The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  He grinned at her. ‘Haven’t tried jewellery yet but I sell luggage, vanity cases and handbags, scarves and hair accessories etc. I didn’t see any bags in your shop, beyond those rather charming evening purses.’

  Abbie felt herself blushing as if he’d paid her a compliment ‒ perhaps he had, unknowingly. Then she was frowning as she thought about exactly what he had said. ‘Presumably you’ll be looking for alternative premises now, since mine aren’t available?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I’ve put in an offer on the shop next door,’ he calmly informed her, slicing a piece of pickle to add to his bread and cheese.

  ‘What? The old gifts and greeting card shop?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘So if your offer is accepted would that mean you’ll be selling bags and fashion accessories right next door? And you might well sell jewellery?’

  He slanted her a wry smile. ‘I’ll admit that was partly the attraction of buying your business.’

  ‘So you intend to set up in competition to me?’ she snapped. Abbie was beginning to steam quietly inside, her ire heating up all over again. She wished she could bite off her own stupid tongue for having been so open and friendly when this man seemed hell-bent on putting her out of business.

  ‘Were that to happen, and I’m not saying it will, I doubt we’d step on each other’s toes too much,’ he was saying. ‘We’d stock different styles of jewellery, different ranges, so we’d complement each other, in a way. But actually, what I had in mind . . .’

  Abbie was on her feet in a second. ‘Sorry, I’m far too distressed to talk about this right now, but it rather looks as if I have another fight on my hands. So be it,’ and she walked out of the pub without even finishing her lunch.

  Abbie found her brother down by the lake fishing, as he’d so loved to do as a boy. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I’m sure we do, but this isn’t the moment. If you make too much noise you’ll scare away the fish.’

  Abbie bit her lip to still whatever she’d been about to say, having heard this admonition many times in the past. She’d been so sure that she wanted to confront her brother, tell him that Precious Dreams was hers and that he had no right to try and sell it, but being here with him now she felt torn. He’d been so hurtful to her recently that telling him the truth would be so satisfying, but underneath all that, she just wanted to get along with her brother again, to try and preserve some sort of family harmony. Much as she felt the need to stand up for her rights, there was something about the way Robert sat hunched over the rod, as he had done so often as a boy, but now with his face all pinched and pale, that gave her pause over choosing the first option. Maybe his financial problems were a real worry to him; she’d no wish to cause further upset, to Fay in particular. Pulling her jacket close against a chill wind, Abbie propped herself against a jutting rock to gaze out across the lake, watching the occasional ripples form where trout or char swam. ‘Never took to the sport myself.’

  ‘That’s because you don’t have the patience.’

  ‘True. I’d much rather be busy doing something than sitting still for even five minutes.’

  He cast her a sideways glance, a half-smile on his face. ‘You always did have itchy feet, but you were much better at climbing trees than I was. I never had a head for heights.’

  Abbie chuckled. ‘Do you remember falling into the lake when a branch you were scrambling along broke? Mum went demented, even though I jumped in to save you. Good job the water was shallow there, but we both ended up covered in mud and laughing, Mum too.’

  ‘I only did it because you dared me to,’ he said, laughing now at the memory, ‘having swung across it yourself like the little monkey you were. But then you were smaller and lighter than me so it wasn’t really a fair challenge.’

  She paused at that. ‘Life isn’t fair, Robert.’

  He looked up at her more seriously then. ‘No, you’re right, it isn’t. It certainly wasn’t for Mum, or Dad, or any of us for that matter.’ He paused a moment, then added, ‘I’m sorry things went wrong for you with Eduard.’

  Abbie blinked, surprised by this sudden show of sympathy. ‘Thanks. Kind of you to say so.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll stop and think next time before doing something stupid like getting involved with the wrong man. You might even learn to take advice for once in your life.’

  Whatever response she might have made to that typical brotherly remark was fortunately prevented by the arrival of Fay carrying a tray of wine. ‘I thought you might like a little refreshment before dinner,’ she said, looking pleased to find the siblings engaged in what appeared to be a civilised conversation at last.

  As Robert set aside his rod to kiss his wife and sat beside her on a log to drink his wine, Abbie took the glass handed to her without a word. Perhaps he was right – perhaps she shouldn’t rush into anything. Things might work themselves out between her and Robert and she didn’t want to upset him. Maybe now wasn’t the moment to reveal that she owned the property her brother wished to sell.

  SEVENTEEN

  By the summer of 1914 I had been in Russia for almost three years and my efforts with the language were beginning to pay off. I wouldn’t exactly call myself fluent but could get by well enough, helped by my skills in French. In early June as usual, the Count and Countess Belinsky moved out of St Petersburg to spend several weeks in the country, taking with them a dozen or more servants including grooms and coachmen, plus horses, ponies, a score of boxes, trunks and portmanteau, and even a piano for the children, occupying several carriages on the train and requiring countless wagons on arrival at the station.

  This was the season of the white nights, when it never went dark. I still found it strange to be able to read outside at midnight. The gardens were bursting with lilac, the scent beguiling enough to please the most ardent town-lover, which I most certainly was not. I enjoyed every moment in the country, whether it be helping out in the dairy or walking in the surrounding forest, despite the clouds of mosquitoes that hung over the pond. I relished the gentle croak of frogs, the song of the nightingale, the tangy scent of pine.

  Very much an outdoor man, the Count loved nothing more than digging and weeding his vegetable plot, nurturing his strawberries and asparagus, pruning shrubs or caring for his favourite jasmine, orchids and camellia.

  The gentle rhythm of country life continued despite the worry of increasing unrest in the Balkans. Then in early July, I was sitting in the garden late one evening, relaxing with a book, when Stefan brought me the terrible news that Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria had been assassinated in Sarajevo, as had his beloved Duchess Sophie.

  ‘This could bring war,’ Stefan warned as he came to sit beside me on the bench.

  ‘Oh, I do hope not. Why should it?’

  ‘Things are far from stable. Austria is sure to retaliate upon Serbia, then Russia will feel duty bound to defend its neighbour, and who knows where that will lead?’

  ‘You think England might become involved?’

  ‘More likely Germany, which will take the side of Austria. It could all get very nasty.’

  We sat in silence for some moments contemplating this grim news. Since the day Stefan had confided the terrible story of his father’s death, I’d felt much closer to him. Perhaps because I finally understood the root of his anger. Our friendship had grown over recent months and we spent a great deal of time in each other’s company, when he wasn’t carrying out tasks for the Countess, that is.

  She was still very demanding of his time, although Stefan continued to disappear, no doubt seeking a little time to himself. I generally suffered the brunt of her ire on those occasions as she screamed at me to tell her where he was. Stefan’s absences were as much a mystery to me as to the Countess, although I didn’t entirely blame him. There were occasions when I’d welcome an escape from her endless demands myself.

&nb
sp; Now I began to think how I would feel if there was a war. Worse, if Stefan felt obliged to join up and I never saw him again. As always I spoke my unformed thoughts out loud without pausing to consider the consequences of such frankness. ‘The prospect of war, and the possibility of losing you in it, is too horrendous to contemplate.’

  He gave me a searching look and when I turned to meet his gaze something inside of me seemed to flip right over. ‘I don’t think I should have said that,’ I murmured, and he smiled.

  ‘I’m glad you did, delighted to know that you care. You are equally precious to me, Millie.’

  When his lips met mine I seemed to melt in his arms, pressing myself against the power of his body. The sweetness of his kiss stirred in me a longing for more, something I’d never before experienced. When finally we drew apart he gave a sheepish little smile. ‘You must know how I feel about you.’

  I was trembling as I rested my head on his chest with a little sigh of pleasure, thrilled to hear his heart pounding every bit as fast as mine. ‘Then why did you never tell me?’

  ‘Because I was afraid you might reject me. Whenever I felt the urge to try to find the right words, I would wonder why you’d even trouble to speak to a stupid chap like me. I felt unworthy of your attention, and we haven’t always seen eye to eye, have we?’

  ‘But if you had taken the risk, you might have been surprised.’

  ‘Would I? Why is that?’

  ‘Because I feel the same,’ I softly admitted.

  Apparently lost for words he cupped my face between his gentle hands and kissed me again, longer and deeper this time, filling me with desire. Then we were both grinning at each other like idiots, his eyes scanning my face with an expression as bemused as my own must be. ‘I’ve adored you from the moment I first set eyes on you at the British and American chapel. I’d tell myself to behave, to not run the risk of ruining your reputation, or our friendship, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

  ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.’ Then remembering the news that had led to this revelation, I quietly added. ‘I really don’t want to lose you, Stefan. Please don’t join up unless you are forced to.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he promised, tenderly stroking back my errant curls which fell loose to my shoulders this evening, not tied up in a neat braid. ‘But let’s hope I’m wrong and it doesn’t come to war. Then we can enjoy a happy future together.’

  ‘Oh, Stefan.’ My smile faded a little as a new thought occurred to me. ‘We must take great care not to let our feelings show.’

  He grimaced. ‘That’s true. I very much doubt the Countess would approve.’

  Something like panic stirred within as I recalled how she’d accused me of wanting to keep him to myself, trying to make me jealous by hinting at an intimacy between them. ‘She is a selfish woman, obsessed by the need for attention, as if her every whim must be met, every man must fawn at her feet. Were she to discover how we felt about each other I suspect she would do her utmost to destroy our happiness, possibly by dismissing one, or even both of us. That’s the kind of person she is.’

  ‘You’re right, Millie. Countess Olga is an autocrat in the worst sense of the word, entirely wrapped up in herself. We must take great care not to reveal our feelings when in her presence, not even to glance at each other.’ Kissing me again, he groaned. ‘Oh, but that is not going to be easy.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is absolutely essential,’ I murmured, running my fingers through his hair as I had often longed to do.

  I was thankful that the bench was at least hidden behind a bank of lilac bushes, as it was some time before we drew apart that evening and went our separate ways.

  It proved to be a hot, dry summer and as always the children seemed to blossom, working hard at their French and English lessons each morning so that they had plenty of time to explore. Then, after painting and piano lessons in the afternoons, we would enjoy a picnic or cruise on the river, play tennis or croquet. It reminded me very much of my time at Carreck Place. The lifestyle, however, was the absolute opposite to the kind of Spartan life most Russians enjoyed at their summer dacha.

  Serge and I were getting along much better, although the boy could still be difficult and disruptive, as he was being today by smashing the croquet ball into the pond instead of tapping it through the little arch. He was in a temper because his mother had refused to take him out with her in the carriage. I watched the Countess drive off with the chauffeur, and couldn’t help but wonder where they might be going and what they would get up to alone in the countryside. Not that it was any of my business.

  Serge, however, was very much my concern and, coming to a decision, I went to see his father.

  I found the Count in his office and the moment I politely knocked on the door he at once called for me to enter, so different to the Countess who always kept me waiting for as long as possible. I thought he looked rather lonely and sad, a warm breeze from the open window stirring a mass of papers on his desk. Had he been watching his wife go off with the chauffeur?

  Bobbing a curtsey, I quickly launched into my request. ‘Sir, your son has become rather bored with picnics and croquet, and I wondered if you had time to take him fishing.’

  The Count looked startled by my suggestion. ‘I very much doubt he would relish my company. He much prefers his mother’s.’

  ‘Oh, but I disagree. I know that he wants to make you proud of him.’

  ‘Really? But would he enjoy going fishing with me?’

  ‘I truly believe he would appreciate a more manly pursuit. He’s eleven years old, growing up rapidly, sir, and rather tired of endless tea parties with Irina’s dolls.’

  He laughed at that, and to my great surprise and pleasure, leapt to his feet. ‘Very well, I shall go and collect my fishing tackle, rods and bait. Tell him I’ll be with him in ten minutes,’ he said and, reaching for his hat, made a dash for the door.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, dipping a curtsey.

  He paused, holding the door open. ‘No, thank you, Millie, for the suggestion.’

  It was the first time the Count had called me by my Christian name and I was flattered, but even more pleased when father and son went off happily together to fish. Serge looked quite excited as Irina and I waved them off.

  ‘Can I go and see the cows now?’ the little girl asked, as she did every single day without fail. She loved nothing more than to watch them being milked. Afterwards, she would help pour some of the spare milk into the big shiny copper cheese-maker which would be turned into Gruyère cheese.

  ‘Why is this cow so fat, Baryshnya?’

  ‘Because she’s in calf,’ I explained, hoping further details would not be required.

  She chuckled with glee. ‘Oh goody. Can I watch when it’s born?’

  This was a question I avoided answering, thinking it might not be appropriate for a nine-year-old child, but she visited the cow several times a day after that, and one morning on hearing a great deal of agonised mooing, was in time to see the birth. She looked at me all starry-eyed as she watched the cow lick her baby clean. ‘Oh, Baryshnya, isn’t she a clever cow? And isn’t this little calf lucky to have such a kind mother?’

  I gave Irina a hug and kiss. ‘She’s lucky to have you, too, as am I.’

  The fishing expeditions became a regular event for Serge and the Count, and I began to hope that this foolish jealousy between brother and sister, not to mention the rivalry between husband and wife over the children, might begin to subside at last.

  Countess Olga ran the house as if it were a royal palace and she an empress, with a litany of petty rules surely as long as those set by the Tsar. As well as decreeing that no servant was allowed to be seated in her presence, she would insist upon a footman hovering outside whichever room she was currently occupying, in case she should need to call upon him to fetch some trivial item she co
uldn’t find, mainly because she couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Sometimes the poor soul would sit there for hours, growing weary with boredom and backache, but then would be kept up half the night by her constant demands for hot milk or chocolate.

  ‘She lacks something worthwhile to do with her time,’ Stefan shrewdly remarked, in one of our quick exchanges when no one was around. We might sometimes even risk stealing a secret kiss.

  It was true that Countess Olga was very much a social creature and visitors to the Belinskys’ country home were rare, as it stood in a remote region surrounded by dense forest. ‘She does miss her friends from town,’ I agreed. ‘Theatre and the opera, dinner at the select Villa Rodé with its champagne and caviar. I just wish she would spend more time with the children while we’re in the country. But even when I bring them to her she barely permits more than a moment in her presence before ordering me to take them away. Handing out money for sweets or organising picnics is as far as she’s prepared to go in her role of mother, and even that is bound up with her own selfish needs in order to keep them out of her hair.’

  Stefan chuckled. ‘While she’s up to goodness knows what.’

  ‘Don’t even ask.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Nothing to do with us.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Could we meet up later, though?’ he whispered, his eyes beseeching me to agree. Glancing about to make sure we were alone, I nodded before quickly returning to my duties.

  Sneaking a little time together wasn’t easy, which was one of the reasons I loved taking the children into the village, as Stefan always drove us in the cart. One afternoon the Countess declared her intention of accompanying us, which meant we went by carriage. Overawed by the sight of this splendid vehicle in the midst of their humble community, the villagers instantly surrounded us, begging for work or a handout. I saw peasant women with children clinging to their skirts.