‘So you will be delivered from the forbidden woman, from the foreign woman with her smooth words, who forsakes the companion of her youth and forgets the covenant of her God; for her house sinks down to death and her paths to the departed; none who go to her come back, nor do they regain the paths of life.’
PROVERBS 2:16–19
Something had definitely changed in the House. Of course, with the coming of summer it was bound to be different; without the dark nights, coal fires and the constant use of oil lamps and candles, the cosiness had gone out of it.
But there was a different change – a change of atmosphere. In some indefinable way, the House had taken on the different attitude of its people. Since the recent events, relationships seemed to have altered; a subtle, almost indefinable change, but a change nonetheless.
The evenings spent round the kitchen fire were no longer so welcoming. Something in the demeanour of the others was just not the same, making them less approachable, less relaxed around me. They no longer seemed to know how to address me in a relaxed and familiar way. I was no longer one of them and now belonged, they clearly thought, ‘upstairs’. Of course, no one actually said that, but it was clear to me that I was in No Man’s Land, too posh for the servants and not posh enough for the masters. To some extent, I suppose I felt the same. How could the fiancé of a princess be seen to get drunk with the ‘staff’?
Yet I missed them. I could not imagine any sort of social intercourse with the likes of Chermakov and Voikin, nor was I invited to join Madame Lili and the Grand Duchess, and even Natalya seemed too busy to spend much time with me. Only Anya sought me out, and that was merely to discuss plans for the wedding. Her attitude was cold and businesslike. My appalling behaviour and the episode with the drugged coffee was never mentioned, and I felt that Anya’s revenge was far from over.
I found myself wishing for the good old days of flirting with Natalie during her lessons. For the first time in many weeks, I thought of my old life in Paris. My mind left out the miserable bits and, conveniently, recalled only the good times. The city must be back to normal by now, bearing, no doubt, some scars from the riots, and the Left’s constant obsession with yet another revolution, sated for a few decades. The Sorbonne would be open for lectures again and the nearby cafés thriving and alive with the pseudo-academic conversations that students need to bolster their ‘intellectual’ image.
What had become of Bruno, Aurélie and Max? Was it business as usual at the café, with Jean-Marie serving endless croissants and coffees, while moaning that the students never left tips? What would they make of all this, my friends? Me marrying a Russian princess! I could hardly believe it myself. Nostalgia for my student life rolled over me.
Still, you can’t go back, can you? As my mother used to say: ‘You’ve made your bed and now you must lie in it.’
It seemed that the protocol for Russian engagements was very different from that of Western Europe, at least among the aristocracy in general and this House in particular.
It took the form of a sort of garden party, with a long trestle table brought out to the big lawn at the front of the House, carefully laid with silverware, white linen and glass. Drinks – mainly Russian champagne – were served at about 3pm, accompanied by blinis with smoked salmon or caviar.
The food was excellent and everyone was there. Despite the warm, sunny weather, all the men wore dark suits and ties, except for Sergei, who again wore his new rubashka and long Cossack coat open at the front to reveal his cartridge belt and dagger. Chermakov even sported an ancient butterfly collar and a suit that reeked of camphor and mothballs.
All the women wore long dresses, even the maids and Amélie the cook, who for a day appeared to be guests rather than staff. Of course, Natalya and Madame Lili stole the show. In contrast to the sombre men’s suits, the women wore long white dresses pulled in at the waist and with high collars and jewels on a black ribbon at their throats. Natalya wore dainty, light blue satin shoes, while Madame Lili appeared to be wearing white patent leather, high-buttoned boots. Both carried white parasols, and Madame Lili wore long-sleeved white gloves. Natalie’s arms were bare, showing her hands and the diamond engagement ring which I was supposed to have given her.
While she was talking excitedly with Anya and Madame Lili, I took a seat next to Serge, or ‘Sergei’ as I felt I should call him that day. Resplendent in his uniform, he was nevertheless more relaxed than I had ever seen him. He sat back, smoking his black Russian Balkan Sobranie tobacco, and seemed to be taking a well-earned rest. He didn’t speak, but sighed contentedly like a man contemplating the completion of a job well done. He was not alone in that – all the ‘staff’ seemed to be unusually laid-back. All pretence of formality had gone, and the social barriers dividing the inmates of the House seemed to have broken down in the face of a state of general wellbeing, as though a great and difficult task had been accomplished.
It suddenly dawned on me that that was actually the case…the betrothal of Natalya had been achieved. Such had been the plan all along. I was merely the ‘fall guy’, the dupe who had fallen for the whole scheme, and now they were all part of the same celebration of a job well done. Each had played his or her part to perfection, and tomorrow the wedding would be their crowning achievement.
But still I didn’t actually care! I didn’t care that I had been set up. I didn’t care that I had been blackmailed and threatened and I didn’t care that I had been drugged, hypnotised, deceived and even physically abused because, in my mind, I believed that I had won – I was getting the girl of my dreams and, in so doing, I would eventually be controlling the situation. I didn’t listen to that little voice that was telling me, ‘You are too clever by half, Nicholas!’
The most dangerous lies are the lies we tell ourselves.
Towards late afternoon, when the shadows on the lawn were long and thin and the sun reduced to dark red, low on the horizon, Madame Lili came to me. No warm familiarity there, no pretence at the newfound easiness of the others. Madame Lili held herself as aloof as on the first day we met. Her only concession to the relaxed tone of the afternoon was to lift the veil of her hat. The dark eyes bored into mine, and the slow smile seemed forced and insincere.
‘My dear Nicholas,’ she murmured in her deep, husky voice, reaching out her gloved hand for me to kiss. I stood up and, since she made no move to continue, offered her a chair, catching the familiar heavy fragrance of her perfume as she sat down. ‘Nicholas, we need to go over a few points about tomorrow – the wedding ceremony…’
She looked away, as if ordering things in her head. I took advantage of her averted gaze to study her closely and realised I had been wrong. Though very formal, she seemed relaxed in herself, with a certain serenity in her eyes, as if infected by the quiet contentment shown by the others scattered around us at the other tables. She seemed almost reluctant to speak on this breathless summer night. She sighed her contentment, her lips parted slightly to show her clenched teeth in a gesture so similar to Natalie’s that I wondered yet again if they were related.
Slowly, she reached up and unpinned her hat, her long, thick, dark hair cascading immediately from it. She shook her head from side to side and wafted her perfume on to the still warm air. In spite of myself, I felt a slow arousal; my eyes fixed on her slender body and I recalled vividly those urgent, intimate moments we had spent, locked together like two animals on heat. Had it really happened? Had I made love to Madame Lili in her boudoir, that night? Or was it, like so much I had experienced in this House, a carefully choreographed scene, an illusion, planted on me, suggested to me, using hypnotism and drugs. I liked to think otherwise.
Whatever it had been then, she aroused me now. Certainly it was not the deep love and affection I felt for Natalie, but a purely physical desire, lust arising from who knows what primordial animal instinct not well connected with acceptable behaviour.
Madame Lili looked up suddenly and stared me straight in the face.
‘Do you think, monsieur, such thoughts are becoming in one so recently betrothed?’
I could feel myself blushing. Could she really read my thoughts, or had some involuntary movement or expression on my part given the game away?
She jumped up and stood in front of me and I flinched back, fearing at least a slap. Instead she just stared at me, a half-smile verging on a sneer forming on her beautiful face. Then, just as quickly, her body and features relaxed. Her shoulders began to twitch and I realised to my complete bewilderment that she was laughing; it was suppressed and silent, but it was laughter. She recovered immediately and, bending close to my ear, whispered with scarcely concealed contempt, ‘Oh, Nicolai Feodorovitch, do not be afraid! All your troubles will soon be over!’
She sat down and looked out across the gardens, which were barely visible in the fading light.
‘Now, about the wedding. Listen carefully, Nicholas.’
Barely seeming interested herself, she rattled out some details about the ceremony. I tried hard to concentrate; this was my last hurdle to happiness.
She started with the svideteli or witnesses. Serge was to be my best man, Anya would be the matron of honour and she, Madame Lili, Natalie’s official guardian in the Grand Duchess’s stead, would give the bride away. Father Feodor would perform a rather abbreviated Russian Orthodox ceremony in French (known in Russia as venchanie) and the wedding celebrations would take place that night.
She also mentioned something about gold rings being exchanged and some glass-smashing. She added more about candles and wearing crowns but by that time I was having trouble taking it all in. She, too, seemed anxious to be done with it, as if she accepted that it was all a sham – but a necessary sham, especially where Natalya was concerned.
Of course, I was more interested in the noces (honeymoon) part of it. I had not made love to Natalie for weeks and my body ached for her.
No mention was made of this, however, and my tentative questions about ‘after the wedding’ were brushed aside, as though no one had considered that far ahead. Obviously, we would not be going away!
There were other questions I needed to have answered: where exactly was this ‘apartment’ on the third floor in which we were supposed to live? When was our baby due to be born? What if there were problems with Natalie’s health during the pregnancy? Voikin was no obstetrician, nor did he seem much of a doctor.
To all these questions, Madame Lili sighed and said only, ‘Be patient, Nicholas; all in the fullness of time. Soon, very soon, such trivia will no longer concern you.’
Her smile very nearly slipped into a sneer again, and I realised, with dismay, what utter contempt she really felt for me. She stood up and, not waiting for me to stand too, said, ‘Good evening, Nicholas,’ and walked off towards the House, as much an enigma to me then as on the first day we met.
The others had drifted away. I looked around for Natalie but she too had gone, leaving me for company only the lengthening shadows of the dying sun.
So this was it: the eve of my wedding day and it was nothing like I’d imagined it would be. Not that I’d thought much about marriage before. Here, in the heart of a big city, I felt totally isolated, with no way to contact my family or even my friends.
What would they make of such a fantastic tale? When would I even get to tell them about it all and, even if I did, would they believe it?
I looked about me; it was almost completely dark now. Darkness is a lonely place.
The wedding day fell on a Saturday and at 10 a.m., suitably dressed in my dark suit (there had been talk of a uniform but, thankfully, they couldn’t find one) and accompanied by an equally suited and booted Sergei, I presented myself to be married in the great dining room of the House.
Father Feodor, who in his Russian Orthodox robes reminded me of a diminutive Archbishop Makarios, was already standing in front of a small table covered with rose-coloured fabric. He lit two candles and, when Natalie joined us, handed a candle to each of us. Natalie was stunning in a white, close-fitting, full-length wedding gown, her face, unfortunately, hidden by a delicate veil. Madame Lili had apparently been persuaded to change her usual black apparel and wore a long, plum-coloured dress. She too was veiled, but her perfume would have marked her out anywhere. The Grand Duchess, it seemed, was too ill to attend.
At a signal from Father Feodor, we advanced to the table. He looked nervous, even furtive, and appeared to be swallowing hard. I noticed that he had written prompts, concealed inside the cover of his prayer book. With a quivering voice, he intoned what I took to be a blessing bestowed upon each of us, and then turned to bless the two gold rings lying on the small table. Then, choosing the smallest ring, he placed it on the second finger of Natalie’s right hand and then the other on mine. It was so loose that I had to grip my fingers together to stop it falling off. He then offered up more prayers.
At this point, the svideteli entered the room, along with the rest of the wedding guests. Everyone was there, including the kitchen staff and, of course, Anya, who looked very chic in a peach-coloured dress.
I gathered that the placing of rings was symbolic of betrothal but the ‘sign’ of marriage was yet to come.
After that, Natalie and I walked around the room to another table. Here, two symbolic crowns were blessed and Serge and Madame Lili held them above our heads as we paraded three times round the room, Father Feodor muttering some sort of litany as we went, and awkwardly holding his stole over our joined hands until we arrived at the table holding the Gospel Book. After reading a short verse from this book in heavily accented French, Father Feodor handed us each a glass of wine, which I tried not to gulp down and which Natalie sipped primly, lifting her veil.
She looked radiant. My heart was beating frantically in my chest as I realised that this stunning girl was now my wife.
The service finished, the guests applauded us. Serge, surprisingly, embraced me with a bear hug, and even Voikin and the hateful Chermakov managed to shake my hand, with grimaces that passed for smiles. Madame Lili, her veil finally lifted, gave me a sort of mandatory peck on the cheek and immediately turned away, while Anya’s kiss was equally cold and formal. I didn’t care. Nothing was going to spoil my happiness that morning, and I held Natalie’s hand in a way that I hoped reassured her that she was the most precious thing in my life.
Vodka was produced for Natalie and for me, but I made to refuse it until Serge explained that it was part of the ceremony. Natalie had to drink it too, so I reasoned that it was safe. The toast was to the bride and groom.
‘Cul sec,’ Serge shouted, ‘down in one,’ and we both complied. It was only a small amount and quite weak by Serge’s standards, but the best part was to follow; all the guests began to shout, ‘Gorko, Gorko, Gorko!’ Gorko means bitter; it was the signal for the bride and bridegroom to kiss for a long time, to take away the bitter taste.
Father Feodor, looking greatly relieved, congratulated us and made his excuses to leave. To my surprise, the wedding then became something of a genteel social exchange, with people chatting in twos and threes, sipping glasses of champagne and nibbling blinis and caviar.
More than ever, I wanted to be alone with my wife – just calling her that gave me a thrill of happiness – but that was not allowed to happen. Serge and Madame Lili split us up, and the old ‘Cossack’, after pumping my hand in another rather forced display of bonhomie, took me to one side and asked what was troubling me. I told him simply that I’d thought that Russian weddings were supposed to be lively affairs, with much drinking and dancing and gipsy music.
‘But of course, Nico!’ he cried, slapping me on the shoulder so hard that I staggered backwards. ‘Of course. Tonight you will have your dancing and you will never forget it!’
So it seemed that this was not the reception but merely the finale of the marriage service. The real festivities would begin later that evening, and I would see what a Russian wedding was really like!
That was all well and good, but it meant that Natalie and I would now be parted until the celebrations began, when all I wanted was for us to be together. Nothing could be done to change things, however, so I tried to accept the situation philosophically.
I should have been looking forward to it – there hadn’t been many parties in this House! But something – I don’t know what – was niggling at the back of my mind, a feeling of uneasiness that I could not shake off.