The Summer Day is Done (8 page)

They were announced. Princess Aleka was well known. Palely, glitteringly she advanced, coolly enjoying being looked at. Already the state room was alive with people, the light of huge chandeliers reflected by the jewels of the women. With Kirby at her elbow Princess Aleka was received by their Imperial Majesties.

Nicholas was in uniform, decorations colourful, Imperial star resplendent. Aleka curtseyed, he took her hand, he smiled and spoke to her.

Between the Tsar and Tsarina stood a girl, a girl with the bluest of eyes, and with chestnut-gold hair dressed high and lightly caressed by a sparkling tiara. Her gown was a flowing enchantment of coral pink. She was looking not at Aleka Petrovna but at the princess’s escort, a tall man with a gold-flecked beard and wide, deeply grey eyes, a man who, in Western-styled evening tails, was so different from all the other men there. She came to as Aleka smiled at her, curtseyed to her and congratulated her.

Kirby bowed to the Tsar. Nicholas was not a tall man, but he was handsome, his beard giving him a similarity to his cousin, King George V of England. He had a simple, easy dignity and as he smiled he seemed to radiate genuine welcome and pleasure.

‘It is good to see you, Mr Kirby,’ he said in English, ‘for we have only the warmest memories of your country. If you don’t enjoy the evening I don’t know what my daughter will say. Will you give her your kindest wishes?’

‘Willingly, your Imperial Highness, and thank you for the privilege of being able to do so.’

He moved on and there she was, the Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna, sixteen and unbelievably sweet. He could not for the moment check the shock of surprise. Their little secret was in her eyes. She was the eldest daughter of the Tsar, yet for all that was breathlessly shy. She gave him her hand, he saw the bright ring worn over the gloved finger and he put his lips to it.

‘Highness, I did not know it was you I saw,’ he said in Russian, ‘but now that I do, forgive me and let me wish you the happiest of birthdays.’

‘Forgive you?’ Her voice was soft and warm. ‘Oh no, it wasn’t like that.’

The Tsarina, who had received Aleka, glanced at her daughter and saw the flush on her face. There were other guests waiting and there was little time to give any of them more than a few brief words. Kirby moved to bow to Alexandra and to take the hand she extended.

Alexandra was a slender, beautiful woman, but she did not have it in her to dazzle her court, to establish herself as a lively and evocative Empress. She was fervently religious, and had a mystique that made people think her remote and unapproachable.

Kirby, however, received no such impression now. He was conscious only of the kindest of smiles, even of warm responsiveness to his words of thanks.

‘Why, Mr Kirby,’ she said, speaking in English as Nicholas had, ‘we are delighted to meet you.
If Russia has my love, England has more than a small part of my heart.’

It was in England that she and Nicholas had spent their most idyllic days just before they were married.

‘Mama,’ broke in Olga, ‘he is English? I did not really catch his name.’

‘He is an English Ivan,’ said Princess Aleka, ‘and is the most terrible of men, dearest Olga. Have nothing whatever to do with him.’

Blue eyes sought his, earnestly curious to discover whether signs of formidable failings were visible. He shook his head, smiling. In return she gave him her own shy smile to let him know she was sure he was not as terrible as that. He would have moved away with Aleka then but the Empress detained him. He had yet to discover that if Olga was endearingly shy, Alexandra was painfully so. It was something that made all state occasions, even this one, an ordeal. But she put her question.

‘Mr Kirby, where is your home in England?’

‘By the river, your Highness. A place called Walton-on-Thames.’

Alexandra shed her restraint, or rather, it slipped away to leave her in glowing pleasure.

‘But that is where the Emperor and I— Mr Kirby, I must find time to talk to you, perhaps.’

‘I should like that very much,’ he said simply.

She nodded, her eyes warm, and he withdrew to take the arm of the highly intrigued Aleka.

It did not help Alexandra to know that most eyes were on her and not on her daughter. It was always the same. Shyness not being a
characteristic of the Russians, there were few who understood how Alexandra suffered. Her inability to relax was construed as a Germanic restraint towards them. But nothing could have been farther from the truth. Alexandra had a great love for her adopted country and little love at all for Prussian Germany – she considered herself more English than German. Her mother had been Princess Alice, daughter of Queen Victoria, her language was English and England itself was her land of romance. She loved her husband passionately and adored her five children. Fundamentally she was honest and sincere, but it was a pity she was not the cleverest of Empresses instead of the most devout. Religion was her strength and her weakness.

With her spiritual fortitude and a courage that was the hallmark of the Hesse family, she fought her public nervousness and every cruel turn of fortune’s wheel. She did not consider herself the granddaughter of Queen Victoria for nothing. She faced up to the realization that her only son, Alexis, was a haemophiliac, and on his behalf she put her trust in God and in that strange ‘holy man’, Rasputin.

‘Well?’ whispered Aleka, her paleness tinted by an excitement she would have disowned if questioned.

‘They could not have been kinder,’ said Kirby.

‘That’s not exactly an inspired comment. Can’t you do better than that?’

‘I’m reserving judgement. What do you feel about them, Aleka? They belong more to you than to me.’

‘I feel I can’t be sentimental,’ she murmured, ‘that’s too expensive a luxury in Russia today.’

The state dining hall was a kaleidoscope of moving colour when the reception at last finished. Huge glass doors were opened and any guests who wished were free to wander in the gardens or view the majesty of Livadia from balconies. They could watch the sun setting in crimson glory over the Black Sea, or later the rise of the autumn moon in silver radiance. There was a cotillion supper to enable guests to be served any time during the dancing.

The dancing would go on until the small hours. Princess Aleka, now that she was here, had obviously decided not to let her principles interfere with her capacity for enjoying herself. This included exercises in the art of tormenting stuffed bores. They came her way soon enough, surrounding her, flattering her and eyeing her cleavage. They requested the privilege of her ball card. Aleka flirted with them, mocked them, denied them. Presented to her, wives or female companions returned her malicious smiles with chilling sweetness. Aleka refused to be chilled.

Kirby, quiet in dress and manner, was introduced by Aleka. The women, deep-bosomed, glittering with diamonds or sapphires or rubies, were not uninterested. The men, impeccably correct, were courteous but brief. They were single-minded in their pursuit of Aleka. She shrugged and made her ball card available. With her fan she tapped restrainingly at the hand of every man wishful to sign for more than one dance.

‘I can’t show favouritism, dear man,’ she said to a monocled officer, ‘or I myself will feel responsible when the others take you out and shoot you.’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘the sublimity of such a death in such a cause.’

‘The man’s a perfect fool,’ said Aleka, watching him return to his fuming wife. Her foot began to tap as the state orchestra began the opening bars of the first dance, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ivan, don’t act as if this is the first time you’ve been in a menagerie. You look like the man who is seeing his first elephant. Are you going to be dull all night? You let all those dressed-up apes breathe all over me and sign my card. Are you not going to dance with me yourself?’

He had been watching Grand Duchess Olga opening her ball in the arms of a young officer from the Tsar’s suite. Graceful in her pink, regal in her tiara, there was still the shyness of a girl knowing a thousand eyes were on her.

‘Princess, may I?’ he said and took her card.

‘I’ve left three dances for you,’ she said, pointing with her fan.

‘That’s favouritism, isn’t it?’

‘They won’t shoot you. They can’t have a diplomatic incident in front of the Tsar himself. Ivan, will you please wake up? You’ve signed for the first dance. I’m here. Don’t you want the extravagant bliss of holding me?’

‘I rather fancy that kind of sublimity. Princess, my arm.’

They danced. Her dark eyes glowed, drawing his. Her smile was caressing, if a little sly.
He enjoyed it all. All her facets were intriguing. Yet his sense of pleasure was not only because of Aleka. For the Tsar’s daughter had caught his glance. She smiled. He felt the strangest and most sudden of emotions. It was as if his heart had turned over.

‘Ivan?’

‘Princess?’

‘There you go again. Ivan, if you are looking at some other woman—’

‘I’m immersed in extravagant bliss, dear one.’

‘Liar.’ But she laughed softly, circling, one hand on her lifted gown, the other on his shoulder. ‘Do you know, you’re considerably good-looking tonight. And you’re not in uniform, thank God. You need not stand about while I’m dancing with other men. You may present yourself to any of the women I’ve introduced you to. They’ll be delighted to dance with you. Ivan, is there one you already have your eyes on? You are indecently far away.’

‘I’m not far away, I’m dancing with you,’ he murmured. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman here. I shall almost certainly be shot.’

‘Darling,’ she breathed, ‘a compliment at last. Not an echo of Andrei. It would be delicious if you could pant a little over me. People are wondering who you are and if I’m in love with you. Who could think we were just good friends? That’s not a bit exciting.’

‘Dearest Aleka,’ he said, ‘you are the loveliest of women, the most imaginative of friends. Andrei will be sorry he missed this.’

‘Andrei,’ she said, ‘is deplorably inert, even at
the gayest of balls. Even our Grand Duchess’s sixteenth birthday could not tempt him. He is a man for the intimacy of a boudoir, not a ballroom. He’s with some disgusting woman now.’

‘And I am here,’ said Kirby. ‘Thank you, Aleka Petrovna.’

‘Oh?’ she said, curious because he sounded so earnest. It was not like Ivan Ivanovich. He was not to be taken seriously most of the time.

Afterwards Aleka danced with other men. He signed the cards of two or three other women. They were intrigued by his Englishness and his distinctive air of ease. They were willing to flirt outrageously with him. He responded but did not seek them out once he had danced with them. It was while he was watching Aleka in whirling movement with a Cossack officer that he was approached by an exquisitely uniformed personage whom he took to be a member of the Imperial suite.

‘Her Imperial Highness presents her compliments, monsieur, and asks that if it is convenient she would like to see you.’

He accompanied the man. The Tsar and Tsarina were seated in red and gold chairs at the far end, viewing the dancers with interest and pleasure. He bowed to the Tsarina. Alexandra smiled.

‘Perhaps we might talk now, Mr Kirby?’ she said. She indicated a chair close to her own and he sat down. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Again she spoke in English. Her Russian was only moderate and all her family conversed mainly in English. She and Nicholas also used this
language in their letters to each other. It was, to Alexandra, the language of her mother, of poets, of love.

‘I’m enjoying myself immensely, Highness, and can’t thank you enough for my being here,’ he said warmly. ‘I’ve heard of the Livadia Palace but I had no idea it was as beautiful as this.’

It was not politeness, it was sincerity. Alexandra smiled again.

‘I’m so glad you think that. It is beautiful, isn’t it? We are blessed by Livadia. Nicholas?’ She leaned towards Nicholas, who was lighting his inveterate cigarette. He was a compulsive smoker. ‘Here is Mr Kirby from England, whose home is at Walton-on-Thames.’

The Tsar’s handsome face lit up. His smile was a warmth, a cordiality.

‘My dear fellow,’ he said, ‘that is splendid. There’s no place we speak of more often or with more affection.’

‘Has it changed at all, is it just the same?’ asked Alexandra. Her red-gold hair was as thickly luxuriant as Aleka’s. She was thirty-nine and as graceful as Olga at sixteen. ‘It’s seventeen years since we were there, but I should like to think it’s still as we remember it.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ said Kirby. ‘It never changes much, although I haven’t seen it for three years myself. I’ve been in Russia.’

‘For three years?’ Her interest deepened. ‘How much have you seen of our country, how much have you learned about it?’

‘Your Highness, I’ve seen some of its infinite variations but I don’t think I’ve learned anything.
Except the extent of my own limitations. In Russia I only look and wonder.’ He felt self-distaste. The Empress was absorbed, Nicholas smiling and nodding. ‘Perhaps,’ he went on, ‘I’ve learned one thing. There are no people more friendly or more hospitable. I’ve travelled for three years and never wanted for anything. The poorest man will share his bread with you.’

‘Yes, the poor are with us,’ observed the Tsar, ‘but give us time.’

‘Imperial Highness,’ said Kirby, ‘I put that badly. I did not mean—’

‘I know you didn’t, my dear chap,’ said Nicholas, smiling, ‘but they are still there and it would only count against us if they couldn’t be mentioned. I’m not sensitive on the subject, only concerned that we can’t make it less of a problem overnight.’

‘It’s with us in England too,’ said Kirby.

‘Who are your family?’ asked Alexandra. She did not put the question because of any social implications, only out of interest. She was charmed by the Englishman, delighted that she felt no restraint with him. That alone was a sweet pleasure to Alexandra, to be at ease with a comparative stranger.

‘My father served in the British army,’ said Kirby. ‘He was killed during the Boer War and my mother died soon afterwards. But I have an aunt who is very dear to me.’