Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (51 page)

Chapter 22

'Oh, what's the use!' Senda asked herself with weary frus
tration. She stared accusingly at the earphone in her hand.
Despite her disgust, she carefully replaced the earphone on
its hook. She had been tempted to drop the useless instrument
and kick it across the room, enjoying a perverse pleasure in
seeing it shatter, just as she had been tempted to leave the
porcelain shards of the Oriental vase scattered about the
salon. While sweeping them up, she had wondered why she
was doing it, but now she understood the reasoning behind her curious actions. Habit and order. Even if it was not safe
to stay here any longer, by leaving the mess behind she would be as bad as the animals who had caused it. Now, more than
ever, she felt it was important to go through the ordinary,
civilized motions of everyday life. To keep her sanity in a
world gone insane.

Behind her she heard Inge and Tamara coming out of the
nursery. She turned around. Inge carried a small brown valise in each hand, and she and Tamara were already bundled up;
their shawls hung loosely from around their necks, waiting to
be tied once they got downstairs.

'Did you get through?' Inge asked anxiously.

'No,' Senda replied tightly with a shake of her head.
'There's still no telephone service.'

'I shouldn't wonder, the state things are in. The world's falling apart around us.' Inge paused, adding wistfully: 'It
makes you appreciate the way things were, doesn't it? I won
der if they'll ever be the same again.'

'I wouldn't count on it,' Senda said regretfully.

Inge set the two valises on the floor. 'I only packed the
minimum of necessary clothes, like you said.'

Senda looked at the valises. 'Good. But
...
the luggage
looks a little too new, don't you think?' She glanced at Inge.

'That's because I take care of my things,' Inge said.

'I know, but the idea of leaving the Vuitton behind and
using your luggage is so we won't draw unnecessary attention
to ourselves. I think it would help if it looked . . . well, a bit
scruffier.'

Inge looked to see if Senda was joking. She made a painful
face. 'Once we're outside, I'll drag it along the pavement to
scuff it up and dirty it a bit.'

Senda nodded. 'That should do it, I would think.'

'Mind you, it goes against my grain.'

Senda smiled. 'Mine too, Inge, but sometimes we've got
to adapt to the changes around us in order to blend in and
survive.'

'It hurts, though,' Inge said, 'having to ruin the little we'll
have left. I can't imagine leaving all that expensive luggage of
yours behind. And the good clothes. But most of all . . .
mostly, I get sick thinking of the valuables in here . . .' Her
voice trailed off thickly as her gaze swept the salon fondly.

'You worked so hard for all this!' Inge blurted suddenly, the
tears misting her eyes. 'And for what, I ask you?'

'I know, and so do you,' Senda murmured, though she was
beginning to wonder herself. 'The last few years have been
good ones.'

'Yes.'

'Even now, it's not as bad as you think. It won't be the
first time I've had to start from scratch.' Senda gave a low,
mirthless laugh. 'Wherever we end up, I guarantee you we'll
be resettled in no time. I'm becoming quite the professional
at it. I'd better get my coat,' Senda said. 'And then we'd best
leave right away. We've dallied long enough. The sooner we
get to the Danilov Palace, the better.'

Inge followed her out into the foyer. 'And what if the Dan
ilovs have already left?' she asked tremulously as she lifted Senda's coat from the polished brass coat tree. 'Or what if
they can't help us?'

Senda's cheeks twitched involuntarily. 'We'll worry about
those bridges only if we absolutely have to cross them,' she
said resolutely, but despite the false note of optimism in her
voice, Inge had brought up her one real worry—the most diffi
cult obstacle they might have to face. The Danilovs could very
well have already left for parts unknown. And if they had,
how could she begin to guess where? Their estates sprawled
over every conceivable part of Russia, and they had houses in
countless European countries as well. If Vaslav were gone, who would help her then? Where would she get the money
they needed for travelling? Who else could possibly help ease
their way across the war-torn borders?

She sighed and slipped into the coat Inge held. It wasn't one
of the six priceless furs she had become so accustomed to: it
was a thick charcoal-grey woollen coat, but she consoled her
self that at least the fleece lining would keep her warm. Still,
she couldn't help the bitter thought that wormed unbidden
into her mind: who would get her hard-earned furs now? Who
would swathe themselves in their soft, profligate lushness?
Someone who would never appreciate them, no doubt; someone who would let the moths feast on the hand-stitched lining,
who would drag the perfectly matched pelts in the dirt, per
haps heedlessly spill things on them.

She turned to the pier glass to inspect her reflection—
another vain, everyday action born of habit. Even in the wool
coat she looked eminently respectable and elegant—too much
so for comfort in these inflammatory times. Tossing her well-styled copper hair with her fingertips so that it appeared an
unstyled jumble, she made a mental note that, like the two
valises, the coat too could use a little dirtying. It didn't look
nearly shabby enough. Simply cut though it was, it was too
beautifully tailored.

'Get a pair of scissors,' she told Inge.

Inge hurried to get them from the sewing table, and when
she returned, Senda turned her back on Inge.

'Quickly undo the seams on the sides and at the back of the waist too,' she instructed, stooping over to lift the hem, which
reached her finely boned ankles. She bit at the seam thread
and tugged with her fingers, ripping a portion ragged while
Inge slid the edge of one blade through the carefully hand-
stitched seams around the waist. Senda turned to the mirror
again. She nodded with satisfaction. The coat looked much
less tailored now. At least she wouldn't be presenting a
refined, elegant figure to the angry crowds on the prowl.

Her glance lingered, and she shook her head mournfully. It
seemed impossible that the last few years could be summed
up by the unobtrusive clothes on their backs and the meagre
contents of Inge's two inexpensive valises. They had no cash
save for the household money Inge had kept tucked away even
from Polenka's prying eyes.

Wordlessly Inge reached down and picked up her valise. 'I
wonder what will happen to Russia now.' She shook her head.
'I can't believe the Czar has abdicated!'

'I suppose he had no choice.' Senda shrugged. 'I don't think
it matters much anymore. The only thing that can be counted
upon is human nature, and humans are greedy on all levels. Polenka proved that. If the "people", as they call themselves,
take everything away from the aristocracy, then money, valu
ables, and privileges will still be here.' She smiled tightly.
'Only shifted from one pocket to another.'

'I suppose you're right,' Inge said.

On their way out, Senda took a last deep, fond breath of
the familiar, lingering scents of furniture polish and baked
apples, a last glimpse of the consoling comforts of home. Then
she switched off the lights. It was yet another mundane action
born of habit. Not, she thought with wry humour as she
snapped the door shut, that she'd have to worry about the
electric bill. Now that she thought of it, it was amazing that
the electricity was still on. Everything else seemed to have
ground to a halt.

When they reached the street door, Senda turned to Inge.
'This is your last chance,' she said tremulously. 'If you want
to stay, or go somewhere on your own and not be saddled
with Tamara and me . . . well, we'll understand.' She smiled
bravely through a sudden blur of tears. Over the past few years
Inge had become such an integral part of their lives that it
seemed impossible to live without her. She had become a second mother to Tamara, a sister to Senda.

'I've made my decision,' Inge said bluntly. 'I thought we'd
agreed that wherever you decide to go, I will go too.'

'We might have difficult times ahead of us,' Senda warned.

'So? You and Tamara are the only family I've got,' Inge
said simply. 'Despite everything, I can't see deserting those I love. We swim together or we sink together. It's as simple as
that.'

'Thank you, Inge,' Senda said huskily. She put her valise
down and embraced Inge. For a long moment, neither woman
spoke. Finally Senda extricated herself from their embrace.
'Now, remember, if we run into any mobs we can't avoid,
we'll try to hold hands. It doesn't matter if it means we have
to get rid of one of the valises. It's more important that we
don't get separated.'

Inge looked at her. 'We've been over all that already,' she
said gently with a sad smile. 'Now it sounds as if you're the
one who's stalling.'

Senda smiled bleakly. 'If we get separated, we'll meet at the Danilov Palace.' She looked down at Tamara. 'Are you ready,
angel?'

Tamara looked up, her emerald eyes wide, her face particu
larly vulnerable, peculiarly fragile. She nodded bravely.

Senda set her chin firmly. 'Inge?'

Inge fussed with Tamara's collar and scarf, then flipped her
own russet shawl around her throat. She took a deep breath.
'I'm as ready as I'll ever be.'

'Well, here's to luck,' Senda murmured, opening the mas
sive, heavy carved door to the sharp blast of the mid-March
night.

'Amen,' Inge said quietly, and then, instinctively leaning
forward against the prevailing wind, they headed along the
lamplit quay on foot.