The Summer Day is Done

by Mary Jane Staples

  They had lunch in a first-floor restaurant overlooking the pleasantest part of the harbour. It was so proud and exclusive an establishment that Olga thought the head waiter more vainglorious than a court chamberlain. She was not recognized, but her shy loveliness enchanted the courteous waiters who could not do enough to help her select from the menu. She and Kirby sat at a table in the far corner, with windows bringing sea views to them. There were deep red curtains and snowy-white tablecloths, polished silver and crystal glassware. The activity of the harbour was only a lazy movement of boats and boatmen. The steamer from Sevastopol was in, seeming to loll in idle obliviousness of its imminent departure.

  They were served with smoked herring and sliced cucumber, and because Olga did not at all mind more fish they followed with a dish of salmon, hot and luscious in thick, creamy sauce. Olga, accustomed to the simple fare favoured by the Imperial family, declared it a banquet and doubted if she could do it justice. But she did. She ate in unaffected pleasure and enjoyment. She did not ask for wine and Kirby did not order any. He had a waiter bring a carafe of diluted lemon juice, sweetened and cooled.

  She had never dined out in public like this, and the sheer novelty of it was a delight. The restaurant became almost full. There were fascinating women in huge, flower-bedecked hats lunching with immaculately dressed men. The discreet ladies-in-waiting were there too, with the officers, but they were all as far from Olga as they could be and not once did they look inquisitively or knowingly at the Grand Duchess and her Englishman.

  ‘Everything is to your liking, Olga?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I assure you, you are looking after me very well,’ said Olga in demure seriousness. He was quite himself again in every way and it was no wonder with his brown, sinewy look that women threw him covert glances. ‘Do you know, I think you’re being looked at,’ she said. ‘I expect Tatiana would say it was because the ladies are finding you excessively handsome.’

  ‘Olga,’ he said, ‘they’re looking at you, not me. What would Tatiana say about that?’

  ‘She’d say it was because my face had turned black. You’re teasing me again, aren’t you? No one is really looking at me, are they?’ The possibility disconcerted her. She coloured a little. He felt a tender incredulity that she could be so diffident. It did not usually take a growing girl long to realize it was a pleasure far more than an embarrassment to be looked at and admired. Olga seemed an exception. Which was one reason why he loved her so much. He might see very little more of her. London might recall him. Aleka might inform on him. The latter would be far worse.

  ‘Well, you know,’ he said, ‘your hat alone is worth looking at.’ But his smile comforted her, told her she was not alone and did not have to suffer the curiosity of people by herself.

  They had strawberries with sugar and cream. They were pink, succulent, delicious. She said, ‘This is quite the most enjoyable outing. I feel so free, just like any ordinary girl.’ Then she wished she had said young lady.

  ‘But you’re not like any ordinary girl at all,’ he said, at which Olga’s eyes looked as if they had been kissed by the sun.

  After lunch they strolled around the shops. They inspected window displays, visited fashionable emporia. Olga was happy to look and to exclaim. He would have liked to buy her everything that fascinated her. But he knew Olga would not have let him and Alexandra would not have approved. In a bookshop, full of selected foreign literature which the government had decided was not seditious, she examined titles and bindings. She loved reading. Her favourite authors were English, the language itself a feature of the Imperial family’s life. Kirby extracted a Jane Austen novel, Emma. He leafed through it. He felt the lightest pressure against his arm as Olga peeped over his shoulder. There was the familiar delicacy of her scent.

  ‘What book is that?’ she asked.

  ‘Have you read Jane Austen at all? She’s a great favourite with Englishwomen.’

  ‘I’m very happy with my Shakespeare, you’ve no idea how I adore it,’ she said. He began to replace the book. Olga caught his arm and begged to see it, as if fearing she had been discourteous. He gave it to her. She opened it and began to read. The proprietor beamed benignly at them from his little desk. ‘Buy it for Mama,’ said Olga, ‘she will love it. I’ll be able to borrow it. Oh, you see,’ she added in a little desperation, ‘what can I give you if you buy it for me?’

  ‘Olga, we are friends and I have a treasure house of memories. Let us buy it for Her Imperial Highness, then.’

  ‘You must buy it, not both of us,’ said Olga quietly. She went to the shop doorway, waiting while he paid for the book and had it wrapped. When they were out of the shop and walking again she said in a whisper, ‘Oh, it is so unfair.’

  ‘Olga?’

  ‘No, that was said to myself, not you.’

  She was strangely upset. He did not press her. And by the time the carriage had picked them up and they were trotting out of Yalta into the countryside she was happy again. The afternoon light was clear, picking out the distant mountains and the sweeping undulations of green valleys and blue hills.

  ‘Oh, it has been immensely lovely, immensely,’ she said as they approached the soaring white magnificence of the Livadia Palace.

  ‘Well, quite nice, at least,’ he said modestly.

  Her hand in its white summer glove came to touch his arm, to slide down. The following carriage was at its discreet distance as he took her hand. The pressure of her fingers was of shy gratitude.

  ‘Thank you for asking Mama, I have so enjoyed it,’ she said.

  His heart itself seemed squeezed by her clinging fingers.

  At the palace he went up to his suite. Olga turned on the terrace and went in search of Tatiana. She found her in the gardens, lying on the warm, dry lawn, studying her French. Tatiana quickened with pleasure to see her adored sister back at last.

  ‘Olga, why, how famous you look. Oh, almost shockingly society. Tell me what you’ve been doing, we’ve all been green with jealousy. Anastasia is going about asking everyone what good is it being a slave when she can’t follow in the footsteps of her master.’

  Olga sank down beside her sister. Suddenly sadness shadowed her face.

  ‘Tatiana, oh, I don’t ever want to be a Crown Princess.’

  ‘Don’t you? Well, you just wait until the most adorable Crown Prince arrives to present himself. You’ll take one look and swoon with longing.’

  ‘No, never, and I wouldn’t be as ridiculous as that in any event,’ said Olga.

  ‘Olga,’ said Tatiana, sitting up, ‘Ivan hasn’t said anything to you, has he?’

  ‘What could he say, what would he say that anyone couldn’t hear? Oh, Tasha, he is so free, he will marry someone quite beautiful, he’ll be free to be happy—’

  ‘No,’ said Tatiana firmly, flinging back her auburn hair. ‘No, never. It’s you he wants, it’s you he can’t have, but he’ll always be tied to you even if he’s a million miles away. How often, just how often do I have to tell you that? Dearest, you should believe more in yourself, you don’t know how lovely you are, and you are, truly. Oh goodness, Olga, if you cry out here—’

  ‘As if I would,’ said Olga, but she blinked a little. ‘I’m getting far too old to be as silly as that.’ She swallowed, her eyes dreamed. She said, ‘But oh, Tasha, I am so unbearably in love. It is so unfair.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, you silly,’ said Tatiana, ‘it’s lovely.’

  The younger Grand Duchesses came dancing from their lessons. There had been some overnight rain, now the clouds had broken and the expanses of blue sky widened. The greens were fresh, the flowers soft. Alexis was carried to a garden chair by Nagorny, the Tsarevich happy to see his friend Ivan Ivanovich there. The boy’s leg was better each day, his colour healthier. Kirby was lazing, reading. He put his book down as the children claimed his attention. Anastasia and Marie curtseyed billowingly.

  ‘O lord,’ said Anastasia, ‘thy slave fetching Fatima is here, what is there s
he can fetch you?’

  ‘Well, let me see,’ said Kirby thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Fetch me five white horses and a donkey.’

  ‘You don’t need a donkey,’ said Tatiana, ‘you have Anastasia. But what are the five white horses for?’

  ‘One for each of you to carry you off to your heart’s desire,’ said Kirby. ‘Alexis will be carried off to a mountain of ice cream, Marie to a beautiful prince, Anastasia to a slave auction, Tatiana to a magnificent ball and so on. The donkey, actually, is for me. I fall off horses.’

  As Olga arrived with all the sedateness of a young lady, Tatiana said, ‘But you didn’t say where Olga would be carried off to, Ivan.’

  ‘To a railway station, I expect,’ said Anastasia, ‘she’s always waving to engine drivers.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Marie, ‘that’s only in gracious acknowledgement when they make their engines whistle at her.’

  A footman made his stately approach to advise Kirby that he was wanted on the telephone.

  ‘Please may I come?’ said Alexis. He put out his arms, Kirby picked him up and carried him. Olga watched them go and Tatiana watched Olga. When they returned and Kirby set the boy down in his chair again, Alexis burst out glumly, ‘Well, what do you think? They’re going to take Ivan away. Just when I was nearly better and we could drill again.’

  Anastasia groaned, Marie sighed in dejection. Tatiana looked at Olga. Olga stood stunned.

  ‘Ivan, it can’t be true,’ said Tatiana, ‘you’re to stay until we all go. Mama has said so.’

  ‘And I’m sure Papa will say so,’ said Alexis.

  ‘What about me?’ said Anastasia. ‘I won’t be his slave any more, I’ll be sold to a monster. Monsters are awfully capacious.’

  ‘Capricious,’ said Tatiana. ‘Ivan, it’s only to St Petersburg, of course?’

  ‘I’m recalled to England,’ said Kirby, ‘and must go tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll hide you somewhere,’ offered Marie, ‘and if anyone comes looking for you we’ll say you fell down a well.’

  ‘Let’s go and see Papa,’ said Tatiana, ‘let’s all go now and leave Olga to give Ivan a good talking-to.’

  ‘Oh, yes, let’s do that,’ said Alexis. Nagorny came to carry the boy in the wake of Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia, leaving Kirby alone with Olga. She stared unhappily at him, then turned away.

  ‘No, you can’t,’ she whispered fiercely, ‘not to England. Colonel Kirby, you can’t.’

  ‘I must, Olga. I’m under orders.’

  She kept her back to him, the sunlight dancing on her hair.

  ‘But England,’ she said. She sounded as if she could not understand his acceptance of such orders. ‘No, you can’t,’ she said again.

  ‘I love Livadia, I want to stay,’ he said, ‘but I’ve no alternative.’

  ‘If Papa asks – he is cousin to your King – there would be an alternative.’

  ‘Your father will know I must obey orders.’

  ‘Oh!’ It was a little cry of frustration.

  ‘Olga, I’m sorry,’ he said. If she found his acceptance of the situation inexplicable, he found the situation heartbreaking. He loved every moment he had shared with her. To be away from her, to know she was inaccessible, that was something he did not want to think about. It had been Brigadier Rollinson, not Anstruther, who had called him. He had been friendly but insistent over the telephone. He had said nothing of other things, he had merely advised him he was to return to England. It was an order. There would be similar orders given in other ways to other British agents in Russia. There was only one consoling factor about his recall. If Princess Aleka was in regular contact with Prolofski she would soon realize that he and Oravio had not disappeared to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and she might pass her piece of paper to someone else or to the secret police. In which case England would be a better place for him to be in than Livadia. In England he would not have to face the disillusioned Imperial family, he would not have to face Olga.

  Olga was trying to contain herself but could not.

  ‘Do you—do you say Papa could not have you stay?’ She would not, could not look at him. ‘He could, but no, you are determined to go. You will never come back and I know why. It’s because of me, because of us. But we have done nothing, nothing, we have only been friends. Colonel Kirby, you are deserting me to please them—’

  ‘No, Olga.’

  ‘Yes. You’re going to England and you’ll forget us, and I cannot bear it, I can’t!’

  Olga ran. She ran blindly, her white dress whipping, her hair flying.

  Karita did not know whether to be excited or sad. She loved Livadia as Kirby loved it, and she loved the Imperial family with all the intensity of the devoted. But she and Ivan Ivanovich would come back one day. Meantime she would at last go to England with him and see what it was like. It was strange how much she thought about England when it mattered so little compared with Russia. When she had been there a while and discovered what it was like, and when Ivan Ivanovich finally realized that only Russia was truly beautiful, he and she would return.

  She sang as she packed. Then she was sad and sang very little. But excitement came again and she sang happily. Ivan Ivanovich was at the open windows. He had said he would help her pack. Karita had said that would not be necessary. All the same, he had said he would. But he was no help at all. He just stood there, looking out over the gardens and the sea. Livadia was soft with evening light, but he had seen it all before.

  He had eaten with the Imperial family, a light dinner, and the Tsar had recognized he must obey his orders. Olga had said almost nothing. Alexandra remained in her suite as she invariably did.

  There was very little left of the day.

  Karita answered a light knock on the door. It was the Grand Duchess Olga, asking if she might see Colonel Kirby. Karita thought her unusually pale. She left them alone in the drawing room.

  ‘Olga?’ He could not keep some tenderness from his voice. Olga seemed calm enough. The sun, going down, spread diffused light on her. She had her hand on the curtain, her eyes on the mountains.

  ‘I’m so ashamed,’ she whispered, ‘please forgive me.’

  ‘Forgive you? Olga, I should have to be a saint to forgive anything in you.’

  ‘No, it was dreadful of me,’ she insisted, ‘I acted like a spoilt child. I shouldn’t be here but I couldn’t endure having you think badly of me.’

  ‘Badly? How could I? Olga, you have been the best and the sweetest of friends always. Would you like to walk in the gardens? We could talk but not be alone, as we are here.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said.

  They went down to the gardens. The lights of the palace cast their glow, holding back for a while the advance of dusk. They talked matter-of-factly for a while, about his journey home and the route.

  And then he said, as the distant night submerged the horizon, ‘I’m never sure whether I like Livadia better by night than day or vice versa. It’s always peaceful by day, it’s more so by night.’

  ‘Except when there’s a ball,’ said Olga. They were walking slowly, the gardens darkening, the flowers closed and still. ‘I love it at all times, but I think it’s the times when you—’ She stopped. ‘Oh, it’s only that you have always been so good for us, made us all so happy. We have all laughed so much, have we not?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He was wrenched with pain. ‘Do you remember Juliet’s cantankerous old nurse?’

  ‘And your indiscriminate choice of Shakespeare? Oh, yes.’ Olga smiled. Then she said, ‘I am not going to disgrace myself again, but Tatiana is heartbroken. She may not seem so but she’ll miss you so much. You amuse her excessively and she adores that more than anything.’

  ‘All the young like to laugh. You do.’

  ‘I’m not as young as all that,’ said Olga. ‘Alexis is quite down in the dumps about your going, but there, Papa says in your position you must obey orders as he would himself. I was very silly, wasn’t I?’ She went on feverishly
as if to ensure there were no unendurable silences. ‘Alexis says that perhaps you’ll write to him and tell him all about the British army and how you are getting on in England, and Anastasia says she hopes they won’t give you any unmanageable horses to ride. And I shall have more time to read my Shakespeare, I’m trying to get through The Tempest now, but it’s very involved, with Ariel under a spell and—’ Her voice caught, she took a deep breath. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that I’m trying to say everything all at once.’

  He owed Nicholas and Alexandra a great deal for their kindness, he owed Olga even more. She had shown him the priceless wonder of innocence, the joy and laughter of tenderest friendship, and all the values she held most dear. If his longing was hopeless, his pride in her was intense. He forced himself to say lightly, ‘I’ll write to Alexis, of course I will, if I may, and you can tell Anastasia I’ll stick to bicycles.’

  ‘Bicycles – oh, yes,’ she said. They stepped from a path on to a lawn. ‘Do you remember my sixteenth birthday ball? It was ages and ages ago.’

  ‘Was it? I remember it as if it were yesterday.’

  ‘Goodness, I’m much older now.’ She was over-bright. A man and a woman passed them, servants hand in hand. ‘But I did so enjoy it and Mama, you remember, was so interested to meet you. Oh, I wish I could give you something of Livadia.’

  ‘You have given me something, a photograph of you and Tatiana that was taken here. I don’t intend to lose it, you know. And I also have your birthday-ball dance card, that’s very much of Livadia.’

  She stopped. He turned to face her. The brief twilight hovered, muting the rich lustre of her hair.

  ‘That is for your grandchildren, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ll get married, I hope she will be very nice and that she will make you so very happy.’

  ‘Perhaps she will at least make Aunt Charlotte happy. And you, Olga, you will always be yourself, and that is something that makes you very precious to all your friends. You are the dearest and loveliest of persons, the finest of Grand Duchesses. I have been very privileged, Olga.’