‘Tasha, little one,’ said Olga, ‘you are not to.’
‘I’m almost as big as you,’ said Tatiana, ‘and what am I not to do?’
‘You are not to be so forward.’
Tatiana gurgled. Olga was so absurdly sensitive, she felt the mistakes of all of them.
‘But, Olga, he’s Mama’s own guest and we simply can’t neglect him, we must make the nicest fuss of him.’
Olga smiled. Tatiana was irresistible.
They left the pool. Kirby sat under the trees, on the grass, his back against a broad trunk. Alexis showed him his personal possessions, including very useful bits of string, an onyx button and a glossy, shining chestnut. One never knew, he said, when a chestnut might not be just the thing. As man to man, Kirby agreed. If another chestnut could be found, then there’d be enough to play conkers. It was a game, he informed them, that everyone in England played with chestnuts. And in the warm sunshine of the afternoon Kirby came to know the children of the Tsar. He thought them utterly natural, uninhibited and unspoiled. They took as much pleasure in simple things as all other children. This was how their parents governed their formative years.
Tatiana dropped to her knees, unable to resist the temptation of claiming his attention. Olga remained standing, quietly absorbed, looking when she knew his eyes were elsewhere and wondering how he came to be so brown and sinewy, so much in command of situations. His teeth were white when he smiled and he smiled often. He made Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia giggle until they were having fits.
‘It can’t be,’ Tatiana was saying.
‘Yes, it’s what they call a bunny-wobble,’ he said.
‘What is?’ asked Olga, who had missed the previous exchanges in her absorption of other things.
‘What I was describing to Tatiana,’ he said, ‘a bustle on a stout lady at Ascot.’
Marie shrieked, Anastasia rolled about.
‘Ivan Ivanovich,’ cried Tatiana, ‘you’re dreadful.’
‘Bustles,’ said Olga, ‘aren’t worn any more, not by any ladies.’
‘Well, you see,’ he said, ‘it was the bunny-wobble look that did that.’
He glanced up at her. She was standing in light and shade, the light caressing her, the shade softening her. Her blue eyes were bright with laughter, her face golden from the sun and framed by her shining hair. He had never seen a girl so young and so beautiful. Girls of sixteen were usually sweet but awkward, hesitating between youth and maturity. Olga was bewitching.
‘Mr Kirby,’ she said, ‘I don’t think you’ve ever seen a bustle.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Alexis, ‘but uniforms are much better and I’ve seen heaps of those. Of course,’ he said to Kirby, ‘we don’t have to be with girls all the time, you know. They can go and have their tea, we can have ours here.’
‘Alexis.’ A calm, modulated voice broke in. It was the Empress, cool in white linen, her parasol shading her from the sun. She was rarely without her parasol at Livadia, though her daughters lifted their faces to the sun day in, day out. ‘Alexis, where is Derevenko?’
Derevenko was a sailor whose one duty was to watch over the Tsarevich and prevent him tumbling and chasing about too energetically. The slightest knock could produce a haemophiliac condition of agonizing duration.
‘He’s over there, Mama,’ said Alexis. Kirby had risen and Alexis took his hand to establish proprietary rights over their new friend. Alexandra did not miss the gesture. She smiled.
‘Were you teasing your sisters, Aleky?’ she asked.
‘Only a little,’ the boy said, and he made it sound as if not every person his size could get the better of four girls all bigger than he was.
‘And the girls were teasing you, I suppose, Mr Kirby?’ said Alexandra.
‘Only a little,’ he said.
‘Come, let’s all have tea,’ said Alexandra.
It was served on one of the lawns. The Tsar joined them, so did Anna. Nicholas regaled his family with an amusing account of how Mr Kirby had fallen into the tennis net. Olga, a hand smothering her mirth, caught Kirby’s glance. He seemed as amused as any of them. She thought him the most agreeable and good-humoured of men.
Afterwards she managed to find him as he wandered around the rose beds.
‘Mr Kirby, there you are.’
‘Your Highness? Am I wanted?’
‘Wanted? Oh, no,’ she said, ‘it’s only that Papa is perhaps not very kind to make everyone laugh at your expense, but he doesn’t mean to be. Truly, he couldn’t be unkind to anyone.’
‘I know.’ He put out a hand and touched the richness of a red rosebud. ‘I didn’t mind a bit.’
‘I think,’ she began and left it at that. She looked at the rose he was touching.
‘What is it you think, Highness?’
‘That it’s nice you’re here,’ she said, and was immediately in hot confusion at so committing her feelings. ‘Well,’ she hastened on, ‘the children are all going to watch Alexis drilling you tomorrow and—’
‘And that should be very nice,’ he smiled. ‘That is,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘how nice will it be for me? Are there penalties involved for incompetence, do you know? Imagine being incompetent in front of Grand Duchesses.’
Grand Duchess Olga permitted herself an impulsive indulgence. ‘And Anna too,’ she said, ‘as well as General Sikorski, Monsieur Gilliard and Countess Borodinsky. Alexis is inviting everyone to be there, Mama and Papa too.’
‘Oh good heavens,’ he said.
‘Mr Kirby,’ she said, ‘you simply can’t be incompetent now, can you?’
‘Not in front of General Sikorski, at least,’ he said. She was looking away, leaning a little in closer inspection of the red roses. ‘Your Highness, can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not pulling my leg?’
Olga straightened up. She was laughing.
‘Oh, I’m awful, I couldn’t resist it,’ she said. The evening sunlight touched her hair with red-gold fire. Then she said, ‘Did Princess Aleka Petrovna mind that you came? Mama invited her too but of course she could not leave her guests.’
‘She didn’t mind a bit,’ he said.
‘She is very beautiful,’ said Olga.
‘Very,’ he said. She glimpsed his teeth as he smiled. ‘Frighteningly,’ he added.
Somehow she thought he was laughing at himself.
He found himself at dinner that evening with the Imperial family, in their own private dining room. He knew this was a compliment, for apart from Anna Vyrubova he was the only outsider present. And Anna was not an outsider herself, she seemed one with the family. The younger children had had their supper and were at prayers before going to bed, only Olga being at dinner. But she was sixteen and incontestably a young lady, in a gown of deep purple.
The meal was a pleasant surprise to Kirby after the sumptuous menus of Karinshka. The Tsar liked the plainest Russian dishes, soups, fish, bread and fruit. The conversation was simple and unaffected, and laughter was easily come by.
‘Papa,’ said Olga demurely, ‘will General Sikorski be better tomorrow?’
‘My love,’ said Nicholas, ‘the general has said that while there’s a younger man to run about on the other side of the court, he’d prefer to rest his aching bones.’
‘My aching bones are at your service, sir,’ said Kirby.
‘You can’t deceive me like that, my dear fellow,’ said Nicholas, ‘you mean to have your revenge tomorrow. But you’ll see, Olga, there’s always some way to beat the enemy.’
‘Yes, I know, Papa, I’ve already seen your way,’ said Olga, ‘you play the most dreadful shot and he turns somersaults trying to get it back.’
‘My dear,’ said Nicholas to Alexandra, ‘do you hear that from our own child?’
‘I’m not quite sure what it all means,’ said Alexandra, ‘but it sounds very unfair to poor Mr Kirby.’
‘I think,’ said Kirby in a theatrical aside to Anna, ‘that I now know why General Sikorski keeps out of the way.’
Olga could hardly suppress her merriment. Her shyness was forgotten. She only felt very happy.
Livadia was idyllic. Its atmosphere of tranquillity and graciousness enchanted Kirby, the Imperial family charmed him. Their modesty, their warmth and their total lack of affectation were constant. He played tennis with Nicholas, and whenever she could Alexandra showed her liking for him by requesting that he come and talk with her. The Grand Duchesses and the Tsarevich escaped from their tutor immediately at the end of every lesson to look for him and have him play games with them. He drilled with Alexis. This put the younger girls into fits, Alexis so important and the tall Englishman so drily comical. He swore he would never know his right from his left. Alexis told him not to worry, it would come to him in the end. Old General Sikorski, a great favourite who was always at Livadia, looked on and said that as a soldier Ivan Ivanovich from England would make a very fine sailor.
Kirby bathed with the family off their private beach. Nicholas bathed whenever he could, so did the children. Alexandra did not, but sat on a beach chair under her parasol with Anna Vyrubova. The young girls were like nymphs in their bathing costumes. Tatiana was slender, Olga slender too but with perceptible shapeliness. In her costume of blue and white shyness returned. There was nowhere she could hide on the first occasion she presented herself to Kirby on the beach, but he made nothing of it, put out his hand, and they ran into the water together.
Nicholas liked the open air, he liked exercise and most of all he liked tennis. When he was not on the beach or attending to state business in his retreat, he found his way to the tennis court. Whenever he played with Kirby, Olga and Tatiana made every excuse they could to steal time off from their studies so that they could sit by the side of the court and watch. Not that they were onerously tutored at Livadia, only that there was always some subject they had to keep up with.
Tatiana was beginning to affect a sighing infatuation for the Englishman, declaring him to be soulfully disturbing to a girl. Olga’s reaction was to suggest to Tatiana that she should not make remarks he might overhear.
‘I wish he would hear,’ said Tatiana, as they sat on the bench by the court, ‘but he is shockingly oblivious.’
‘And you are shockingly yourself.’
‘What a pity he isn’t a prince,’ said Tatiana, swinging her legs and displaying ankles amid frothy white, ‘he would do very well for me.’
‘That is silly.’
‘It isn’t,’ insisted Tatiana. ‘One has to think about these things when one is a growing young woman as I am.’
‘You aren’t, you’re only cheeky. Besides, even if he were a prince he’d never marry a chatterbox like you.’
‘Yes, he would,’ said Tatiana, ‘my chatter would amuse him and he likes being amused. You would never do for him.’
‘Oh, monkey!’ cried Olga and tweaked a tress of her sister’s auburn hair.
‘Is the zoo now open?’ asked a masculine voice. Olga hastily let go. Kirby was there, picking up a wandering ball.
‘It’s all because I’m a chatterbox,’ Tatiana said to him.
‘I like chatterboxes,’ said Kirby and returned to the court.
‘There, didn’t I say so?’ said Tatiana in triumph.
‘He only meant that he likes children,’ said Olga sweetly.
This time it was Olga who had her hair pulled. Then Tatiana fled, Olga in swift pursuit. Shrieks pierced the tranquillity. Olga returned sedately, seated herself on the white bench again, put her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin in her hands and watched the game to its end.
In the gardens one day Alexandra said to Kirby, ‘We must all do as the children do and call you Ivan Ivanovich. It’s impossible to keep calling you Mr Kirby when you are so much our friend now, and when you’ve been very kind to a rather tedious woman who has enjoyed your conversation so much. One day I’m sure the Tsar and I will visit England again, and you shall receive us at Walton if you’re there and if you will.’
‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘there are times, you know, when your own kindness leaves me with absolutely nothing to say. What is there I can say except that you and all the Imperial family make Livadia what it is, and that I love it very much. Your friendship I cherish and always will.’
‘You are the nicest man, Ivan Ivanovich,’ said Alexandra.
He was known as Ivan Ivanovich to all the Imperial family then. To all, that is, except Olga. She still addressed him as Mr Kirby. He did not comment on it. Her ways and her reasons were her own. They made her what she was, herself.
She came running one afternoon in chase of Tatiana, who knew only too well how deliciously to outrage her elder sister. As he turned the corner of the balustraded terrace Olga ran straight into his arms. For one unrehearsed moment she was a breathless warmth and softness against him. He was conscious of innocence in confusion. He released her almost at once.
Her blood rushed. She turned so that her tumbled, sunbright hair hid her scarlet face.
‘I thought for a moment that Anna Vyrubova and I had collided again,’ he said lightly. ‘If you’re looking for Tatiana, she’s gone that way, but don’t say I said so. She and I are friends at the moment.’
‘Mr Kirby, I’m so sorry,’ she said, the breathlessness in her voice. ‘I’m no better than the children, rushing about like that.’
‘Highness, suppose we rush about together and surround your sister? I never act my age, either, I like to forget it.’
He put out his hand, and Anna Vyrubova, coming on to the terrace to look for Alexis, saw Olga flying over green lawns hand in hand with Ivan Ivanovich, her face turned to the sun and radiant with the joy of being alive.
How happy the Grand Duchess was. How kind Ivan Ivanovich was, spending so much of his time in company with all the children.
Livadia seemed even lovelier these days.
‘Olga darling,’ said Alexandra, ‘why do you still call him Mr Kirby? It sounds so formal now.’
‘Does it, Mama? I hadn’t thought.’
‘Well, it does, my sweet. Don’t you like him?’
‘Oh, he is quite nice and very good at tennis.’ Olga went to the window of her mother’s boudoir and looked at the distant mountain tops.
‘Oh dear, that sounds as if you don’t like him,’ said Alexandra.
‘Mama, one could not dislike Mr Kirby. Do you know, I think there’s still some snow on the mountains.’
It was very unlike Olga, thought Alexandra, to turn her back when one was speaking to her.
‘Olga my love, come here.’
Olga came slowly from the window and Alexandra saw that pink was burning her cheeks. If Alexandra was not an intellectual she did not lack perception where her family was concerned. A little dismay attacked her. She covered it with a warm, affectionate smile.
‘Darling, you’re growing up, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Soon, in a few years Papa and I will have to think about—’
‘Oh, Mama, no! I am happy with you and Papa, I am not to be married, not even in a few years – not for many years – Mama, please.’
Alexandra felt heartache. She too had been young, she too had had her dreams.
‘Of course you don’t want to get married, darling. Who does at sixteen?’
It was as well that Mr Kirby’s visit was ending in a few days.
That evening Alexandra said to Nicholas, ‘What do you think of our new English friend now that you know him so well?’
‘Utterly splendid fellow,’ said Nicholas, enjoying his cigarette. ‘Plays a devilishly sporting game of tennis and is never a bore. Doesn’t push himself, either. Extremely discreet on politics in case he offends.’
‘Yes, he’s always very gracious,’ said Alexandra. ‘Nicky, you don’t think perhaps he has his own reasons for being ingratiating, do you?’
‘My love,’ said Nicholas, ‘we invited him here ourselves, he didn’t arrive on our doorstep with an ingratiating smile.’
‘I confess I like him very muc
h,’ said Alexandra, ‘but would it be terribly unkind of us if we find out a little more about him? We really know nothing at all.’
‘Ah,’ smiled Nicholas, ‘you’ve a reason for asking that.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing important,’ said Alexandra, not wanting even with Nicholas to embroil Olga in something she herself could have been mistaken about. ‘It’s just that it would be nice to know more about him.’
‘Well, he seems the most decent chap to me,’ said Nicholas, ‘but perhaps you’re right, especially if we’re to see more of him.’
‘I’ll leave it all to you, my love,’ said Alexandra contentedly.
Nicholas spoke later to one of his secretaries. Several weeks afterwards he received a written report, emanating from England. It was entirely satisfactory. John Kirby owned a cottage at Walton-on-Thames, occupied by a relative of his called Charlotte Kirby. He was the son of a deceased army colonel and was a man of independent means who had travelled extensively.
It pleased Alexandra. She liked him very much and although it was entirely unsuitable for Olga to conceive an excessive liking for him, she was sure that Olga would never forget she was the daughter of the Tsar.
* * *
It had been ten days of pure pleasure for Kirby. And it had been a revelationary and blissful ten days for Karita. She adored Livadia. It was beautiful, peaceful, and warm with charm and friendliness. Karinshka had its excitement and gaiety, its lovely and temperamental princess, but it did not have such beauty, such grandeur and yet such simplicity. Nor did it have the Imperial family.
The Emperor had spoken to her, smiled at her, complimented her. The Empress was kindness itself. And the children. Adorable. Karita loved every one of them. Because, to them, she belonged to Ivan Ivanovich, their newest best friend, she too was their friend, and sometimes they came to her and asked her to do this or that for them.
Kirby found her in his suite once with tears in her eyes.
‘Who has upset you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no one has,’ she said. ‘It’s the children. Monsieur, I’ve heard people say things about the Imperial family and I know now they were ignorant people. Never, never, will I ever believe what people tell me, only what I see with my own eyes. Oh, I’m so glad I came with you, it has taught me so much, it has taught me that our Tsar is a good man who loves people. Now I know what I shall say to ignorant ones when they speak lies to me. I shall—’
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