The Summer Day is Done (37 page)

‘Your father will know I must obey orders.’

‘Oh!’ It was a little cry of frustration.

‘Olga, I’m sorry,’ he said. If she found his acceptance of the situation inexplicable, he found the situation heartbreaking. He loved every moment he had shared with her. To be away from her, to know she was inaccessible, that was something he did not want to think about. It had been Brigadier Rollinson, not Anstruther, who had called him. He had been friendly but insistent over the telephone. He had said nothing of other things, he had merely advised him he was to return to England. It was an order. There would be similar orders given in other ways to other British agents in Russia. There was only one consoling factor about his recall. If Princess Aleka was in regular contact with Prolofski she would soon realize that he and Oravio had not disappeared to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and she might pass her piece of paper to someone else or to the secret police. In which case England would be a better place for him to be in than Livadia. In England he would not have to face the disillusioned Imperial family, he would not have to face Olga.

Olga was trying to contain herself but could not.

‘Do you—do you say Papa could not have you stay?’ She would not, could not look at him. ‘He could, but no, you are determined to go. You will never come back and I know why. It’s because of me, because of us. But we have done nothing, nothing, we have only been friends. Colonel Kirby, you are deserting me to please them—’

‘No, Olga.’

‘Yes. You’re going to England and you’ll forget us, and I cannot bear it, I can’t!’

Olga ran. She ran blindly, her white dress whipping, her hair flying.

Karita did not know whether to be excited or sad. She loved Livadia as Kirby loved it, and she loved the Imperial family with all the intensity of the devoted. But she and Ivan Ivanovich would come back one day. Meantime she would at last go to England with him and see what it was like. It was strange how much she thought about England when it mattered so little compared with Russia. When she had been there a while and discovered what it was like, and when Ivan Ivanovich finally realized that only Russia was truly beautiful, he and she would return.

She sang as she packed. Then she was sad and sang very little. But excitement came again and she sang happily. Ivan Ivanovich was at the open windows. He had said he would help her pack. Karita had said that would not be necessary. All the same, he had said he would. But he was no help at all. He just stood there, looking out over the gardens and the sea. Livadia was soft with evening light, but he had seen it all before.

He had eaten with the Imperial family, a light dinner, and the Tsar had recognized he must obey his orders. Olga had said almost nothing. Alexandra remained in her suite as she invariably did.

There was very little left of the day.

Karita answered a light knock on the door. It
was the Grand Duchess Olga, asking if she might see Colonel Kirby. Karita thought her unusually pale. She left them alone in the drawing room.

‘Olga?’ He could not keep some tenderness from his voice. Olga seemed calm enough. The sun, going down, spread diffused light on her. She had her hand on the curtain, her eyes on the mountains.

‘I’m so ashamed,’ she whispered, ‘please forgive me.’

‘Forgive you? Olga, I should have to be a saint to forgive anything in you.’

‘No, it was dreadful of me,’ she insisted, ‘I acted like a spoilt child. I shouldn’t be here but I couldn’t endure having you think badly of me.’

‘Badly? How could I? Olga, you have been the best and the sweetest of friends always. Would you like to walk in the gardens? We could talk but not be alone, as we are here.’

‘I’d like that,’ she said.

They went down to the gardens. The lights of the palace cast their glow, holding back for a while the advance of dusk. They talked matter-of-factly for a while, about his journey home and the route.

And then he said, as the distant night submerged the horizon, ‘I’m never sure whether I like Livadia better by night than day or vice versa. It’s always peaceful by day, it’s more so by night.’

‘Except when there’s a ball,’ said Olga. They were walking slowly, the gardens darkening, the flowers closed and still. ‘I love it at all times, but I think it’s the times when you—’ She stopped.
‘Oh, it’s only that you have always been so good for us, made us all so happy. We have all laughed so much, have we not?’

‘Yes,’ he said. He was wrenched with pain. ‘Do you remember Juliet’s cantankerous old nurse?’

‘And your indiscriminate choice of Shakespeare? Oh, yes.’ Olga smiled. Then she said, ‘I am not going to disgrace myself again, but Tatiana is heartbroken. She may not seem so but she’ll miss you so much. You amuse her excessively and she adores that more than anything.’

‘All the young like to laugh. You do.’

‘I’m not as young as all that,’ said Olga. ‘Alexis is quite down in the dumps about your going, but there, Papa says in your position you must obey orders as he would himself. I was very silly, wasn’t I?’ She went on feverishly as if to ensure there were no unendurable silences. ‘Alexis says that perhaps you’ll write to him and tell him all about the British army and how you are getting on in England, and Anastasia says she hopes they won’t give you any unmanageable horses to ride. And I shall have more time to read my Shakespeare, I’m trying to get through
The Tempest
now, but it’s very involved, with Ariel under a spell and—’ Her voice caught, she took a deep breath. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that I’m trying to say everything all at once.’

He owed Nicholas and Alexandra a great deal for their kindness, he owed Olga even more. She had shown him the priceless wonder of innocence, the joy and laughter of tenderest friendship, and all the values she held most dear. If his longing was hopeless, his pride in
her was intense. He forced himself to say lightly, ‘I’ll write to Alexis, of course I will, if I may, and you can tell Anastasia I’ll stick to bicycles.’

‘Bicycles – oh, yes,’ she said. They stepped from a path on to a lawn. ‘Do you remember my sixteenth birthday ball? It was ages and ages ago.’

‘Was it? I remember it as if it were yesterday.’

‘Goodness, I’m much older now.’ She was over-bright. A man and a woman passed them, servants hand in hand. ‘But I did so enjoy it and Mama, you remember, was so interested to meet you. Oh, I wish I could give you something of Livadia.’

‘You have given me something, a photograph of you and Tatiana that was taken here. I don’t intend to lose it, you know. And I also have your birthday-ball dance card, that’s very much of Livadia.’

She stopped. He turned to face her. The brief twilight hovered, muting the rich lustre of her hair.

‘That is for your grandchildren, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’ll get married, I hope she will be very nice and that she will make you so very happy.’

‘Perhaps she will at least make Aunt Charlotte happy. And you, Olga, you will always be yourself, and that is something that makes you very precious to all your friends. You are the dearest and loveliest of persons, the finest of Grand Duchesses. I have been very privileged, Olga.’

She was trembling. She put her hands to her face.

‘We must go back,’ she said a little wildly, ‘they’ll wonder about me.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

But she did not move. Instead she said, ‘What will we all do, what will Livadia be when we are never to see you again?’

‘Now who is being forgetful?’ His one desire was to embrace her, his only salvation was smilingly to reproach her. ‘Didn’t I promise to come and see each of you married? And so I shall. I can’t be kept away for ever. You’ll have the most magnificent of birthday balls when you’re twenty-one. Surely you’ll invite me to that? I warn you, I’ll be there all the same.’

Her eyes shone.

‘You really will come back to see us? Often? Mama and Papa are not really formidable and if you are able to come now and again they will invite you to stay. It’s only that—’

‘It’s only that I must never outstay my welcome. I shall come, Olga.’

‘Oh,’ she breathed, ‘now I am happy again, you would never promise unless you meant it. Colonel Kirby, I am so fortunate, I have a wonderful family and I have you as my dearest friend. You won’t forget to say goodbye to me in the morning, will you? You neglected to the last time.’

‘I have some very bad moments, don’t I?’

‘Oh no, you are excessively nice,’ said Olga. She slid her hand down to his and he took her through the fading twilight back into the palace.

He and Karita left the following morning.
Alexandra received him in her boudoir. There he thanked her simply but earnestly. Alexandra was all smiling kindness. She was, perhaps, relieved at his departure.

‘It has been a pleasure to have you, Ivan,’ she said. ‘You’ve taken so much trouble with the children, especially Alexis. If you can come again at any time, you must promise to let me know. And you must write to Alexis, I hear you’ve said you will.’

To Alexis. Not to Olga. He understood.

The rest of the family, including Nicholas himself, said goodbye to him on the terrace above the steps. Olga was steeling herself. Tatiana did not bother with any such reserve.

‘Oh, you are a wretch to leave us at all,’ she said to him, ‘we’re all going to be shockingly glum.’

‘It isn’t awfully commendable, you know,’ said Marie.

‘Oh well, men to their ships, you know,’ said twelve-year-old Anastasia.

The Tsar clapped Kirby affectionately on the shoulder.

‘You have my best wishes, my dear fellow,’ he said, ‘but one day if I need a new general I’ll beg Cousin George for the loan of you. How will that do, you rascals?’

‘That will do very well, Papa,’ said Alexis solemnly.

Kirby said goodbye to all of them in turn. Alexis, Anastasia and Marie kissed him. Tatiana gave him her hand. He saw tears in her eyes. But they were for Olga, not for him.

He took Olga’s hand. Her blue eyes were frozen, her hand cold, trembling. ‘Goodbye, Olga Nicolaievna,’ he said and touched his mouth to her fingertips. He heard her whisper:

‘Remember, you promised.’

The summer came, smothering Russia with enervating heat. Immunized by seclusion against the diseases of corruption, ineptitude and injustice, the Imperial family felt no need to change any part of their daily routine. The sinews of Tsarist autocracy were being drained, but it did not seem so at Tsarskoe Selo or any other Imperial residence. It was a year when the might of kings and emperors reached its glittering zenith, when the panoply of monarchism had never shone brighter, and when revolutionaries began to harvest the seeds arrogantly sown by those who thought themselves indestructible.

It was a year when the gulf between aristocracy and the masses widened.

It was the tercentenary of Romanov rule in Russia, and such was the hold this dynasty had on the people that wherever the Tsar went he was greeted by the wildest enthusiasm. This further convinced Alexandra that the bond between the Tsar and his people was holy and unbreakable. Nicholas had nothing to fear from Russia. Russia to Alexandra was the people, not
the ministers, not the Duma, not the Boyars. Paradoxically, since she was such a great believer in autocracy, she despised Boyars who followed its principles in the administration of their huge estates.

A letter reached Alexis. It arrived when he was recovering from another illness. He was still in bed and all the Grand Duchesses were there to share his pleasure in the letter. They knew who it was from.

‘See, it has an English stamp,’ said Tatiana, ‘shall I open it for you?’

Alexis, pale but so glad the pain had gone, nodded his head. Olga sat by the bed, wiping the dampness that came to his brow from time to time. She reached for his hand as Tatiana opened the letter.

‘Why,’ said Tatiana happily, ‘you’ll never guess.’

‘Yes, I will,’ said Alexis, ‘Ivan Ivanovich said he’d write. It’s from him, isn’t it? You read it, Tasha.’

But first there was a small snapshot with the letter. It showed a brick and timber cottage, taken from the wide sweeping lawn at the rear. Three people stood backgrounded by leaded windows. Virginia creeper climbed the wall and the sepia tint added its own mellowness. There was Colonel Kirby himself, looking very English and at home in an open-necked white shirt and white flannels. On his right stood a large, middle-aged lady, massively bosomed and nearly as tall as himself. He was smiling, while she was regarding the camera with apparent
suspicion. And on the left of Colonel Kirby was Karita, looking so much herself with her fair, braided hair and a dark dress with white collar and cuffs.

‘There, see? He has sent you a photograph, Aleky.’ Tatiana gave it to him and heads bent over the bed to share his perusal of it.

‘It’s awfully nice,’ said Alexis, smiling wanly.

‘Goodness,’ said Anastasia, ‘that’s Karita! Well! I say, doesn’t she look pleased with herself. Is the other lady his wife? She seems rather – well, rather large.’

‘General Sikorski would call her a fine figure of a woman,’ said Tatiana.

‘I expect,’ said Olga, refraining from the general peering, ‘that that lady must be his aunt.’

‘Ivan looks terribly dashing,’ sighed Marie, ‘and
so
informal.’

‘Do read the letter, Tasha,’ said Anastasia.

Tatiana, sitting on the side of the bed, read it.

Kirby had written,

Dear Alexis, I hope this reaches you without too much delay, I never quite know where you all are and there’s a lot more of Russia than there is of England. I’ve missed you and think I need some drill. I’m quite a dunderhead again. You had better come over and smarten me up a little
.

Have you been well? I hope so. Tell Tatiana I’ve been very well myself apart from a tendency to fall over my wooden leg in the mornings. If you don’t know about my wooden leg, Tatiana will explain. It’s a red herring, and if you don’t know about red
herrings, ask Olga about them. I have great faith in her superior intelligence, which perhaps will come to your other sisters later
.