The Kirilov Star (32 page)

‘Oh, Alex, need you ask? But Bobby and Tatty …’

‘They’ll be back at college by then.’

‘I know, but I’d have to tell them why I’m going and that means …’

‘Telling them about me,’ he finished for her.

‘Yes.’

‘Can’t you?’ He was searching her face and she feared to hurt him.

‘They know about you because your pictures are in the family album. They were told you were a family friend who had died in the war. I wish I had realised then how much I really loved you, I would never have married Kolya.’

‘Then your life would have been very different. You would not have had Yuri.’

‘That’s what Tatty said once, when I said I should not have let you persuade me to leave Russia; she said then I would not have married her father and she and Bobby would never have been born. I cannot regret that, Alex.’

‘Of course not.’ He paused. ‘We were talking about introducing me to your children.’

It was what had been worrying her all along. Could she? How would they react? ‘They loved their father …’

‘Of course they did, but they are grown-up now and making their own way. I doubt if they’ll live at home again and you are entitled to make a new life for yourself.’

He was right, but it still felt like a betrayal. But if she and Alex were to have a future together without secrecy, then it had to be done. ‘Would you like to spend Christmas with us?’ she said. ‘As a family friend who was thought to be dead but has suddenly turned up again, I mean.’

He grinned. ‘Family friend is a start, I suppose.’ He knew Lydia would not marry him in anything like a hurry. He would have to court her slowly, taking her out, joining in family occasions as she thought fit, getting to know Bobby and Tatty, treading on eggshells. But he would wear her down in the end.

‘You know I can’t tell them anything else. Not yet. Come in time to go to church with us on Christmas morning at ten-thirty. I’ll prepare the ground.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this.’

He stood up and took the coffee cups to the sink and ran water into them. ‘Shall we go for a walk?’

They walked and ate and then she said she ought to go home. He helped her on with her coat, wrapping it about her from behind so that she was almost in his arms. ‘Don’t go.’ His voice murmuring in her ear was so close his warm breath made her shiver and sent seductive messages to the very core of her, demanding to be answered. ‘You haven’t got anything to go home for, have you?’

She squirmed round to face him. ‘There’s all sorts of things …’

‘But none that can’t wait, surely?’

So she stayed, and the next morning she drove back to Upstone Hall, a very different woman from the one who had left it. She was rejuvenated, gloriously and ecstatically happy, except for one thing. Telling Bobby and Tatty there would be a guest for Christmas, unsure how they would react.

And then, when it came to it, she found it easier than she expected. Both Bobby and Tatty wanted to invite a friend and there would be six of them. Bobby had a girlfriend called Eva and Tatty’s boyfriend was Andrew. Lydia could not help it, she laughed until the tears ran down her face.

‘Mum, what’s the matter?’ Tatty asked.

‘Nothing. It’s strange the way things happen. I wasn’t sure how you would feel about adding to our threesome …’

‘And we were thinking the same,’ Bobby said. ‘We knew Christmas wouldn’t be the same without Dad and so we thought it ought to be totally different.’

‘How clever and thoughtful of you both.’

‘How did you find out that Alex hadn’t died?’ Tatty asked.

‘He was your father’s friend as well as mine and Grandpa’s, you know. He saw the announcement of his funeral and wrote to offer condolences. I answered and that was it. He had a terrible time during the war and afterwards, but no doubt he’ll tell you that himself. But the amazing thing is that he’s found Yuri for me. I’ve had a letter from him.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ Tatty said, remembering the pile of letters and pictures in the attic which she had never divulged seeing. Some things were becoming clearer. ‘How fantastic!’

In the event, there were eight people gathered for Christmas dinner, which was eaten at one o’clock after everyone had
been to church: Lydia, Alex, Bob and Eva, Tatty and Andrew, Claudia and Reggie. It was noisy and argumentative in a cheerful way. Lydia, listening to them, smiled to herself. They hadn’t done too badly, this little family of hers. Bob and Eva were so obviously in love, she didn’t think it would be long before they became engaged. She didn’t think Tatty’s heart was engaged but that was a good thing; she was still very young. She liked Andrew, though. He was a little older than Bobby, self-assured and undoubtedly well off, not to mention good-looking. As for Alex, dearest Alex, he was putting on a tremendous act, making her feel guilty that she asked it of him. But Bobby and Tatty liked him, she could tell, and from that fragile beginning, she hoped they might come to accept him as their mother’s lover.

After Christmas dinner, they all took their drinks into the drawing room where the tree stood glittering with lights and baubles, as it had done every year throughout Lydia’s childhood and her children’s too. ‘I’ll be Father Christmas,’ Tatty said.

There were presents for everyone. Books seemed to be favourite, chosen with care to match the interests of the receiver. There were silly puzzles, gloves, scarves, liqueur chocolates, ornaments and pictures. Tatty had bought her mother an evening shawl. It was gossamer-fine in a multitude of colours merging one into the other like a rainbow. ‘Oh, darling, how pretty this is. Thank you.’

‘You can wear it when you go dancing with Alex.’

Lydia glanced at Alex and met his answering smile. Tatty, the sensitive one, had already guessed and she didn’t mind. ‘How do you know I’m going dancing with Alex?’ she asked.

‘Well, you always used to, didn’t you?’

‘Well, yes, but that was when I was very young.’

‘You’re never too old to dance, Mum.’

‘No.’ Alex laughed. ‘It’s a date, Lydia. We go dancing.’ He fetched another parcel from the back of the tree and put it into Lydia’s lap before returning to his seat beside her.

She undid the ribbon and unwrapped it. It contained a framed copy of the entry in Leonid’s book: the picture of her father and grandmother posing with the tsar and tsarina and the notes about the Kirilov Star. She stared at it, lost in wonder. ‘Alex, where did you find this?’

‘It was in a book Leo had. He had it copied for me and included it with the letter from Yuri. I had it framed.’

‘Wow!’ Bobby said, from over her shoulder. ‘What does it mean?’

‘Translate,’ Tatty demanded.

‘You do it,’ Lydia said to Alex.

He did it easily when she might have stumbled, not only because her Russian was rusty but because she was so choked with emotion. When he finished he put it back into her hands.

‘Oh, Alex, how thoughtful of you.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. Christmas had turned out to be better than ever she could have hoped.

In the first week of February, they flew to Moscow, touching down at Vnukovo Airport late in the evening, and queued up in the vast marble terminus to have their passports and entry documents checked. That done, they were met by their host, who had been standing on the other side of the hall waiting for them to be released into his care. Leonid Pavlovich Orlov was a thickset
man wearing a thick tweed coat, a fur hat and
knee-length
boots. He greeted Alex effusively, hugging him and kissing him on both cheeks. ‘Alexei, my friend, you are welcome once again,’ he said in English, then turned to Lydia. ‘And this must be Lydia. Welcome to Russia, Lydia.’

‘Thank you.’ Lydia held out her right hand. He grasped it, but instead of shaking it, used it to pull her to him in a bear hug which took her by surprise.

‘Welcome! Welcome!’ he said again, releasing her. ‘Now, come. Katya is preparing a feast for us.’ He picked up her case and led the way to a huge limousine which was parked at the kerb. Its driver got out and took their cases to stow them in the boot, while Leonid opened the door for Lydia. She climbed in, followed by Alex. Leo got in beside the driver and the big car drew slowly away from the kerb.

Once away from the airport they were soon driving at what Lydia considered a breakneck speed through a dark landscape covered in snow.

Moscow, when they reached it half an hour later, was
ill-lit
and she was able to see little more than the road ahead, which was clogged with traffic, and the footpaths either side, flanked by shops and buildings, some old, many new. The pools of light from the street lamps illuminated pedestrians: men in thick padded coats, felt boots and astrakhan hats with ear flaps. Some women were in fur coats and matching hats, others were less ostentatiously clad, some distinctly ragged. A beggar sat against a doorway, a placard round his neck; a young woman hurried along carrying a baby on her back wrapped in a shawl; soldiers in grey uniforms and jackboots stood on corners. Young and old, they barely
afforded the big car a glance. Nothing had changed and yet everything had.

‘Here we are,’ Leonid said, as they drew to a stop outside a tall ornate building.

Leonid occupied an apartment on the top floor. It was luxurious by Russian standards, though Lydia deplored the decor. It was noisy with clashing colour; there were ornaments all over the place, thick cloths covered the tables on which stood vases of artificial flowers. That was understandable, she decided, it was the middle of winter, after all. It was also overheated and she was glad to be relieved of her fur coat and hat.

Katya Orlova was a rotund woman with a small round head and hardly any neck. Her cheeks were rosy, perhaps from bending over the stove, and her hair was dyed very black. She obviously had a soft spot for Alex because she pulled him to her plump bosom and kissed him effusively, followed by rapid speech in Russian which Alex answered, laughing and disengaging himself to bring Lydia forward. ‘This is Lydia Conway. Lydia, Katya Orlova.’

Katya shook hands with Lydia, bidding her welcome and hoping she would enjoy her stay and take a good report back to England.

‘Thank you.’

‘Speak English,’ Leo commanded his wife. Then to Lydia, ‘Katya speaks good English. We both do. Alexei taught us when we were in Siberia.’

‘Yes, he told me. You speak it very well.’

‘Thank you. Now, I will show you round the apartment and where you will sleep, while Katya finishes the cooking.’

The apartment took up the whole floor of the building. As she followed him round, Lydia found herself wondering about the sleeping arrangements. Had their host assumed she and Alex were living together? Was that accepted in Russia?

She was answered when Leo threw open a door. ‘Lydia, you will sleep here,’ he said. ‘My friend, Alexei, will have the room next to this.’ He laughed and thumped Alex on the back. ‘You will be close, eh? The bathroom is at the end of the corridor. You will wish to wash and change. Your cases are in your rooms. Come back to us when you are ready.’ And with that he turned and left them.

They stood facing each other. Alex laughed. ‘He is not the soul of tact, is he? But he means well.’ He stepped into her room, pulled her in and shut the door. ‘Alone at last.’

Lydia laughed. ‘Alex, don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not. We’ve been together all day and I haven’t kissed you once.’ And he proceeded to make up for lost time.

She squirmed away from him, somehow uncomfortable making love under someone else’s roof. ‘I must wash and change. I feel grubby and unkempt, and we mustn’t keep our hosts waiting for their supper.’

He sighed. ‘OK. I’ll leave you. Don’t take too long in the bathroom or I’ll come and join you.’ He blew her a kiss and departed.

She had brought only two dresses suitable for evening wear: a soft dove-grey crêpe and a blue silk. Less than an hour later, refreshed and dressed in the blue silk and with her hair neatly rolled into a pleat, she rejoined her host. Alex was already with him. He stopped speaking in
mid-sentence
to turn towards her and whistle appreciatively, raising his glass of vodka to her in salute before taking
a mouthful. The men in Russia drank vodka whatever time of day it was and seemed to be able to put away vast quantities of it with little effect.

The thick cloth on the table had been covered with white damask and laid with cutlery and soup bowls for four. Katya came in carrying a huge pan of steaming soup and set it on the table. Leonid beckoned Lydia to take her place. The soup was delicious. Lydia asked what was in it. ‘It is
solyanka
,’ Katya said. ‘It is made from chicken and ham with potatoes, pickled cucumber, onions and tomato, olives, lemon and soured cream. You like it?’

‘Very much.’ It would have made a meal in itself, but that was followed by a gargantuan main course of meatballs in a rich sauce with heaps of vegetables, all washed down with an oversweet wine. She was not allowed to stop there. Katya disappeared and returned with a plate of pancakes and insisted Lydia had at least one. It was filled with berries and honey and topped with soured cream. Having eaten it, she put her cutlery down feeling ready to burst.

There had been little conversation over the meal, as if eating was more important than talk and they could not do both at once, but as they sat over the remains, finishing off the wine, reticence was overcome. Lydia thanked them for the meal and laughingly said she would become very fat if she stayed with them very long, which they took as a compliment. ‘I am grateful to you for being such generous hosts,’ she added. ‘You know why I have come to Russia again?’

‘Yes, Alexei has told us. He told us all about you. We feel we know you already.’

‘And I you, and I must thank you for the copy of the picture and article you sent to England. It meant a lot to me.’

‘You are welcome.’

‘But I am anxious to know about Yuri.’

‘Of course you are. He had a poor childhood, but he did well on his own merit. He attended Moscow State Technical University and was an outstanding student. After graduating he went to work in my electronics factory in Kiev.’