To Dream of Snow (21 page)

Marguerite also saw immediately that it was from Madame Fromont. Although she had written quite regularly to her, knowing how interested she would be to hear about them all, it was the first she had had in return. Sitting down, she read it aloud to them. Their former employer wrote that she had been so pleased to receive two letters, but she could tell from the contents that at least one other had failed to arrive. Although she was housebound she kept up with fashion news and told of new trends. She also gave news of the women still working in her old atelier, two of them being regular visitors, and with her hired companion looking after her she was content. She sent her good wishes to them all.

There was a little silence when Marguerite finished reading. She looked around at their faces. This voice from Paris had touched each one of them and they all sat motionless with a faraway look in their eyes.

It was Jeanne who broke the spell. ‘Well, it's good to know the old lady seems happy enough. Now let's get back to work.'

Marguerite was about to leave the sewing rooms when the dressmaker figures of the Empress and the Grand Duchess caught her eye.

‘What's happened to the Empress?' she exclaimed with a frown. ‘Have her breasts sagged that much?'

Jeanne nodded. ‘So it seems. We received her new measurements yesterday, hence the extra padding. The courier who brought them told us that not only has she put on weight, but she is not as well as she used to be. But then everybody knows she leads a strange sort of life with all her lovers and her drinking and whatever goes on at her private parties.'

Marguerite said nothing. Plenty of tales circulated about the Empress's excesses and debauchery, but how much of it was true she did not know.

Preparation for the work that she was to take with her took time in the selection of fabrics, the cutting and everything else, but as soon as all was ready she took time to see Sarah on the morning of her departure. She was thankful that her friend would never know of those few brief and dangerous seconds on the plateau when the past had almost overcome the present, for most surely it was Jacques whom she had sought in Tom's arms, not Tom himself. Yet why did she still have doubts?

But Sarah was not at home. The housekeeper informed Marguerite that Mr Warrington had taken his wife to Oranienbaum that morning, having promised her some while ago that she should see the results of his work in the park when everything was finished. Marguerite recalled how she had been included in that promise, none of them having known at the time that she would see it for herself.

‘When Mistress Warrington returns, please tell her that I called,' Marguerite said as she left again.

Back in the sewing room she found Isabelle ready and waiting to accompany her to Peterhof. She had decided earlier that if she took an assistant to get the flower gown completed as quickly as possible she would be able to return earlier to her atelier. At first she had intended to take Rose, but she felt there was always something devious about the girl and decided against it. Isabelle, upon hearing that she had been chosen, had blushed with pleasure. Marguerite thought she was becoming quite pretty in an elfin way.

The journey to the Palace of Peterhof did not take long. As they passed through the couriers' gate Marguerite saw at once that Peter the Great's first country palace was truly beautiful to behold with its amber-hued walls enhanced by white and gold baroque ornamentation, a formal garden spread like a vast and beautiful carpet around it. Gilded statues caught the sun's blaze and fountains shot arrow-high into the sky, the spray full of rainbows, while terraced waterfalls cascaded in an endless crystal flow. Isabelle was wide-eyed with wonder.

‘How splendid it is!' she exclaimed in awe.

As soon as they were settled in their rooms Marguerite was told she had been summoned by the Empress and she did not delay in going the short distance to see her at the Summer Palace. She took with her a collection of fashion dolls prepared by Jeanne from the new designs, including one dressed in what she had come to think of as the opal gown.

When Marguerite rose up from her deep curtsey after entering the Empress's salon she could see a change in her. Although nothing could dim Elisabeth's imposing presence and she was still a handsome woman, it was easy to see that self-indulgence and dissipation were showing the first signs of taking their toll. There was a loosening of her face's firm contours and slight bags under her eyes, but her well-designed stiffened bodice disguised any fault in her figure, her breasts showing plump and firm beneath it.

‘All excellent.' Elisabeth's voice was slurred by alcohol as she waved aside the fashion dolls, each of which had been held up for her approval. ‘I shall want all of these when I'm in Moscow again.' Her beringed finger suddenly pointed sharply at Marguerite and she added thickly, ‘But when the time comes you'll bring the one with those opal sequins to me yourself, Frenchwoman! You've done enough running about on behalf of the Grand Duchess, making her fancy capes and other such nonsense. You shall attend me solely from now on. Why else did I bring you here all the way from France? Now get back to St Petersburg today and take up your sewing for me!'

Marguerite left in dismay. At Peterhof she went immediately to see if she could speak to the Grand Duchess, but without success. She was informed that Catherine was having her first sitting for a portrait by a Dutch artist at the Empress's instructions and was not to be disturbed.

Marguerite, about to turn away, stopped on a sudden thought. ‘What is the artist's name?'

‘Jan van Deventer.'

Marguerite raised her eyebrows. Jan had said he painted when he had the time. Obviously he was more talented than he had led her to believe. It could only mean that the Empress must have seen something of his own work and liked it.

Isabelle looked up from her stitching and paled when Marguerite broke the news to her. ‘You're going back this evening? I'm to carry on here embroidering the flower gown all by myself?'

‘I have to obey the Empress, but I don't want to disappoint the Grand Duchess. You did much of the embroidery on the Grand Duchess's cape and it was faultless. I have every confidence in you, but I shall send Sophie here in the morning.'

Abruptly Isabelle shook her head and straightened her back. She knew her skills had improved greatly during the past months, which she believed had much to do with feeling safe and unafraid. In addition, Marguerite's praise had boosted her self-confidence. Her frown cleared.

‘No, I want to do the work myself. That should make me a true imperial seamstress when it is done.'

‘Indeed it will!'

Once more Marguerite returned to St Petersburg. She thought the routine of her life had become as restless as that of the Imperial Court, always moving from one palace to another. At least the rest of the summer seemed destined to be peaceful.

Sarah had not returned from Oranienbaum, but had written that she was staying in Tom's accommodation. So with the Imperial Court away at Peterhof there was nobody to stop her from watching him at work or prevent her from wandering freely in the park where sometimes she would sit and read.

With the fading of summer Jan appeared again. Marguerite came downstairs to the domestic hall one evening and found him waiting for her. With his tricorne hat under his arm, which he had doffed at her approach, he seemed taller and broader than she remembered, not having seen him for some time. He gathered both her hands into his and drew her to him.

‘You've been most elusive! When I arrived you weren't here at the Winter Palace, but at Oranienbaum. Later when I went to Peterhof where I was told you would be, it was only to find that you had vanished again. Have you been avoiding me?' It was a challenge thrown out with a lively look in his eyes.

‘Of course I have!' she replied, laughing.

He shook his head, amused. ‘I have been under pressure of work that has kept me at Peterhof until now. The Empress commissioned me to paint the Grand Duchess's portrait.'

‘Yes, I congratulate you.'

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘That led to one of the Grand Duke and a stream of commissions. But now I'm here again. Let's begin by having supper together. Before long I'll be sailing back to Amsterdam. You and I have no time to waste.'

To her surprise he took her straight to the apartment he had rented in the Dutch quarter of the city. It was on an upper floor and a plump, middle-aged maidservant of his own nationality, named Saskia, bobbed when they entered and took Marguerite's wrap from her.

The salon was spacious and well furnished in what Marguerite assumed to be the Dutch style and the tall stove was tiled with blue and white scenes that he said were from Delft. She went to look at the paintings on the wall and Jan came to her side to give her the titles and the artists' names. There were views of the city of Amsterdam with its busy port, but she found most interesting two of the Van Deventer family home. The house stood with its stained-glass patterned windows overlooking a canal and the second one showed its rear courtyard and a lush garden beyond with flower beds full of tulips. Both had been painted by his brother Maarten.

Next to these was a painting by another Dutch artist that showed a woman in a dark bodice and rust-red skirt sweeping the black and white tiles of a floor, the whole scene full of light from leaded windows. Marguerite thought it beautiful and lingered before passing on to a portrait of a strong-faced man in his sixties, looking fully out of the frame, a ruby velvet cape over his shoulder. Except for the neatly pointed beard the likeness was unmistakable.

‘That must be your father!' she exclaimed.

‘No, it's a self-portrait by my late grandfather. He painted it just before we received the news that our father's ship had gone down in a great storm somewhere off the Dutch East Indies.'

She turned to him sympathetically. ‘What a tragic time that must have been!'

‘Sadly we lost our mother soon afterwards. A fever took her. Maarten was only twelve at the time. It was fortunate that Hendrick was already married to Cornelia and she mothered the lad throughout his grief.' Then he straightened his grandfather's portrait, which was very slightly askew. ‘I like to have the old fellow with me.'

‘You were very fond of him?' She studied the portrait again. There were the same clear, demanding eyes as his grandson's, the same experienced, sensual mouth.

‘We all were. He was a travelling artist when he was young, but when he became successful he bought the house in Amsterdam that you've just seen and a studio with an adjoining gallery where he exhibited the work of other artists as well as his own. Hendrick has no talent for painting and he went to sea for a few years, but Cornelia gave him an ultimatum and he came home to stay. Unless, of course, he obliges me by bringing paintings to me as he did at Riga where you and I first met.'

‘Do they live in the family home?'

‘No, that was bequeathed to me and the studio and gallery too.'

‘I hope your portraits of the Grand Duke and Duchess are hung where I'll be able to see them.'

‘I've no idea where they'll be.' He had moved to hold a chair out ready for her at a damask-covered table at one end of the room, a three-branched candelabrum on it giving an extra sparkle to the glasses and a glow to the red wine in the decanter.

It was laid with a cold collation and included many small bowls holding a variety of traditional Netherland side dishes, such as tasty pickles, sliced cucumber in a piquant liquid, and cooked apple dusted with cinnamon. She found it all delicious. As they ate, sitting opposite each other, he told her how he had suddenly found himself commissioned by the Empress to paint the two imperial portraits.

‘It was purely by chance. She happened to see a painting of mine that I had no intention of selling her, but I had picked it up with others by mistake.' He shook his head incredulously. ‘Fortunately before she made any decision I managed to distract her from it by showing her one by Jan Fyt. I reminded her that she already had a still life by him in the Winter Palace, which her father had bought when in the Netherlands on his great tour.'

‘Yes, you pointed it out to me. A still life with a dead hare, some fruit and a lively parrot. I remember thinking it a strange assemblage until you told me more about the symbolism in Dutch art of that period. So tell me what happened next.'

‘It seems she took a liking to my work and, after asking me several questions, she gave me that double commission.' He gave a soft chuckle. ‘She took it on trust that I could capture a likeness, because the painting she liked was not a portrait.'

‘What was the subject?'

He looked steadily at her for a few moments before he replied, ‘It's best that you see it for yourself.'

‘I should like that very much.'

They had finished eating and she went to sit on a sofa while he crossed the room to a cupboard and took out the painting. It was small and he had had it framed in a finely carved and gilded frame. He handed it to her before sitting down beside her.

She gave a little gasp of pleasure, holding it between both hands. ‘How beautiful!'

It was a view of St Petersburg held in the wonderful luminous light that at times seemed to hold the whole city in an ethereal glow. But surely that single small figure on the bank of the Neva was herself? She looked up at him quickly, her eyes inquiring.

‘Yes, it's you, Marguerite,' he said, sitting down beside her, ‘and I painted it for you. I thought you would like a memento of the city for your wall when you are back in France one day.'

‘It's a wonderful gift and I'll treasure it all my life!' she declared fervently. ‘Even if I never go home again.'

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she was startled by what she had said. What subconscious conviction had risen to the surface in such an unexpected way?