Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (26 page)

Halls merged into progressive halls, salons opened into
larger salons. Then, suddenly, all the massive rooms seemed
inconsequential as the last door opened up the second-floor
gallery of the cathedral-size ballroom. Senda drew to a halt to
take it all in. She was bedazzled.

Dozens of guests milled about in the wide gallery which
completely encircled the second floor of the ballroom like a
wraparound balcony, the balustrade punctuated every four metres by Ionic columns soaring majestically from the dance
floor to the inverted-coffin ceiling.

Finding her feet, Senda forgot the footman and anxiously
tugged Schmarya toward the balustrade. She leaned over
excitedly. Below, the dancers were Lilliputian in proportion
to the room itself. She caught her breath as she hungrily took
it all in. Oh, the sight which fed her eyes!

The ballroom floor was a sea of elegant couples, the women in rustling, billowing gowns floating in the arms of their part
ners, their lace petticoats frothing like whipped cream under
flowing hems, their delicate ivory shoulders bare, their
patrician throats, heads, and arms encrusted with a staggering
collection of precious jewels. And the men! They were the
handsomest, most elegantly turned-out men she had ever had
the pleasure of laying eyes on—tall and graceful for the most
part, clean-shaven and neatly bearded, in formal attire or
resplendent gold-braided dress uniforms with mirrorlike boots, they rivalled the exquisitely gowned ladies for atten
tion. The oval dance floor was thronged with guests spilling
into the adjoining chambers under the palm-lined colonnades.
They talked, laughed, exchanged delicious titbits of gossip, or
eyed the graceful couples swirling on the glassy floor under
the twin rows of massive crystal chandeliers, twelve in all, each
one sparkling as brightly as diamonds. Four tiers of creamy,
flickering, beeswax candles bristled from each one. In a cul-
de-sac of hothouse palms at the far end was the orchestra.

Oh, the sweet sounds! The splendid sight.

'There you are!' Countess Florinsky chirped breathlessly as she hurried toward Senda and Schmarya as fast as her short
legs would carry her. With flutters of her open fan she waved
the waiting footman away. 'My dear, your performance was
positively magnificent!' she crooned, blowing three noisy
kisses past each of Senda's cheeks. Then she stepped back and
regarded Schmarya closely. 'Handsome,' she said, nodding.
'Yes, quite,
quite
handsome indeed.' She narrowed her eyes
at Senda. 'If you're not careful I shall steal him for myself!' After introductions she happily slipped her arms through
theirs, a bubbly, effervescent plump child-woman. 'Now,
come, darlings, and do hurry, please,' she tittered. 'The Prin
cess is simply dying to meet you! I was to bring you to her the
moment you arrived!'

Countess Florinsky guided them around to the nearest of
the two balustraded marble staircases which swept down, fac
ing each other, to a common landing where the two staircases
converged into one.

'This used to be called the Ambassador's Staircase, though heaven only knows why,' the Countess chattered excitedly. 'I
think everyone's forgotten the reason!' When they reached the landing, she squeezed their arms with hers and let them
go. The Prince and Princess stood side by side greeting guests
who had not been invited to the performance.

The Princess smiled at a buxom woman in an off-white lace
gown and turned. 'Ahhh!' she intoned in the lilting, well-
modulated French of the upper classes. '
Voilà notre Mademoi
selle Marguerite!'

Since Senda did not speak a word of French, all she could
catch was the name Marguerite, but she guessed at what the
Princess had said. The Countess made introductions. 'Your Highness,' Senda murmured in Russian. 'Happy Birthday.'
As protocol demanded, she dropped a graceful curtsy, con
scious of Schmarya grudgingly bowing beside her. Senda willed him to be on his best behaviour. No one knew better
than she what he thought of the ruling class.

'Thank you, my dear. And do rise,' the Princess told Senda
in a kind voice, switching easily from fluent French to native Russian. 'I wanted you to know that your performance was
quite stunning. We enjoyed it ever so much. It was my favour
ite birthday present. I must thank you.'

'Your Highness is too kind.'

'I think not. Even their Imperial Majesties asked me to convey their congratulations on a dazzling performance.'

Senda's eyes widened in surprise, and at that moment she
looked exceedingly girlish.

'But you are so young!' The Princess studied Senda closely,
then looked at her husband. 'Why, she must be barely twenty,
Vaslav!'

'But quite talented,' the Prince said mildly, as though he
had little interest in Senda. But his intense, unwavering blue
eyes belied his words as he looked at her strangely.

The Princess, apparently unaware of her husband's keen
interest in Senda, patted his hand affectionately. 'My husband
is right, as always. You are very talented. And now, I'm sure
that you are anxious to have some refreshments and perhaps
dance.'

A gentle but obvious dismissal. 'Thank you, your Highness,'
Senda said.

'It is my pleasure. Do circulate.'

Curtsying again, Senda could still feel the Prince's steady gaze. A flush heightened her features with glowing pink. She quickly took Schmarya's arm and led him over to where
Countess Florinsky was waiting.

Together, the three of them descended the seven steps to
the dance floor.

'I don't know what Vaslav would have done for entertain
ment had he not run across you,' the Countess was telling them. 'Irina loves the theatre so. Sometimes I get the feeling
she would rather be onstage than playing the role of princess.'
Countess Florinsky gave a little shrug. 'At any rate, what's
important is that everyone agrees you were simply divine.
Divine . . . hmmm, yes.
La Divina.
That is what I shall call
you. The divine one.'

Senda laughed. 'That's carrying it a bit far, I think.'

At that moment, two dowagers passed by, flicking surrep
titious glances in Senda's direction.

'De prés elle est encore plus belle.
' Senda could hear one dowager whispering behind her fan.
'Et
elle est si fraîche.'

'Si j'étais homme, je pourrais facilement m'enamourer
d'elle,'
the other dowager whispered back, nodding.
'Je crois
qu'Irina devrait prendre garde .
. .'

'You see?' Countess Florinsky said triumphantly, her mag
nified eyes twinkling. 'You are already the talk of the town!'

Senda flushed again, but she recognized the compliment
and was secretly pleased. 'But what did they say? I couldn't
understand a word.'

'Never mind
what
they say, as long as they keep talking.
Anyway. I must be getting back to work and leave you two to
enjoy yourselves.' The Countess pulled the décolletage of her
gown higher. Then she tilted her head, looked around, and
breathed deeply with satisfaction. 'It does look rather roman
tic, even if I do say so myself,' she said a little wistfully.

'I still can't believe you arranged all this,' Senda told her.

'It's easy,' the Countess said with a negligible wave of her
hand. 'All a good party requires is money.
Lots
of money.'
She giggled and fluttered her fan. 'Other people's money is so
easy to spend! Well, off I go. And do enjoy yourselves, my
dears!' She blew three parting kisses past each of Senda's
cheeks and pressed Schmarya's hand warmly. Then she was
gone.

Senda and Schmarya exchanged smiles and watched as the
short plump woman waddled along the edge of the dance floor
with that inimitable breathless bounce. When she was out of
sight, Schmarya turned to Senda and took her hand formally.
His touch was warm and gentle and mocking, but underlying
it was an unmistakable possessiveness. 'A dance, my lady?' he
asked teasingly as the orchestra switched to a lively mazurka.

Senda's smile dazzled. 'I would be honoured, kind sir.'

They swiftly danced into an opening on the dance floor,
where they were swallowed up amid the rustle of swishing silks
and the heavenly fragrances of perfumes. The huge room rose
and dipped and whirled around her. Though the theatre
troupe knew nearly every conceivable dance step, and often
entertained itself by dancing, none of their dances, on or off
stage, had ever been like this, Senda thought.

Her head was in the clouds.

The mazurka flowed into a quadrille, the quadrille into a
chaconne, and the chaconne into a polonaise.

'Schmarya, I'm exhausted!' Senda had to gasp finally.

He grinned. 'And I'm hungry. Let's take a break.' Taking
her hand, he led her off the dance floor. 'Now that we know
how the other half lives, let's go see how they eat.'

Extraordinarily well, it turned out. The lace-and-damask-
draped buffet tables behind the colonnades groaned under the
weight of overladen gold and sterling platters. It was difficult to choose among the delicacies—roast duck with raspberry sauce, cold sturgeon, pheasant, salmon mousse with crayfish sauce, whole squab, rack of lamb, shashlik, blinis, white mar
zipan flowers, petits fours, and cakes of all kinds. All this, plus
four enormous gold bowls containing four kinds of caviar—
large-grained greyish beluga, small-grained black sevruga,
and golden nutty-flavoured osietra, as well as red-salmon keta.
And there were no fewer than ten varieties of fresh-baked
bread, their thin slices artfully stacked to create the base of an
enormous butter sculpture of the Princess.