The Kirilov Star (12 page)

She found him in the coach house talking earnestly to Grigori. ‘I think you’re mad,’ Grigori was saying. ‘You’re on a wild goose chase. If I were you—’ He saw Lydia and stopped speaking suddenly. ‘What can I do for you, Lydia Mikhailovna?’ he said, making Kolya, who had his back to her, swivel round to face her.

‘I was looking for Kolya. He said he would send this letter for me.’

‘Better let me have it,’ Grigori said, holding out his hand. ‘I can send it from my office in the town. That usually goes safely.’

She put it into his hand and thanked him. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk.’

‘Not a good idea,’ Grigori said. ‘If you are seen, questions might be asked. You would almost certainly be arrested.’

‘Whatever for? I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘As the daughter of an aristocrat who was found guilty of subversive activity, you would be considered guilty by association.’

‘But I was only four years old the last time I was in
Russia. At least, I thought I was four, I’ve never been sure.’

‘1920,’ he said. ‘Yes, you were four that April.’

‘April?’

‘Yes. You were born on Easter Day. I remember your father telling me. Very auspicious, so the old
babushkas
would have us believe. I can’t remember the actual date and Russia was still using the old calendar then.’ He gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘Thirteen days out, but what does it matter? What’s more important is you being here now. I’m risking my own skin harbouring you, so you stay out of sight.’

The matter of the date of her birthday could wait. ‘I can’t stay indoors all the time, and besides, I’ve changed my name since I was last here. Kolya is safe enough, isn’t he?’

‘We can’t even be sure of that.’

She turned to Kolya. ‘What have you done? What are you up to? We should never have come. I wish I hadn’t listened to you. I want to go home to England.’

‘All in good time,’ he said complacently.

‘I’ll go alone.’ It was said out of bravado.

‘How do you propose to do that? You are married to me and I’ve got your passport, papers and money in my safe keeping and that is where it stays.’

‘If you must go out, keep to the forest,’ Grigori said. ‘And get some different clothes. You are too conspicuous in that finery.’

It wasn’t finery; back in England the clothes she wore would be considered very ordinary. She turned and went back to her attic room in despair. She longed for Sir Edward and Margaret, who loved her, her comfortable apartment, her work and her friends. When her letter arrived would
Papa realise she wanted to come home and manage to do something to rescue her? Perhaps he would wash his hands of her and who could blame him? If she didn’t hear from him, she would have to find her own way back. She wished she had not trusted Kolya with her savings because she would need those when the time came. If all else failed she would have to sell the Kirilov Star.

Afraid Kolya would take the Star from her, she took it to Ivan Ivanovich and asked him to hide it for her. ‘It will be safe with me,’ he told her, his old eyes lighting up at seeing her. ‘I’ll bury it where no one will find it.’

‘Thank you. I know I can trust you.’

He seemed a little uncomfortable at that and blurted out, ‘I took the rubies Andrei had in his clothes. I was going to keep them for the count when he came back, but he never did and when my little ones were starving …’ His voice faded. ‘I only got a few roubles for them in Cherkassy and dare not demand more for fear of investigation. I beg your forgiveness.’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ she said softly. ‘I do not blame you.’

‘It was a terrible time in Ukraine,’ he said, his dark eyes glistening with tears. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. ‘The army took all the grain to feed themselves and the industrial workers in the factories. Those who tried keeping anything back were shot. We were left with nothing and lived on berries and whatever we could scavenge in the forest. The villagers left in droves to find work in the city and died on the pavements there. When there was no one to bring in the harvest, Grigori Stefanovich took over Kirilhor and filled it with strangers.’

She laid a hand on his arm. ‘I am so very sorry, Ivan
Ivanovich. I wish I could help you. Kolya has taken all my money and only allows me enough kopeks to buy food.’ Grigori had relented about letting her go into town because she had sold her clothes and was now wearing a thin cotton skirt and blouse and had covered her hair with a scarf, so that she looked the same as all the other women. ‘But you go no further than Petrovsk,’ he had warned.

‘I manage,’ Ivan said. ‘But you must go as soon as you can. I don’t trust that lot up at Kirilhor.’

‘I will if I can but it won’t be easy without money or papers. I might have to sell the Star.’

Knowing she had an ally, she returned to Kirilhor feeling a little more cheerful, prepared to put up with a life she had brought upon herself, enduring Kolya’s taunts, always hungry, always watchful, always listening for the knock on the door in the middle of the night. The rumblings about war in Europe were growing louder and she would have to move soon, but it would take some planning and she would say nothing to Kolya because he would stop her. She told Kolya she had lost the star. The chain had broken and it had slipped from her neck without her realising it. He was furious and demanded to know why she had been wearing it.

‘I thought it was the best way to keep it safe,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have brought it to Russia at all, but if you remember, you said I might need it to prove my identity when or if I met my parents. I should have known Baron Simenov was telling the truth and they were dead. I don’t know why I let you persuade me …’

‘Because you were not sure, were you? There was always that niggling doubt. Admit it.’

‘I think it was more a need for confirmation.’

‘Well, now you’ve got it. But that’s beside the point. We were talking about the Star. Where were you when you last knew you had it?’

‘Walking in the forest and the garden.’

‘Then we had better go and look for it.’

The search went on for days, and when it could not be found, Kolya came to the conclusion someone had found it and was hanging onto it. It made him suspicious of everyone in the house and he instigated searches of all their belongings to no avail. The Star was lost. It did not improve Kolya’s temper. She had never seen him so angry.

Finding she was pregnant was the last straw.

It was good to be back in England, Alex thought, as a taxi took him to his London home. He was hardly in it these days. He was being employed as a sort of roving commissioner by the Foreign Office, intelligence gathering, which made him a sort of spy. It was not a label he liked, but he had been assured his work was necessary, and as he obviously spoke and read Russian, was fluent in German and had passable French, who better to do the work? Sir Edward knew what he did, but no one else did. His friends thought he was away on trade missions, which was the official reason for his absences abroad.

He had spent the last year in Germany, watching Hitler becoming ever more powerful and dictatorial, and some of the time in Russia trying to get at the truth of the purges taking place there. The NKVD, under the leadership of the ruthless Nikolai Yezhov, was waging war against so-called traitors in the Party, torturing them into confessing ridiculous crimes and betraying their friends. It had become a kind of frenzy which depleted the Comintern
staff so that nothing could be done, no decision made, nor plans put forward. And it decimated the ranks of the officers in the army, from generals downwards. If there was war, they would never be able to wage it successfully. And he did not think war could be avoided in spite of the work done by Neville Chamberlain to appease Hitler and his declaration of ‘peace in our time’. It was a breathing space, no more.

He let himself in the house and dropped his case on the floor to pick up the pile of post from the table in the hall, put there by Mrs Hurst, who came in to keep an eye on the place when he was away. He rifled through the envelopes quickly to pick out what was important. There was a letter from Sir Edward, whom he had not seen since Lydia’s twenty-first birthday party. He put the rest down and wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. While it boiled he slit open the letter and began to read.

I don’t know where you are but I assume you will come home at some time and find this
, Sir Edward had written.
Lydia has run off to Russia with Nikolay Andropov. I am at my wits’ end and Margaret is distraught. Ring me, if you can.

He looked at the date on the letter and realised with horror it had been written three months before. He switched off the kettle and picked up the telephone.

‘Good of you to come,’ Sir Edward said, leading the way into the drawing room of Balfour Place where they had arranged to meet. ‘Sit down, my boy. Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ He sat down and watched as Edward poured brandy into two large glasses. ‘Tell me what happened. Who is Nikolay Andropov?’

‘A young Russian she met in Paris when we were on
holiday last year.’ He handed Alex a glass and went to a bureau to extract Lydia’s letter, which he gave to him to read. ‘As you can see from that, she had some strange idea that her parents were not dead after all and might not know she is alive too.’

‘My father was convinced they had died. Didn’t she believe him?’

‘I always thought she did, but apparently not. I am sure Andropov put the idea into her head, but what his motive was, I’ve no idea.’

‘Why would she believe him rather than us?’

‘I don’t know. He can be very charming and I suppose she was bowled over by him.’

‘She says she is going to marry him.’ Alex read on, hiding his dismay under a calm exterior, something he had learnt to do over the years. No one knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘Do you think she has?’

‘I have no way of knowing. I didn’t know she was still seeing him or I would have taken steps to put a stop to it.’

‘If she was determined, it would have been difficult to stop,’ Alex said. ‘She is twenty-two, after all.’

‘I could have bought him off.’

‘Perhaps. Do you think he is genuinely fond of her?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘If it were me, no amount of money would make me give her up.’

‘But it is not you. I wish to God it were. I had hoped—’ He stopped suddenly and gulped a mouthful of brandy.

‘We cannot choose our children’s life partners, Sir Edward.’ It was said evenly, though his heart was racing. Lydia, his love, was in Russia, where all foreigners were viewed with suspicion and her background would be
enough to condemn her. It was a terrifying thought. But he must not let Sir Edward see his disquiet; the poor man was worried enough as it was. ‘What do you know about Andropov?’

‘Nothing but what he told us. He escaped the Civil War with his mother after his father was killed fighting with the Whites. She subsequently died and he has been on his own, living in Paris ever since. Having similar backgrounds was bound to attract them towards each other. I didn’t even know he had come to England. How could she be so secretive? You think you are doing your best for your children …’ His voice tailed off.

‘But you did. No child could have had a better father. She has grown into a lovely young woman and I am sure she loves you and appreciates all you and Lady Stoneleigh have done for her.’ He paused, clinging onto hope. ‘I suppose she really did go?’

‘I think she must have. Her letter was written months ago. I have written to her at Kirilhor over and over again, but have had no reply. Maybe she’s gone somewhere else; she wouldn’t have ignored my letters, would she?’

‘No, of course not. Maybe they have been kept from her.’

‘That’s what terrifies me. I contacted the Foreign Office, but there’s nothing they can do if she went of her own free will. I’ve also been in touch with Lord Chilston at the British Embassy in Moscow, but he can’t do much. The embassy staff are not free to travel about as much as they were and diplomatic relations are difficult.’ He smiled a little stiffly. ‘But you know all that. I even tried the headquarters of the British Communist Party, but they were not very helpful.’

‘I’ll go back,’ Alex said. ‘I’ve got to report to the Foreign
Office first to be debriefed after my last trip, and it would be a good idea to have an official reason for being in Russia again so that I have proper entry papers. That might take a little time to arrange, but I’ll go the minute I can.’

‘It’s a lot to ask. Too much perhaps. I’d go myself, but Margaret is sick with worry and to have two of us in Russia would be too much for her to cope with.’

‘I know. You mustn’t think of it. Leave it to me.’

‘Bless you.’ He held up the decanter, but Alex declined a second glass. He needed a clear head. ‘Margaret will be relieved to know you are going,’ Edward went on. ‘But if you should meet her before you go, don’t say too much to her about the difficulties and dangers.’

The difficulties and dangers would be considerable, Alex knew, especially as he risked arrest on the grounds that he was his father’s son and the Bolsheviks had a tendency to assume guilt by association. But nothing on earth would prevent him from going. Lydia had always been his especial concern, ever since his mother had told him to be kind to her on the train to Yalta. He had watched her grow from a frightened toddler who had lost the power of speech, through childhood to womanhood, and had loved her all the way. He had not recognised it as love to begin with, it was simply a feeling he ought to protect her and he still felt that, but now it was more than that, the feeling had blossomed, as she had blossomed, into something far deeper and more complex. He found himself wondering how she would have reacted if she had known that. Would it have prevented her from going off with Andropov? He had never met the man but already he disliked him intensely.

‘When you find her,’ Edward went on. ‘Tell her how much she is loved and missed and persuade her to come home. I
want her here, even if it means recognising Andropov as a son-in-law, much as I should dislike it.’