A Flight To Heaven (17 page)

Now Jonah was smiling broadly.

“Oh, Mr. Hunter is gone with them, my Lady. Lord Darley will give his racehorses a home, now that the estate is his as he inherits it from his brother.”

So she would be free of Mervyn Hunter at last!

She noticed that Jonah was eyeing her companion with some curiosity.

“Jonah, this is Miss Karine Federova from the Russian Imperial Ballet.”

Jonah ducked his head shyly.

“Pleased to meet you, miss.”

There was a noise of bolts being pulled and the front door of Rensham Hall then opened slowly to reveal a surprised-looking butler.

“Lady Chiara!” he cried. “We were not expecting you. Welcome!”

As Chiara stepped into the hall, she saw, among the pile of letters that lay on the hall table, her own note with its Russian stamp and postmark.

Her Mama must have left for Pembrokeshire before it arrived.

*

There was something idyllic about the summer days that followed at Rensham Hall.

Lady Fairfax remained in Wales, as her wedding would take place there, now that Lord Darley had come into the estate.

Chiara was to join them in a few weeks’ time to carry out her duties as bridesmaid, but until then she stayed alone at home, looked after by the familiar servants and with Karine for company.

There was no one to pester her and no one to tell her what to do and she was totally free to pass all her time enjoying herself.

But for all that, it was not a happy time for her.

She tried hard to ignore the deep painful sadness that lay in her heart as she walked in the garden or rode Erebus in the Park.

She could not bear to go further afield on her little pony, for he would always want to head for the beach and the sea and she could not endure to go there anymore.

The memory of her first meeting with the Count there in that lonely wild place where the sky met the sea was now mingled with the sweet recollection of their walk through the St. Petersburg night.

And the pain of knowing that he must now hate and despise her and never wish to see her again cut her like a knife.

But the garden was full of June roses and the sweet scent of cut hay filled the air and Chiara did her best to seem cheerful and bright.

*

“
Mademoiselle
, I would like to ask a great favour of you,” Karine said to her one afternoon, as they sat in the garden, passing the long sunny interval between luncheon and tea.

“Of course. Anything, Karine,” Chiara replied.

Sometimes, since she had returned home, she had wished that Elizabeth was still in Ely and not far away on the other side of the world with her new husband in the hot climate of India.

She longed to tell Elizabeth about the Count and share with her dear friend the feelings of ecstasy and pain that tormented her, whenever she thought about him.

Somehow, it was not the same trying to put it all in a letter, knowing that it would be many weeks before the envelope arrived and Elizabeth would be able to read her words.

But she was very glad that Karine had come back to England with her.

For, although they never spoke of the Count, Chiara often caught the Russian’s brown eyes watching her, when she was feeling particularly sad and the fact that Karine knew how she was feeling was a comfort.

Now her eyes were shining, as she told Chiara,

“Jonah wants to teach me how to ride.”

“What a good idea!” Chiara exclaimed.

Although he often seemed shy and uncomfortable in her company, Jonah had developed a great liking for the Russian girl.

He had been supplying armfuls of fresh comfrey from the garden so that Chiara might make poultices for Karine’s injured knee and his face shone with pleasure when he saw, after only a very few days, that Karine was walking without any limp at all.

“But I wonder if we might borrow your pony?” Karine was saying. “Jonah says he is the best one to teach me.”

“Oh, Goodness! He can be very lively at times.”

Chiara could not help a little stab of jealousy at the thought of sharing her precious Erebus, but she did not want to disappoint Karine, so she added,

“Of course, if Jonah says so, then you must borrow him.”

Karine’s face broke into a joyful smile.

“And please, you must come and help me. I have never done this before.”

Chiara need not have worried that Karine might not be able to manage Erebus. Her training as a dancer had given her such balance and lightness that the little pony did not bat an eyelid when she jumped up onto his back.

He pricked his ears and trotted swiftly around the paddock and Karine sat up very straight and looked most elegant as her body swayed gracefully with his movements.

Jonah’s face grew pink with pride as they circled around him, whilst Karine was laughing with delight at the unaccustomed sensation of sitting on a spirited horse.

Chiara smiled and clapped her hands to encourage them, but inside she felt very cold and alone.

Erebus seemed to love having the Russian girl ride him. Perhaps he would give all his affection and loyalty to her now.

‘I have nothing,’ she thought. ‘No one cares for me, I am alone in the world.’

Erebus came to a sudden halt, his head high in the air and Karine, taken by surprise, tumbled from the saddle.

She was so agile and quick that she twisted in the air and landed on her feet, laughing, as Jonah ran to her.

“Are you – all right?” he stammered, his Norfolk accent thicker than ever in his distress.

“But of course,” Karine teased him.

She slid out of Jonah’s anxious hands and leapt up into the saddle again.

This time, she did not stay seated, but tucked her legs under her so that she was kneeling.

Then, suddenly, she was standing up in the saddle and Chiara caught her breath as Karine held out her arms and raised one slender leg high in the air behind her.

It was a pose quite as lovely as anything she had seen on the great stage of the Maryinsky in St. Petersburg.

“My knee is strong again!” Karine cried.

The coldness in Chiara’s heart melted as she saw the elation on the girl’s face.

Then Erebus threw up his head, his ears pricked as he gazed at something in the distance and Karine dropped gracefully to the ground.

“Someone’s comin’,” Jonah said. “Looks like an old chap, come seekin’ work. I’ll go speak to him.”

Then he headed off towards a bent ragged figure, wobbling up the drive on a battered bicycle.

“I suppose now that you will want to go back to St. Petersburg – to the theatre,” Chiara quizzed Karine.

Karine shook her head, but her eyes looked sad and Chiara knew that she was torn between wanting to stay and longing to go back to the life that she loved.

“My Lady,” Jonah came back, sounding flustered. “The man says he must speak to you. I told him to find the gardener and ask if there are any odd jobs, but he wouldn’t listen.”

The ragged bicyclist was now standing underneath a chestnut tree, staring at her, a grubby cap pulled down over his eyes.

He looked very disreputable.

“Shall I ask the butler to come,
mademoiselle
, and send him away?” Karine asked.

“No,” Chiara replied. “I shall deal with it.”

She felt nervous as she approached the unkempt man, as his face was smudged with dirt and he was staring at her intently, but somehow her feet kept walking towards him.

As she stepped under the green leaves of the tree, he swept off his cap and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead.

“So, you are still speaking to me – ” he began.

It was the Count.

Chiara’s hands flew up to her throat, as she choked with shock and emotion.

“Why did you run away?” he asked, twisting the cap in his hands. “I came back to the apartment to find you, after your friend spoke to me – and you were gone!”

“My – friend?” Chiara managed to say.

“Yes – the dancer.”

The Count glanced in the direction of Karine.

“The Russian girl.”

So that was the errand that Karine had carried out just before they joined the ship. She had gone to the Count to speak on Chiara’s behalf – to tell him the truth!

“Why did
you
not come?” he was asking, his deep voice making her tremble with its intensity.

“I thought that – you would not – believe me – ”

Chiara felt a single hot tear slide down her cheek.

“I was angry, yes, bitterly angry, when I thought that you might have played false with me, but if you had come yourself, how could I have not believed you?”

“I am so – sorry,” Chiara stammered, as shame and confusion overwhelmed her.

Why had she not trusted him? If she had gone to him then and there and tried to explain, she might still be in St. Petersburg now.

He then stepped towards her and her body and soul expanded with happiness.

He was going to take her in his arms.

But he suddenly halted and stood in front of her, a doubtful expression on his face.

“I cannot – kiss you in this coat,” he said, looking down at his torn and greasy sleeves.

Chiara’s tears melted into laughter.

“Of course you can,” she exclaimed. “I love your disguise! I still have the other old coat you wore when we first met. It’s my most treasured possession!”

Now the Count threw back his head and laughed too and caught her in his arms.

“My beautiful glorious angel,” he sighed, his breath warm against her hair. “That more than any words of love tells me that you care for me.”

Chiara lay against him, filled with a bliss that was as warm and bright as the summer day glowing all around them.

She thrilled at the thought that he might kiss her, but instead, he took her shoulders in his strong hands and held her a little away from him, his face now drawn and tense.

“I have come,” he said, “to ask you to marry me. I am dressed as a beggar, oh – partly because I feared that if Arkady Dimitrov came knocking at your door, you would turn him away. But, also, because I am so utterly humble before you, my darling. My love for you makes me always a beggar at your feet.”

He let go of her and flung himself to his knees, his head hanging.

“Don’t, please don’t!”

Chiara touched his head and felt the softness of his dark hair under her fingers.

“You must not beg! I am – yours. I have always been. I love and adore you, Arkady, and will for eternity.”

She knelt down with him, under the tree and put her arms around him and then he raised his head.

At last his lips were on hers in the tender kiss she had craved for so long.

*

Six months later a dazzle of twinkling stars shone down on the Count and Countess Dimitrov, as their troika sped through a forest not far from St. Petersburg.

Three elegant black thoroughbreds snorted as they raced across the sparkling snow, pulling their illustrious cargo as fast as they possibly could, their breath making a pale cloud in the icy night air.

“We are flying!” Chiara whispered, peering out of her fur-lined hood as the tall fir trees whisked by.

“Oh, this is sheer Heaven and I love you with all my heart and soul, my wonderful husband.”

“So – you are not sorry that I did not take you to Paris for our honeymoon, my adorable angel?”

“No! I love it here – so much.”

“You will not miss your home?”

“Of course I will – but Mama is married now. She is so happy in Pembrokeshire – and Rensham Hall is there for us to visit whenever we like.”

“I should love that and we will gallop on the wild sands of Norfolk until we fly up to Heaven and I can tell God how much I love you!”

Arkady transferred the reins of the troika to one hand, so that he could slip his arm under his wife’s thick cloak and hold her to him.

“But you have given your heart to Russia now?”

Chiara closed her eyes, picturing the brightly-lit streets of St. Petersburg, glowing under their white blanket of snow.

She thought of all the rooms in the glorious white-and-gilt Palace that now were hers to roam and explore as she chose.

She saw again the packed theatre they had just left and her dearest friend Karine, pirouetting across the stage with exquisite grace, her eyes glancing up to the back of the gallery, where her young English fiancé, Jonah, was watching her, his heart aflame with love and admiration.

And she turned to her husband and replied,

“I love Russia,” she said. “But my heart belongs to you, Arkady. Wherever you are, whatever happens to us, my heart belongs to you. When I am with you, I am in Heaven.”

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