The Amber Keeper (34 page)

She quickened her pace slightly. So did the footsteps. After another few yards she glanced back over her shoulder, but could see no one. Feeling rather foolish, thinking she must have imagined it, she hurried on to find Joan waiting for her on the doorstep.

‘I thought I heard you coming. We don’t get many visitors in these parts, thank goodness.’

Looking back along the street, a thoughtful frown puckering her brow, Abbie considered these words as Joan led her along the side of the house to where a table and chairs were set out on the back lawn. Had it just been her imagination, or was someone really following her?

‘I’ve made some lemonade, which I thought we’d take outside to enjoy this lovely sunny day.’

‘What a beautiful garden. Oh, and what a magnificent view.’

‘I never grow tired of looking at it. That sprawling ridge is Loughrigg. From its summit there are even more spectacular views of the Langdale Pikes. I love to walk over there, or around the tarn that nestles beneath, particularly now in early summer when the surface is awash with water lilies. The tarn was a favourite of Wordsworth. The poet described it as being as “clear and bright as heaven”.’

‘I can well believe it. I hope to put in some walking myself this autumn, once the shop is less busy.’

Joan began to pour lemonade in to two glasses, adding ice from a jug. ‘I’m delighted to hear business is good, despite Clarinda’s vicious little piece. But let’s not talk about her. Let us remember my dear friend Kate.’

Accepting a delicious slice of chocolate cake, Abbie soon forgot all about her possible stalker as she became instantly caught up in the tale Joan had to tell.

‘I know you are aware that your mother was adopted, and I dare say by now you will have discovered that Countess Olga Belinsky was actually her birth mother.’

‘Yes, I knew years ago that she was adopted but not where or when.’ Abbie told Joan briefly of her visit to the orphanage at Stepney, and something of what her grandmother had told her.

‘Well, back in 1936 when Kate was just nineteen, the
Countess
arrived at Carreck Place, quite out of the blue. At first Kate was delighted to see her. I suppose it was a relief to find out at last who her real mother was, and even quite exciting that she should turn out to be a countess. But I don’t believe your grandmother was quite so pleased.’

‘I can understand that. Apart from the fear of losing her,
Millie
hates to look back. It has taken months of effort on my part to drag out the story of her time in Russia and learn the information I wanted about my mother. I must say I didn’t hurry her because I found it all absolutely fascinating, both tragic and touching. So how did Millie react to the Countess’s sudden appearance?’

Joan sadly shook her head. ‘There were many arguments, apparently, both between Kate and her mother, and between Millie and the Countess, over the way she was intruding upon their lives. She called constantly, refusing to let go, and even accused your grandmother of stealing her daughter, whom she called Katya. She threatened to tell the police that Millie had also stolen her
jewellery
.’

‘God, that woman talked complete trash. Millie told me how she’d once been accused of stealing the Countess’s pearls.’

‘In this instance the Countess was referring to an amber pendant, not her pearls. Millie insisted she had no recollection of what had happened to that.’

‘Ah, it must be the one I found in Mum’s baby things. But do go on. What happened next?’

‘The battle was really over access to Kate, and your grandmother tried to explain to her daughter that it was all lies, that the
Countess
had ordered Millie to claim to be her mother, as she’d refused to acknowledge the child. I think Kate found this hard to accept, which resulted in more quarrels. Then Olga offered Kate a home in the Riviera, and she agreed to go.’

‘Oh, my goodness. So that was the reason she supposedly ran off?’

‘I’m afraid so, and it rather broke your grandmother’s heart.’

Abbie was silent for some minutes, understanding what a cruel blow this must have been for Millie. ‘I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost my darling Aimée. I’m quite happy for Eduard, my ex, to have her visit from time to time, but I’d be in pieces if he tried to take her from me completely.’

Joan was nodding. ‘I should think that’s exactly how your grandmother felt. She’d brought Kate up as her own child from birth, and as she was unable to have any children of her own she couldn’t have loved her more. Kate loved her too, but was at a rebellious age. However, she soon regretted her decision to move in with Olga, as she quickly became disillusioned. After just a few months she found herself more and more controlled and manipulated for the Countess’s own selfish purposes. Kate told me she was shocked by her decadent lifestyle, her string of lovers, her profligate spending. Apparently she had learned nothing from the Russian revolution. So when Olga attempted to force her into marriage with a rich aristocrat, Kate had had enough and returned home. She’d finally realised that the woman who had been the only true loving mother to her was Millie.’

There were tears in Abbie’s eyes by this time. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that, although I’m not sure their relationship entirely recovered from the trauma. I can see now why there was always a slight restraint between them.’

‘Indeed. They were probably nervous of reviving past hurts.’

‘I really do appreciate you telling me all of this. It has helped enormously.’

‘Feel free to call whenever you wish to talk. Any daughter of Kate’s is a friend of mine.’

When she reached the church yard, Abbie was surprised to catch a glimpse of Eduard parking his car, which puzzled her as he was supposed to be taking Aimée out on a steam launch. Why would he take her home early when he’d made such a fuss of wanting to spend as much time as possible with her? The answer came to her in a flash and she marched right over.

‘Are you following me?’

Eduard blinked. ‘Follow you where? I thought you were at the shop, working.’

‘Don’t lie to me. I heard your footsteps following me earlier when I went to visit a friend.’

His lip curled in derision. ‘Was that the friend I saw you with the other night? Is he your latest lover?’

‘He most certainly is
not
my lover, and nor was he the friend I was visiting. All of which is irrelevant to my question. Why were you following me?’

Eduard held out both hands in a helpless little shrug. ‘I can only say
non
, I was not following you. I take Aimée out for sail, then she want to go home as it too hot, so I drive her home in my rental car. Now I buy ticket at the post office for train tomorrow.’

‘Train? You’re going home?’

‘There is nothing for me here. You have made that very clear. I like spending time with my little girl. We have enjoyed good days together and she is eager to come see me later in the summer. If you can’t fly her out, I will come for her. Now it is time I go see my little boy.’

Stifling a sigh of relief, Abbie smiled. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out for us, but I do wish you well, Eduard. And please give my best wishes and congratulations to Marie on the birth of her son. Have you chosen a name yet?’

He shook his head. ‘She wait for me to decide.’

‘Of course.’ Eduard always liked to be the one to make the decisions. Allowing him to plant a triple kiss on her cheeks in true French fashion, she stood by her car, watching as he walked away. Now she was truly free at last. But instead of the expected joy, she was swamped with sadness, for she seemed to have lost Drew as well.

On the Monday morning, after an oddly quiet weekend, Abbie was alone in the shop, Linda having taken a well-deserved day off. A short, stocky man in his fifties was her first customer, and Abbie offered her usual smiling welcome as husbands buying gifts for their wives were some of her best customers. But he was not smiling as he approached the counter. His expression was largely obliterated by a scraggy beard and a peaked cap pulled well down over his round head; despite the warmth of the day the collar of his navy duffle coat was turned right up. Little was visible of his face but a pair of piercing dark eyes.

‘Are you Abigail Myers? I see the interview in the paper saying you take over your mother’s business.’ His words were not easy to distinguish, as he spoke with an accent.

‘That’s correct,’ Abbie replied, feeling a slight twinge of unease.

‘I was companion to one of the ladies your mother visited.’

‘Ah, do you mean the one who spoke to her about a possible visit to Russia?’ Abbie asked, remembering what the journalist had told her, but the man was shaking his head.

‘I know nothing of any visit to the Fatherland.’ Looking about the shop, his eyes lighted on the amber jewellery in the display cabinet. ‘Ah, is that the stolen amber?’

‘What are you talking about? I bought it from a company in Poland, all legal and above board.’

‘No, your grandmother stole it. She owe big debt to my lady. She steal not only my lady’s jewellery but also her daughter.’

Abbie had gone quite cold. ‘That is absolutely not true. My grandmother is no thief.’ So this man must have been a companion or servant to the Countess.

He leaned across the counter towards her, his scornful smirk revealing a row of yellow teeth, several of them chipped as if he’d been in a fight. ‘I know the truth, the whole story. Your
grandmother
, she even get the house that should have belonged to my lady, had her husband done the right thing by her. Instead she died in penury, having lost everything. Now I need an income for having looked after your mother’s mother for all these years, and the Countess instructed me on where and how to go about getting one. If you don’t want your grandmother to spend time in jail, then you pay me money. I want the same as my lady was receiving from your mother: one hundred pounds a week. That is four hundred a month or I te
ll police.’

Abbie gasped. ‘That’s blackmail. Even if I was in possession of such a huge sum I wouldn’t pay you a penny.’

His lip curled, eyes glittering. ‘This is business. Everything you have should belong to my lady, and now to me. You tell the old woman that Ivan has not gone away and it would be wise for her to do as I say. She cannot hide forever in her beautiful panelled drawing room. I will be back in one week for the money. Make sure you have it waiting.’

THIRTY-TWO

B
y the end of January, the Count and Serge had left Petrograd.
Babushka
decided to remain as this was where her friends lived, and they did sometimes pay her a visit.
Nyanushki
agreed to continue as her companion as the old lady’s rheumatism was getting worse and she could do little for herself.

‘The poor dear might die of neglect, if I didn’t stay,’
Nyanushki
whispered in an aside to me while these negotiations were taking place.

I’d heard no word from Stefan for almost two weeks, which was driving me half demented. I’d spent many hours trudging about this huge city asking people if they’d seen him, hoping for some clue as to where he might be hiding, so far to no avail. I positively haunted our favourite coffee shop, even though it rarely had any coffee to offer these days. It was most distressing that I could discover no news of him.

But if I was upset by the cards fate had dealt me, the Countess was in a veritable rage over her own. A divorce was proving to be a mixed blessing. Without her lover, or the settlement she had hoped for, its appeal had diminished somewhat. At one point she went so far as to reject the very idea.

‘Why can we not stay as we are, at least until the political situation improves?’

The Count’s expression as he answered her was uncompro
mising. ‘Because things could get a whole lot worse. Besides, why
would I wish to keep you as my wife? Infidelity appears to be
second
nature to you. I could personally name many of your lovers, although
certainly
not all.’

‘So you would ruin my reputation?’

‘I think you managed that all on your own.’

Worse, the fact that her precious son had chosen to reside with his father, and not with
her
, came as a terrible shock. ‘I will not allow you to steal him from me!’ she screamed at the Count.

‘I would not dream of doing so. The choice is entirely his. Tell me, Serge, where do you wish to live: here in Petrograd with
Mamochka
, or with me at the estate, such as it is?’

‘With you, Papa.’

She begged and pleaded with the boy, yelled and shouted at him, but he left her in no doubt over his reasons for making this choice.

‘I do love you,
Mamochka
, but you are never around when I need you. You really only care about yourself, and were horrid to my little sister. How do I know that you won’t get bored with me too one day? Papa and I are good friends, and I shall be a man soon so I wish to be with him. You can come and visit me any time you please, and stay in one of the cottages on the estate, so stop fussing. I’ll be fine, and so will you.’

The discussion, it appeared, was over, even if her anger continued to fester.

Much as I had come to love Russia, I was growing increasingly anxious to return home to England, assuming a train or ship became available, just as soon as I could arrange the necessary papers from the Duma. I’d tried on numerous occasions with no success. At my last effort the House Committee had demanded proof of where I had been living these last six years, and who the flat belonged to, which the Countess refused to provide for fear they might come seeking payment or extra taxes of some sort. What should have been a perfectly simple procedure was turning into a nightmare.

I’d written to my parents assuring them that I was safe. But with no reply I wasn’t even certain they’d received any of my letters. There would be much about Russia that I would miss if I left, not least
Nyanushki
and Ruth, but I longed to hear English voices, to see smiling happy faces, to leave all of this misery behind me. Except that I still hadn’t found Stefan. Sick as I was of the difficulties in Petrograd, finding him was my number one priority, as I hoped to persuade him to come with me. I certainly had no intention of leaving without him.

Many of my friends from the British and American chapel had already gone, although not dear Ruth. She often spoke of leaving but had so far set no date to do so. She did advise me to get together some money in preparation for my own departure.

‘I tried to draw out some of my savings the other day,’ I told her. ‘Not that I have much left, but was informed that we’re only allowed to draw out one hundred roubles a week. How I’ll get my hands on the money the Count has provided for me is uncertain.’

‘Didn’t he give you any cash?’

I looked around to make sure we were quite alone and not overheard by any wagging ears. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he did, safely stitched into a secure place. I hope!’

She rolled her eyes. ‘So if anyone were to find it there, you’d have a bigger problem than just losing the money.’

We both giggled, as if it were all some sort of joke, when really it could easily turn into a life or death situation. How much money it would take to complete the long journey to England was impossible to say. I knew I needed to be prepared for any emergencies, such as bribing a guard to allow me on to a train, or to persuade someone not to rob me of my precious belongings. Problems of this sort were now quite common. Bribery seemed to be the new currency.

I let out a weary sigh. ‘I need to go again and ask about my papers. All I’ve had so far are endless promises but no actual documents. Oh, I do wish Stefan was here to help. I really don’t want to leave without him. Where can he be? Have you heard anything?’

‘I haven’t seen him, no,’ Ruth said. A little smile lit her face, and I was instantly on the alert.

‘But you’ve heard something?’

Now it was my friend’s turn to glance nervously over her shoulder. Then she carefully dropped her voice. ‘He left a message for you in my hymn book.’

‘Oh, tell me where he is,’ I cried. ‘Why didn’t he contact me directly?’

‘Because he’s terrified of endangering your life. Listen, he isn’t far away, and wishes to see you too.’ She told me the place and time, and I hugged her with joy. ‘You are the best friend in the world. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Just be careful. Remember, he’s still a wanted man. He says you must continue to behave as normal. You must keep on trying for your papers and making the necessary arrangements to leave, and when you go to meet him, take a circuitous route, making sure no one is following you. The last thing he needs is for the Countess to find out where he is.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll make absolutely certain of that.’

It was such a joy and a relief to have Stefan’s arms about me again, to kiss him and hold him and feel his heart beating against mine. Being with him after all these weeks apart was an exquisite pain. Neither of us could speak for some time as we clung to each other beneath the shelter of a bridge down by the river, a safe distance from the centre of the city.

‘Show me where you’re living,’ I asked him, when finally we paused to take a breath. ‘I need to know in case something
happens
and I have to leave without you. I need to know where to conta
ct you.’

‘Nothing is going to happen and we are going to leave together, I swear it.’ We both knew it was one promise he couldn’t guarantee to keep. ‘You weren’t followed today, I trust?’

I shook my head in reassurance, for I shared his fears. ‘I saw no one but an old lady selling flowers. You’re quite safe, my love.’

His hideout was little more than a shack which, I was
surprised
to discover, was actually a studio filled with easels, oil paints and brushes. There was also a range of beautiful paintings of local landscapes and sunsets, ships and architecture, birds and animals. I gazed upon them in awe. ‘This is your work?’

‘It is.’ He was almost blushing.

‘So is this where you go when you disappear for hours? You took days off to go and paint, not to meet your revolutionary friends, as the Countess imagines.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, either out in the country, or here in my
studio
, my secret hideaway.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret?’

He shrugged, for the first time looking vulnerable, almost shy. ‘My painting is very private, my secret creative world, and
sharing
it is difficult for me. Maybe one day, when I’m convinced I ha
ve talent.’

‘Oh, you have talent,
Nyanushki
was right about that,’ I said, remembering a conversation years ago when he’d first come to do the work in the schoolroom. I smiled in wonder at a picture of the blue and white pavilion at Catherine Palace, and one of a tall ship in the harbour. ‘But I do wish you’d been more open about it.’

‘You mean I might not be in this mess, if I had.’

I gave him a rueful smile. ‘Maybe. The Countess likes to keep her own secrets, but is not approving of other people’s.’ I went to put my arms about him. ‘May I tell her that this is what you were doing, painting? It might help to persuade her to drop all charges against you.’

‘What if she doesn’t, and the Bolsheviks discover where I’m
living
?’

‘I promise I won’t reveal your hideaway, or give any hint that I know where you are living.’

‘It’s too big a risk, Millie. They might wonder why you’ve never mentioned it before and start to question how you know, and where I do this painting. The Countess could make your life impossible as well as ruin mine.’

As we walked along the river bank sharing the warmth of each other’s bodies, blissfully uncaring of the feathering of snow falling upon our heads as we kissed, we agreed to postpone the decision until I had my papers safely in my hand.

By the end of February the apartment was refurbished sufficiently for us to occupy a small portion of it. No one could claim it to be comfortable as it was bitterly cold, with very little fuel available. But with only us four women remaining, as even Mrs Grempel, Anton, Gusev and the other servants had all gone their separate ways, we would huddle together in the library during the day. If we were lucky we would find sufficient wood for one fire. On the days we couldn’t, the Countess would order us to chop up a chair or table, and we’d burn that. Anything to keep warm. Once we ran out of wood and the cold became too much, we went to bed.

We were also starving.

Today, dinner consisted of beetroot soup and nothing else. The price of food, even if we could find any, was extortionate: seven roubles for a small pack of sugar, eight for a quarter measure of potatoes, and even rice was over three roubles the pound. We’d managed to buy some bread in previous weeks, if only the kind made from rye flour or bran. This week no bread had been given out.
Nyanushki
had attempted to bake some out of potato flour and bran. It was dreadful and made me feel quite ill.

As the winter dragged on we lived in constant fear as the apartment was frequently searched by the Bolsheviks. In the first raid they came seeking the Count and his valuables. His work at the Winter Palace and his connection with the Romanovs had not gone unnoticed. That alone put him in danger, as well as his fortune.