The Summer Day is Done (48 page)

The door opened, the moment of danger precipitately broken as Tatiana came in. Olga drew hastily back, her face burning as she turned to hide herself, her hand on the heavy curtain drawn back from the bright window.

‘Ivan Ivanovich! They said you were here and you are! Oh, how lovely!’ And Tatiana swooped and flew to him. ‘Olga, may I?’ She threw her arms around Kirby’s neck and kissed him in glad, impulsive welcome. Olga swung round and a little gasp broke from her. The despair of being denied that which Tatiana took so uninhibitedly showed in her stricken expression.

‘Oh, Tasha,’ she said in pain, ‘am I to say you may not?’ Tatiana, oblivious of her sister’s distress, drew back to survey Kirby with shining delight.

‘There, you see,’ she said, ‘you’re put together again and even better than before. Oh, how
grand you look, Ivan. Olga, whoever would think he had been so knocked about. Are we to sit, may we talk?’

‘Shall I go or stay?’ said Olga.

Tatiana turned, saw that Olga was in some way hurt and went swiftly to her.

‘Dearest, I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘but I was so excited. Let me stay a minute or two, let us all talk for just a little while.’

Olga could never resist Tatiana. The three of them sat and talked. At first it was all about what each of them had been doing, then about the war. The war could not be escaped from. The Grand Duchesses had their own anxieties about it and were all too obvious in their desire to hear Kirby say the situation was not really serious, that the Allies would ensure it would all be over by Christmas at least. He could not paint that kind of picture, especially not for them. He could only suggest that time was on the side of the Allies, although he knew that time by itself was likely to be tragically expensive for Russia.

Olga began to wonder. There was something about him that made her suspicious. Had he come to only say goodbye again? Men were always doing that in wartime. Worse, he had a tendency to do it all the time. A little fierceness took hold of her. When Tatiana said she must go, it did not surprise Olga in the least to hear him say he was going away tomorrow. But she was astonished, and so was Tatiana, when he said he had accepted a commission in the Russian army.

‘But, Ivan,’ cried Tatiana, ‘how ridiculous! Oh,
and how famous. You’re really going to fight for Papa and all of us?’

‘It isn’t a bit famous,’ said Olga, ‘but it is ridiculous. What does it mean, does it mean something good?’

He told them it meant he was to join the army of the Caucasus.

‘The Caucasus? Oh, do you call that good?’ Olga sounded angry. Tatiana wondered if Olga realized there was an implied possessiveness about her attitude that was regrettable.

‘Nothing is very good for anyone in this kind of war, is it?’ said Kirby. Tatiana liked him so much, he refused to get emotional or dramatic, he kept things as matter-of-fact as he could even though she knew he cared deeply for Olga.

Olga rose. The Caucasus? That was a million miles away.

‘It’s an utterly beastly war,’ said Tatiana as she and Kirby rose too, ‘but you have all our blessings, all our prayers, and when it’s over there’ll be a wonderful victory ball. We’ll be there and so will you. Ivan, make it come to an end soon. It’s not so bad for us but it’s dreadful for our soldiers. Don’t be away too long, come back to us. Dearest Ivan, God bless you.’ She kissed him, squeezed his arm and went quickly from the room.

Olga, pale with accusation, faced him.

‘Why have you done this?’ she asked. ‘Why have you joined the Russian army and volunteered for the Caucasus? Do you know how far away that is?’

‘Olga,’ he said, ‘Russia has been good to me and I owe her a great deal. The Emperor has
given me trust and friendship and I owe him even more. If this is the best way I can serve him—’

‘If?’ Olga’s suspicions clarified into conviction. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘it’s someone else’s idea. And you have consented to it. Colonel Kirby, I never thought you would let them send you to the Caucasus without fighting them a little.’

‘But you see, Olga,’ he said, ‘being sent to the Caucasus is for me infinitely preferable to being sent back to England. I want to stay in Russia, I want to see the war through here.’

‘The Caucasus isn’t here!’ Olga was so upset that she turned her back on him. ‘Colonel Kirby, you’re going to make me so unhappy. We need our friends, we need them close to us.’

‘Olga, you have thousands of friends in Petrograd alone.’ He saw that her back was very straight and felt a pride in her.

‘Have we? Tatiana and I are beginning to wonder about that.’ She moved to the window, looked out over the summer-dry grass. ‘I mean true friends. Oh, you are the unkindest of men to do this.’

‘What?’ he said in astonishment.

‘You are.’ Her voice was muffled, defensive. ‘You know I can’t bear goodbyes, yet you’re always forcing them on me. That’s unkind, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, my dear sweet Olga,’ he said impulsively and tenderly. It did little to steady her nerves. Desperately she kept her eyes on the view, though she saw nothing of it. She was close to betraying her parents’ trust. ‘Olga, do you think I like goodbyes any more than you do?’

‘No, but—’ She lapsed into helplessness. She turned to him. She tried to smile. ‘Oh, I do have bad moments, don’t I?’ she said. ‘It’s I who am being unkind. And I’m complaining about something thousands of people face every day. Please forgive me. But it would be heavenly to live in a world where there were no goodbyes, where one’s friends were always close. Don’t you think so?’

‘I expect a few of us would still find something to complain about,’ he smiled. ‘Probably about how our friends were always on our doorstep.’

‘Yes,’ she said. She seemed unconvinced. She twisted the sapphire ring she wore. ‘I’m very selfish, aren’t I?’

‘No, you are not,’ he said firmly.

‘I am, you know.’ She tried another smile. It was not a great success. ‘I want things I can’t have. That
is
selfish in a Grand Duchess, isn’t it, when so many other people are in far greater need, when they have so little of what I take for granted, like bread? Please, you’ll ignore my little tantrum, will you not? You must go to the Caucasus, you must go wherever you’re sent, of course you must. Only—only I do wish you did not seem to be saying goodbye so often.’

‘There have been different times, Olga, especially at Livadia.’

It was in her eyes then, the memory of golden days and laughing children.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. She went on in her softest voice. ‘Colonel Kirby, please don’t think me too foolish, but I have so cherished our friendship, so treasured all those times. You made Livadia
so happy for us. It isn’t wrong, even for me, is it, to cherish a friendship?’

‘Or for me?’ he said gently.

‘Oh, it’s so difficult,’ she whispered. Suddenly he saw the brightness of tears unbearable to him. ‘But I wish there were other words, not just the ones to do with goodbye. I wish there were.’

He shook his head, unable for a moment to speak. Then he said, ‘There aren’t so many other words, Olga, only these. I shouldn’t say them but I must. I love you, I love you with all my heart. I loved you the day I first saw you, I loved you when you were sixteen. I love you now. I will always love you.’

She flamed into rich, radiant colour. She trembled, she put her hands to her face, pressed her eyelids with her fingertips. Her head bent, her hair fell forward. She fought emotions that threatened everything for which she was predestined by heritage. She searched her being for words of her own. She lifted her head, uncovered her eyes and looked up into his face.

‘Now, whatever happens,’ she said, ‘nothing can take that away from me. Now I shall always be happy. Now I shall never be a Crown Princess, there’s no Crown Prince I could ever love because all the love I have is already given. Now you and I will always be the dearest of friends, as we said before, but now the very dearest. And we shall never forget each other, shall we? Oh, I would so like it if you would always remember me, wherever we are, whatever happens.’

‘I can never forget Livadia, and you are Livadia,’ he said.

Olga smiled then, her eyes moistly brilliant. They had spoken their words. There were no more. She put out both hands. He took them, he raised each to his lips in turn. And that was all they had, Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna of Imperial Russia and John Kirby of England. That and all they had shared in the tranquillity of Livadia.

If, apart from her nursing work, Olga’s life was confined and sequestered, if she lived mostly in guarded security, this did not make her an unimaginative or shallow Grand Duchess. She was always herself, thoughtful, observant and understanding, longing to love and be loved. She was the personification of all that was best in the graciousness of her disappearing world. Because she was herself she kept her promise to her mother, she kept faith with her father. All that John Kirby ever touched of her were her hands, all he ever kissed were her fingertips. She was true to her heritage.

It was only her heart she denied.

Tatiana slipped back into the room when he had gone. Olga was at the window, gazing out at the sunshine wherein danced all her dreams.

‘Olga? Don’t be sad, dearest,’ whispered Tatiana, cherishing and envying the wonder of her sister’s love.

Olga turned her head. Tatiana saw the reflected dreams.

‘Sad? Oh no, Tasha, I’m not sad. You don’t know how beautiful it is to be loved. I have almost
everything I can have now, and it doesn’t matter how often or how far they send him away, he’ll always be where we are, always.’

‘No, darling, he’ll always be where you are.’

Karita went with him to Kars. He was commissioned a colonel in the Imperial army, a staff appointment was his. The arrival at Third Corps headquarters of an Englishman in the uniform of a Russian colonel was a mystery, an amusement and an embarrassment. They had not been notified of his appointment and did not know what to do with him. True, his papers confirmed his appointment, but they had no papers themselves. However, mystified or amused, they did not lack hospitality and having broken open a bottle or two they declared him a fine fellow and said he must be quartered somewhere. They found him a first-floor apartment in a commandeered house. Karita thought little of Kars and even less of the apartment. It was too small, there were only three rooms and a kitchen. She turned her nose up at the crowded living room, full of the most uncomfortable furniture.

‘You must tell them,’ she said, when they had moved in, ‘you must tell them the Tsar himself is your friend. He would never permit you to be lodged in such an ordinary place as this.’

Karita was exaggerating. She was always apt to expect more for him than he was entitled to.

For the first few days he was entirely unwanted by Third Corps staff. They were charming enough but were not disposed to use him. However, his fluent and easy command of their language, his adaptability, his equability, his love of Russia and his liking for its people, made them look differently at him after a week. They began to explain the campaign to him.

Kirby became involved in heavy and complicated staff work. It was more than welcome in that it compelled his mind to focus on things other than his hopeless love. Yet even during his busiest moments he would suddenly think of her, his mind drawing its picture of her, making it an effort to concentrate on figures again.

As for Karita, in her golden charm she was the delight of every Russian officer and man who set eyes on her. For her they would fight a million Turks. Karita asked only that they would dispose of the few they faced at present. That would help to get rid of what was only a nuisance and then they could all go and dispose of the Germans. Intrigued and infatuated officers slapped her and tickled her and pinched her. Karita would have retaliated if she hadn’t known they would consider this an encouragement. She wondered how Colonel Kirby would react if he knew she was subjected to these familiarities. She thought she had better tell him. Perhaps he could do something about it. He listened very soberly. He knew the inadvisability of showing amusement when
Karita considered that something not quite proper was going on at her expense.

‘And I am black and blue,’ she finished.

‘Where?’ he asked.

‘Where?’ She was shocked. He seemed quite serious. Did he expect her to show him? ‘Where? What does it matter where? That’s my own business, I should hope, and certainly nobody else’s.’

‘Good,’ he said, ‘you take care of it, little one.’ And he patted her.

‘Well!’ Karita could not believe it. Not only was he indifferent to her problem but he had actually patted her where she had been most often pinched. It was like setting his approval on the familiarity of others. ‘Well, that’s very nice, isn’t it? I’m to be pinched black and blue while you look the other way.’

He rubbed the nap of his cap with his sleeve. It served to remind her that he was due at headquarters.

‘Don’t you like it?’ he said. ‘It’s their way with pretty girls, you know that.’

‘It’s their way with
some
girls,’ said Karita, ‘and what I should like to know is, do
you
like it? If you’re in favour of it perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I took my clothes off to let them see what they’re slapping and pinching.’

He put his cap over his face. His voice came hoarse and muffled.

‘Heaven preserve me, you’ll be my death.’ He put his cap on. Karita, seeing the trouble he was in to keep his face straight, tossed her chin disdainfully. ‘All right, sweet one,’ he said, ‘I’ll
bring the subject up. Well, I’ll do something. In broad daylight I can’t imagine what and they’re not going to take me seriously. I’ll have to pose the question when is a pinch not a pinch and go on from there.’

Karita was quick to see what that might mean.

‘Ivan Ivanovich,’ she said, ‘don’t you dare discuss my person with those roaring bullfrogs.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he said, and then pinched her on his way out.

‘Well,’ she gasped, outraged, ‘well!’

But behind the closed door she fell into fits of gurgling laughter.