The Summer Day is Done (34 page)

‘I shall be with Abadah Khan and his men,’ she said, ‘I shall only come back here if for some reason Abadah Khan can’t help us. But if I can reach him in time he will, I know he will. If not, then you’ll have to arrange another meeting with Prolofski.’

‘That might be difficult,’ he said with a grimace. ‘How will you travel?’

‘By motor car. Simeon Baroskovich will drive me. He’s one of the chauffeurs, he’ll get one of the motor cars out for me, you see, or I’ll ask General Sikorski if I can borrow his and his chauffeur, though I like Simeon better. He is fond of me too, so it will be a nice surprise for him to have the day off with me, but he’ll know nothing about Prolofski. If you’ll tell his Imperial
Highness I must go to see my mother, he’ll give Simeon the day off to take me.’

‘Karita, do you run the Livadia Palace?’

‘I only look after you,’ she said. He reached out a hand, she stooped and he kissed her warmly on the lips. Karita responded with an impulsive pressure of her mouth. His kiss was in gratitude, her response was simply because she liked being kissed.

‘Be careful,’ he said.

‘You’re the one to be careful,’ she said, ‘you’re to meet Prolofski.’ She went but turned at the door, a little smile on her mouth. ‘Why do you kiss me here but not in St Petersburg?’ she asked.

‘In St Petersburg,’ he said solemnly, ‘it would not be proper, little one.’

He went into Yalta later. When he returned he had what he had never carried before. A pistol.

While he was away Alexis wanted to know why he had gone at all.

‘I haven’t seen him to ask him,’ said Olga, ‘but when he does come back you can give him a good talking-to.’

‘He’ll only say something to make me laugh,’ said Alexis, his leg still awkwardly stiff, ‘it’s awfully difficult giving Ivan a good talking-to.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Olga, feeling the day was a little empty.

It wasn’t until evening when she was going with Tatiana to dinner that she saw him. He was not dressed for dinner himself, he wore his good-tempered velvet jacket and brown trousers. His arm was in his sling. He was going to meet
someone, he said, and had been excused taking the meal.

‘Don’t tell me her name,’ said Tatiana, ‘or I shall be disastrously jealous and stick pins into her.’

‘No, it’s just a man I know,’ he said.

‘Papa will not say no if you wish to meet your friends here,’ said Olga.

‘He is not a friend,’ said Kirby.

‘I must tell you,’ said Olga, ‘that when Alexis sees you tomorrow he’s going to try to give you a good talking-to.’

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘For neglecting us,’ said Olga and her eyes held his to remind him of words he had spoken.

‘I shan’t be too long,’ he said, ‘and when I come back will you play some Bach for me?’

‘Olga,’ said Tatiana, ‘is dreadful at Bach, Ivan.’

‘Not to me she isn’t,’ he said.

He whistled softly as he went, a tune Olga had heard before. It wasn’t Bach. She smiled.

It was dusk as he approached the hut along the track. It stood in a clearing amid woodlands. Prolofski, standing in the doorway, watched him come, a tall shadow emerging from the trees. It had been cloudy all day and the dusk was a dark grey blanket. Prolofski stepped silently aside to let Kirby enter the hut. A few moments later another shadow emerged from the same trees. Prolofski stepped from the hut to meet him.

‘He came by himself, there are no others,’ said the newcomer.

Prolofski shrugged. He entered the hut, the other man following.

‘You must permit this,’ said Prolofski and Kirby stood unmoving as the other man searched him, running quick hands over him in the darkness. He smiled sarcastically at Prolofski, whose round face shone white beneath his black hat. Prolofski shrugged again. It was to say a man with a broken arm could still carry a weapon and could still use it. The searcher straightened up and gave a satisfied grunt. Prolofski listened. There was only the quietness of the grave outside. ‘In these times,’ he said, ‘a man has to make sure.’

‘I understand,’ said Kirby.

‘Can you? You can observe and you can pass opinions. But you’re English, so how can you understand? It takes centuries and you have to be Russian. What have you decided?’

‘First,’ said Kirby, ‘you must convince me you know enough about me.’

‘I’m to show you something? A piece of paper?’ Prolofski’s moon face was expressive of faint disgust. ‘My friend, I do not carry papers. It’s all up here.’ He tapped his forehead under his hat. ‘It’s committed and can’t be forgotten.’

‘What you carry in your head isn’t proof,’ said Kirby. ‘Remember my stake in this. It could be my life.’

‘Not if you kill Rasputin, only if you refuse to. As a spy they would shoot you because you’ve deceived Nicholas the Bloody himself. That, my friend, they’ll consider unpardonable. To convince you that you must work for us I’ll open my mind to you and speak the names of colleagues you have in Russia. First, there’s a man called Anstruther of Yalta – though he is elsewhere
now, comrade – and then there is a man called Burroughs of Moscow, also Borodin Jacovich of the same place—’

‘They’re enough,’ said Kirby.

‘It wasn’t a difficult code and it’s all up here.’ He tapped his forehead again. Almost he smiled. ‘She has the piece of paper. You are doubly covered, my friend. By my head and her piece of paper.’

‘Princess Karinshka?’ said Kirby. ‘Is she involved in this?’

‘Not in this. She is useful in some ways, but is a woman with a woman’s limitations. She won’t be at your back, but I will. Now, Rasputin.’

‘Yes, Rasputin,’ said Kirby. On the face of it, Prolofski represented the biggest risk. He was merciless, Aleka temperamental. And Aleka did not yet know about the disposal of Rasputin. Or did she? Who could trust anything Prolofski said? Well, he would have to risk it. Prolofski had the names locked in his head. Aleka had them on a piece of paper. What would she do if she heard no more from Prolofski, if Prolofski disappeared into a hole in the ground? She was a risk too, but she was not Prolofski. ‘This is how I propose to do it,’ he said and extracted a paper from his breast pocket. The watchful shadow moved. There was, thought Kirby, a familiarity about him. But he wore a cap, pulled well down over his forehead, and the hut was dark. Kirby unfolded the paper awkwardly, using his one hand.

‘Am I a bat?’ asked Prolofski.

‘I know the interior of the Alexander Palace,’ said Kirby, who in fact did not, ‘and I must be
sure you approve of what I suggest, because with a little luck I can kill him close to the bedroom of the Grand Duchess. The difficulty is that she shares this room with her sister. But look.’ He laid the paper on a rough table under the window of the hut. He took a box of matches and a thin wax taper from the right-hand pocket of his jacket. Using his left hand that emerged from his plaster cast and his sling, he struck a match and lit the taper. The dark bodyguard muttered. ‘There are no soldiers in this area,’ said Kirby.

‘Even so, I don’t like lights,’ said Prolofski. He bent over the table as Kirby played the light on the sheet of paper. The taper was in his left hand. Prolofski peered, and shielded by his body from the watchful shadow, Kirby slid his right hand under the table and withdrew the Colt automatic from its web of thread there. He stepped back. Prolofski looked up, the other man came forward and both saw the weapon at the same time.

‘You are a fool,’ said Prolofski coldly.

‘I brought it here earlier this evening,’ said Kirby. ‘Don’t move. I will certainly shoot. I will have to.’

‘It won’t save you.’

The other man swore. The lighted taper in Kirby’s left hand shone at the window. He kept it there. The gun glinted, pointing at Prolofski’s stomach. It was steady but Kirby knew the other man would not hold back indefinitely. He did not want to fire, but there was always the chance that Karita and Abadah Khan had not arrived. Also, if they had arrived, at the first sounds of
their rush Prolofski and his shadow, without the threat of the Colt to restrain them, might in the darkness slip the net.

It was infinitely preferable not to use the weapon. The sound would carry and on the Tsar’s estate there were always patrols at night, although mainly around the perimeter.

Prolofski turned on the other man.

‘If there were others and you missed them, fool—’

‘I followed him as you told me to, he came alone,’ said the capped man, and suddenly in the light of the taper Kirby saw his face. It was Oravio, as unpleasant as he had always seemed pleasant. And Oravio shifted, poising himself on the balls of his feet.

At the doorway a voice spoke, a girl’s voice.

‘We are here, Ivan Ivanovich.’

Prolofski turned slowly, deliberately. Oravio swung round. In the doorway, dark against the background of descending night, stood Karita, a rifle in her hands, a scarf about her golden head.

‘Welcome, little one,’ said Kirby and sighed.

Karita moved and into the hut poured dark, soundless men. The round white face of Prolofski was a mask of icy rage. He spat as they took him. Oravio struggled with a fury born of having been tricked. But they held him. Karita saw him, her mouth tightened, her eyes burned and she walked up to him.

‘What did they ever do to hurt you?’ she said.

‘They oppress and murder my brothers,’ shouted Oravio, ‘and that’s enough for any man.’ He
spat. It flecked her dark blouse. ‘And it’s more than enough for me.’

Karita struck him across the mouth.

‘You? Who are you?’ she said. ‘Who made you their judge? You, you are only fit to live in a hole with the other assassins. Say no more or these good people will cut out your tongue and his too.’

‘Our comrades will remember you, whore!’ roared Oravio.

Kirby took off his sling and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. The dark men completed the gagging and they bound him. They gagged and bound Prolofski too. The black hat fell off. He was as whitely bald as the moon itself. For a moment he resisted dementedly, then suddenly quietened. The cold, protuberant eyes became blank and with his hands tied and his mouth stuffed he was taken with Oravio from the hut.

‘Deliver them to Abadah Khan as quickly and as quietly as you can,’ said Karita. The dark men smiled. Kirby saw teeth flash. But none of them spoke. They vanished into the wooded depths with their captives, taking with them the rifle Karita had borrowed. Kirby extinguished the taper.

‘We waited a long time,’ said Karita. ‘We thought you were never going to show the light, we thought perhaps things had gone wrong for you. It was very worrying.’

‘In my selfishness,’ said Kirby, ‘I wanted to find out first how much of my life Prolofski commanded. I’m still not sure. I’ll tell you about it one day.’

‘It was good to catch him,’ said Karita, ‘he’s an assassin, did you know? He doesn’t care if he blows up ten innocent people as long as he gets the one he is after. Now he’ll live in a hole with Oravio for as long as you wish. Abadah Khan will only let them out when you say. You are the Tsar’s friend, therefore Abadah Khan says you have only to ask and his services are yours. You would like Abadah Khan, he is always laughing. You are all right?’

‘I’m fine. You’re extraordinary. Would you have used that rifle?’

‘Of course.’ She sounded surprised that he should ask. ‘I was very worried about you. Prolofski isn’t a nice man and you had only one arm to use.’

‘That was a help, it put them off their guard a little, I think.’

‘I didn’t want anything to happen to you,’ said Karita as they began to make their way along the dark track. ‘What would happen to me? I could not go back to Karinshka to work, I shouldn’t like it there now.’

‘They’ll wonder why Oravio doesn’t go back.’

‘Nobody will find him, he’ll have disappeared.’ Karita had only an incurable contempt for Oravio now. ‘We had better hurry, I have so many things to see to—’

‘You’ve nothing to see to.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Karita, you are lovely. You are my pride and treasure. You’ve helped the Imperial family and you’ve helped me. Tremendously. Thank you.’

He squeezed her shoulders. He began his
soft whistle. Karita felt immensely pleased with herself. It was so satisfying to be regarded as a treasure and to walk with him along the winding track, the darkness a friendly embrace rather than a hindrance. He did not kiss her to show his gratitude for what she had done. She knew that here, where they were very much alone, would not be the proper place for him to do so. He would wait until they were back in the palace. But even then he did not do so. As she removed her scarf in his suite and shook out her flattened hair he passed his hand over her soft, silky tresses and said again, ‘You are lovely, Karita. Thank you very much.’

It gave her a nice feeling. But she would still have liked to be kissed.

He went down to the music room. It was empty. Square, spacious, with its upright chairs and its grand piano, it was put to frequent use in the evenings. Sometimes such evenings were informally family when the Grand Duchesses played, sometimes ambitious when everyone would gather to hear a maestro play. Kirby had heard the elder Grand Duchesses at the piano on occasions. Tatiana had talent, Olga had creditable application. Old General Sikorski was surprisingly good with a violin tucked beneath his chin.

Kirby sat down at the piano. There was music on the stand. Bach. He smiled. He tapped out a light tune with one finger. He felt mentally relaxed, his mind free of its dark burden. Karita really was extraordinary, and more indispensable than ever.

Olga heard the tiny tinkling. She came and stood in the doorway. He did not see her, he was sitting at the piano, tapping single notes but making a tune, nevertheless. She watched him, her blue eyes soft, smiling to herself because he did not know she was there. How fit he looked again. And Mama had not been difficult, after all. She had heard all about the ball, had sighed gently at the mention of Colonel Kirby, but dearest Tatiana had quickly said how she and Olga had simply insisted on his attendance. And Mama had said, ‘Well, then, how could he refuse? And so he managed to dance, did he?’

‘Not only with us,’ said Tatiana, ‘but with other ladies. Everyone likes him so much, he’s so nice to have around. I wish you might invite him to Tsarskoe Selo, we could skate with him in the winter.’