The Four Winds of Heaven (53 page)

“Oh, no,” her guest replied. He rested his gaze upon her lovely, full face with compassion.

After supper, Ossip and Sonia served tea to Mossia on one side of the sitting room while Johanna, Mathilde, the Baron, and Hillel Zlatopolsky sat on the other. Sonia was amused, watching her brother and the young man from Kiev. They represented such opposites that it was funny just to watch them—one so slender and elegant, the other so massive and strong. But she could not help feeling embarrassed in the presence of this man who must, surely, know of her humiliation. When Ossip had to leave them to dress for a ball, to which, in these lean times, he was rarely invited, she turned to Mossia, her eyes wide, and murmured, “I am sorry for my behavior earlier. There was no excuse. But—” and she blushed deeply—“the maître d'hôtel said that we had visitors from Kiev, and….Tania is not the only person I know there.”

His greenish-blue eyes, surrounded by short but thick black lashes, gazed deeply into her own. “I understand,” he answered. Then, as he saw her mortification, he continued: “It would be better for me to be honest, Sofia Davidovna. Yes, I am painfully aware of what happened to your life— and worse than that, I know the reason. But you have no need ever to feel ashamed, either in front of me or in front of anyone from Kiev. Kolya Saxe—yes, I shall be insensitive and mention his name—did himself a grave disservice by not marrying you. His reputation suffered enormously. Besides, women like that never follow through. This one—forgive me. I shall not continue to torture you with matters better left unsaid.”

“No, no, you must tell me,” she pleaded, her face drained of color. “What happened to the girl?”

“First of all, Sofia Davidovna, she was hardly a girl. She was a married woman. Her husband learned of the… liaison… and left town with her. She had far more to lose than Kolya. Kolya, I am sorry to say, was a coward.”

“So now—why…
why?
”
she asked in a whisper, leaving her thought unfinished. She could not restate what she had thought earlier, that now he could return, make up for the time they'd lost… She could not, for he had rejected her in favor of someone else, a married mistress, an older woman who was no longer even a part of his life.

She felt someone gently seize her hand and say, “He could not, after what he had done. Not because you would not have forgiven him, but because he was doubly a coward, and could never have faced you, knowing that you knew. He... married someone, last year. I do not think he ever loved her as he loved you. But she was a widow, and needed a father for her little girl. Maybe he married her to help atone for his disgraceful behavior.”

She fell forward, and he caught her, and eased her back upon the sofa. “No,” he murmured, “this will not do at all, Sofia Davidovna. You are ten times the person he is. But you had to know. Sooner or later, someone else—Tania—would have told you. Come on.”

“I could have forgiven him everything, if he had not married,” she said, her eyes shut tight to stem the tears. “Oh, no, he couldn't have done this! Not—marriage.”

“You are being a sentimental child,” Mossia Zlatopolsky said harshly. “He may love you forever, but he is a man, a person. You could hardly expect him to spend his life as a monk, loving only the memory of you. Surely such is the nonsense of novels.”

She stopped moaning and regarded him, aghast. He broke into a smile. “Good, good!” he cried. “You are reacting like a strong individual, winning back your pride. Come now, be my hostess and allow me the pleasure of another glass of tea.”

Sonia nodded, mutely, and when she returned to his side, Ossip was there, and not long afterward the Zlatopolskys asked for a carriage to their hotel. Before leaving, however, Mossia fetched a small package from the foyer, and handed it to Sonia. “Tatiana Alexandrovna knew that we would see you,” he said, “and she asked me to give you this book. It is, it seems, a novel by the daughter of the British Ambassador, Miss Buchanan. Your cousin told me to tell you that the plot amused her, and will quite take your fancy. I hope that I have accomplished my mission adequately.”

“It was kind of you to undertake it,” she said, and gave him her hand. “In return, you will give Tania my love?”

“Most certainly. I shall endear myself to the Halperins by kissing the new Madame on both cheeks and the third, and shock them all. After all, is Tania not… expecting?”

She closed the door upon his tall, broad form, and stood in the foyer, lost in thoughts that were too jumbled to make sense. But as she went to bed, after kissing her parents good night, she felt queerly drained of all emotion. Her last waking thought was: Since when has Tania started to read books?

I
n the carriage
that was taking them to the Hotel de l'Europe, Mossia and Hillel Zlatopolsky smoked in companionable silence. Finally, it was Mossia who drew his father's attention from thoughts of the Judaica and the rich supper at the Gunzburg home. “You are quite taken with the young Baroness, Papa,” he chuckled.

“She is a lovely, delicate child,” the older man mused.

“Hardly a child. She must be my own age. But she is one of those women who will always be childlike, don't you think?”

“I'm not certain,” Hillel replied. “There is a hardness about her that isn't childlike at all. And it is that which draws me to her; it saddens me to see it.”

“Why?” Mossia asked. “A little toughness in a girl isn't always bad. As long as she doesn't become a woman of iron—such as that Dutch governess. I prefer them soft, but zestful.”

“Like Lialia.”

Father and son regarded each other seriously in the darkness of the coach. The hooves of the horses clopped on the cobbles of Petrograd, and still neither would lower his gaze. Lialia was a sore point between them, though never discussed beyond this. She was a singer in a Muscovite cafe-concert, and was kept by Mossia. As long as the young man paid for his gypsy from his own earnings, Hillel felt that it was not his business to interfere. He loved Mossia, respected his brilliant business sense, but did not easily understand his immense appetites, which included women such as Lialia.

“Like Lialia,” Mossia assented lightly. But he recalled the instance when his father had quelled him, the single time, and how searing a humiliation that had been. Mossia was a passionate aficionado of billiards, but in Kiev and Moscow, billiard halls were found only in the most disreputable neighborhoods. Hillel had strongly disapproved of his son's presence among blackguards and thieves, although he had never been an interfering parent in regard to Mossia's private activities. Mossia had chosen to overlook Hillel's objection, and one night, in the midst of a tense game in the back room of a shanty in the slums of Kiev, he had seen his father, elegantly clad in tuxedo and top hat, a black pearl pin resplendent in his cravat, push open the door. Hillel had merely looked at the young man from his small, piercing eyes, and Mossia had dropped his cue in the corner and followed him home. Not a word had been exchanged between them; but the humiliation still rankled.

“It was a generous deed, to give Lialia the money for her mother's operation,” Hillel now stated gently. “Oh, don't look so peeved! Your friend Pierre told me about it.”

“It was not his affair,” Mossia replied offhandedly. Then, his eyes shining, he turned to his father with animation: “Papa, while we are here, shall we go to the Opera? I have become good friends with Fedya Chaliapin, and I should like to have you hear him in
Boris Godunov.”

“I have already had the pleasure of listening to Chaliapin. He's a genius. When he comes next to Kiev, bring him to the house, Mossia.”

“Thank you, I shall. Now, tell me, do you suppose the Baron will sell the Judaica?”

Hillel Zlatopolsky shrewdly narrowed his eyes. “I am not sure,” he replied. “He will want to wait, and weigh his options.”

“But you will win, Papa,” Mossia stated. “You never fail.” He smiled, thinking of the sugar plantations in Kiev, the banks in Moscow, the shipping companies on the Volga, the tramways in Odessa, the mills, the mines, the pastures. “Still, I wish that you and Baron Gunzburg were on the same side.”

“But we are, Mossia, we are,” his father replied, his small eyes twinkling. Then he sighed, and huddled comfortably beneath the plaid blanket in the landau. His son scrutinized him, but this time Hillel had no desire to share his thoughts with his son.

S
onia was brutally awakened
by loud voices in the foyer, and she peered at the elegant glass dome which held her clock upon her mantelpiece. It was after midnight. She turned on the small lamp by her bedside, and rose, her throat constricted. Her black hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, and she shuddered, slipping into her bathrobe which was at the foot of her bed. Then she ran out of her room toward the noise.

Two men were arguing with Stepan, tall and stern, his hair tinged with strands of regal white. “What is it?” she asked, joining them.

“I beg your pardon, Baroness,” one of the men said, and bowed. His attire was nondescript, his face sallow but intelligent. “We are searching for Baron Ossip de Gunzburg. This man says that—”

“Ossip Davidovitch has gone to a ball,” Stepan articulated with disdain.

“Who are you?” Sonia demanded. Goosebumps had spread over her arms, and although she examined the men carefully, she could figure nothing out. “Our maître d'hôtel speaks the truth,” she added, moving toward Stepan.

“We are with the Secret Police,” the second man stated. “It seems unlikely to us that your brother would pick this one of all nights to attend a dance. Where is he?”

Sonia's head jerked up, and she straightened her sloping shoulders. “My brother is at the Abelmans' home. Mademoiselle Abelman has turned eighteen, and because of the war there are few escorts available. My brother was asked to attend—although we do not believe in socializing during the war,” she could not help adding with displeasure, having argued this point many times with Ossip. She thought: If only he had listened to reason he would be here, and no one would make him sound like some kind of criminal! Thank God, she thought with a surge of relief, that he has no interest in politics. Thank God, for now they cannot arrest him! She nearly swooned with suppressed emotion. “Why is it you want him?” she asked.

The first man shrugged. “We must search his room. Can you lead us to it?”

Stepan cried out, “No, indeed, we shall not! The young master has done nothing wrong.”

But Sonia turned to the maître d'hôtel. “Stepan,” she said quietly, “we must summon my father at once. He would not allow such an indignity to take place in his own house. Although,” she added, a small but proud figure in her bathrobe trimmed with Brussels lace, “my brother has nothing to hide. You may as well begin your search, and see for yourself. But waken Papa, please, Stepan.”

The two men entered the room then, and opened all the drawers and cabinets, and removed Ossip's clothing to check the pockets and hems. Sonia stood erect by their side. “There,” she said finally. “You see? Nothing!”

At this point, Stepan returned with a disheveled Baron David. In the commotion Mathilde and Johanna had awakened too, and they entered Ossip's room on David's heel. Mathilde seized her husband's arm, and cried, “Stop them! You must call the minister at once!”

But David shook his head. “Let us first find out what this is about,” he stated. “Calm yourself, my dear.” But the pain in his chest grew worse, and blue lines showed around his lips. Sonia rang for tea, but fetched her father a shot of Napoleon brandy.

She returned to her own room bewildered. In the distance, she could hear Johanna's strident tone as she attempted to lead Mathilde to her room and back to bed. She heard her father, politely offering tea to the policemen, who accepted gingerly. Finally, she pushed her hair from her temples and lay back upon her pillows. She could not even think of sleeping. She reached for the book that Mossia had brought her, Tania's gift, hoping that it might relax her. It was entitled:
The Emeralds.
She flipped through the pages, then opened to the first chapter, adjusting her lamp so that she might read more clearly. All the while, she kept one ear cocked for the sound of Ossip's key at the back door, off their hallway.