Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (95 page)

He made her feel instantly safe and sheltered, somehow, as
though he alone could keep the bad things of the world at bay.

He gazed back at her steadily. Finally he nodded and spoke.
'My God, but you are very beautiful,' he said in the kind of deep, resonant voice that belonged behind a pulpit. 'You are
just like your mother.'

She smiled nervously and forced herself to walk the rest of
the way toward him. Not once before in all her life had she
felt this awkward or shy—not even when she had met O.T.
Skolnik. 'Hello, Father,' she said guardedly, a lump blocking her throat. She held her hands out politely and he took them
in his. She rose on tiptoe and kissed him on both cheeks.

He took a deep breath. 'It is good to see you,' he said softly,
still holding on to her hands when she stepped back. 'Let me
take a good look at you.'

She stood there silently, blushing under his gaze.

'It has not been easy for me to come here,' he said, still
looking down at her. 'When I received your letter I was so
ashamed of having abandoned you that I almost decided not
to.'

'And I was so nervous of meeting you,' she confessed, holding his gaze, 'that for the three days since I had it delivered to
your hotel I haven't known whether to be here or go away and
hide.' She gave a low laugh. 'It's silly, isn't it?'

'No, on the contrary. I can understand it.' His voice
cracked. 'I should have never left you.' His eyes were moist.

'But you came.'

'Yes. I am glad.'

She smiled. 'So am I.'

Inge advanced slowly from the living room and studied
Schmarya over her bifocals. He and Tamara were still holding
each other's hands. 'You look well, Mr. Boralevi,' she
observed softly. 'The years seem to have been kind.'

He let go of Tamara's hand then and turned to Inge and frowned, clearly searching his memory for her.

'I am Inge Meier,' she reminded him, holding out her hand.
'I was the Danilovs' nurse.'

'Ah, yes, I remember now,' he said, taking her hand politely
in his and giving a formal little bow over it. 'Although you
looked different then.'

'It was twenty years ago. I was much younger.'

'And you did not wear glasses then.' He nodded. 'You have
been with Tamara all this time?'

Inge nodded. 'We were all the family we thought we had.
We escaped Russia together.'

'And Senda? She is well?'

A veil seemed to slide down over Inge's eyes. 'She died
before she could leave Europe.' She drew a deep breath and
her voice quivered with thick emotion.

For a long moment they stood awkwardly in the foyer, star
ing at one another. Then Louis clapped his hands together.
'Why don't we go into the living room?' he suggested. 'I'm
sure you all have a lot of catching up to do and it's more
comfortable there.'

Schmarya nodded and Tamara hooked an arm through his
elbow. 'This is a remarkable house,' Schmarya said, looking
around. 'Why, this living room alone is much bigger than most
houses! I have not seen anything quite like it.'

'Neither have we,' Tamara joked weakly. Then she looked
concerned. 'You are limping badly.'

'I lost my leg in Russia.' Schmarya shrugged. 'I am used to
it.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

'It was very long ago.'

'I think this occasion calls for a celebration,' Louis
announced, going around to the bar. 'Champagne?'

'That will be fine.' Schmarya carefully lowered himself onto
a couch and Tamara took a seat beside him. Crystal clinked
in the background as Louis poured the drinks.

'After I got settled, I wrote many letters to you and your
mother in Russia,' Schmarya told Tamara.

She frowned. 'As far as I know, we didn't receive any. But that's not surprising when you consider the state of things. I
was too young to remember anything, but from what Inge told
me, things in Russia were very confused. Everything broke
down . . . communications, government, the postal system,
transportation, food . . . everything. It took us a long time
just to get here.'

'That's not the reason you didn't get them,' he said softly.
'I wrote them, but
...
I never sent them. Part of me wanted
to, but another part did not. I was young and brash in those
days and everything to me was black and white. At the time I
left your mother and you, I blamed her for many things I now
realize I probably had no right to blame her for at all.' He
stared at her intensely. 'You are very like her, you know. But
you are even more beautiful.'

Tamara looked away suddenly.

'I am sorry. I did not mean to stare. Until I received your
letter I had no idea that the great film star Tamara was my
daughter.' He smiled apologetically. 'That will take some get
ting used to.'

She was surprised. 'Then you'd heard of me?'

He nodded. 'You are famous even in Europe and Palestine. There are cinemas in every large city, and American films are
considered the best. However, even in my wildest imaginings
it never occurred to me to connect my daughter to the film
star, despite the name. "Tamara" is quite common in Russia;
it would have been absurd to think it could be you. Or so I
would have thought.'

'Yes, it would have seemed rather unlikely,' Tamara
agreed.

Louis came to hand the glasses around. 'A toast,' he said,
remaining standing. 'To old acquaintance, renewed acquaint
ance, and new acquaintance.'

'I drink to that,' Inge said.

'Mazel tov!'
Schmarya added, leaning forward and clinking
their glasses. The crystal rang true and clear and they sipped
slowly.

'This tastes good,' Schmarya said, savouring the smooth,
bubbly taste on his tongue. 'Not sweet, not sour . . . delicious. It is not often that I get the chance to drink champagne.'

'It's Dom Perignon,' Louis said, 'the best. Thank God it's
easier and cheaper to get again, now that Prohibition's finally
over.'

'Not that that ever stopped him,' Tamara laughed. She explained for Schmarya's sake: 'You wouldn't have believed
our bootlegger's bills. Louie always said that next to your
doctor, your bootlegger is the most important person in your
life.'

Over the next hours Tamara and Inge kept answering
Schmarya's questions about St. Petersburg, Germany, and the
movies. Tamara was surprised and pleased that he was so interested, and regaled him with anecdotes. Underneath her
father's imposing, larger-than-life physique and strength was a sensitive, gentle human. She could not imagine that this was
the same man who had walked out on her mother and her.

They ate dinner outside on the football-field-size terrace
overlooking the flat, twinkling expanse of Los Angeles below.
Sitting there on the hilltop in the warm night air, Schmarya had the impression that he was floating in space, the lights
stretching off into the distance on all three sides in that kind
of gridlike pattern. Throughout the meal, he had a hard time
keeping his eyes off his daughter. The flickering yellow light
of the candles inside the hurricane shade seemed to heighten
her bewitching features and animation.

'I've been talking nonstop about myself,' Tamara said, lean
ing across the table toward him. 'Now you must tell me about yourself. How did your speeches turn out? I wanted to attend
one of the ones here, but it was impossible for me to do so.
So I want to hear all about it. Did you get to see the President
when you were in Washington?' She fixed her father with
her famous gaze, her eyes glowing like liquid silver in the
candlelight.

He shook his head. 'I had to give the letter I wanted to
hand-deliver to him to a sympathetic businessman who has
connections with your White House.' He gave a little self-effacing smile. 'I would have liked to discuss our problems
with him, but . . . well, it is not as though Jews are a major concern at the moment. I fear our struggle for true independence and freedom is not supported, let alone recognized, by any government with the exception of Great Britain. And Britain, unfortunately, treats us more like a colony than a
territory bound for independence. Britain, our staunchest sup
porter and yet the greatest enemy of our freedom! It is ironic,
no?' He fixed Tamara with a wry smile. 'I will not pretend that
I am not disappointed by President Roosevelt. A meeting with
him might have proved very fruitful. However, we must not
allow ourselves to think of what might have been.'

She stared at him, her dessert spoon frozen halfway to her
lips. 'I don't understand it. President Roosevelt seems to be a champion of the underdog. I would surely have thought that
if anyone would be supportive of your cause, it would be him,
but since help from Roosevelt isn't forthcoming, isn't there
some other way you can stir up support?'

He sighed heavily. 'I am trying. Believe me, I am trying.
That is why I am here. To raise awareness and much-needed
funds. But even many of the Jews consider me to be too . . . how do you say it? Inflexible? They like to believe you can accomplish everything quietly and with velvet gloves.' He
shook his head sadly. 'If only that were true in this case.'

'And in Palestine? Surely you are a hero to all the Jews
there.'

He made a disparaging gesture. 'I am afraid I am not.'

She stared at him. 'I can't believe that! After all you're
trying to do?'

'The people I represent are the minority even among the
Jews in Palestine. For one thing, Jews comprise barely a fifth
of our population. Of these, perhaps one in ten supports me. And of these, very few dare come out and do so publicly, for fear they will suffer Arab reprisals or that the British might
use them to lay a trap for me.' He smiled. 'So you see, things
are far more complicated than they seem.'