Some days later, with everything at Karinshka periodically harmonious – in that Aleka could not remain mentally tranquil all day every day – Andrei returned. He was fully convalesced, he said. The implication that after spending a few days at idyllic Karinshka a man needed to go away and recuperate so incensed Aleka that she slipped off a shoe and flung it at him. It passed him by and skittered along the terrace.
‘Ah, the excitement of being loved,’ said Andrei, elegant in a cream suit with thin black stripes. ‘How have you been, dear man?’ he asked Kirby.
Kirby, recumbent in a long cane chair and deeply browned by the Crimean sun, looked up with the smile of a man who had come to terms with his temperamental hostess.
‘Very comfortable,’ he said.
‘Quiet?’ said Andrei cautiously.
‘On and off,’ said Kirby. Aleka made a face.
‘It’s been extremely critical at my place,’ said Andrei.
‘Liar,’ said Aleka, well-figured in shimmering silk. Its harmonious relationship with her body betrayed an unconventional lack of undergarments. ‘You know damned well you’ve done nothing but lie around with your Crimean concubines.’
‘Well, if not critical that could be very exhausting,’ said Kirby. ‘You had better sit down, Andrei old chap.’
‘I’ll sit him down,’ said Aleka maliciously and she did. But she waited until lunch was served, by which time a host of vivacious women and ebullient men had turned up.
At lunch she placed Andrei between two adoringly possessive women and thereby had a little of her own back. He was numbed within minutes, their tongues seemed to lay hands on him. He was drained within an hour.
‘Dear ladies,’ he said then, ‘why not carry me away now and do as you will with me? What is food when death is so welcome?’
‘Darling Andrei,’ said one, ‘your impatience is delicious.’
‘Darling Anna,’ said the second to the first, ‘I shall be impatient myself as soon as lunch is over. Shall I go first or will you?’
‘Dearest,’ said the first to the second, ‘I’m sure his bed is not as small as that. We will all go together.’
‘Dear God,’ said Andrei to Kirby across the table, ‘I think they mean it.’
They drowned him with shrieks of laughter. He shuddered. They did mean it.
Old Amarov came to tell Aleka she was wanted on the telephone. She took the call in the library, the telephone itself a gold and white ornament, rather than an instrument, in its appearance. But not until the guests had departed, some invited to return for dinner, did Aleka tell Kirby what the phone call was about. They were on the terrace, Andrei sleeping with his chair in the shade.
‘What has got into you, what have you done?’ she said to Kirby. ‘It was the Empress herself who interrupted me at lunch.’
‘She had probably had hers by then,’ said Kirby, ‘you do dawdle a little over yours, Princess.’
‘I entertain my guests, I do not merely have them come and go,’ she said. ‘It was about you the Empress telephoned. You’ve been invited to Livadia. It’s unheard of. What have you done to make yourself so indispensable to her? Do you read the Bible well, is that it? I was invited too, of course, but she knew I’d have guests and that I couldn’t go. I was put into an impossible position, I had to accept for you. She has been too kind for me to make the feeble excuse that I had as much right to your company as she had.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Kirby, ‘you don’t think that would have sounded feeble to her, do you? Aleka, is this true? I’m invited to Livadia?’
‘She said for a week or so.’ Aleka added maliciously, ‘Or so means they retain the privilege of kicking you out as soon as possible if you appear in the wrong trousers or say damn to the Tsarevich. What are you smiling about? It’s quite sickening, I tell you. I am to be deprived just when I’d made plans for the three of us to cruise for a few days.’
‘Not entirely deprived, darling,’ murmured Andrei, who had woken up, ‘I shall still be here.’
‘Yes, darling,’ said Aleka, ‘I still have one friend who doesn’t fall over himself to favour royalty. I am thankful for you, Andrei Mikhailovich. Ah well, you won’t find it very exciting at Livadia, Ivan, you’ll have to go to morning church and look holy. And all you’ll be allowed to say apart from yes and no are your prayers. You are to go the day after tomorrow. Also, the Empress said that Grand Duchess Olga asked that you be reminded not to forget. Forget what?’
‘A parasol,’ said Kirby. ‘I must go to Yalta tomorrow.’
‘You are completely ridiculous,’ said Aleka.
There was a letter for him later that day, delivered by hand from Yalta:
‘Dear Kirby. We like your new friends. They are entirely respectable. Could you come and see me soon?’
It was not signed and it bore no address, but he knew it was from Anstruther.
Yalta was hot. But Anstruther seemed brown and temperate. Kirby tossed the letter on to his desk.
‘What was that about?’ he said. ‘I didn’t like it.’
‘Overnight,’ said Anstruther, ‘you’ve become a man of substance. Not in the material things, but in your new friends. I understand they were very taken with you. I also hear they’re thinking of inviting you to stay with them. Splendid.’
‘No,’ said Kirby flatly.
‘Whatever you’re going to ask me. I’m on holiday.’
‘I’m not going to ask you anything,’ said Anstruther. ‘Do sit down. I’ll have some tea sent in.’ Nothing more was said until the clerk had brought in the samovar, poured the tea and left. Then Anstruther remarked that friendship was a very happy thing. Kirby thought he had never heard anything so trite, and said so.
‘Ambassadors work all their lives to make friends of king, emperors and presidents,’ said Anstruther. ‘They rarely succeed since their first loyalties are to their own heads of state and they are, therefore, suspect. You, my dear Kirby, have achieved more in a single evening than an ambassador in ten years. You have become a friend of the Romanovs. Now it would be interesting to know what the Tsar really thinks of the Russian alliance with France.’
‘I should imagine,’ said Kirby sarcastically, ‘that he sits up at night wondering if it entitles him to import the cancan.’
Anstruther played that literally and said, ‘Really? I’ve always been under the impression he was the kind of man who could take the cancan or leave it alone. However, putting that to one side for the moment, take the extreme point. In the event of France going to war would Nicholas, no matter what the circumstances, keep to the full terms of the alliance?’
‘Sir George Buchanan can find that out, that’s his province, not mine.’
‘He might conceivably ask the Tsar’s Minister of War. He’d only get a diplomatic answer. We think the Tsar would honour the terms, but we’d like to know for certain. One likes to provide for certainties rather than possibilities.’
‘Well, provide for a certainty in this case, then,’ said Kirby, ‘and you’ll be covered for both.’
‘Now your report,’ said Anstruther, pleasantly ignoring Kirby’s suggestion, ‘indicates that Russia is simply not ready to go to war on behalf of any ally. Therefore, could the Tsar seriously commit Russia totally and unconditionally on the side of France and under any circumstances?’
‘Why, are we thinking of sneaking up on the Republic?’
Anstruther looked just a little put out.
‘Tut tut,’ he said. ‘Look here, it isn’t much to ask. Nicholas and Alexandra confide in their friends. They might confide in you. It can’t do any harm and it would let us know whether the ramifications of the alliance really are solid.’
Kirby almost lost his temper.
‘Damnation,’ he said, ‘of course they’re solid. What do you think would happen to the Tsar if he pulled the bricks out? He’d never be able to look another head of state in the face. In any case, I’m having nothing to do with it. After I’ve had my holiday I’m resigning from the service. I want to be able to look people in the face myself.’
‘Resigning, you say?’ Anstruther smiled bleakly. ‘Wishful thinking, I’m afraid, Mr Kirby. You can’t, not yet. And please don’t mention it again, it might result in your being sent to China. We’re badly in need of a man there who can make friends.’
Damn that, thought Kirby. He had no wish to go to China or anywhere else, now or in the immediate future.
Despite his introspective mood when he left Anstruther, he did not forget to buy a parasol.
Princess Aleka, in a typical reversal of moods, compensated for her ungraciousness by being very gracious indeed the morning he left for Livadia. It was as if, thought Kirby, she had suddenly realized how much she appreciated that she and Andrei would be alone, if one discounted the presence of servants and the distractions of table guests.
She was sweetness itself. Not only did she insist that he should take the best carriage, but Karita too. Karita would look after him very well at Livadia. He said that to take Karita would probably be very inconvenient both for her and Karita.
‘Darling, it won’t be a bit inconvenient for either of us,’ said Aleka, richly beautiful in a wide-sleeved morning gown of yellow, ‘and you simply cannot go to the Imperial Palace without a servant. Karita will be a treasure to you there. If she makes any fuss about going I’ll box her ears.’
That proved quite unnecessary. Karita glowed when the princess informed her she was to go to Livadia with Ivan Ivanovich. She accompanied him in a trance of excitement. To be of service to the handsome, good-humoured Englishman at Livadia, well, that would be an unimaginable pleasure. She must be sure to do nothing wrong. It might not put him out, for he was neither exacting nor fussy, but she herself would be most upset. However, she would worry about that when it happened. Meanwhile, the prospect of seeing the Imperial family, even the Tsar himself, that was quite overwhelming.
Oravio had not been at all pleased at her going. He had looked very disapproving and said that the Englishman should have taken a manservant if he had to take any servant at all.
‘That would not have been very flattering to me,’ said Karita, ‘it would have looked as if he hadn’t found me satisfactory enough.’
‘How satisfactory is that?’ said Oravio darkly. She smacked his face. She was not a girl to stomach an insinuation like that. The smack had left Oravio on glowering terms with her. It surprised her how little she cared.
Of course, everyone at Karinshka knew that the Englishman had been invited to Livadia by the Empress herself. It convinced Karita that he was certainly a man of some importance, despite his denials. The princess had agreed with her.
‘Yes, I’m sure you are right, Karita,’ she had said, ‘and it would be interesting to know what people he meets and talks to while he’s at Livadia. You must keep your eyes and ears open and let me know, without, of course, his being aware of it. It will just be something interesting between you and me.’
Karita thought that a rather uncomfortable commission. It sounded as if she was required to look through keyholes, to follow the Englishman about. She was going to do neither. What would he think of her if she did?
Kirby commanded her to sit in the carriage with him so that they might talk during the ride to Livadia. Karita said that would simply not look right when they arrived and that she would sit up with Dimitri, the groom.
‘You’re my personal servant,’ said Kirby, ‘and it will look quite right.’
So she sat with him, but maintained the reserve she considered proper. The day was beautiful, the countryside lush and colourful as they drove around hills, through valleys and sometimes close to the sea. Karita sat with straight back, dressed in green skirt, white blouse and bonnet, its ribbons caught under her chin. Her brown eyes reflected her pleasure. Kirby was conversational but not familiarly so. He was not unaware of Karita’s sense of propriety.
Suddenly she said, ‘Tell me more of the ball and the Imperial Palace, monsieur. I can’t hear enough about it all.’
He discoursed on the ball, describing as best as he could all that was fascinating to her about the women and their gowns. He described how the Emperor and Empress had looked, but he did not mention Grand Duchess Olga.
So Karita said at last, ‘But the Grand Duchess, monsieur, it was her ball, how did she look?’
Kirby let the jolting carriage run its course over a section of road in need of repair.
‘She looked very sweet, I think,’ he said, ‘and very young.’
Considering how he always had something telling to say about almost everything, Karita thought this disappointingly inadequate.
‘But, monsieur, you danced with her,’ she said, ‘you must have noticed more than that. What was she wearing, how was her hair dressed, what jewels did she have?’
‘She wore pink, her hair was up and she had a diamond tiara. She still looked very young.’
‘But it was her sixteenth birthday,’ said Karita, ‘she’s grown up. Monsieur, I think you could hardly have seen her at all.’
‘I saw her very clearly,’ he said. The pictures came to his mind out of the morning air. There was a girl there, a girl who looked as if she would never grow up. ‘Actually, Karita, she was quite lovely. Look, there’s Livadia.’
When they were close Karita could not take her eyes off the white, shining Imperial Palace, majestic in the sunshine. It took her breath away, and she was sure that when she stepped from the carriage the weakness in her knees would prevent her legs from carrying her up the wide steps. She surprised herself. Indeed, Kirby thought as she entered the palace that he had never seen the golden-haired Crimean girl look so composed. Magnificently adorned footmen appeared.
‘Madame?’ said one, mistaking her status.
‘I am the personal servant of my lord duke Ivan Ivanovich Kirby,’ said Karita.
‘Heaven be blessed,’ he said and gladly took her in charge before others could, while Kirby was ceremoniously escorted to his room on the first floor. As at Karinshka, it was a suite, but even more spacious. All its windows opened out on to a sunlit balcony. The drawing room was blue-carpeted, its walls hung with paintings and ikons. The chairs were gilt and blue. Karinshka had impressed him, Livadia held him spellbound. The view was of the dancing blue sea, of green velvet lawns and beautifully colourful flower beds. The balcony itself seemed so high, poised far above the sounds of the earth and the murmurs of the sea. He felt in perfect peace.
Servants were in his suite, attending to the luggage he had brought, and in a remarkably short time Karita, having established herself in the servants’ quarters, arrived in her blue dress and white front. He heard her taking charge, supervising this and that in her efficient way. The servants left and she came out to him on the balcony.
‘All is ready, monsieur,’ she said, ‘you are to be served lunch here in your suite, then afterwards you’re to change and meet Countess Borodinsky.’
‘Who is she?’
‘A lady-in-waiting.’ Karita already seemed as if matters and personages of the Imperial household were little to worry about, but the next moment she went on breathlessly. ‘Oh, it’s all so beautiful but so confusing, I’m sure I’ll lose myself a dozen times a day.’
‘I’ll come and look for you and we’ll get lost together,’ he said.
‘And who will come and look for us?’ she said gaily.
He had the lunch that was served in his suite. He was pleasantly surprised at the simplicity of the meal. Then he changed and an hour after lunch Karita took him to meet Countess Borodinsky. She was thirtyish, charming and put him entirely at his ease. Kirby, in white flannels and blue jacket, made his own impression on her. She liked his tall English look, his masculinity without the flamboyance of so many Russians. They exchanged small talk on an easy, pleasant note and then she said, ‘Do you play tennis?’
‘A little, Countess.’
‘A little will be enough to start with,’ she smiled. It was mid-afternoon and the palace was quiet as she took him up to the Empress, who was writing letters in her boudoir. There, sitting at a table by the window, she received him. Her hair, deeply golden, showing only the minutest tints of grey, was lustrous, and he thought her quiet regality beautiful. Her smile was warmly welcoming.
‘Mr Kirby, how nice to see you, how good of you to leave Karinshka and be with us for a while.’
‘Imperial Highness,’ he said, ‘you must know that the pleasure is all on my side. You have built a place of wonder here. It’s as beautiful by day as it is by night. I did not think it could be, but it is.’
‘Mr Kirby, it was built to grace Holy Russia, it is not meant in any way to add lustre to me.’
‘It does, nevertheless,’ he said. ‘I cannot retract, Highness.’
She smiled and shook her head. There was an air of devout modesty about her, the boudoir itself, with its numerous ikons and religious paintings, her spiritual sanctuary. Alexandra wanted only to serve her family and Russia, and would rather be known as Mother Tsarina than as Empress Alexandra, although as Empress she was conscious of all that her title entailed. She believed, as Nicholas did, in the divine right of Tsarist autocracy. God had called Nicholas to serve his people, to guide them and to administer for them.
Kirby sat and she talked to him. Her conversation was simple, homely, of her children, of Livadia and of England. Kirby’s impression that she was the kindest of persons deepened. If she was neither brilliant nor devious, neither witty nor calculating, these were things, he thought, that might elevate some Empresses; but Alexandra, first and foremost a wife and mother, would not have been concerned to have been told she lacked them. She placed far greater importance on love and affection, and on Christian humility, only providing the Tsar’s divinity was not called into question.
Finally she said, ‘You will excuse me now? I have so much correspondence to catch up with and we will be able to talk again while you’re here. Countess Borodinsky will take you down into the gardens and introduce you to our dear Anna Vyrubova. I believe,’ she added with a shy smile not unlike Olga’s, ‘that you and Anna met briefly before.’
‘I was clumsy then, I’ve been mortified since,’ he said.
Anna Vyrubova was in the gardens, seated at a white ornamental table and working with her needle. Behind her, in the distance, the mountains pointed their peaks at the blue sky. Comfortably plump, with pleasant features, she wagged her finger at Kirby as he was introduced to her.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘so you are the man who stepped on me.’
‘I’ve tried to think of it as a happy collision,’ he said, ‘and you were very kind about it. I must apologize for damaging your parasol and if my servant Karita – oh, yes.’
Karita, watching from a position of advantage, moved as Kirby lifted his hand to her. She came hurrying up, petticoats peeping below swinging blue. She gave a long, wrapped package to Kirby, curtseyed and sped away, blushing just a little. Kirby handed the package to Anna, she unwrapped it, opened it up and exclaimed in pleasure at the colourful parasol. Countess Borodinsky excused herself and Kirby sat down. Anna was only too pleased to talk to him, and in conversation she was as pleasant and as uncomplicated as the Empress. She was genuinely devoted to Alexandra.
Kirby sat in relaxed enjoyment. The green lawns, the flowering shrubs and the profusion of roses, beautiful in the golden sunshine, lent enchantment to majesty and brought visual splendour to tranquillity. There was no noise save the murmur of hot autumn, no voice except Anna’s. There were no children. He wondered about that.
A hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned in his chair and saw the Tsar. He rose to his feet.
‘My dear fellow,’ said Nicholas, his smile infectious, ‘how splendid to see you.’ He wore white and carried two tennis racquets. ‘You are just the man for me. Anna, what do you think, General Sikorski has cried off with a sore back. I suspect it’s to do with his reluctance to take a beating. Generals are like that,’ he said to Kirby. ‘I hope you aren’t. Anna, will it do if I borrow our English friend and play a set with him?’
Anna, teeth biting on a thread, nodded. It all spoke of free and easy informality. Livadia, thought Kirby, induced that. The Tsar put his hand on Kirby’s arm and led him to the tennis court. Nicholas was an enthusiastic and capable player. Kirby had once been of county standard but was rusty. It had been years since he’d played. They knocked up. Kirby was completely out of touch and showed it.
‘Don’t worry, my dear man,’ called Nicholas as Kirby apologized for his lack of co-ordination, ‘it takes a little time if one hasn’t played the game for a while.’
They were quite alone. There were no guards, no obtrusive court officials, nobody at all except themselves. The Tsar was as carefree as a boy. Kirby hit a good forehand at last and Nicholas beamed in delight. He hit more, as well as a competent backhand or two.
‘Ah, you’re ready?’ called Nicholas. ‘You serve, my dear chap, I insist.’
Tennis in 1911 was a pastime rather than a sport. Strokes were made from the back of the court, and anything like a cunning drop shot or a vindictive volley was considered not quite the thing, unless one was playing for a championship. Volleying indeed was in its suspect infancy. Some men still served underhand. Not so the Tsar or Kirby. They served in a competitive spirit.
‘My dear fellow,’ said the Tsar midway through the set, ‘I think you’re winning. I must make you a general.’
Kirby had been wondering whether it would be wise to win, if he could. If the Tsar had invited him here in order to indulge his Imperial passion for tennis, perhaps he also took an Imperial pleasure in winning. It would be a little ungrateful to beat him, perhaps. It might even be tactless. He decided, however, that the Tsar simply enjoyed playing and, as far as the result was concerned, differed from generals in his outlook. Yet few people, especially the exalted few, lost with the same relish as they won … oh well, he thought, just get on with the game and let it all happen naturally.
He clouted a few forehands out of court. He lost the set 7–5. The Tsar sank into a seat by the side of the court, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. He wore another one around his neck. He was in very good humour.
‘Absolutely first class, Mr Kirby. Splendid. We must play again. You’re improving all the time.’
‘Another set now?’ Kirby was hot himself.
‘We’ll have a drink first.’
It was standard practice. Cool drinks appeared as if the liveried servant was a genie. Kirby let himself cool down. It was undeniably pleasant here. He was not quite sure how it had all happened, but he had just finished a most enjoyable set of tennis with the Tsar of All the Russias. His name would be in the papers if anyone at home found out. In the local papers.
He breathed in the warm air. A flutter caught his eye, a flutter of white whisking behind a shrub. It disappeared.
‘Ready, my dear man?’ said the Tsar, who liked to play tennis on and off all day.
They played again. Kirby got better. Lithe and active in his white flannels, he had the Tsar stretching to reach his returns. Nicholas muffed a shot, the ball just cleared the net, it seemed to hover and drop dead. Kirby swooped, got his racquet to the ball as it died, but unable to check his diving impetus he plunged head first into the net. The Tsar roared with laughter, echoed by the impulsive laughter of a delighted girl. She had stolen from her tutor to peep at the game.
‘Oh, Mr Kirby! Papa!’ She was in pure merriment. Kirby disentangled himself and sat up. He saw her in a white dress, the waist sashed with wide red ribbon, and her hair was a cascading brightness, flowing to her shoulders. He smiled, not at all discomfited. It was worth ten falls to see the Grand Duchess Olga Nicolaievna in such merriment.
‘Hm, that you should have come at so significant a moment for Mr Kirby,’ said Nicholas to his delighted daughter. ‘Who’s going to pick him up?’ He advanced to the net, laughingly extending a helping hand over it. Kirby got to his feet, brushed his flannels. ‘You’re not hurt, I hope, my dear fellow? Good. And there’s no damage to the net. It was a splendid effort and all because of such a bad shot of mine. Did you see my bad shot, Olga?’
‘Papa,’ said Olga demurely, ‘I only saw Mr Kirby dive gallantly into the net.’ Kirby regarded her in pretended admonition. She responded with the happiest of smiles. ‘Well, it was so funny, you see,’ she explained.
‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘I don’t do it for every Grand Duchess I meet, only for those celebrating a sixteenth birthday.’
‘Oh, that is very gallant,’ she said. Then, ‘Papa, I’ll stay and pick up the balls for you and Mr Kirby, shall I?’
The Tsar looked at his watch.
‘Return to Monsieur Gilliard for a little longer, my love, otherwise he’ll come shaking his head at all of us.’
‘Papa, you’re dreadfully hard on me sometimes,’ said Olga, but she went. She stopped, turned round and said to Kirby, ‘Did you bring the parasol?’
‘I did, Highness,’ he said.
‘Now Anna will think she’s had a birthday too,’ said Grand Duchess Olga.
He met all the children later, all five of them. Alexis, the Tsarevich, was an extraordinarily attractive boy of seven, his grey-blue eyes always eager, it seemed, to discover new entertainments. It was as if he sensed his life would be short and that he must enjoy all that he could while he could. Anastasia, gifted and tomboyish, was ten and still chubby with puppy fat. Marie was twelve, apple-cheeked, blue-eyed, pretty and already desperately romantic. Tatiana was fourteen, slender and vivacious, with impish grey eyes and beautiful auburn hair. Such was her zest for life, such the irresistible nature of her personality, that even at fourteen she was inclined to outshine and dominate Olga, her closest and dearest sister. Olga, the eldest, was to outsiders the quietest and shyest of the Grand Duchesses, but within her family and to her friends she had all the most endearing qualities: wit, charm, compassion and the same infinite capacity for loving as her mother.
They were all intensely interested in the tall Englishman. Alexis, always boyishly interested in military matters, asked him if he would have time to do some drilling.
‘I’m quite good at all the commands, you know,’ he said.
‘Well, I should think I could spare some time,’ said Kirby. He sat in a white garden chair, the children sat on the lawn around him, all except Olga who, having recently grown up, had decided it was more decorous to repose in a chair of her own. She had said she did not want to look part of the hooligan element. At which her sisters had threatened to plop her into a pool. It did not ruffle Olga. She was happy. She was always happy at Livadia. She was a reflection of its tranquillity. ‘Yes,’ Kirby continued, ‘I ought to do some drill, I’ve never done any at all. It should do me the world of good as long as I can sit down in between.’
‘Oh, that’s jolly decent of you,’ said Alexis, elated at the prospect.
‘Not at all,’ said Kirby.
‘Well, you’ve asked for it now,’ said Marie, ‘Alexis is simply dreadful when he’s got someone he can drill, he simply never never stops.’
‘General Sikorski says he’s insatiable,’ said Tatiana, ‘he orders his victims about night and day. You’ll never get time to sit down at all.’
‘Oh, pooh,’ said Alexis, ‘they’re just girls and they’re awful at drill, they just fall about.’
‘I’ve a shocking feeling,’ said Kirby, ‘that as I’m new to it I’ll probably fall about myself.’
Alexis rocked with laughter, Marie giggled. Anastasia got up and very solemnly said, ‘Here is Ivan Ivanovich being drilled by Alexis and falling about.’ She began to stagger and reel around, and Anna Vyrubova came to see what all the hysterics were about.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked.
‘It’s only Stasha being herself,’ said Olga.
‘Stasha, love, get up,’ said Anna. Anastasia was rolling on the grass. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m doing Ivan Ivanovich falling about.’ They were already using his Russian names.
‘Actually,’ said Tatiana, ‘I think you’re doing him falling down.’
They wandered with him through the gardens and along cloistered avenues where the grapevines wound and curled. They were delighted with him, at his interest in everything, at his interest in them, at his responsiveness to their chatter. Alexis said he was going to make Ivan Ivanovich one of his very best friends.
‘Olga,’ whispered Tatiana, taking her elder sister by the arm while the others showed Kirby the fish in a sunlit pool, ‘you are shockingly close, you didn’t say a word about what he was like, only that you danced with him and that Mama and Papa were very taken with him. And he’s the handsomest man.’
‘Do you think so?’ Olga was offhand. ‘I hadn’t really noticed – well, yes, he’s quite nice, I suppose.’
Tatiana looked in curiosity at her sister. There was something new about Olga. She was not herself, she was apart from the rest of them. Her long, shining hair had been recently brushed and she held herself more carefully than usual. That was it, she was not romping with them as she normally did, she was sixteen and simulating the behaviour of a young woman, not a girl. Tatiana’s eyes danced.
‘Of course,’ she said seriously, ‘he’s rather old—’
‘He is not!’ Olga’s whispered denial was too quick, too impulsive. She knew it, she coloured up.
‘Why, Olga, you’re blushing,’ Tatiana teased, but she relented quickly and added, ‘Anyway, who cares how old he is? He is rather delicious, I think, don’t you?’
‘Tasha, he’ll hear you,’ said Olga a little desperately. She glanced at Kirby. He was down on one knee at the edge of the pool, his hand on the shoulder of Alexis, who was pointing out the fish. Marie and Anastasia were both talking to him at once. He seemed completely at ease.
‘When tea is served I shall make eyes at him over the bread and butter,’ said Tatiana, ‘I’ll be the first one ever to make bread and butter romantic.’
‘Tasha, little one,’ said Olga, ‘you are not to.’
‘I’m almost as big as you,’ said Tatiana, ‘and what am I not to do?’
‘You are not to be so forward.’
Tatiana gurgled. Olga was so absurdly sensitive, she felt the mistakes of all of them.
‘But, Olga, he’s Mama’s own guest and we simply can’t neglect him, we must make the nicest fuss of him.’
Olga smiled. Tatiana was irresistible.
They left the pool. Kirby sat under the trees, on the grass, his back against a broad trunk. Alexis showed him his personal possessions, including very useful bits of string, an onyx button and a glossy, shining chestnut. One never knew, he said, when a chestnut might not be just the thing. As man to man, Kirby agreed. If another chestnut could be found, then there’d be enough to play conkers. It was a game, he informed them, that everyone in England played with chestnuts. And in the warm sunshine of the afternoon Kirby came to know the children of the Tsar. He thought them utterly natural, uninhibited and unspoiled. They took as much pleasure in simple things as all other children. This was how their parents governed their formative years.
Tatiana dropped to her knees, unable to resist the temptation of claiming his attention. Olga remained standing, quietly absorbed, looking when she knew his eyes were elsewhere and wondering how he came to be so brown and sinewy, so much in command of situations. His teeth were white when he smiled and he smiled often. He made Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia giggle until they were having fits.
‘It can’t be,’ Tatiana was saying.
‘Yes, it’s what they call a bunny-wobble,’ he said.
‘What is?’ asked Olga, who had missed the previous exchanges in her absorption of other things.
‘What I was describing to Tatiana,’ he said, ‘a bustle on a stout lady at Ascot.’
Marie shrieked, Anastasia rolled about.
‘Ivan Ivanovich,’ cried Tatiana, ‘you’re dreadful.’
‘Bustles,’ said Olga, ‘aren’t worn any more, not by any ladies.’
‘Well, you see,’ he said, ‘it was the bunny-wobble look that did that.’
He glanced up at her. She was standing in light and shade, the light caressing her, the shade softening her. Her blue eyes were bright with laughter, her face golden from the sun and framed by her shining hair. He had never seen a girl so young and so beautiful. Girls of sixteen were usually sweet but awkward, hesitating between youth and maturity. Olga was bewitching.
‘Mr Kirby,’ she said, ‘I don’t think you’ve ever seen a bustle.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Alexis, ‘but uniforms are much better and I’ve seen heaps of those. Of course,’ he said to Kirby, ‘we don’t have to be with girls all the time, you know. They can go and have their tea, we can have ours here.’
‘Alexis.’ A calm, modulated voice broke in. It was the Empress, cool in white linen, her parasol shading her from the sun. She was rarely without her parasol at Livadia, though her daughters lifted their faces to the sun day in, day out. ‘Alexis, where is Derevenko?’
Derevenko was a sailor whose one duty was to watch over the Tsarevich and prevent him tumbling and chasing about too energetically. The slightest knock could produce a haemophiliac condition of agonizing duration.
‘He’s over there, Mama,’ said Alexis. Kirby had risen and Alexis took his hand to establish proprietary rights over their new friend. Alexandra did not miss the gesture. She smiled.
‘Were you teasing your sisters, Aleky?’ she asked.
‘Only a little,’ the boy said, and he made it sound as if not every person his size could get the better of four girls all bigger than he was.
‘And the girls were teasing you, I suppose, Mr Kirby?’ said Alexandra.
‘Only a little,’ he said.
‘Come, let’s all have tea,’ said Alexandra.
It was served on one of the lawns. The Tsar joined them, so did Anna. Nicholas regaled his family with an amusing account of how Mr Kirby had fallen into the tennis net. Olga, a hand smothering her mirth, caught Kirby’s glance. He seemed as amused as any of them. She thought him the most agreeable and good-humoured of men.
Afterwards she managed to find him as he wandered around the rose beds.
‘Mr Kirby, there you are.’
‘Your Highness? Am I wanted?’
‘Wanted? Oh, no,’ she said, ‘it’s only that Papa is perhaps not very kind to make everyone laugh at your expense, but he doesn’t mean to be. Truly, he couldn’t be unkind to anyone.’
‘I know.’ He put out a hand and touched the richness of a red rosebud. ‘I didn’t mind a bit.’
‘I think,’ she began and left it at that. She looked at the rose he was touching.
‘What is it you think, Highness?’
‘That it’s nice you’re here,’ she said, and was immediately in hot confusion at so committing her feelings. ‘Well,’ she hastened on, ‘the children are all going to watch Alexis drilling you tomorrow and—’
‘And that should be very nice,’ he smiled. ‘That is,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘how nice will it be for me? Are there penalties involved for incompetence, do you know? Imagine being incompetent in front of Grand Duchesses.’
Grand Duchess Olga permitted herself an impulsive indulgence. ‘And Anna too,’ she said, ‘as well as General Sikorski, Monsieur Gilliard and Countess Borodinsky. Alexis is inviting everyone to be there, Mama and Papa too.’
‘Oh good heavens,’ he said.
‘Mr Kirby,’ she said, ‘you simply can’t be incompetent now, can you?’
‘Not in front of General Sikorski, at least,’ he said. She was looking away, leaning a little in closer inspection of the red roses. ‘Your Highness, can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not pulling my leg?’
Olga straightened up. She was laughing.
‘Oh, I’m awful, I couldn’t resist it,’ she said. The evening sunlight touched her hair with red-gold fire. Then she said, ‘Did Princess Aleka Petrovna mind that you came? Mama invited her too but of course she could not leave her guests.’
‘She didn’t mind a bit,’ he said.
‘She is very beautiful,’ said Olga.
‘Very,’ he said. She glimpsed his teeth as he smiled. ‘Frighteningly,’ he added.
Somehow she thought he was laughing at himself.
He found himself at dinner that evening with the Imperial family, in their own private dining room. He knew this was a compliment, for apart from Anna Vyrubova he was the only outsider present. And Anna was not an outsider herself, she seemed one with the family. The younger children had had their supper and were at prayers before going to bed, only Olga being at dinner. But she was sixteen and incontestably a young lady, in a gown of deep purple.
The meal was a pleasant surprise to Kirby after the sumptuous menus of Karinshka. The Tsar liked the plainest Russian dishes, soups, fish, bread and fruit. The conversation was simple and unaffected, and laughter was easily come by.
‘Papa,’ said Olga demurely, ‘will General Sikorski be better tomorrow?’
‘My love,’ said Nicholas, ‘the general has said that while there’s a younger man to run about on the other side of the court, he’d prefer to rest his aching bones.’
‘My aching bones are at your service, sir,’ said Kirby.
‘You can’t deceive me like that, my dear fellow,’ said Nicholas, ‘you mean to have your revenge tomorrow. But you’ll see, Olga, there’s always some way to beat the enemy.’
‘Yes, I know, Papa, I’ve already seen your way,’ said Olga, ‘you play the most dreadful shot and he turns somersaults trying to get it back.’
‘My dear,’ said Nicholas to Alexandra, ‘do you hear that from our own child?’
‘I’m not quite sure what it all means,’ said Alexandra, ‘but it sounds very unfair to poor Mr Kirby.’
‘I think,’ said Kirby in a theatrical aside to Anna, ‘that I now know why General Sikorski keeps out of the way.’
Olga could hardly suppress her merriment. Her shyness was forgotten. She only felt very happy.
Livadia was idyllic. Its atmosphere of tranquillity and graciousness enchanted Kirby, the Imperial family charmed him. Their modesty, their warmth and their total lack of affectation were constant. He played tennis with Nicholas, and whenever she could Alexandra showed her liking for him by requesting that he come and talk with her. The Grand Duchesses and the Tsarevich escaped from their tutor immediately at the end of every lesson to look for him and have him play games with them. He drilled with Alexis. This put the younger girls into fits, Alexis so important and the tall Englishman so drily comical. He swore he would never know his right from his left. Alexis told him not to worry, it would come to him in the end. Old General Sikorski, a great favourite who was always at Livadia, looked on and said that as a soldier Ivan Ivanovich from England would make a very fine sailor.
Kirby bathed with the family off their private beach. Nicholas bathed whenever he could, so did the children. Alexandra did not, but sat on a beach chair under her parasol with Anna Vyrubova. The young girls were like nymphs in their bathing costumes. Tatiana was slender, Olga slender too but with perceptible shapeliness. In her costume of blue and white shyness returned. There was nowhere she could hide on the first occasion she presented herself to Kirby on the beach, but he made nothing of it, put out his hand, and they ran into the water together.
Nicholas liked the open air, he liked exercise and most of all he liked tennis. When he was not on the beach or attending to state business in his retreat, he found his way to the tennis court. Whenever he played with Kirby, Olga and Tatiana made every excuse they could to steal time off from their studies so that they could sit by the side of the court and watch. Not that they were onerously tutored at Livadia, only that there was always some subject they had to keep up with.
Tatiana was beginning to affect a sighing infatuation for the Englishman, declaring him to be soulfully disturbing to a girl. Olga’s reaction was to suggest to Tatiana that she should not make remarks he might overhear.
‘I wish he would hear,’ said Tatiana, as they sat on the bench by the court, ‘but he is shockingly oblivious.’
‘And you are shockingly yourself.’
‘What a pity he isn’t a prince,’ said Tatiana, swinging her legs and displaying ankles amid frothy white, ‘he would do very well for me.’
‘That is silly.’
‘It isn’t,’ insisted Tatiana. ‘One has to think about these things when one is a growing young woman as I am.’
‘You aren’t, you’re only cheeky. Besides, even if he were a prince he’d never marry a chatterbox like you.’
‘Yes, he would,’ said Tatiana, ‘my chatter would amuse him and he likes being amused. You would never do for him.’
‘Oh, monkey!’ cried Olga and tweaked a tress of her sister’s auburn hair.
‘Is the zoo now open?’ asked a masculine voice. Olga hastily let go. Kirby was there, picking up a wandering ball.
‘It’s all because I’m a chatterbox,’ Tatiana said to him.
‘I like chatterboxes,’ said Kirby and returned to the court.
‘There, didn’t I say so?’ said Tatiana in triumph.
‘He only meant that he likes children,’ said Olga sweetly.
This time it was Olga who had her hair pulled. Then Tatiana fled, Olga in swift pursuit. Shrieks pierced the tranquillity. Olga returned sedately, seated herself on the white bench again, put her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin in her hands and watched the game to its end.
In the gardens one day Alexandra said to Kirby, ‘We must all do as the children do and call you Ivan Ivanovich. It’s impossible to keep calling you Mr Kirby when you are so much our friend now, and when you’ve been very kind to a rather tedious woman who has enjoyed your conversation so much. One day I’m sure the Tsar and I will visit England again, and you shall receive us at Walton if you’re there and if you will.’
‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘there are times, you know, when your own kindness leaves me with absolutely nothing to say. What is there I can say except that you and all the Imperial family make Livadia what it is, and that I love it very much. Your friendship I cherish and always will.’
‘You are the nicest man, Ivan Ivanovich,’ said Alexandra.
He was known as Ivan Ivanovich to all the Imperial family then. To all, that is, except Olga. She still addressed him as Mr Kirby. He did not comment on it. Her ways and her reasons were her own. They made her what she was, herself.
She came running one afternoon in chase of Tatiana, who knew only too well how deliciously to outrage her elder sister. As he turned the corner of the balustraded terrace Olga ran straight into his arms. For one unrehearsed moment she was a breathless warmth and softness against him. He was conscious of innocence in confusion. He released her almost at once.
Her blood rushed. She turned so that her tumbled, sunbright hair hid her scarlet face.
‘I thought for a moment that Anna Vyrubova and I had collided again,’ he said lightly. ‘If you’re looking for Tatiana, she’s gone that way, but don’t say I said so. She and I are friends at the moment.’
‘Mr Kirby, I’m so sorry,’ she said, the breathlessness in her voice. ‘I’m no better than the children, rushing about like that.’
‘Highness, suppose we rush about together and surround your sister? I never act my age, either, I like to forget it.’
He put out his hand, and Anna Vyrubova, coming on to the terrace to look for Alexis, saw Olga flying over green lawns hand in hand with Ivan Ivanovich, her face turned to the sun and radiant with the joy of being alive.
How happy the Grand Duchess was. How kind Ivan Ivanovich was, spending so much of his time in company with all the children.
Livadia seemed even lovelier these days.
‘Olga darling,’ said Alexandra, ‘why do you still call him Mr Kirby? It sounds so formal now.’
‘Does it, Mama? I hadn’t thought.’
‘Well, it does, my sweet. Don’t you like him?’
‘Oh, he is quite nice and very good at tennis.’ Olga went to the window of her mother’s boudoir and looked at the distant mountain tops.
‘Oh dear, that sounds as if you don’t like him,’ said Alexandra.
‘Mama, one could not dislike Mr Kirby. Do you know, I think there’s still some snow on the mountains.’
It was very unlike Olga, thought Alexandra, to turn her back when one was speaking to her.
‘Olga my love, come here.’
Olga came slowly from the window and Alexandra saw that pink was burning her cheeks. If Alexandra was not an intellectual she did not lack perception where her family was concerned. A little dismay attacked her. She covered it with a warm, affectionate smile.
‘Darling, you’re growing up, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Soon, in a few years Papa and I will have to think about—’
‘Oh, Mama, no! I am happy with you and Papa, I am not to be married, not even in a few years – not for many years – Mama, please.’
Alexandra felt heartache. She too had been young, she too had had her dreams.
‘Of course you don’t want to get married, darling. Who does at sixteen?’
It was as well that Mr Kirby’s visit was ending in a few days.
That evening Alexandra said to Nicholas, ‘What do you think of our new English friend now that you know him so well?’
‘Utterly splendid fellow,’ said Nicholas, enjoying his cigarette. ‘Plays a devilishly sporting game of tennis and is never a bore. Doesn’t push himself, either. Extremely discreet on politics in case he offends.’
‘Yes, he’s always very gracious,’ said Alexandra. ‘Nicky, you don’t think perhaps he has his own reasons for being ingratiating, do you?’
‘My love,’ said Nicholas, ‘we invited him here ourselves, he didn’t arrive on our doorstep with an ingratiating smile.’
‘I confess I like him very much,’ said Alexandra, ‘but would it be terribly unkind of us if we find out a little more about him? We really know nothing at all.’
‘Ah,’ smiled Nicholas, ‘you’ve a reason for asking that.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing important,’ said Alexandra, not wanting even with Nicholas to embroil Olga in something she herself could have been mistaken about. ‘It’s just that it would be nice to know more about him.’
‘Well, he seems the most decent chap to me,’ said Nicholas, ‘but perhaps you’re right, especially if we’re to see more of him.’
‘I’ll leave it all to you, my love,’ said Alexandra contentedly.
Nicholas spoke later to one of his secretaries. Several weeks afterwards he received a written report, emanating from England. It was entirely satisfactory. John Kirby owned a cottage at Walton-on-Thames, occupied by a relative of his called Charlotte Kirby. He was the son of a deceased army colonel and was a man of independent means who had travelled extensively.
It pleased Alexandra. She liked him very much and although it was entirely unsuitable for Olga to conceive an excessive liking for him, she was sure that Olga would never forget she was the daughter of the Tsar.
It had been ten days of pure pleasure for Kirby. And it had been a revelationary and blissful ten days for Karita. She adored Livadia. It was beautiful, peaceful, and warm with charm and friendliness. Karinshka had its excitement and gaiety, its lovely and temperamental princess, but it did not have such beauty, such grandeur and yet such simplicity. Nor did it have the Imperial family.
The Emperor had spoken to her, smiled at her, complimented her. The Empress was kindness itself. And the children. Adorable. Karita loved every one of them. Because, to them, she belonged to Ivan Ivanovich, their newest best friend, she too was their friend, and sometimes they came to her and asked her to do this or that for them.
Kirby found her in his suite once with tears in her eyes.
‘Who has upset you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no one has,’ she said. ‘It’s the children. Monsieur, I’ve heard people say things about the Imperial family and I know now they were ignorant people. Never, never, will I ever believe what people tell me, only what I see with my own eyes. Oh, I’m so glad I came with you, it has taught me so much, it has taught me that our Tsar is a good man who loves people. Now I know what I shall say to ignorant ones when they speak lies to me. I shall—’
‘Karita, you’re making a speech, but I love you for it.’
She blushed a little. It was possible, he thought, that many people would consider themselves neither ignorant nor liars when laying the blame for Russia’s ills at the Tsar’s door.
‘Monsieur,’ said Karita, ‘it’s because of you that I’ve met the Imperial family, I am so fortunate to be here with you. Of course, that isn’t to say it isn’t beautiful at Karinshka, only that—’
‘Only that there are more ups and downs at Karinshka,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t going to say that at all,’ said Karita loyally.
‘Of course you weren’t,’ he said, ‘you are a treasure, Karita.’
He kissed her. Karita tingled. It was a very agreeable sensation.
His visit was nearly over now. He was drilling for the last time with Alexis. Alexis was giving the commands and Kirby was doing his very best. At last, he said, he knew his left from his right, and he owed it all to Alexis.
‘Oh, you’ve been jolly good, you know,’ beamed the boy.
The Grand Duchesses, white-bloused and blue-skirted, were as usual an hilarious and irreverent audience. Marie declared that Ivan Ivanovich really was the most comical driller poor Alexis had ever had to contend with. Tatiana said that he was fascinatingly droll and that she was head over heels in love with him.
‘When I’m married to the King of Denmark,’ she said, ‘I shall invite him to dinner every night.’
‘Darling,’ said Olga, ‘I’m sure nothing would please the King of Denmark more than being invited to dinner every night by his own wife.’
‘Goose,’ said Tatiana, ‘I meant I’d invite Ivan, then he’d spend all evening kissing my hand.’
‘Mama and Papa wouldn’t think much of that,’ said Marie.
‘Nor would the King of Denmark,’ said Olga.
‘And how awful for Ivan Ivanovich,’ said Anastasia, ‘fancy having to kiss someone’s hand while everyone else was eating all that scrumptious food.’
‘Not just someone’s hand,’ said Tatiana, ‘mine.’
‘Oh, help,’ said Anastasia.
‘Tasha, are you dreadfully, dreadfully in love?’ asked Marie.
‘She’s dreadfully everything,’ said Olga.
‘No one, simply no one,’ declared Tatiana, ‘has any idea of how terribly one suffers when one is in love.’ She waved gaily to Kirby. He waved back. Alexis was aghast. Didn’t Ivan Ivanovich understand that at drill a fellow simply did not wave at people, especially girls?
‘Great Scott, what a trial I am to both of us, Alexis,’ said Kirby.
‘Oh, I don’t mind too much,’ said Alexis magnanimously.
‘Oh, jolly good,’ said the much-improved recruit, ‘and I tell you what, give me a right incline and a couple of about-turns and then I’ll be too dizzy to wave to anyone.’
There was hysteria at that. Olga murmured, ‘Oh, dear delicious Mr Kirby,’ and then blushed crimson as Tatiana slyly peeped at her.
‘What does love really feel like?’ Anastasia asked earnestly of Tatiana.
‘One just can’t eat,’ said Tatiana. ‘Isn’t that awful, being quite starving and yet unable to eat a thing because of love?’
‘Never mind,’ said Olga, ‘when your love has departed you’ll be able to go back to eating like a horse.’
‘When he’s gone I shall be quite inconsolable,’ said Tatiana, who could remain immune to teasing, ‘but we shall write long passionate letters to each other, of course.’
‘How lovely,’ said Marie with a sigh, and Anastasia, who had a gift for histrionics, gave a very creditable imitation of love awaiting a passionate post.
Olga was suddenly wistful. He was leaving tomorrow.
He was going. The Tsar had already said a friendly goodbye to him. The rest of the Imperial family, together with Anna Vyrubova, were on the broad terrace at the top of the steps to see him on his way. Karita, having made her curtsey, stood to one side while he said goodbye to all of them. Anna was charming, Alexis kissed him. Tatiana gave him her hand and sighed. Marie was sweetly affectionate. Anastasia, giggling, kissed him too. Olga wanted to smile but her lips were stiff. Alexandra was gracious.
‘Perhaps you’ll be able to come and see us again before you return to England,’ she said.
‘Oh yes, you must,’ cried the younger children.
Olga’s blue eyes darkened. He had said nothing to her about returning to England.
‘Wherever I am, I shan’t forget Livadia,’ he said. He smiled. ‘It’s the loveliest place, full of the very nicest people. Bless you all.’
They waved to him and to Karita as he went down the white, shining steps with her to the carriage ordered to take him back to Karinshka.
‘Goodbye, Ivan Ivanovich, come again!’
Only Olga was quiet. When he had finally gone she disappeared.