A Flight To Heaven (16 page)

Chiara felt tears slip down her cheeks as soft sad cello music filled the theatre and the graceful white bird in front of her struggled over and over to fly away, but at the end sank to the stage to breathe her last.

When the performance came to an end, she rose to stumble out of her luxurious seat in the first circle of the auditorium, hanging her head so that her tearful face would not be noticed.

“What was that all about?” Eglantine said, as they stepped outside the theatre. “It was all very pretty, but I didn’t quite get the point of it.”

The Count raised his eyebrows.

“Pavlova is one the greatest artists to come out of Russia,” he pronounced in a tone of surprise.

“Yes, but what was the story?” Marigold asked. “It just looked like a lot of dancing around to me.”

“I don’t think there was meant to be a story – ” Chiara found herself saying, “it was more – of a feeling.”

“Or maybe,” the Count came in, “the greatest story of all – the story of life and the struggle against death.”

The sombre tone of his voice as he said these words sent a thrill through Chiara that seemed to chill her and yet warm her all at the same time.

Suddenly she did not care whether he saw her tear-stained cheeks.

But he was not looking at her. He was raising his hand and hailing a carriage.

“Mrs. Fulwell,” he said. “Thank you very much for your company tonight. My coachman is here, let him take you and your charming daughters back to your apartment.”

“Why, Count! What a privilege indeed – we are quite overcome. But will you not be joining us?”

“I prefer to walk,” he replied.

He turned to Chiara, fixing his dark eyes on hers and spoke in a low voice,

“The white nights of St, Petersburg are almost upon us now that summer begins. There is still light in the sky. It would be a great pleasure for me to share a little of this beautiful evening with you, my English angel.”

Then he raised his voice loudly and clearly so that Mrs. Fulwell could not fail to hear him,

“Lady Chiara, will you please do me the honour of walking with me?”

Chiara’s heart took wing with joy.

At that moment she forgot everything but the man who stood before her, his voice still filling her ears.

“Yes!” she replied. “I should – love to!”

The carriage then rattled away, bearing the Fulwells back to their apartment and the Count took Chiara’s arm and began to walk.

She was giddy with joy.

As she felt his warm strong body pressing against her arm, she was filled with the same spinning, delicious sensation she had felt in the ballroom at Sandringham.

They strolled along gleaming canals and the bright lights in the windows of Palaces shone out to be reflected in the water below.

Above their heads, the sky was an extraordinary and brilliant shade of royal blue.

“What is it?” the Count asked, as Chiara drew a long shivering breath of delight.

“Look – a star is coming out and it is still as light as day!” she cried, gazing at the sky.

“Are you afraid that I will keep you out too late?” he said, looking down at her. “I promise that you will be home long before all the stars have appeared – ”

Chiara could not help blushing.

She wanted to say that she was happy to walk with him for as long as he wished – for the whole night, even, but instead she asked,

“Tell me – why did you say the
white
nights of St. Petersburg. Tonight the sky – is blue. The bluest blue I – have ever seen.”

He laughed at her words.

“It is not yet the time of the white nights. That is at midsummer. And, I suppose that the sky is blue then too, but there is a lightness, a whiteness even that glows on the horizon at midnight.”

“But – why?”

“St. Petersburg is so far to the North,” he replied. “Our winters may be bitter, but at the height of summer the sun lingers in the sky all night.”

“I should love to see it,” Chiara sighed. “This City is the most beautiful place – I have ever been.”

He did not reply, but she felt his gaze on her and the pressure of his dark eyes looking down.

“Why have you come here?” he asked her.

Chiara’s mind was in turmoil.

What should she tell him? She could not speak of her problems with Mervyn Hunter.

“My Mama – sent me – ” she said after a moment.

“Whatever for?” the Count sounded incredulous. “And why should your mother give Mrs. Fulwell and her silly daughters the pleasure of your company, when she might have you at home with her?”

“She – is getting married, and – she felt it would be better if I went away for a little while.”

The Count shook his head.

“I cannot fathom it, but her loss is my gain.”

Chiara’s heart gave a little leap as she felt him press her arm closer to him.

He carried on speaking,

“I must say, I spent some time with the Fulwells in London and I find them amusing, but – ”

“They are odd, aren’t they?” Chiara said, greatly relieved that he was no longer questioning her. “They did not seem to appreciate the dancing tonight. It was so sad – and yet so beautiful – the swan dying – ”

“Oh, you have it perfectly. I think you understand the beauty and the soul of our Russian artists.”

“Yes – I – ” Chiara began.

But the words were snatched from her, as the Count drew her close to him.

She felt the urgency and the depth of the passion that surged in him, yet she was not afraid, and she raised her face to his and felt his lips press softly against hers in a kiss that seemed to her to come straight from Heaven.

They stood perfectly still by the black waters of the canal, yet Chiara’s spirit was flying, soaring up into the deep blue of the sky, as the Count’s tender kisses filled her soul with enchantment.

“I cannot believe that you are not an angel, but just a lovely mortal girl,” he whispered and she felt his warm breath against her hair as he released her.

“I am – just a girl,” she said, “but I feel as if I could fly away – ”

“Don’t!” he asserted, his voice deep. “Stay a little longer, please!”

A flame of exquisite anticipation lit in Chiara’s heart as she waited for him to kiss her again, but instead he took her arm and they walked on.

“I must remember that you are
just a girl
! A girl who is out very late with a man she scarcely knows. And I shall now deliver you safely to your apartment,” he said, quickening his pace a little.

“Oh, I wish – ” a bleak despair filled Chiara’s heart, as she realised that their walk was almost over.

“So do I!” he said, speaking her very thought. “If only we could walk on through the night and then fly away together. But – will you promise to walk with me again? May I see you, while you stay in St. Petersburg?”

“Of course!” Chiara murmured.

And, as he heard this, the Count caught her in his arms again and held her to his heart, so that she felt the power of his love flow into her, lighting her so that her soul shone like that single star above them.

*

“My dear Count! How kind of you to bring her Ladyship back to us so promptly!”

Mrs. Fulwell had a wide smile on her plump fair face as she stood in the hall of the rented apartment, but her eyes were as hard as stones.

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

“A word, if I may?”

Arkady was ready to leave.

Chiara had been hustled off to her room and there was no reason at all for him to stay, but Mrs. Fulwell was determined to speak to him.

“I really must apologise, Count Dimitrov, for Lady Chiara’s behaviour.”

“Please, Mrs. Fulwell, do not distress yourself, I – ”

He could scarcely get the words out, as she was still chattering at him.

“No, but you must understand what kind of a young woman she is! Shameless! Her mother asked me to take over the supervision of her, so there would be no repetition of what happened in the spring.”

In spite of himself, Arkady’s curiosity was aroused.

What was she referring to?

“She, oh, I can hardly bring myself to speak of it! She led my dear brother, Mervyn, to think that she cared for him – they were as good as engaged. Oh, yes, she led him on! Smiles, kisses, all manner of inducements – ”

The pleasure and beauty of the exquisite night, of the glorious embrace, of the sweet kiss that had filled him with almost unbearable joy, were shattered for Arkady.

Another man and one of those boorish Englishmen probably, who had been pursuing her at Sandringham, had kissed his divine angel’s lips, held her in his arms.

Mrs. Fulwell was far from finished,

“And now, my dear Count – she cannot rest but she is trying to steal from my own darling girls any man who shows an interest in them. She is a selfish hussy. I should hate to think that you wasted even a second of your time on such a creature.”

Her voice was soft now and the pressure of her hand on his arm insistent.

Arkady felt sick. His joy was broken, crushed and flung to the ground like a wounded bird.

He shook Mrs. Fulwell’s hand from his arm and strode to the door of the apartment, not even pausing to bow or to take his leave.

He did not wish to spend another moment in this false unpleasant world, where nothing was as it seemed.

*

“But – I don’t understand. You wish me to leave?”

Chiara looked down at the boat tickets that Mrs. Fulwell had just thrust into her hand.

“Today, if you don’t mind!”

Mrs. Fulwell pulled off her cloak and threw it on the sofa. She had been out at the break of day to arrange for Chiara’s journey back to England.

“Why?”

“I am very surprised you need to ask me that,” Mrs. Fulwell growled and then she turned and snapped at her younger daughter,

“Marigold, get back to your room! I will not have your innocent ears corrupted by what I have to say.”

Chiara reeled with horror as she listened to Mrs. Fulwell’s words.

She was a wicked, selfish girl, deliberately trying to steal Eglantine’s suitor, seducing him just as she had her dear brother.

But this time she would not get away with it, as the Count knew everything now and he was disgusted to know what kind of girl he had been consorting with last night.

Mrs. Fulwell spat out one last vicious sentence and then seized Chiara by the elbow.

“Go and pack!” she shouted. “Your boat leaves in three hours!”

Chiara’s face was wet with tears as she stumbled into her small bedroom.

Karine was there, standing beside the bed.

“Oh,
mademoiselle
. I could not help overhearing, I am so sorry.”

Sobs broke in Chiara’s throat and she could not speak.

Karine’s eyes were filling with tears too.

“I would do
anything
for you,
mademoiselle
, if I could help.”

Chiara sat on the bed and fought to gain control of herself.

“I cannot bear that – he should think ill of me,” she stammered. “But what can I do? She has filled his ears – with such poison.”

“Go to him,
mademoiselle
!”

Chiara shook her head, blinking away tears.

“He will not believe me, after what she has said – and the boat leaves so soon – I must pack. Oh, but I don’t want to leave – ”

Karine sat beside her and took her hand.

“If only I might come with you, it is such a long journey for you to make alone.”

Chiara clung tightly onto her hand and felt a little steadiness return to her.

“Karine – why don’t you? I have some money that Mama has given me and I have spent almost nothing since I have been here. Come too!”

Karine’s brown eyes lit up and she gave a joyful exclamation in Russian.

Then she added,

“I shall! The Fulwells care nothing for me, they will soon find another servant. But – ”

Suddenly she looked very thoughtful,

“I have a little errand to run before I can go.”

“Of course,” Chiara said. “But – do be quick! The boat leaves very soon.”

Karine vanished, disappearing through the door in a swift graceful movement and Chiara began, with a heavy heart, to put her things together for the long voyage home.

*

The bright sun of early summer blazed down over the front of Rensham Hall as Chiara stepped out of the hired chaise.

Even though it was almost noon, the shutters were closed and there was no sign of life anywhere.

“So this is your home,” Karine said, her eyes wide as she gazed up at the row of tall windows.

Chiara nodded, trying not to feel anxious.

She went up to the front door and pushed it, but it was firmly closed. She turned the iron handle that rang a bell inside the hall.

Where was her Mama?

Had she not received the note that Chiara wrote to her just before she embarked on the voyage home?

Why was everything so still and quiet?

There was a crunch of footsteps on the gravel and Chiara turned round, her heart in her mouth, half expecting to see Mervyn Hunter bearing down upon them, but it was only Jonah, running from the stable yard to greet them, his thatch of fair hair flopping over his eyes.

“Lady Chiara!” he called out. “You’re back!”

Relief flooded through Chiara at the sight of his familiar friendly face.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Don’t you know?” Jonah frowned in puzzlement. “I thought they’d written to you in Russia.”

“What is it?”

Chiara felt suddenly faint with fear.

Had something happened to her Mama?

“Sad news,” Jonah began and he suddenly grinned. “but happy too!”

Chiara was thoroughly confused and she begged him to tell more.

“Lord Darley’s brother passed away,” he said, “and her Ladyship has gone to be with him in Pembrokeshire.”

“Oh.”

Chiara breathed out in a long sigh as the meaning of his words became clear.

Everything was all right.

Mama was safe. The letter she wrote must have arrived in St. Petersburg after Chiara’s hasty departure.

“And – Mr. Hunter?”

Chiara’s heart gave a flutter of anxiety as she spoke his name.