31 December 1909
Having consulted at length and found out who was likely to be where in Paris on New Year’s Eve, Tanya’s aunts informed her that they had accepted the invitation of the Swedish Ambassador to join his table at the Bal Tabarin in Montmartre. Tanya was surprised until her aunts told her that Perov was a great friend of the Ambassador and instructed her to make herself as pretty as possible. She had a rather sick presentiment that Perov was planning on asking her to marry him tonight. In a slight panic she sent Sasha to the telegram office and snapped at her French maid when she was trying to arrange various items from Lalique’s latest collection in her hair.
The streets were full of the signs of festival as they drove through Paris. Music and light pouring out of the cafés, the buildings lit up and the crowds surging back and forth. They stepped out of their car on the stroke of ten. Tanya was nervous of being too early, but there was a steady procession of ladies and gentlemen entering under the canopy and they found the grand ballroom already full and loud with the galloping music of the can-can. The walls, balcony and ceiling were hung with great ropes of flowers, the musicians were sweating over their instruments and the whole hall was brilliant with coloured electric lights. As they made their way over to the long table where the Ambassador was entertaining his party, a group of women in huge picture hats were occupying the centre of the floor, dancing, kicking their legs up in the air to show the snow white petticoats beneath their hooped skirts. Aunt Vera lifted her lorgnette just as one gentleman got a little too close and found his hat knocked into the mocking crowd by one of the dancer’s high-heeled shoes. Tanya paused, waiting to see if Vera would be too shocked to stay, but instead she laughed and watched the man struggle to retrieve his hat from beneath the feet of the crowd with apparent pleasure.
Tanya’s heart sank a little. She was sure Perov meant to propose now and had told her aunts as much. Ribbons curled down from the balcony in a continuous stream of emerald and scarlet. ‘I must ask for time to think,’ Tanya said to herself. Above their heads hung large hoops filled with New Year’s souvenirs. She could see paper flowers and model aeroplanes, cardboard cigarette-cases and matchbooks marked 1910. She tried to look further into the crowd, but there was no one she recognised. So taken was she by looking at the faces in the distance, Tanya hardly noticed where she was being seated, but found herself next to a man her own age with an oddly pointed chin. The seat to her left was unoccupied, and for a moment she was afraid Perov would drop into it at any moment – but then she saw him at the far end of the table sitting between her two aunts and looking smug.
The man on her right was thin to the point of emaciation and told her he was a writer. He had a monocle squeezed into his right eye which seemed to require frequent polishing. He peered up the table towards Vera and Lila. They had insisted as always on wearing the styles of their youth in bright silks, and had bullied the weeping fashion gurus of Rue Royale into supplying them with puffed sleeves and pinched waists. Or rather Vera did the bullying. Lila laughed at her for it, then cheerfully wore whatever she was told to. It should have made them ridiculous, but the two women were swiftly surrounded now as ever by a number of young men in tight-fitting dinner jackets who fought for the honour of fetching them champagne and strawberry mousse. Tanya knew they would be trying to make her aunts say something shocking enough to amuse them, and had no doubt they would succeed.
‘They are quite the success of the season, these Russian old maids!’ remarked the writer. ‘It shows how jaded we are become in Paris when our novelties are so … novel…’
Tanya took the flûte of champagne offered by a waiter bending low over her shoulder and looked at him coldly. ‘You are speaking of my aunts, sir. Vera Sergeyevna is a widow, not an old maid.’
He seemed quite unabashed. ‘Ah, you are the artist we have to thank for bringing them among us! Is it true you labour all morning in an attic and refuse any invitation that might take you away from your work?’
‘There are many reasons I might refuse an invitation. I attend the classes of Monsieur Lafond, but that was my whole reason for coming to Paris – so how else should I spend my mornings?’
His expression showed a slight disgust. ‘Oh, you will destroy yourself! Leave art and science to the men. It is in our nature to innovate, to adventure into new worlds, while it is woman’s duty to support and inspire us. Do not make yourself a half-creature, learning to paint. You are in Paris – it is the place where you should learn to become a woman! To charm and infuriate, to drive us to new heights. You are the work of art, my dear. Stop your lessons now before your beauty fades and your charm dulls.’
‘And what great heights has my sex inspired you to, sir?’
‘I have had my successes, though one shouldn’t expect the acclamation of the vulgar crowd for works of high art.’ The monocle was polished ferociously for a few seconds and replaced.
‘You must admire the genius of George Sand,’ Tanya said.
‘Naturally, but indeed, she proves my point.’ He jabbed his long finger towards Tanya with such vigour that his monocle sprang free from his eye and swung on the end of its ribbon; such was his pleasure in the argument he ignored it. ‘She was not a woman at all but a half-breed. Her genius proves she was not a woman but an hermaphrodite. And look at her! An unfortunate freak. Such intellectual activity crushes feminine charm like your own, the female mind becomes overheated and loses its bloom, its frivolous ability to please.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Come, Miss Koltsova, I am sure you must agree.’
‘I do not. But as you think I am half-witted at best, I am sure that cannot be of the least concern to you.’ She was aware as she spoke of a man sliding into the chair on her left.
‘Gustave,’ he said with an American twang to his French, ‘I swear you will turn every woman you speak to into a suffragette. Hell, I listen to you for ten seconds and I want to bop a policeman over the head just to show fellow feeling.’
Tanya turned in his direction, aware that the room had grown suddenly brighter and warmer. ‘Mr Allardyce! I did not know you were to be of the Ambassador’s party.’
‘Neither did I, nor the Ambassador until an hour ago, Miss Koltsova. Then I had a sudden and urgent need to change my plans for the evening. Now, have you had a turn around the room yet? There are lots of shiny lights and rich people in pretty frocks to look at. That should appeal to your feminine fancy, shouldn’t it?’
She grinned into her champagne. ‘It should.’
‘Excellent. Then do stand up with me at once, but be careful not to look back in the direction of your aunts. I am fairly sure they will make it clear they wish you to stay in your seat if you do.’
Tanya got to her feet very gracefully and didn’t look round. He led her to the edge of the dance floor to a stop where they could pretend to watch the dancers. ‘Well, I am here. What’s the emergency?’ He spoke in English, his voice dry and tired.
Tanya fixed her eyes on the conductor of the band. He squatted and leaped as he led his musicians, exhorting them to greater efforts with extravagant grimaces. ‘There is no emergency. I did not mean you to think such a thing.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You certainly did. I’m sorry, Miss Koltsova – I’ve been working hard and that makes me more plainspoken than usual. What can you want of me? I’ve chased you round town for a month trying to make myself amusing and dodging your aunts. You know, I don’t think in that time I’ve seen you in the same dress twice?’
‘Paul…’ she whispered. He controlled himself and looked out onto the dance floor again. It was the first time he’d heard her say his first name, but there was such fear in her voice, such sadness. He looked around at all the show and spectacle and felt a black bitterness run through him.
‘So it’s true, then. Perov is going to ask you to marry him. I’ve heard the rumour. Have you got me here to make you an alternative offer?’ Tanya’s eyes felt hot. ‘Sorry kid, but I can’t make you one – though it’s sweet of you to offer me a chance to counter-bid. I’ve nothing but what I earn, so if you were hoping I’ve got some railway stocks laid by, you’re out of luck.’
The band leader sprang in the air and spun about, aping the movements of the can-can dancers. He looked to Tanya at that moment like a devil.
‘You horrible, cruel…’ She still looked straight ahead, a polite smile on her lips as if she were enjoying some pleasant conversation with an acquaintance. ‘If that is what you think of me, why are you here? Even if I were stupid enough to agree to marry you, you would not want me, would you, without all … this!’ She touched her evening gloves to the diamonds in her ears, the pearls and diamonds at her throat. ‘You’re just as money-minded as any millionaire in the room. If I didn’t change my dress every day you wouldn’t chase after me for long.’
‘I’d take you in rags,’ his teeth were gritted, ‘but how could I ever live with myself afterwards, knowing the life you could have had? You’d make me a failure just when I am beginning to get my start in the world. I could never dream of keeping you in the style—’
‘Keep me!’ She faced him, hissing. ‘Am I a horse, a dog? Offer me your arm and smile, you idiot, then take me back to your friend Gustave. At least he is honest about his contempt for women.’
He took her arm and drew her back towards the table, blistered with rage and feeling that though he was greatly injured, he was somehow also in the wrong.
He could not leave, though, but rather sat in heavy misery listening to Tanya sharpening her feminine charms on Gustave for the next hour and sinking every glass of champagne he could get his hands on. Then he noticed that the heavy hoops of souvenirs were being lowered just to within reach of the gentlemen’s canes, so some of the souvenirs might be knocked down and claimed. Pushing back his chair with a violent scrape, he set out into the scrum, returning some minutes later rather red in the face and with his blond hair dishevelled.
Tanya looked up at him in surprise. He bowed very formally and presented her with his prize. It was a cheap cardboard cigarette-case printed with one of the advertisements of Bal Tabarin and a border of glass beads, glued not quite straight. She took it from him a little dubiously then laughed; her black eyes lit up and she pressed it to her heart. ‘Mr Allardyce, I will treasure it.’
He sat down, feeling a glow of satisfaction that spread painfully from his stomach to his fingertips. She leaned towards him and said softly, ‘I will ask for time.’ The warm glow became ashy and cold.
‘The horse could learn to talk,’ he muttered.
‘What?’ He was about to explain when Tanya straightened and looked across the room like a pointer bitch who had spotted game. ‘Oh, is that not Madame de Civray? Are you acquainted with her? A friend has told me about her and I would love to meet her.’ She looked so enthused, her fingers were already drumming out a tattoo on the white linen.
‘I do know her,’ Paul said. ‘I write for her father’s papers about Paris affairs from time to time, so she invites me to her At Homes. Not that they’re very exclusive. Shall I introduce you now?’
‘Oh do!’ and once again Paul offered his arm. He noticed before she stood up that Tanya slipped his cardboard cigarette-case into her shimmering evening bag and whatever else he felt, he was briefly as happy as he knew how to be. He ushered her through the crowd and subtly made space for them in the circle of the Countess’s court, then when she had greeted him with a slight nod of recognition, he bowed and introduced Tanya.
‘I am so delighted to meet you,’ Tanya said, with a curtsy. ‘My friend Maud Heighton told me of your kindness in showing her your collection. She is absolutely thrilled with the photographs and has promised to bring them to the studio in the New Year.’
The effect of this little speech was not what either Paul or Tanya had expected. The Countess’s polite smile disappeared and her face became pale. ‘You have not heard then,’ she said, then looked around the faces of her friends. ‘You must excuse me, dears. I have to speak to this young lady.’ She took Tanya by the elbow and guided her across the ballroom floor to an alcove behind the band. ‘Let us sit down for a moment, honey.’
Paul felt rather aggrieved. He half-followed the women, being discreet but keeping them in sight, watching them through the crowds of dancers. Midnight was coming up fast and the dancing seemed to be getting wilder. There were shrieks of laughter coming from all sides of the room. He could just see them through the bobbing and braying heads of the revellers. Tanya was facing him, and he saw her polite smile vanish, to be replaced by an expression of sudden shock. She had one hand over her mouth and was shaking her head. The Countess de Civray was holding onto her other hand and appeared to be speaking to her urgently. Miss Koltsova wrenched her hand away and bent forward, covering her face. The Countess looked round and caught his eye. Paul forced his way through the crowd towards them. He looked down helplessly on Miss Koltsova’s shaking shoulders.
‘Allardyce, thank goodness! Could you fetch Miss Koltsova’s aunts and explain to them that their niece is unwell? Then speak to Monsieur Guyot at the front desk. Have their car sent to the back entrance at once. Hurry along now, there’s a good fellow.’
He went off to do as he was told, leading the aunts to the alcove and arranging for the car. Then he remembered Tanya’s evening bag and ran across the room to fetch it. When he returned, Tanya was already getting into the car. She took the bag, and as she thanked him distractedly, he tried to squeeze her fingers with his own. Her eyes were red but before he could ask anything or even tell if the pressure of his fingers was being returned, the more fearsome of the aunts reached across and pulled the car door closed; he had to move quickly to avoid losing an arm. He slipped back into the ballroom before Guyot closed the door on him too and hurried up to the Countess.
‘Madame, what…?’ She shook her head and pointed upwards. The apelike band leader was standing on the upper balcony with a pistol in each hand and both arms raised in the air. That instant, the lights went out and in the utter darkness twelve shots exploded, the muzzle flashes singeing the eye. The crowd counted in a great shouted chorus after each shot ‘… dix, onze, douze!’ The cry of twelve became a general cheer and the electric lights glowed and burst forth again. Strings of them in mauve and yellow were lowered from between the festoons of flowers that canopied the roof. The band let fly with a fanfare on the trumpets and the room erupted into more rolling cheers. As another cascade of ribbons came curling down from the balcony, the back doors opened and a succession of beautiful women, carried on platforms resting on the shoulders of men dressed as Roman slaves, began to parade round the room. Above her head each woman waved a flag sewn with large scarlet letters proclaiming Love, Beauty, Peace – and finally and most splendid in her bower, a girl under a stiff arch covered in paper roses and emblazoned 1910.
Confetti fell over Paul’s shoulders. The Countess had disappeared back into the crowd and the dancing had begun again, even less inhibited than before. Paul leaned back against the pillar behind him, exhilarated and confused. A red ribbon fell over his shoulder, and without thinking what he was doing, he curled it and tucked it into his breast-pocket.