To Dream of Snow (12 page)

At the head of the staircase she went to a central pair of gilded doors and opened them cautiously. There was nobody about. She entered the great salon with its silk-panelled walls the colour of a summer sky, huge crystal chandeliers suspended from the ornate ceiling and the shining parquet floor wonderfully patterned in different woods. Enthralled, she wandered across to the next double doors and passed from one grand salon into another. Each one showed signs of having been robbed of its furniture for the journey to Moscow, but it had all been done in a haphazard way. A few chairs had been taken from a row placed against walls or one of a pair of side tables removed. Gaps showed where pictures had gone and some rooms were still in disarray where carpets had been taken up.

She had come into yet another salon when she saw that the next set of doors stood open and there was the sound of movement within. Thinking that it was probably a servant or two beginning to tidy up, she went to push the doors wider and saw a shoulder-caped coat and a fur hat thrown down on a sofa. Her gaze went swiftly to the tall man, his dark hair drawn back and tied with a black ribbon, who stood on some library steps, hanging a painting. She recognized him instantly.

Jan van Deventer spoke without looking in her direction. ‘What do you think of the subject matter, Mam'selle Laurent? This is the portrait of a Dutchman like myself enjoying life.'

She realized he must have caught sight of her reflection in a pier glass. He jumped down from the steps, still assessing the painting with narrowed eyes. Curiosity spurred her forward. Standing level with him, she studied the portrait carefully and it made her smile. It showed a merry-looking man with sparkling eyes and red cheeks, wearing a wide hat fashionable a century ago and holding up a goblet of wine as if in a toast to the viewer.

‘He'd be good company,' she declared, ‘but noisy too. I can almost hear his bellowing laughter and it's quite infectious.'

Jan laughed. ‘My opinion exactly! Do you suppose the Empress will approve of him? I understand she enjoys a hedonistic life herself.'

‘I couldn't answer for the Empress, but I like him.' She met his eyes, which were piercing into her as at their first meeting, and was very aware of his height and fine physique. ‘I'm surprised that you remembered me.' Then at the same moment she regretted her words, which had sounded coquettish to her own ears and not what she had intended.

Fortunately he did not seem to think the same, laughter in his voice. ‘How could I have forgotten? It was the first time I had been offered a wife so unexpectedly and in Riga of all places.'

She laughed too, relieved. ‘I suppose your brother Hendrick told you my name.'

He was nodding. ‘Yes, on that same evening in Riga. Did you ever find the person you were looking for?'

‘Yes, he came shortly afterwards to join his wife. I left next morning with my companions for St Petersburg.'

‘Hendrick told me why you had come to Russia. He and I stayed in that hostelry for a couple of days. Then he set off for home again, and I brought the paintings he'd delivered on to St Petersburg.' He shrugged in frustration. ‘Only to find the imperial ladies have gone to Moscow.'

‘They went to Kiev first. Shall you follow them?'

He shook his head. ‘No, I've other business in the city from orders taken on my previous visit. The English merchants and their wives, as well as other foreigners and also my fellow countrymen, who are engaged in the diamond and shipping business here, are always eager to buy.' His gaze travelled disparagingly over the other paintings on the walls and he waved a hand at them. ‘None of these Russian works is outstanding. I look forward to the day when this country can produce her own great artists, perhaps as my own birthplace of the Netherlands did in the last century.' He smiled. ‘That extraordinary age of art! If I had a glass of wine in my hand now like the fellow in the portrait I'd raise it in a toast to the glory of those golden years.'

She knew something about those times, for her sister's lover, who had had an extensive library, had lent her some books on art after she admired his paintings, but she would have liked to know more. Although she could see nothing wrong with the pictures he had dismissed, she also saw that his Dutch painting shone out from the rest, seeming to vibrate with laughter and life. She moved slightly to stand squarely in front of it.

‘Is it a self-portrait by the artist?'

‘No. Personally I think this fellow was one of Rubens's many drinking companions.'

She nodded sagely. ‘Then this is the painting that you asked about when you met your brother at the Riga hostelry.' And, she thought, it was one of the ones that had caused the long wait that the Comtesse had permitted at Frankfurt-on-Oder. All because the Empress was not to be kept waiting excessively long for her latest acquisition.

‘You heard me question him, did you?' he asked. ‘Yes, I had a letter from Hendrick last time I was here, letting me know it was for sale and he hoped to secure it.' He narrowed his eyes at the painting. ‘Although Rubens died over a hundred years ago I see his influence still in the work of today's artists everywhere.' He glanced at her. ‘Even in France.'

She turned to him almost eagerly. ‘You know my country?'

‘Very well. It's full of beautiful women.'

Yes, she thought wryly, that's how he would judge any place he visited. Her interest waned. ‘I must go. I shouldn't be here, but I was curious. How did you know where to hang the painting?'

‘I was shown the place when I was last here. The Grand Duchess, who is interested in art, had just bought a still life from me when I told her about this painting. Immediately she was eager to have it for the grand ducal apartments.' Then his tone became ironic. ‘Unfortunately the Empress overheard our conversation and stepped in, accusing the unfortunate young woman of further extravagance and saying that she would have it for herself.'

She wondered what clash he had witnessed between the two imperial ladies. Greed seemed to one of the Empress's great faults. ‘You'll have to find something else to please the Grand Duchess. Now I really must go.'

‘Wait! Not yet! You should see the great Dutch masterpiece in the next room before you leave!' He caught her hand in his and she went willingly with him into the next room, he throwing the double doors wide with his free hand. Then he came to a halt, releasing her.

‘There!' he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Rembrandt's
David's Farewell to Jonathan
! Peter the Great bought it himself at an auction years ago when he was in the Netherlands.'

It was the first time Marguerite had ever seen a truly great painting. Nothing her sister's lover had possessed came anywhere near the magnificence of what she was viewing now. Jan was talking of brushstrokes and dramatic colour and the deep humanity of the painting, but she was simply gazing her fill of the great picture.

‘Peter the Great bought many Dutch paintings on both his visits,' he continued, smiling at her rapt gaze. It pleased him to see such enormous appreciation in her, but then everything about her pleased him. She was no ordinary woman, seeming to hold the promise of endless discoveries if only it were possible to break through to her. She intrigued and fascinated him. ‘There's a Jan Fyt still life on the wall over there,' he continued. ‘That's one of Peter the Great's purchases, although none can be compared with the Rembrandt.'

But she had only time to give the still life a fleeting glance, having heard someone approaching from the far room. ‘I must go!'

‘That will only be the official who received me,' he said reassuringly.

‘But I don't think I should be here! Goodbye!'

She flew out of the room, back through the many salons until she came to the great staircase. It took her a long time after that to find her way back to her own atelier.

Far away in a sledge travelling in the entourage between Kiev and Moscow, Catherine experienced the first arrow-sharp pains of a miscarriage. She wept with relief.

T
hat afternoon the two Russian seamstresses arrived, their cheeks bright crimson with nervousness at being sent to work with foreigners. They were both in their twenties and about the same height with broad, pretty faces, Nina with straight, moon-fair hair and Lise with brown curls. As they stood side by side in dresses of similar colour, their aprons crisp and white, they looked like a pair of the dolls that slotted into each other, which the seamstresses had seen in the market place.

‘Bonjour,' the two young women said together, having obviously rehearsed their greeting. Although neither spoke French they had heard enough of the language to know a few words and also grasp the meaning of what Marguerite said to them. Soon they had settled to sewing the underskirt of the Empress's gown while the others returned their attention again to their embroidery, using rich-green, sapphire-blue and gilt threads in the intricate pattern of peacock feathers that they were creating.

By the end of the week Nina and Lise had lost their shyness sufficiently to exchange Russian words for French ones as a general learning of one another's language evolved around the sewing tables. Agrippina came to see if they were proving satisfactory and brought twelve-year-old twins with her to be the new apprentices. They were named Julie and Marya, both bright-eyed as little mice with yellow hair, their tasks to include threading needles, heating irons and keeping the floor swept and clean, tasks that Marguerite had carried out herself when first starting her apprenticeship with Madame Fromont. The new arrivals were not in the least shy, and Marguerite soon had to reprimand them for being noisy and chattering too much, although she allowed them to join in the exchange of French and Russian words, for that was to everyone's benefit.

Igor, who sometimes came to see Marguerite, arrived just before supper one evening after work was over for the day to tell her that she had a visitor.

‘His name is Mynheer Jan van Deventer.' Then, mistaking the reason for her quick frown, he added with the intention of being helpful, ‘He's a Dutchman. From the Netherlands.'

She smiled. ‘Yes, Igor, I know. Did he give his reason for calling?'

‘He just asked to see you.'

‘I think you had better tell him it is not convenient at the present time.'

Igor looked doubtful. ‘He'll only send me back to you again. I can tell he's not a man to be easily turned away.'

She thought that Igor had summed up Jan van Deventer quite accurately, and she gave a sigh. ‘Very well. I'll see him.'

A feeling of uncertainty took hold of her as she went along corridors and down flights of stairs, nor did it leave her when she came face to face with Jan again. He came forward, his gaze seeming to absorb her.

‘Mam'selle Laurent! How good to see you again! You rushed away so quickly when we last met that there was no chance to settle a time and place to meet again.'

She raised her eyebrows at his assumption that she would have agreed to a meeting. ‘It would have made no difference. I'm far too busy to make any social arrangements.'

He dismissed her statement with a shake of his head. ‘But that was nearly two weeks ago. I think you will have organized your working routine by now. Nobody can sew twenty-four hours a day. Not even for an empress!'

‘Perhaps not at the moment, but those times will come, I'm sure. It happened often enough when I was in Paris.'

‘But you are free to have supper with me now while you're able to do whatever you wish! The lackey said you were about to sit down to a meal and so I know you haven't eaten.'

‘That's true, but—'

‘But you're tired of Russian food,' he interrupted, finishing her sentence in a way she had not intended, ‘and I know a hostelry where French dishes are served.'

She showed her surprise. ‘Here in St Petersburg? It must be on Vasilievsky Island.'

‘That's right.'

‘I was in the French quarter there the morning after my arrival in the city, but I was too worried then to take much notice of my surroundings.'

‘Obviously you haven't had a chance to fully explore this city yet. So let me take you back briefly to France tonight in the very heart of St Petersburg. At the same time I can probably answer anything you want to know about the city.'

His invitation was enticing. It was a chance for a little self-indulgence in allowing herself to enjoy all things French again for a very short time.

‘I'll come and I thank you,' she said decisively. ‘I do want to know everything possible about this extraordinary city.' It had been a revelation to see it as she had done first in moonlight and then by day in all its multi-pastel colours and its gilded spires and domes – first impressions she would never forget. ‘All I really know is that it was built through Peter the Great's whim to create a new capital on wide and desolate marshes.'

He grinned. ‘So fetch your cloak. I've a troika waiting.'

When she was back upstairs dinner was already being served and her companions were all at the table, except Violette, who had gone to meet one of the footmen.

‘We shall want to hear all about your evening when you get back,' Jeanne called out merrily as Marguerite bade them goodnight.

Wrapped in her cloak with the hood over her head, she went with Jan out into the starry night to where a coachman and his three-horse troika were waiting. Jan tucked a fur rug around them both and they were swept on their way. There were enough street lanterns for her to glimpse the various places of interest he pointed out that ranged from the Admiralty to various churches.

‘Over there,' he said, pointing in the direction of what she knew to be the Peter and Paul fortress, ‘is the little house where Tsar Peter lived like a peasant while this city of his was taking shape.'