1 January 1910
Tanya woke slowly, becoming aware of light and movement within the room. Her old maid Sasha was already there, bustling about Tanya’s discarded clothes and books. As always, her first thought was, I am in Paris – and for one moment she was happy. Then her memories of the previous evening returned. She saw the Countess’s face and heard her saying gently but firmly that Maud was a thief, and dead. Tanya squeezed her eyes shut. Her blood felt suddenly hot and painful in her throat as if she were choking on it. She had managed it all so beautifully; introducing Maud to Miss Harris and seeing her safely established at the Morels’ for the winter, and more than that she been sure, sure that Maud liked her and that they were friends. She thought of the card Maud had made for her, and the sketch in oil she had done of Maud at work, her suddenly frank and open laugh when she had seen it.
Tanya could never tell if the Frenchwomen she met liked her or not. They treated her like a child, laughed at her for working at Lafond’s when she could be sleeping and shopping, writing catty little notes to each other as they did and despaired over her every time she turned down some invitation in order to attend the evening lectures on anatomy. Whenever her aunts dragged her round the fashionable At Homes in the afternoons, their hostesses made sly jokes saying they hoped she would not get paint on their upholstery though she was better dressed than any of them. The aunts would not let her visit her friends from the studios where they lived, nor invite them formally to the house. Even Francesca, though her husband was at the German Embassy, was forbidden to dine with them. Apparently the Ambassador himself, a huge man who looked permanently bored, was a third cousin of theirs, and to invite the wife of one of his juniors to the house when he himself had only dined here twice would be a gross and grievous insult. There were rules about these things. There had been trouble enough when she had only hosted Maud for an afternoon, but as it had not been a formal visit and Maud had seemed perfectly genteel, they had let it slide in the end. Had she been too distracted by her interest in Paul Allardyce, the threatened proposal from Perov, to notice that Maud was still in real danger, in real need? She had seemed so calm and happy. She had not been terribly understanding about the pressure on Tanya to marry wealth. Tanya had thought perhaps that was just the famous English commonsense, something she could learn from that might in time make her stronger. Or perhaps it had only been jealousy, after all.
Tanya loved Paris, but she felt she was kept in a small, rigorously policed corner of it, and had been plotting a means to move the velvet ropes out a little way. She hoped in some part of her soul that if she spent more time among those people who worked for their living – practical men and women who did not devote themselves to fashion and leisure – she might be able to imagine a life among them. She saw Maud as an example. She was so moral, so correct and hardworking, no one could think she was not a suitable companion, but she intended to earn her own living when her training was done. Tanya had been carefully mentioning Maud to her aunts since she began to live in Rue de Seine, repeating the lie about her being the relation of a baronet, only making the relationship a little more vague. Weren’t the Morels wise to have a young, respectable companion for Sylvie? Weren’t they lucky to be able to practise their English? Wouldn’t it be hard for Miss Heighton to go back to an ordinary, albeit respectable boarding house, when the Morels left Paris, having been so comfortable?
Tanya bunched the silk sheets in angry fists. Now Maud had ruined it. She had lost herself in opium. Could she have fallen so far without Tanya even noticing it? She had seen Maud’s hunger and her hope that day in Parc Monceau, her longing for the comfort of the apartment in Rue de Seine. She must have been tormented by the idea of losing it again, and then, just at the season of Christmas when all the wealth and light of Paris is on display, so available if you have francs in your pocket, that stupid, stupid American woman had left her diamonds lying about. If Tanya had just told Maud her clever plan, that she should come here when the Morels left Paris, that she would save her from the cats, help her plan an independent life and laugh at the mesdames with her; if she had just said to her, ‘This is my plan, Maud. Help me,’ then the Countess could have left wallets of fresh banknotes around and Maud would never have thought of taking any. But she hadn’t said anything, not wanting to disappoint, and now Maud was gone and everything was broken. It was her fault. She drew her knees into her chest and groaned.
‘Oh, so you are awake, cabbage? Sit up and drink your tea like a good girl. I’ve held them off as long as I could but your aunts are pawing at the door. Fainting away in the car might have worked last night, but it ain’t going to work this morning.’
Sasha arranged the pillows behind her, then handed the girl her tea. The cup started rattling in the saucer at once. Tanya’s shoulders started to shake again and she sobbed. Sasha sat down beside her and lifted her chin in her hand. ‘There, there, my little darling! No more crying! Are you sick?’ Tanya shook her head. ‘No one has been cruel to you?’ Another shake. ‘Bad news then? I wondered, but who do you know in Paris to cry over so? Not any of those fools who take you dancing when you’d rather be home, I’d lay my savings on it, and I have a few. Did Perov propose? Did he frighten you?’
‘No, no … not that.’
There was a tapping at the door. ‘Is she awake, Sasha?’
‘Here we go! Now mind what you say! No scandal, no illness and no nerves! Vera Sergeyevna would have written to your father already this morning, demanding that you be taken home at once – if I hadn’t hidden the ink.’
Tanya nodded and prepared herself as well as she could for the onslaught.
‘Are you ill?’ Vera Sergeyevna said before she even came to a halt by the bed, then without waiting for an answer, she turned to Lila and snapped, ‘I knew this was a mistake and I told Sergei so! I did! “She is fragile, my dear brother,” I said. “Do not send her to Paris! Her nerves will not take it.” And see? I was right!’
Lila Ivanovna placed the back of her hand briefly on Tanya’s forehead. ‘She has no fever. Some private sadness? Has someone hurt you, Tanya?’
Lila’s voice was always softer. She had been the first person to encourage Tanya to hold a pencil. If she had been with Tanya alone she might have soaked all her secrets from her, though what she might have done with those secrets was anyone’s guess. Tanya shook her head.
‘Poor Mikhail Pavlovich was so disappointed when we left,’ Vera continued. ‘And who could blame him if he decided he did not want a sickly wife, always pulling him away from his pleasure with her fits and fancies.’ Tanya gritted her teeth. ‘Your father will be extremely disappointed also. Perhaps we should get you back to Saint Petersburg at once. If you drive off the only suitable men in Paris with your fits, then we shall have to find you a husband there.’ Tanya kept her head lowered, staring at the folds of her disordered sheets. There was a pause, then Vera said with the air of a visionary pronouncing, ‘The Rhum Saint James.’
Tanya was startled enough to look up at her. Vera was standing with her fists on her wide hips. ‘I’m sorry, Aunty Vera?’
‘You haven’t been taking it, have you?’ Tanya dropped her eyes. ‘You foolish, foolish girl! It was recommended to me by Monsieur Claretie himself. I am only surprised that you are not fainting away every day. I dare say my cousin and I would hardly be standing without its support.’
‘I do not doubt it, Vera,’ Lila said, and for a second Tanya thought she caught the ghost of a smile on Lila’s lips.
Vera tapped her slipper on the floor, frowning, and her eyes fixed on the moulding in the corner of the room. ‘Perhaps if Mr Perov is made to understand it was a rare lapse from your usual health … The richness of the Christmas diet without taking proper precautions. Men like women with delicate tastes as long as they don’t cause too much trouble. Makes them chivalrous.’ She sniffed hard. ‘You must stay in bed today so I suppose we shall have to do the whole round of New Year’s Day calls by ourselves. And no doubt every maid will want her tip. You are very thoughtless.’
‘I am sorry to have been so foolish,’ Tanya whispered. ‘And to have ruined your enjoyment of the ball last night.’
‘Oh, it is not for myself, dear, that I complain.’ Vera swept her arm wide with the palm upright. She might have been performing Racine. ‘Balls and champagne mean nothing to me. But your poor Aunt Lila was not brought up with the same luxury as I was. Your selfishness cost her a unique pleasure.’ Tanya said nothing but kept her eyes lowered submissively, while Vera Sergeyevna sniffed again. ‘I suppose we must go. It will show we are not seriously concerned for your health and we can convey to Perov your apologies for not wishing him a good night and a Happy New Year. If only you had not been talking so much to that American.’ Tanya felt her heart clench angrily. ‘Allardyce. He has sent you roses this morning. Foolish extravagance! No doubt the servants will talk.’
If Paul had sent her roses yesterday, Vera would have been able to tell what they meant to her, but today in the horror of Maud’s death and disgrace, Tanya showed no signs of caring.
Her aunt was reassured. ‘Well then. Go to sleep again. And take your tonic. What a blessing I never had daughters.’ She leaned forward over the bed so that Tanya could kiss her powdery cheek. ‘Well. Good girl.’ She strode off while Aunt Lila bent for her kiss too.
‘I am sorry I spoiled it for you, Aunt Lila.’
‘I do not think you can help it. And I do not like the taste of champagne.’ She straightened up. ‘That young man Allardyce is clever. He wrote a note with his flowers, addressed to us. He was afraid that we would not have had a chance to collect a souvenir because of your falling ill and sent a little box of them; it was prettily done. But Tanya, your father will not support you if you marry him, and you can have no idea of the misery it is to be poor. I escaped it because my sister was beautiful enough to make your father love her and allow her to help her family. I thank her in my prayers every day.’
Tanya had no idea that Lila had seen so much or guessed so well, but the mention of the misery of poverty made her think of Maud, not Paul, and she felt the useless tears gather in her eyes again. ‘Poor treasure,’ her aunt said again softly then Lila left the room in the purple wake of her sister.
When they had gone Tanya tried to sleep again but could not. Tried to write in her diary but could not. Sasha brought in Paul’s roses and she barely looked at them. She was nothing but miserable. An hour after her aunts had left the house to begin making their calls, Sasha let herself in. She began to tidy up a little, straighten out the silver and pearl hairbrushes on the dressing-table, but all the while she was shooting sidelong glances at Tanya until the girl could ignore them no longer. ‘What do you want, Sasha?’
‘A little farm, two pigs and some chickens. You?’
Tanya gave a half-laugh, picked up a clean handkerchief from the bedside-table and blew her nose. The first of her angry grief had settled into dull misery, and she gave her answers automatically. ‘Paint, canvas and a forest.’
‘You can sit on the porch of my farm, if you like.’
‘As long as I help feed the pigs.’
‘That’s right.’ It was a ritual exchange and it comforted her. Sasha sat beside her and put her arm around Tanya’s shoulders. The young woman leaned into her.
‘Maud Heighton is dead, Sasha.’
The servant crossed herself. ‘Lord have mercy on her! That nice English girl?’
‘Yes.’ They sat together in silence for a while and Tanya breathed in the scent of her old nurse’s blouse. Sasha received a small bottle of eau de cologne from Tanya’s father every year at Christmas and wore it, carefully rationed, every day. It made Tanya think of home. Eventually Sasha shifted.
‘Lord, you’re getting big. Thanks be to God. There’s a letter for you.’ She pulled it out of her blouse and handed it to her. It was slightly crumpled. Tanya wiped her eyes and opened it, but as soon as she saw it was addressed from Rue de Seine, she guessed it would be another account of Maud’s death and she pushed it back into the envelope. ‘And there’s a person waiting for you in the kitchen.’
Tanya looked up. ‘Who? Why didn’t you tell me? Did she bring the letter?’
‘A Frenchie. And no, she didn’t bring the letter. Says her name is Yvette. Has the manners of a street cat. She can hold on while we have a cuddle, can’t she? Anyway, I had to wait until Vera and Lila were well out of the way. Lord, they haven’t changed. Those two were just the same twenty years ago.’
Tanya scrambled out of the bed and reached for her dressing-gown. ‘Yvette from the studio? The model? Didn’t you recognise her?’
Sasha crossed her arms and sank her chin into her chest. ‘Models? How should I recognise her? I don’t like to look.’ But Tanya had already run out of the room.
* * *
Yvette was sitting in front of the fire with her feet up when Tanya came dashing into the kitchen. The cook was filling Yvette’s coffee bowl for her and the model held a half-devoured meat pie in her other hand. As Tanya came in, she swung her legs to the ground and stood up, swallowing her food and wiping the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘At last!’ She gulped coffee from the bowl and gave a swift approving nod. ‘Have you got any money?’
‘What are you doing here? Why?’
‘I’m here to get money, because I need it.’
‘I’m not going to give you money for no reason!’
‘It’s not for no reason. I told you, I need it.’
‘Why do you need it, Yvette?’
‘Because I went on a spree over Christmas and I haven’t got any at the moment.’ Tanya stamped her foot and the cook found she had pressing business in the far corner of the room. ‘All right! Don’t fly at me! I can’t tell you because if I do, you’ll keep me here an hour, and I need to leave right now. But I swear, if you knew why, you’d be glad to give it to me.’ She crossed her arms over her chest and looked Tanya straight in the eye.
Tanya drew a deep breath. ‘How much do you need?’
‘Oh sweetheart, I could kiss you. Twenty francs should do it for now. You got it in silver?’
‘In my desk.’
‘Then go and fetch it, will you? Come on, get a move on!’
Tanya obeyed in a sort of daze and when she returned she found Yvette pacing in front of the fire. The purse was snatched from her hand.
‘Yvette, about Maud – have you heard?’
Yvette looked wary. ‘Heard what?’
‘That she stole a diamond tiara from Madame de Civray, then when the Morels found it she … threw herself into the river.’ Tanya’s voice broke over the last words.
Yvette looked stunned for a second, then thrust the purse into her pocket and swallowed more of the coffee. She was looking at the broad back of the cook.
‘That’s bad. Look, can you get away today? I’d like to talk to you.’
Tanya looked towards the cook as well. ‘I have to stay at home,’ she said clearly, while staring at Yvette with her wide, tear-reddened eyes.
‘Shame. If you could get away you might look in at the bar next to my office and ask for Daniel. He might give you an address nearby.’ Tanya nodded. ‘Take heart, princess.’ And then she was gone.
* * *
Two hours later, Tanya found herself standing on the doorstep of a rather shabby house on Impasse Guelma.
‘You brought your maid with you?’ Yvette was standing in front of her looking angry and dirty with a dusty apron tied over her dress.
When Tanya looked up from under the brim of her wide hat, Yvette noticed that her eyes and nose were still red. ‘I can’t go wandering around Paris without Sasha.’
‘But you sneaked out of the house!’
‘Still, Yvette, there are rules.’
Yvette looked as if she was about to give her opinion of the rules then stopped herself and tapped her foot. ‘Can she be trusted?’
‘Of course she can. Yvette, what is all this about? I don’t like going and asking for waiters by name in bars. If anyone had seen me – particularly when I’m supposed to be sick in bed … Is this your house?’
Yvette raised her eyebrows. ‘No, it is not my house – and if you don’t want to be noticed, have you thought of not wandering about in white satin with a maid, a chauffeur and a hat you could serve a roast boar on?’
Tanya touched the brim; it was loaded with wax cherries and feathers dyed green.
‘Oh,’ she said, and looked so surprised at the idea that Yvette laughed.
‘You are priceless sometimes, princess. Still, I’m glad you are here, maid and all. Get your driver to go and wait in Place Pigalle though before anyone notices, then come on in. But mind your skirts. I’ve been cleaning for hours and the place is still as filthy as all hell.’
Tanya gave Vladimir his instructions, then Yvette ushered her and Sasha into the hallway and pushed open a door to the right of the uneven staircase. It led to a good-sized room, dim with shadows and dust. Broken bits of furniture were stacked against the walls, old packing cases and general detritus. In the corner, under the single window and next to a cane armchair was a single low bedstead. There was a girl lying on it under thin grey blankets. A wolfhound was stretched alongside her, one forepaw over the sleeping girl’s shoulder. Tanya took a step forward and the dog looked up.
‘It’s all right, Tanya. The dog is friendly. Go and see who it is,’ Yvette said softly.
Tanya felt a sudden lurch of hope and ran forward.
‘Maud! Oh, Maud!’
The sick room oil on canvas 64.8 × 76.3 cm
This beautiful and unusual picture was once thought to be the work of Maurice Utrillo. It shows part of the walls and ceiling of a room as seen, we assume, by a sick person lying in bed. A small window is just in view at the top right of frame, though the sky seen through it is uniform cream white, and at the bottom left, note what appears to be a handful of holly stuck into the top of a bottle. Note also, however, the multitude of colours used to make up the grey of the walls. A picture that seems so empty is, on close examination, shimmering with colour interest.
Extract from the catalogue notes to the exhibition ‘The Paris Winter: Anonymous Treasures from the de Civray Collection’, Southwark Picture Gallery, London, 2010