs around the kitchen.’
‘I haven’t seen it. What is this nonsense?’ She cut the pack, slapping the cards together as she gathered them up again. A cigarette smouldered in the holder.
‘It’s a girl, she can’t speak. I have been told that you … that the child …’
Lydia cut the pack again, and turned up a card. ‘The Empress, but reversed. Hmm. Charlotte, let us be direct. We are grown women. Instead of talking rubbish about the cook’s brat in the kitchen – what about your child?’
‘My child?’
‘Yes, yours. Oh, the devil! My cigarette has gone out. Ring for a match.’ Charlotte did as she was bidden, carrying out an orderly search of her memory. Was it possible she could have conceived? In the terror of their flight from Petrograd, she had been aware of nothing but their safety, but she had no recollection of having a period in that time, or in England. Her light summer dresses were tight, but she wore them seldom and never felt as comfortable in them as she did in more familiar garments. Was it possible that in that last night in Petrograd, in that fearful, ecstatic surrender to her feelings, she had conceived Niki’s child?
The butler brought matches. Lydia told him to return in five minutes, but did not wait until he had left the room before continuing, ‘You look to me like a woman who is expecting a child in about four months. And how do you explain these?’ From a drawer in the table, she took the two letters from the Prince.
‘But … they were in my room.’ Her eyes were drawn to the mirror and she saw how rounded her face had become. Putting her hands in the pockets of her pink linen dress, she pulled it against her and looked at her silhouette. When she gained weight, it usually settled at her thighs and hips. There was now a definite fullness at her waist.
‘My room, Charlotte. My villa. And my Nikolai, however he thinks he can sign himself to you.’ She flicked over another card, making a great show of what a light matter this was to her. ‘The ten of swords. These cards warned me, you know. You slut! You viper! All these years under my roof and this is how you betray me. I pray to God my child has not been depraved by your evil influence. Now get out of my sight. I’ve had your things packed. The driver will take you to the station or wherever you want to go.’ She reached for the gold-mounted bell push and pressed its lapis lazuli centre to summon the butler. ‘This woman is leaving immediately, the car is waiting for her at the door.’
‘Goodbye, Madame.’ Charlotte spoke pleasantly, made a small, courteous bow, and walked to the door with a spring in her step. Instinctively, she knew that she was truly carrying a child, Orlov’s child, the child of a man so fine and extraordinary she had not dared even to think of loving him. She was to give life to a part of him, a part of the country she loved, a talisman of her magical years there. And she herself would be transformed, her life sent in a new direction as if knocked from its old orbit by a comet.
She knew that Kolya had been sent to the beach. Blessing the disloyalty of Lydia’s staff, she made the driver stop so she could walk down to say goodbye to him. But he was collecting shells, and did not show much interest.
20. London, 1990
‘Mum, I know this is really none of my business …’ Tom had been drifting around the house all day, pretending to pack his things for the new term at university. He had chosen to read history with history of art in Glasgow, and the thought had lain at the bottom of Bianca’s mind ever since his first term that he had deliberately chosen a university a long distance from London because he was uncomfortable at home. Tom would never confess such a thing, he had grown into a frighteningly contained individual, so she had to be content with guesswork.
‘What isn’t, darling?’
‘I’m thinking about the summer, really …’ He was drooping with embarrassment, his thick black hair falling to his nose. ‘Are we going to Italy again?’
‘Well, that’s what the house is for, isn’t it?’ Five years ago Bianca had decided that she had eaten enough confit d’oie to last a lifetime and traded the Dordogne house for one in Tuscany. ‘You all seem to enjoy it – don’t you want to go this year?’
‘No, it’s just … I wondered who else would be coming.’
‘This is about Alex, isn’t it? You mean will he be coming?’ She could see that he was relieved that she was not angry. ‘Probably not, darling. I don’t know how much further Alex and I have to go together, to tell you the truth.’
His serious grey eyes flashed optimism. ‘Well, you’ve been together quite a long time. You’re not upset, are you?’
She patted his cheek, a mannerism which he hated, meaning you’ve annoyed me so I can annoy you back. ‘We met nearly a year ago, that’s not long in an adult life. It’s nothing definite, you understand. Don’t discuss this with the others. I just know – well …’ She paused, trying to define the instinct which had prompted her. ‘I know what Alex is like, he’s a gypsy sort of person, not really wanting to stay anywhere long, and although I have been very happy with him, I know it isn’t for ever. That’s all.’
‘Oh, OK. That’s sort of what I guessed, anyway.’
‘Considering that your father and I are two of the most pig-headed, dogmatic people we know, I’m amazed we had such a reasonable son. I know you hate him, don’t worry, and I wouldn’t dream of taking him on holiday with us – that’s a promise. Anyway, he has to go to Russia again for me on business. So don’t fret.’
‘Can I invite someone?’
‘Yes, darling, of course, you know your friends are always welcome.’
‘I mean, a girl’
‘Do you mean a girlfriend?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Yes, of course you can. How nice for you.’ Tom had previously regarded girls as a duty, to be entertained in order to placate his peers rather than for their own sake. Bianca was pleased to see him ready to love, but mildly pained that her son should judge her own choice of companion unacceptable to the woman who had finally captured his attention.
‘I wondered if you were considering getting married or anything.’
‘Haven’t I always said I’d never get married again?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, just for the record, I won’t ever get married again and if I was even thinking it, you would be the first to know, OK?’
‘OK. I was just worried, that’s all.’
‘On whose account? Mine or yours?’
‘Well, yours. I mean, I know he makes you – er – happy and everything but …’
‘I think I’ve a right to enjoy being made happy for a few months, don’t you? It’s a new experience for me, I spent most of my life making other people happy.’ She regretted speaking harshly, especially to her son when his own emotions were leading him towards an attachment for the first time, but she also resented having to fight for the right to have just one, single, uncritical person beside her. Alex was dumb, a beautiful loser, but as far as he understood the word he loved her and at the end of every one of her tough days he had been there and had given her what she needed. It was the first time since Charlotte died that she had felt the energy of another human pouring into her, instead of her own energy ceaselessly draining into others.
None of the children had taken to him. Lizzie was dazzled by him, but only because Bianca had asked him to make an effort with them and he, knowing no other way to gain acceptance by a female, had flirted with the demure ten-year-old and charmed her into confusion. He had no idea how to relate to the boys. Orlando greeted his appearance by scowling, relapsing deeper into apathy and playing The Cure at full volume. The two eldest behaved with a politeness which eroded every time they encountered each other. Since both older boys were away at university much of the time, Orlando’s point of view was over-represented, but the fact remained that Alex was not a popular visitor at her home. Since he had clearly expected to live there, and Bianca had felt obliged to offer him the company’s flat, this had been a treble blow to their future.
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