Flight From the Eagle (24 page)

Kusminsky was right about there being time to spare. They sat for a long time over their coffee, chatting idly about a variety of subjects, mostly their childhood memories. There seemed to be a common desire to avoid talking about the future or the journey. During the afternoon, the Countess produced her roll of sewing materials and industriously darned, patched and sewed on buttons. Kolniev smoked his pipe and made a fair copy of his list of supplies. Kusminsky went on writing his notes and Orlov wrote a long letter to his sister, telling her what had happened to him since he last wrote to her—was it really only three weeks ago?

He skimmed fairly lightly over the matter of his wound— no point in alarming her unnecessarily—and gave a plainly factual account of his meeting with Countess Barova, mentioning very little about her except that she was quite alone in the world and that she had nursed him while he was suffering the effects of his struggle with Sergeant Grushchev. He told Tatia the admirable resilience she had shown under the gruelling conditions of the journey, driving a cart, helping
the surgeon and bearing all the tr
ials and difficulties without c
omplaint.

At this point, he paused and thought very carefully what he should write next. After trying out various phrases in his mind, he went on writing slowly, with frequent hesitations over his selection of words. 'I decided very early on that I must make myself to some extent responsible for the lady's welfare as she is quite alone in the world, without any means
of
support. This is difficult as she is quite respectable' (he underlined the word, knowing that Tatia would understand his meaning) 'and opposed to accepting charity.

However, I have persuaded her to allow me to arrange for her to stay will) you at Ryazan, or wherever else you go, until I can come home and sort things out for her, which is not likely to be until after the present military situation is resolved. As far as she knows at the moment, this is merely a gesture
of
friendship, but it is quite possible that the situation may have changed by the time we reach Kaluga—indeed, I hope very much that it will.

I find myself increasingly drawn to her in a thousand different ways and I begin to hope that she may have some affection for me, although to what extent ihis is merely the result of the circumstances in which we find ourselves, it is impossible to say (on her side, that is—I have no doubts about myself!). However, dear Tatia, be prepared to find that when she arrives, it may be in any guise from family friend to your future sister-in-law. I beg you, whichever it is, be kind to her, for she is infinitely precious to me and will always be so, no matter what the outcome may be—which is my pompous way of telling you that your brother is head over heels in love!'

Putting his feelings down on paper did much to clarify them in his own mind and as he wrote the last phrase, he felt a sudden relaxation, almost a wave of relief and contentment, as if he had found the perfect answer to a difficult problem. At least he now knew what he wanted and having a goal to aim for seemed encouraging, even if he had no idea whether he would ever be able to achieve it.

He read the whole letter through again from the beginning and then added another page of instructions to his sister
and his lawyers concerning the provisions he wanted made for the Countess plus various business matters concerning his estates. He ended with a promise that he would resign from the army as soon as he heard that Bonaparte was back across the Niemen.

When it was finished, the letter made quite a bulky little package which he sealed and addressed carefully, wondering when he would get a chance to send it. Probably not until they reached Kaluga and then he hoped it would be necessary to rewrite the part about Countess Barova.

He paused in his thoughts and framed the words carefully, savouring them and their implications, for perhaps by then he would know what chance he had of marrying her. How extraordinarily right and satisfactory the phrase was! 'Marrying her,' he thought again.

He'd thought about marrying before, even once or twice in connection with an actual, possible, particular woman but it was now obvious to him why he had never gone beyond the idea. What a lot of time he'd wasted! He sighed, stowing the letter away in his wallet and stared absent-mindedly out of the window.

'I wondered when you were going to notice,' Kusminsky's voice broke into his thoughts. He looked blank for a moment and then realized what the surgeon meant. The rain had stopped and a watery sun was struggling through the clouds which were breaking up rapidly, with blue sky appearing in great patches even as he looked.

He got up and went to the window, feeling the sun gaining in strength and warming his face. The stone flags of the terrace below were beginning to steam and men were popping out like rabbits from their burrows, from the house and the barns, shouting cheerfully to each other and savouring the returning warmth.

'They'll all be complaining of the heat again in a minute,' said Kusminsky sourly. 'You'll see. It'll be as hot and dusty and miserable as ever by this time tomorrow!' He went out, banging the door behind him and rattling down the stairs.

Orlov turned to the Countess. 'Shall we take a turn in the garden?' he enquired politely and offered her his arm. She rose, gave him a slight curtsey and went with him down to the formal garden. They strolled about in a civilized manner
on the gravel walks, avoiding the puddles and enjoying the Fresh smell of wet soil and the sharply sweet scent of the roses.

In the middle of the geometric arrangement of flower-beds, there was a raised platform of white marble surmounted by a sundial and surrounded by a low clipped hedge of lavender, broken only by a couple of steps up to the platform. After they had walked round the limited area of the garden, they gravitated towards this centre and stood looking at the sundial, which was now able to
perform its proper function. O
rlov prosaically checked his watch by it and found it to be wrong.

‘I’
ve always had a great desire to own a sundial,' the Countess said, tracing the engraving on the bronze dial with one linger. 'Not something useful and portable like a watch, you understand, but something large and quite impracticable during the greater part of the year. I'm afraid my aunt was right in thinking me a vain and foolish creature.'

'On the contrary,' Orlov smiled down at her. 'As a large and impracticable object myself, I think you show admirable good sense!' The lavender hed
ge, drying rapidly in the sun, s
ent up a perfume which was
almost tangible in
its intensity, like an invisible wall round the little island on which they stood. 'I've never realized that the scent of lavender could be so heady,' he said inconsequentially.

'It
's a very unexciting and unhead
y scent, considered suitable for young girls and respectable old maids,' she replied with a trace of bitterness. 'My aunt said that all other perfumes are sinful and dangerous. Are they?' she added, with genuine interest.

'Some of them,' Orlov replied with equally genuine seriousness. 'Some perfumes have an extremely stirring effect on the senses and I suppose that if a woman uses them deliberately to obtain that effect on a man, it could be called wicked. It would certainly be dangerous for the man or if an innocent girl used one of them without realizing what sort of message it conveyed to the men around her.'

'I suppose there are some that are—well—in between? A little more exciting than lavender water, without being—not respectable?'

'Many!
Orlov replied. 'Pleasant, mildly exciting, perfectly respectable.'

The Countess sighed. 'My aunt seemed to believe that everything must be at extremes, somehow. Respectable dresses had to be high-necked, long-sleeved, dull in colour and fabric. Low necks, bare arms, bright colours and soft fabrics were all wicked and depraved. I'm wrong to talk of her like this. She was good to me in her way, but I can't help feeling that she was very narrow in her outlook. Surely it's possible to have a little fun and colour in life without being a complete wanton?'

'My sister has an interesting and amusing life, with plenty of gaiety and colour and she's a pillar of respectability!' Orlov assured her. 'She dresses very elegantly and enjoys the attentions of at least half-a-dozen men who are earnestly engaged in trying to gain her affections—with honourable intent, I assure you, or they'd have me to deal with! I expect she'll marry one of them eventually but meanwhile she enjoys flirting with them; she goes to Petersburg for the season, dances all night, goes to parties, balls, masquerades, the theatre, uses gallons of the less extreme varieties of perfume, all without the slightest hint of depravity.'

The Countess considered this information and then said in a hesitant and subdued voice, 'Do you enjoy flirting too?'

Orlov looked down on her bent head and felt that he was beginning to understand her. 'Flirting's a very enjoyable pastime when there's nothing better to do,' he said, 'and quite harmless if it remains merely a pastime on both sides. It's a different matter if it goes too far or if one of the people involved takes it seriously. I try to make sure that no one is hurt by my amusements. 1 don't pursue where I'm not encouraged, I don't seduce the innocent and I don't flirt with inexperienced girls who might think me serious.'

She looked up at him, studying his face with an anxious, questioning air and he met her gaze with his clear grey eyes, which did so much to inspire other people's confidence in him. 'I wouldn't flirt with you,' he added bluntly.

The sun was beginning to decline towards the horizon, turning the remaining streaks of cloud a vivid red and it may have been the reflection from them that gave her cheeks
a
becoming flush. Orlov pulled a few stalks of lavender and crushed them between his fingers. 'Your aunt was wrong about lavender,' he said with a smile. 'It's as dangerous as any perfume I've ever sme
lled!' He threaded a few stems t
hrough her coronet of plaits, and laughed at the spiky crown which resulted. 'Queen Sparrow!' he said.

'Czarina, if you please!' she replied in a superior tone. 'You can't expect a Russian to
be content with being a mere q
ueen!'

Orlov felt a happy sense of comradeship with her. How good to find a woman who could share his own occasional fits of nonsensical humour! He dropped on his knees and kissed the hem of her skirt, laughing up at her. 'Your pardon, Majesty! I mistook you for a little Sparrow, but now I see you're really a bird of paradise!'

'And I mistook you for an eagle but now I see you are really a peacock!' she replied. Orlov stood up, protesting. 'Indeed I'm not. If I can't be a robin, then you'll have to allow me to be an eagle for that was your choice for me! A good Russian eagle!'

'Very well then,' she replied with a sudden smile of pure mischief. 'A good Russian eagle with two heads and a cross expression!' and she ran away across the garden, laughing at him over her shoulder.

'Two cross expressions!' Orlov called after her, and stood watching as she crossed the terrace and entered the house.

He followed at a more sedate pace, musing on the changes of mood he had experienced during the day, and encountered Kusminsky in the hall. The surgeon gave him another of his searching looks and said, 'Feeling better?'

'Yes,' Orlov replied. 'How's Adraksin?'

'Oh, he'll do,' Kusminsky said. 'He's a cheerful, resilient soul and now he's talking of being discharged unfit and going home to sit by the fire and watch everyone else working. His family is quite prosperous so it doesn't worry him. I'm sorry I had to drag you into the proceedings—very unpleasant for a man of your sensibility.'

Orlov thought the surgeon was making fun of him, but he seemed quite serious. 'I suppose we can expect to continue our Odyssey tomorrow?' the doctor asked.

'It looks like it.' Orlov glanced out at the sunset which was in full glory. 'Will Adraksin be fit to travel?'

'No one's fit to travel,' Kusminsky pointed out. 'But we've managed pretty well so far. He's in no worse a state than you were the night we started, or four days ago, and he has enough sense to lie still and not go riding around on a damned great carthorse.'

'He's not a carthorse!' Orlov protested. He had grown quite fond of the grey.

'I expect you're half a horse yourself, being an Orlov,' Kusminsky mocked, referring to the famous Russian breed of horses. Orlov could see that a number of more or less obscene jokes were likely to arise from this and, remembering the soldiers' comments reported to him by Countess Barova, he hastily changed the subject by asking Kusminsky if he could leave off his sling.

'No, keep it on for a few more days,' the surgeon advised. 'Use the arm a little if you want to, but rest it pretty frequently. Don't put any strain on those stitches just yet.'

Kolniev, whose large frame seemed to require frequent refreshment, leaned over the balustrade to tell them that supper was nearly ready and Orlov went upstairs, shouting for Josef, who appeared in the doorway of the pink and white bedroom with a clean shirt over his arm and an expression of pained resignation on his face. He had obviously been waiting some time for his master to appear.

At supper, Kolniev asked what would happen when they reached Kaluga. Orlov had hardly given the matter any thought so far, but he said he expected they would be able to find beds in the military hospital for most of the men. The others could go into the barracks or on to the camp which was being built up at Tarutino.