Russian series 03 - The Eagle's Fate (14 page)

‘Certainly,’ she replied and, as he settled himself at the opposite end of the sofa, with half as much again as the foot required by propriety between them, ‘I’m so glad to see you sufficiently recovered to travel.’ She was relieved to hear her own voice sounding remarkably steady, considering that her heart appeared to have risen into her throat and to be beating at four or five times its normal rate.

‘I couldn’t stand that hospital any longer,’ he replied, not looking at her. ‘Half the patients die of sheer low spirits. Thank you for your letter.’

‘I—I hope it helped to ease your mind.’

‘Yes. It was far more than I expected. I gather that Sasha Alexandrovich exceeded his instructions.’

‘I’m glad that he did,’ Nadya replied firmly, wishing that she did not feel such an inadequate, stammering fool. She had wanted so much to see him again, albeit that she knew it was scarcely sensible to do so. And no he was here, so unexpectedly, and had actually come and spoken to her of his own accord, when a few words—the right few words—might set them on some sort of friendly footing, or at least not open hostility, she could find nothing helpful to say. ‘He meant well,’ she added lamely.

He gave her a sombre glance, then fixed his eyes on his bandaged hands, which lay idly on his thighs.

‘The English say that the road to Hell is paved with them,’ he said.

‘What?’ asked Nadya, startled.

‘Good intentions. I particularly didn’t wish to appeal to your pity.’

‘You didn’t.’ Nadya could at least manage a matter-of-fact answer. ‘I’m hardly likely to refuse to forgive someone who apologises and particularly asks to be forgiven. It would be unchristian.’

He gave her a curious glance, then lapsed into silence, looking at the floor. Nadya could think of nothing to say, her wits seeming to have deserted her for the moment, so she made a silent prayer of thanks for being allowed to see him again, and another that she might not betray her feelings, and then, she too, sat in silence, her eyes slipped sidelong to look at his hands, which were so much wrapped in strips of linen that only the thumb and smallest finger of his right hand and the thumb and forefinger of his left were visible. She wondered if they were still very painful, and wished she could do something to ease them.

‘Did you wish to inspect them?’ he asked suddenly in a brittle tone, thrusting both hands towards her.

‘I wondered—Captain Tuchin did not say how bad the injuries were,’ she replied, touching one mass of bandage very lightly with her fingertips. It was a spontaneous gesture, something of a caress. ‘They must be very painful.’

‘You can see for yourself what’s left,’ he said curtly.

Nadya looked blankly at the four digits which were visible, and then realised what he meant. Everything blurred in front of her eyes for a moment, and she put a hand to her throat, catching her breath with difficulty.

‘You must find it very difficult to manage,’ she heard her own voice say in a calm, very slightly sympathetic manner, showing interest rather than pity, although inwardly she was near to weeping.

‘Yes, it is rather,’ he replied briskly. ‘I’m learning to do a lot for myself, but I can’t handle a sabre or fire a pistol any more, so that’s the end of my Army career. I’ve to hang about Petersburg until they’re fully healed, and then I’m bound to be discharged.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Nadya again managed not to sound pitying. ‘Shall you mind very much?’

‘No. I never wished to enter the Army in the first place. I meant to serve at Court, in the Emperor’s Cabinet if possible, so I’ll go back to that if they’ll have me. It’s less spectacular, but more interest.’ He looked at the bandages, then, half to himself, said, ‘It makes me ashamed to think that I once threatened to cut off a man’s hands.’

‘But you wouldn’t have done it!’ Nadya protested.

He sighed. ‘I suppose not, but I shouldn’t even have thought of it.’ He was silent again for a time, then said, ‘Tatya seems to be shepherding everyone into the other salon for the music. Shall we join them?’

Nadya assented and walked beside him to the small salon, where chairs had been set in rows for the concert. He did not offer her his arm or say anything, but seemed to assume that they would sit together, and led her to the front row which, as usual, was unoccupied, and they sat down in isolated splendour until Tatya managed to persuade a few more people to join them.

The concert, given by a string quartet, lasted nearly an hour, and Nadya hardly heard a not of it, being too occupied with her own emotions. She had accepted with reluctance the realization that she was in love with Andrei, and then tried very hard not to think about it, except when she prayed for his safety and well-being every morning and evening—and during the day when the opportunity arose. She had not really expected to see him again, so she had tried to assign him to that category of very dear treasure which were lost and best not thought about too much. Besides, what was the use of eating her heart out for the unattainable.

Now, so suddenly, he was here. Still lost to her, of course, because of his animosity towards her family, and because he loved Tatya, but thinking about him could no longer be confined to her prayers when he was actually sitting beside her, and every fibre of her body was conscious of him.

She felt very sorry for him, for he seemed troubled and unhappy, and he seemed to need something from her, although she was not sure what it was. Reassurance, perhaps. After all, a man who had always been handsome—well, attractive—and physically fit and whole might well be thrown into a state of uncertainty by disfigurement and maiming. So many people—females, in particular—were stupid about such things, and she could imagine how some of them would shudder and avert their eyes from a scar—even quite a small one—and recoil from a proffered hand if it had fingers missing. There was nothing she could do to protect him from silly geese of that sort, but Nadya could at least try to assure him that not everyone was so unfeeling.

If he let her, of course. He might revert to his former manner and hardly speak to her if they met again, and surely they would meet quite frequently if he was to remain in Petersburg? He had only apologised for not believing her when she said she did not know why he disliked her family, and for adding to her distress at the time of their encounter by his unfriendly attitude. That did not mean that he would be any more friendly in future.

On the other hand, he had approached her of his own accord and been—not exactly friendly, but not actually hostile. It was all very difficult, for she had no wish to discourage him if he wished to be on better terms, but she dared not let him guess the depth of her feelings for fear of the pain he could so easily cause her if he chose.

He hardly moved during the concert and said nothing during the brief intervals between the pieces, but Nadya was so conscious of him that she could almost feel him breathing. At the end of the performance, he lifted his hands as if to join in the applause, then let them fall and said, ‘Very pleasant. Better than guns and battle-cries!’

As they stood up, several people came to speak to Andrei, enquiring how he did, what had happened, when he had arrived in Petersburg, had he any news of the war, and so on. Nadya found herself pushed into the background, and stood listening to the questions and to his replies, wondering if she should slip away or stay where she was. His answers seemed facilely polite and evasive—well enough, thank you; a little carelessness with a shell; this morning; that he had not seen anything of the war since Vinkovo. The recipient of the last answer looked decidedly blank, as he obviously had no idea what or where Vinkovo was.

Most people were moving on to supper now, which was set out, buffet-fashion, in the winter-garden. As the last questioner turned away with a bluff, ‘Good to see you—expect we’ll run into one another again’, Andrei looked round for Nadya and said, ‘I’m sorry about that. Would you care for some supper?”

Again she walked along beside him, wondering what he would do when they reached the supper-table and he would normally have expected to serve her with the items of her choice. Fortunately, Pavel was standing in the impressive glory of his full livery by the winter-garden door. Nadya caught his eye, somehow conveyed that there was a problem and glanced at Andrei’s bandaged hands, which were again held awkwardly in front of him. The major-domo nodded slightly and raised one white-gloved finger to summon an underling.

‘Shall we sit over here?’ Nadya suggested, gesturing towards a table with two chairs in an alcove between a simpering white marble nymph in a state of considerable undress and a luxuriantly flowering urn of tuberose. She slipped behind the table and sat down. Andrei hesitated and said, ‘Don’t you want to eat?’ in a puzzled tone.

‘They’ll bring us something,’ Nadya replied vaguely. ‘There’s such a crush around the table.’

This was true enough, as Andrei could see when he glanced towards it. He sat down on the other chair, which placed him with his back to the room. In a few moments, the underling brought a tray loaded with little dishes of tempting dainties, all small-sized by intention or cut into small pieces, a thoughtfulness for which Nadya noted mentally that she must remember to thank Pavel Kuzmich. Plates, forks, knives, napkins, glasses and a bottle of wine completed the collection, by which time there was no room on the table for anything else.

‘This is much better than Army food, isn’t it?’ Nadya remarked, unhesitatingly helping herself to a random selection. Andrei made no move to follow suit, but only shifted his wine-glass, which the underling had filled, from his right side to his left, using the forefinger and thumb of his left hand.

‘Do have something to eat,’ Nadya suggested, hoping she did not sound over-anxious.

‘That is one of the problems,’ he replied. ‘I can’t manage a knife and fork, and eating becomes a messy business.’

‘I’m sure you could manage some of these things with just a fork.’ Nadya managed to sound matter-of-fact, she hoped. ‘They’re all quite small. I’m not going to sit here criticising your table-manners, and no one else can see.’ And she swiftly put a dozen or so canapes and other little titbits, pieces of chicken and so forth on a plate and set it before him.

‘You remind me of one of the surgeons at the hospital,’ Andrei said. ‘A little wiry fellow with a face like a bad-tempered fox. He was always telling me to stop thinking I couldn’t do things, but to get on and do them. He’s a friend of Tatya’s brother, oddly enough. He’d traveled with him from Smolensk to Kaluga.’

‘Oh, yes! Irina mentioned him—Doctor Kusminsky. She said he’s a very good surgeon.’

‘So he is. He saves my life, I think.’ Andrei stopped abruptly, picked up a fork left-handed and started to eat. Being a right-handed man, he was clumsy, but managed to spear anything reasonably soft at the second or third attempt at least, and get it to his mouth without dropping it. He improved quite rapidly after the first few successes, but it took all his concentration, so Nadya sat quietly, sipping her wine and inhaling the almost tangible fragrance of tuberose, enjoying simply being with him, and occasionally descending from the clouds to eat something.

After supper everyone returned to the salon, and then people started taking leave and drifting away home or to other engagements. Irina came to speak to Andrei, followed by Efrem Schevich, who stood listening for a while. Then he too took leave and Nadya, Irina and Andrei were left sitting in a little group in one corner, Irina and Andrei comparing notes about Kaluga, its hospitals and the redoubtable Dr Kusminsky, while Nadya listened, content just to be near Andrei and to know that he seemed prepared to be on speaking terms with her.

It was not until Tatya joined them that they realised that everyone else had gone, and Andrei stood up, exclaiming, ‘I’m so sorry—I didn’t notice! It’s so pleasant to have a civilized conversation again that I lost track of time, and now I’ve outstayed my welcome.’

‘Oh, don’t go yet,’ Tatya replied. ‘I’ve not had a chance to talk to you all evening. We’ll go down to the garden-room and drink tea. My throat is quite parched with all that talking!’

She led the way through the unobtrusive door to the back-stairs, and down to the garden-room, which was very cosy and pleasant with the long gold brocade curtains drawn over the windows and the matching upholstery on the comfortable chairs and sofas glowing in the candlelight, and a bright flower-patterned carpet adding a touch of visual warmth to the heat from the tiled stove.

Tatya seated herself at the loo-table to dispense tea, and the others settled in the padded chairs. Irina removed a small black kitten from the seat of her chair and put it on her lap, where it sniffed her crimson silk skirts for a moment, and then went to sleep.

‘Now, what is that doing here?’ Tatya asked when she noticed it. ‘It must be one of the stable-cats.’

‘He’s very good,’ Irina said defensively. ‘He must be called Vron (crow), for he’s all black, with not a white hair on him. I—I like cats,’ she added tentatively.

‘Well, he’s doing no harm. Lev always fills the house with animals.’

Tatya poured tea, and the footman who had brought the equipage handed the cups, which Andrei declined, then bowed himself out, and Tatya asked Andrei how he was progressing and what he was doing in Petersburg. She was say, as Nadya noted with envy, all the right things in the right tone of voice without any trouble at all.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked eventually. ‘I heard that your father had lent your Petersburg house to some foreign visitors.’

‘Yes. I’m staying in the Regimental barracks.’ Andrei sounded a little rueful about it.

‘Oh, how dreadful! It must be very uncomfortable!’ Tatya exclaimed. ‘Is anyone else there?’

‘Only the detachment on duty, and they’re chewing on the bit to go west before it’s all over. I’ll probably look about for an apartment when I feel a little more active.’

‘Why don’t you stay here?’ Tatya invited, with the air of one who has hit on a good idea. ‘We’ve plenty of room, and you can do just as you please. If you don’t feel like joining the fun and frolic upstairs, you can stay quietly down here—come and go as you wish. It would be much more comfortable than barracks, or some flea-ridden apartment!’