7

THE world had suddenly gone quiet for Maisie. In spite of her underlying exhaustion, she still craved the excitement of change to ease her pain. But nothing happened. Michael did not telephone again and Maisie wondered exactly what Rose had said to him. ‘I just told him to sod off, that’s all,’ said Rose, adding darkly that Irene had instructed her that men take away all your gifts if you insist on being besotted by them. Maisie wondered if Michael had mentioned the baby. But she would not ask. A short note from him did arrive – it contained no more pleas to see her, only telling her that he was in England for a three-day university tour. That he had been home and both he and Declan sent their love.

Well, she would be out of the country soon. She planned to take Rose, who had never been to Russia, to St Petersburg.

The choice of that city had not been entirely at random. After all her involvement with the ikon she would not miss its restoration to an Orthodox church. It was to find its home in the Church of the Apparition of the Virgin, where the monarchists were to gather for a special service. St Petersburg, then, of all cities – it had never been Leningrad to the monarchists – was to be the venue for this event. The European press was getting interested; this Russian business had stirred up many hives. The situation looked a little dangerous and volatile, and the monarchists were treading softly, keeping their activities to themselves. But Maisie had been invited to attend the ceremony.

Apart from her interest in seeing the ikon restored to a Russian church, Maisie was not really looking forward to her trip to St Petersburg. She had a general wish, though, to be on the move, and she felt she must go for Rose’s sake. Rose needed a complete change of scene, she thought, after this sad spring.

They would be staying with the Abrahamovs, a pair of very old academics Maisie had known for some years. They were an extraordinary old couple, and Maisie loved them, but she would not want them to know of her sadness. They both disapproved of unhappiness. It was something indulged in by those with no inner resources. They themselves had lived through many tribulations, including the death of children. The old man was now practically blind, and his wife suffered from severe arthritis, but that did not prevent them from living full intellectual lives and travelling. Maisie had no qualms about Rose staying with such old people – they were both now in their eighties, but had far more energy and life than she. If anyone could chivvy Rose up it would be them.

In preparation for the trip Maisie had been clearing up a backlog of work. She was compiling a book (one for a series of art books) about the Russian ikon. It was to be a basic sort of book, but the illustrations had to be chosen carefully and the text had to be clear and interesting. The thing had been hanging about too long. Sometimes she sat halfway through the night working before she fell into bed.

She had never put the lace curtains back round her bed. She had changed the whole room round, pushing the table where she worked up against the window, and she had bought a nineteenth-century American patchwork quilt for the bed. It altered the character of the room with its rich, darkish colours, lending it a sort of heavy stability. She had started to pack. Pictures of Michael at the farm flew in and out of her mind. She saw him running across the field with Kate, like two figures in a landscape, Kate’s bright hair loose and flowing out behind her. She saw Declan playing with the kittens and Kate stooping down to give him a kiss, and his quick, charming smile, Michael standing silently watching them. She saw the three of them off in one of the ramshackle cars, happy and carefree. She glimpsed them naked in the bed on the floor, where she had slept with Michael, under the indulgent eye of Michael’s father and the cool stare of his mother over the drooping lilies. Maisie despised these imaginings. She worked steadfastly, stoically, she ate and slept enough to keep herself going, and when she woke she felt the fell of dark, not day.