Cynthia Harrod-Eagles - Anna

‘I want to be near you.’

‘I don’t suppose I shall have the leisure to visit you, even if there were a safe place for you to stay. You say Rose wants to go home. Why don’t you go back to Petersburg?’

Because it’s too far from you, she thought, but she didn’t say it. ‘She wants to see her father,’ she said instead.

‘Then go to Moscow.’

She eyed him defiantly, but saw the weariness in his eyes, and understood that now she was just one more thing for him to worry about, when he already had too much.

‘Very well,’ she sighed.

He touched her hand gratefully. ‘I’ll write to you. There’ll be couriers along the road all the time. I’ll send you news often, and if there’s an opportunity, I’ll come to you. It won’t be for long, doushka. A few months.’

‘And if it is possible, if it’s safe, you’ll send for me? I’ll come without Rose, travel fast if I have to. You’ll send for me?’

‘If it’s possible,’ he said. His voice said it would not be possible, but she had to be content with that, since she could do no better.

Anne found Moscow in a state of advanced insouciance. The notion that Napoleon might penetrate as far as the city – a thousand versts or more! – was considered preposterous, and so the two newspapers – the News and the Messenger – proclaimed with every edition. The fiercely patriotic Governor of Moscow, Count Rostopchin, had a leading citizen arrested for repeating Napoleon’s boast that he would occupy both Russian capitals within six months; and instituted a censorship on letters leaving the city, to make sure no one passed on subversive rumours about Russian military inefficiency. Rostopchin was a favourite of the Grand Duchess Catherine, and close friend of the fire-eating Prince Bagration, which, in Anne’s view, explained everything.

Basil greeted her warily, almost diffidently; but the patent delight of the reunion between him and Rose, though it hurt her a little, made her speak more gently to him than she otherwise might have. Jean-Luc, she discovered, had his own apartments in the house; but it was a large house, and he made sure he kept out of her way.

He and Basil were behaving with more discretion than she would have thought them capable of: though there was no doubt that Basil visited Jean-Luc in his own rooms, and probably stayed with him most nights, it was all done with great secrecy, rather in the manner of the Grand Monarch whose official couchée was followed by an unofficial exit via the secret stairway.

In public, though they continued to be seen everywhere together, they behaved less outrageously, and were less often obviously drunk. It was almost, she thought wryly, as though they had settled down after the first flush of their love affair into the comfortable behaviour of a young married couple. She hated to think about that; but for Rose’s sake she had to treat them civilly when they met. It was obviously in their interest too to avoid her as much as possible and not to provoke her when contact was inevitable; and after the first few days she found she was able to dismiss them from her mind for a great deal of the time, and to occupy her days agreeably with riding Quassy, schooling Image, and playing with Rose.

Rose was glad to be home, and with the stimulus of her new pony in the old familiar surroundings, and her desire to show her father her progress, she improved in a series of bounds. Her parents developed a routine for spending time with her so that they did not confront each other. Rose spent a great deal of Anne’s time prattling about what she had done with Papa and Zho-Zho, as she called Jean-Luc; and Anne could only hope that she was equally voluble with them about Maman’s treats.

July was hot, and many of the leading families had gone out of the city to their dachas; so that when the news arrived by Imperial courier that the Emperor was to visit Moscow before returning to St Petersburg, the Governor had to send out messengers to fetch them back. There was to be a ceremonial greeting of the Monarch at the Hill of Salutation, and he was then to be escorted to the royal apartments at the Kremlin. The next day there would be a solemn service of thanksgiving for the signing of the peace treaty with the Turks, and then the Emperor was to address all the leading nobles and the leading merchants at two assemblies.

The Emperor was to arrive on the 23rd; and on the 22nd Anne was surprised and pleased to receive a visit from Lolya.

‘Darling Anna Petrovna!’ She came forward with a smile of welcome and outstretched hands to kiss Anne formally on both cheeks, but it soon turned into a very informal hug.

‘My dear Lolya,’ Anne said. ‘What are you doing in Moscow? I thought you were spending the summer in Tula.’

‘Aunt Shoora’s brought Kira to shop for her wedding – so she says.’ Lolya pulled off her gloves, and walked about examining things as she talked with the restlessness of young energy. ‘Actually, I think it’s to get away from the noise and dust. The whole house is being rebuilt in the grandest style – you can’t imagine – all pillars and balconies! It’s because of the war, of course – Uncle Vsevka’s got terribly rich with his munitions factory working double-time. Isn’t it nice that someone gets some benefit from horrid wars? Kira’s in a dreadful panic that the building won’t be done in time for the wedding, and I think Aunt Shoora wants to take her mind off it.’

‘When is the wedding?’

‘November. I’m to be a bridesmaid. She’s marrying Felix Uspensky – he’s a lieutenant in the Third Corps, you know, so the war had better be over by then, or he’ll have to get special leave. He’s rather young and shy, but he has the sweetest little moustache, and Kira thinks he’s wonderful, so I suppose that’s all right.’

‘Where are they now? Aunt Shoora and Kira, I mean.’

‘Oh, they’ve gone to Fontenards to look at diamonds – Uncle Vsevka wants to give Kira a necklace and tiara for her wedding gift – isn’t that splendid? But I had sooner see you, so they dropped me off here, and I said you’d probably send me back to the hotel afterwards in your carriage.’

‘Oh, but why didn’t they call in?’ Anne said. ‘I should have liked to see them.’

Lolya gave her a sideways look. ‘Aunt Shoora didn’t like to, because of Kira’s situation – “delicate situation” she said. I must say, Anna Petrovna, you don’t look a bit like a fallen woman! Or not like what I would expect, at any rate, because I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen one, except actresses, and I don’t suppose they’re all necessarily fallen, only loose, whatever that means.’

Anne coloured. ‘Is that what Shoora said?’ she asked quietly. ‘That I was a fallen woman?’

Lolya seemed unconcerned. ‘Not precisely. She didn’t use those words, but that was what she meant, I think. She said she wouldn’t stop me from visiting you, but I told her she couldn’t anyway.’

Anne felt an enormous sadness that dear, kind Shoora should feel constrained from allowing her daughter to enter her house. She made an effort to change the subject.

‘You’re looking very well, Lolya – different somehow. More grown up, I think.’ It was true. She seemed more self-confident, more poised, and her taste had settled down – whether of its own accord, or under guidance from her aunt Anne couldn’t know; but her gown and pelisse were models of elegant restraint, while her hat was saucy but not outrageous. She seemed prettier, too, with a warm, glowing beauty quite different from her first-Season, girlish prettiness.

‘I feel more grown-up,’ Lolya confessed. She smiled. ‘I feel wonderful, actually. It’s being in love – you can’t imagine, Anna!’

‘Can’t I?’

Lolya gave her the sidelong look again. ‘I suppose–’ Her cheeks pinked a little. ‘Anna, about you and Papa,’ she said bravely. ‘I – I don’t mind, you know. I think it’s rather splendid, in fact! It was a bit difficult to understand at first – I mean, one never thinks of one’s father – well, you know – being young enough for that sort of thing–’

‘What sort of thing?’ Anne queried, amused.

Lolya grew warmer. ‘You know what I mean. It’s different when it’s young people like Andrei and me…’

‘Colonel Duvierge is hardly a young man,’ Anne said drily.

Lolya frowned. ‘Well, at any rate, what I wanted to say is that it’s all right. I’m glad for you, really, as long as – as long as you really do love him?’

‘Lolya, my dear,’ Anne said solemnly, ‘I promise you that much as you may love Colonel Duvierge, I love your father a hundred times more.’

Lolya’s face cleared. ‘Oh, well that’s all right then,’ she said with a radiant smile. ‘Only you couldn’t possibly, you know! Andrei is so wonderful!’

Anne felt the resurgence of her grave misgivings. The crush Lolya had on the Frenchman ought to have died down by now. Perhaps it was wrong of Nikolai to have removed her from his orbit. Absence seemed to have made the heart grow fonder – fonder, and more serious, in a disquieting way.

‘Lolya, dearest,’ she began, hardly knowing how to tackle the subject. ‘I don’t think you ought to pin too much hope on a relationship with Colonel Duvierge. It’s likely, you know, that he’ll be recalled to France at any moment, if he hasn’t been already. I don’t suppose you can even have had any news of him for many weeks now–’

‘Oh, but you’re wrong!’ Lolya looked smug. ‘Andrei was so upset when I told him I was being sent to Moscow – well, Tula, at any rate – that he made me promise to write to him, and he promises to write back.’

‘Lolya! You haven’t been exchanging letters with him?’