The Summer Day is Done Page 20

‘Talking will at least lead us to bed,’ he said, ‘but you’re under no obligation, Aleka.’

  ‘How superbly English you are,’ she smiled, ‘it’s only the English who would speak of love and obligation together. Darling, love in this context is not an obligation, it’s a condition of being engaged. And if we are to laugh louder than the jokers, our engagement must be complete and ecstatic. I’m not utterly consumed by impatience, however, and can wait until tonight. How clean and dashing you look without your beard. Shall we say tonight, then?’

  ‘If you’ve nothing else on,’ he said.

  ‘Darling, I shall have nothing on at all. Come at eleven. Andrei,’ she said, her smile a little malicious again, ‘will be gone by then.’

  But as Aleka drove out that afternoon on her way to an undisclosed rendezvous, a bitter and disillusioned student threw a bomb at her carriage. It wrecked the carriage, injured two passing women – innocent limbs are always expendable for a cause – and shattered the horse to death. Aleka was pulled bleeding and unconscious from the smashed carriage and taken to hospital. She was bruised, cut, concussed and badly shocked. And extremely lucky. Kirby went to see her each day. On the third day she was sitting up, surrounded by flowers sent by Andrei, and receiving Kirby with a smile. Her head and forehead were bandaged. She looked palely lovely. Rather like a nun in a state of beatitude, he thought.

  ‘Did someone think I was the prime minister?’ she said.

  He winced a little. She must surely by now have realized the political implications of her engagement to him. No one would believe she championed the rights of workers now.

  ‘They’re holding a student,’ he said.

  ‘The silly boy,’ she said. ‘Tell me, how do I look?’

  ‘Not as if you’d had a bomb thrown at you. Quite lovely, in fact. Karita sends you her most respectful wishes and blessings. She’s a little angry. She doesn’t like bomb-throwers, whoever they are.’

  ‘How sweet of her, but tell her I’m not angry so there’s no need for her to be.’ Aleka, after two days of dulled and numbed nerves, sounded as if she had recovered enough to be charitable. ‘Ivan, you’re almost depressingly healthy. Andrei comes in looking wan and nervous. You are always indecently equable. Can’t you be just a little bit wan yourself? It would cheer me up enormously.’

  ‘Who has been to see you?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, you and Andrei and people,’ she said. ‘It’s too risky for some of my real friends. Isn’t this an awfully despotic country when true patriots can only come out at night?’

  ‘It is when students start throwing bombs at you.’

  ‘We’re still engaged?’ she said with the ghost of a smile.

  ‘Yes, if you think we’re still the ones who are laughing.’

  ‘Well, of course we are. Kiss me.’

  He leaned and put his mouth to hers. Hers was cool, soft and cleanly antiseptic. He stayed a while and they talked. She did not mention the bomb. She did mention his uniform. She didn’t like it. It classed him as an aggressive tool of imperialism, she said. There should only be workers’ armies.

  ‘They’ll probably be just as aggressive,’ he said.

  ‘But with more justification,’ said Aleka. ‘I shall soon be home again and then you must buy me a ring. Our laugh at the expense of whoever was responsible for our engagement will cost you an awful lot of money, darling.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be worth it,’ he said, kissing her goodbye.

  The snow was beginning to disappear. There were spears of green grass pricking the fading white surface. Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna stood at the window of the music room, her face a little sombre in its expression, her eyes darkly blue.

  Easter would soon be here. They would go to Livadia.

  She put her mouth to the cold window. A little circle of mist formed. She erased it with her hand. Tatiana came in. Tatiana was always looking for her, always watching her elder sister. She put an arm around Olga’s waist.

  ‘It’s gloomy outside today,’ she said. ‘Mama says that if you’d condescend, she’d like you to help her with some embroidery. I said I’d see how condescending you were.’

  ‘Oh, I’m excessively so today.’

  ‘Isn’t it sad about Aleka Petrovna?’ said Tatiana. ‘But already she’s much better, Mama says. Mama says it was only by the grace of God she wasn’t killed. Can you think why people should be so wicked?’

  ‘I can think that people have a right to be angry sometimes,’ said Olga, keeping her eyes on the park, ‘I can’t think they have a right to kill, however angry. Poor Aleka Petrovna, but how glad she must be that she escaped.’

  ‘Yes, she’s the kindest person and so amusing,’ said Tatiana. ‘She has promised to help me meet the nicest people when I make my debut and go out into society.’

  ‘You won’t need any help,’ said Olga, ‘and isn’t it to be supposed that she’ll be in England with Colonel Kirby when you are in society?’

  Tatiana essayed a cautious look at her sister. Olga’s face, in profile, was soft with shadows. She had not been at all gay lately.

  ‘Olga,’ said Tatiana, ‘don’t you think we should all send Aleka Petrovna and Colonel Kirby our best wishes and felicitations?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Olga evenly, ‘perhaps we should. We’ll speak to Mama.’

  The snow was very much thinner. But it looked colder. It was because the skies were so grey.

  He would not come to Livadia now.

  Chapter Nine

  Aleka was home and recovering. She was amused and intrigued to receive a letter sent by the Empress Alexandra on behalf of the Imperial family. It contained a most sympathetic reference to her ‘accident’ with best wishes for a speedy return to health, and concluded with felicitations on her engagement to Colonel Kirby.

  Resting in silken-limbed convalescence on a couch, she handed the letter, written on embossed Imperial notepaper, to Kirby.

  ‘From your most high friends,’ she said, ‘and that is an exquisite embellishment of the joke, isn’t it?’

  He read the letter, then said, ‘An Imperial embellishment.’ Aleka did not seem further interested in it, so he slipped the letter casually into his pocket. It had been happily signed by all of them and it was something to have from the family he loved.

  Aleka was paler than usual by reason of her time in hospital and had made up her mind to go to Karinshka to find the sunshine and warmth of the Crimean spring. She was satisfied with the state of the nation. It was growling and discordant, the workers underpaid, restless and mutinous. Things would come along very nicely while she was away, events would bring the collapse of autocracy nearer. She was not needed at the moment to hasten things along. Her bruised and battered body was weaker than she had realized. She needed a recuperative sojourn at Karinshka.

  ‘You will come too, Ivan,’ she said.

  ‘Next week Russia’s Caucasian army begins its spring manoeuvres,’ said Kirby, ‘and I have to be there.’

  ‘Well, of course,’ she said impatiently, ‘and they’re taking place in the north of the Crimea. That is for the convenience of the Tsar, so that he can be at Livadia. He’ll attend them from there. You can attend them from Karinshka. Manoeuvres are very stupid, everyone playing at being uniformed assassins. It isn’t manoeuvres the people need, it’s work and bread. All the generals will be full of vodka and champagne and have to be propped up on their horses. Yes, and you’ll be drunk all the time yourself, you’ll see. It will be a party for the officers, only the soldiers will have to manoeuvre. The Tsar will ride up and down on a hill, looking very happy and heroic, and when a gun goes off he’ll say, “My dear fellow, what was that? Nobody is to get hurt, you understand.” Pooh, that’s Russian manoeuvres for you, and you’ll be able to tell your King what fun it was and he’ll give you a medal for being as stupid as everyone else. Ivan, we will go to Karinshka tomorrow.’

  ‘Andrei will probably decline,’ said Kirby, ‘he’s been feeling de trop lately.’<
br />
  She gave him a dark look.

  ‘I’m not inviting him, you idiot man,’ she said, ‘and even if I did, of course he wouldn’t come. He’s not the man to want to be in the way. You know, you have a provoking way of sliding around corners. Remember, I’m still very frail, I’m to be spoiled, not provoked. Andrei has been very sweet about us, he has no idea it’s a joke. Ivan, there’s to be no sliding away at Karinshka – why, it’s been ridiculous here, you’ve been so elusive you’ve made me run after you. Do you want me to think I’m a fate worse than death for you?’

  ‘You’re the loveliest creature,’ he said, ‘but I’ve had to remember how frail you are. I’ll use your telephone, if I may, and see if I can get away in advance with you. Karinshka will be good for you. It will be good for Karita too. She can see her family again. She keeps asking me when she’s to go to England with me, she’ll be quite happy when I tell her we’re going to Karinshka instead for a while.’

  ‘Come here,’ said Aleka, huskily imperious. She reached up and took hold of the lapels of his khaki jacket, she held his eyes in brooding suspicion. ‘What are you talking about Karita for? It’s always Karita this or Karita that with you.’

  ‘I’m her mother and father,’ he said. She did not like his smile. It was too easy. He was always like that. One asked him something that was important or nearly important, and first he smiled to take one’s mind off the answer and then when he did answer it was no answer at all.

  ‘What rubbish,’ she said. ‘Is she the one you’re always thinking about? And what is it you think about? How to seduce her? Or how you have seduced her?’

  ‘I’m to return her in time to her parents as good as the day she left.’

  ‘Oh, that is more rubbish,’ said Aleka irritably, ‘don’t you know what they meant by that? They meant that if you didn’t you were to sit around a table with them and discuss the price you’d pay for having seduced their virgin.’

  ‘Extraordinary,’ he murmured.

  ‘They are extraordinary?’ she said, scornful that he should be so naïve.

  ‘No, you are,’ he said.

  She caught his hand and bit it.

  She was quite proud of the teethmarks she made.

  The Crimea had burst into flamboyant spring. The hills and valleys were green from rain, the blossom bright under the sun. Nature, having lain dormant through the damp, cold winter, had come to eager life. Trees and plants were tender with leaf, breaking buds were tossing into colour. Soft clouds were rolling back, uncovering the endless blue. The fields were scattered with gold.

  In the north Russian divisions were moving into place for the forthcoming manoeuvres. Much to the relief of Princess Aleka there wasn’t a general in sight in the south. She would not have minded soldiers too much, they were the unlucky conscripts who had been unable to avoid being dragged into the Tsar’s service. Soldiers she would have entertained and mesmerized, as long as they weren’t Cossacks. The Cossacks were the Tsar’s devil-dancers, she said.

  As much as her restlessness allowed, she relaxed at Karinshka. She convalesced in the balmy spring sunshine. Kirby lay around with her. It rained a little at times and drove them in from the terrace. She did not know whether to be infuriated or bored when it was wet. Kirby saved her from the latter state. He was good-tempered and amusing. There were moments when he was not, however. He had brought military manuals and notes with him, all to do with his present responsibilities as a military observer. He added to the notes, writing in the sunshine.

  ‘Ah, you are going to turn into a stuffed bore like all the others,’ she said.

  ‘Loosen your corset if it’s making you uncomfortable, dearest,’ he returned.

  She laughed.

  ‘That’s your privilege while we’re engaged,’ she said, ‘come, I dare you.’

  Comfortable in his chair, he looked up from his notes and mused on the blue sky.

  ‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘if it’s possible to make a reinforced corset that’s bullet-proof? I’ll borrow one of yours for an experiment if I may, Aleka love.’

  ‘My dear,’ purred Aleka, ‘they are all yours to shoot at as you desire, but you will have to come and get them.’

  Karita was delighted to be back in the Crimea for a while. She had been to see her parents. They had looked her up and down, had satisfied themselves that she was in good hands but wanted to know why she had not yet been to England. Karita said she would go when Ivan Ivanovich took her, she could not go before. Her mother wanted to know if he had a castle in England. All English aristocrats lived in castles, as was well known. Karita said he had three.

  Old Amarov was pleased to see her again. He patted her, pushed his moustache aside and kissed her. Karita hugged him and old Amarov wanted to know what girls were coming to.

  Oravio had little to say to her but plenty of looks, all of them dark and lowering. He was to be married soon. Karita felt enormously relieved that it wasn’t to her. How dull he was. He would never, never make anyone laugh. She was surprised one morning to see him in the suite. Her Highness and Ivan Ivanovich had gone down to the beach. Not to bathe, the sea still had winter’s bite to it, but to bask in the sea air. Karita had come up to put the bedroom in order. She met Oravio coming out of it.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s that to do with you?’

  ‘Anyone who puts his nose into these rooms is my business,’ said Karita.

  ‘Mind your tongue,’ said Oravio, ‘I’ve been out on the balcony outside the bedroom window, making good some crumbling mortar.’ He pushed a trowel under her nose. ‘Next time I’ll ask you for my orders, I don’t think.’

  ‘Since when has that been your job?’ Karita pushed the trowel aside and tossed her golden head. ‘You’re putting your nose in, you’re always doing that. How would you like Ivan Ivanovich to slice it off?’

  Oravio showed teeth that, white as they were, seemed to scowl at her. He jabbed with the trowel, making severe gashes in the air.

  ‘How would you like to have me slice yours off, lackey of an imperialist?’ he said. ‘Yes, and worse than lackey, no doubt.’

  Karita’s brown eyes seemed to burn a little, but it was her contemptuous silence that was more impressive.

  When Kirby returned from the beach a little before lunch the suite was in its usual state of immaculate splendour, the open windows bringing in soft air that drenched the rooms with fragrance. Karita came in, carrying one of his uniforms. He had put them aside for his week at Karinshka and was wearing a comfortable old shirt of faded blue cotton and light cord trousers. Already the sun had bronzed him and without his beard the deepening brown of his skin was more apparent.

  ‘I’ve been cleaning and pressing this one,’ she said, ‘and will do the other one this afternoon.’

  ‘No, go out and play,’ he said.

  ‘Play?’

  ‘With a young man, with Oravio if you like. I’ll ask Aleka Petrovna to spare him for the afternoon.’

  Karita wrinkled her nose. Really, as old Amarov would have said, what was Ivan Ivanovich coming to not to know how dull and dreary Oravio was?

  ‘If I wanted to run through the grass with a man I would not choose Oravio,’ she said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Kirby, and rubbed a sideburn. ‘Well, perhaps Oravio isn’t exactly a pillar of light. There is Sergius, then.’

  ‘Sergius is very much nicer,’ said Karita, ‘and might do very well in five years’ time when he’s grown up. This afternoon I shall be far too busy to take him by the hand.’

  He laughed aloud. Karita smiled. He was always in amusement about something. It made her feel very pleased.

  ‘Karita,’ he said, ‘no one is ever going to do your thinking for you. But remember how pretty you are, remember it’s spring and that young men don’t like growing up. Think of yourself sometimes and not of my shirts or socks or uniforms.’

  ‘But I like your shirts and uniforms,’ said Karita, ‘and I don’t even
mind your socks too much.’

  ‘Minx,’ he said and kissed her affectionately.

  Well! thought Karita rosily. He had not done that all the time they had been in St Petersburg. What possessed him to kiss her here but never in St Petersburg? It was very confusing. Not that she minded. Ivan Ivanovich was always so agreeable. She was sure he would make Princess Aleka Petrovna very happy.

  For about three months.

  * * *

  In her own suite Aleka was coldly observant of three wafer-thin buff cards Oravio produced from his pocket.

  ‘They were in the Englishman’s hairbrush,’ he said. ‘He’s not very clever. Hiding places like that are as old as Amarov.’

  ‘Why should he consider he has to be clever when he believes others are stupid?’ Aleka sounded as if she would have preferred Oravio to have found nothing. ‘Let me see them.’

  ‘They’ll have to be sent to Prolofski, he’ll decode them,’ said Oravio.

  ‘You don’t give the orders here.’ She put out a hand. Oravio shrugged and handed the cards over. They were all neatly inscribed with small English lettering. She could decipher none of it.

  ‘You realize what has been done to you and why?’ said Oravio darkly. ‘The Okhrana know about you and this is their way of destroying you with the help of English pigs. Now no one trusts you. You’ll be watched by everyone. But you’ve been lightly treated. That’s because you can claim the tyrants’ friendship. Otherwise you’d have had to suffer what true comrades have suffered.’

  ‘Hold your silly tongue,’ she said sharply, ‘of course I realize, I did from the beginning. Do you think I’m a fool? It’s you who lack brains. These cards need not be sent to Prolofski. What is on them must be carefully and quickly copied and the copy sent. The cards must be put back before Colonel Kirby has a chance to miss them.’

  ‘I am at your service, naturally,’ said Oravio insolently.

  ‘When Prolofski has decoded them we’ll see if Colonel Kirby is not what he seems.’

  ‘He never has been,’ said Oravio.