The Kirilov Star (21 page)

Robert came in carrying a basket full of logs which he put down beside the stove. ‘I’ll go out after lunch and see if I can find some more,’ he said. ‘The weight of snow on the branches is bringing some of them down.’ He walked into the hall, picked up the telephone and listened for a few seconds. ‘Dead as a dodo,’ he said, returning to fiddle with the knobs on the wireless. During the war the wireless had been the main means of communication between the government and the people, but even that service had been curtailed to save power.

The news was all about the arctic weather. The temperature in London had not risen above forty degrees Fahrenheit all month and on one night went down to sixteen. Listeners were urged to conserve fuel supplies and find other methods to keep warm. More snow was forecast for the whole country.

‘It’s as bad as Russia,’ Lydia said, peeling potatoes which
had been grown in their own kitchen garden and stored in clamps since the previous autumn. Percy Wadham, their gardener, who should have retired years before, had managed to shift enough snow to unearth some of them, though sadly they were frostbitten. ‘Worse really because they are used to it and know how to cope, while we flounder. I wonder what it’s like there now.’

‘Cold,’ Robert said and looked at Edward, who had glanced up from the newspaper he had been reading.

She saw the look that passed between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean …’ She stopped, unsure what she had meant. Not criticism of Robert, who was the best of husbands and fathers; it was simply something inside her which, even after seven years, stopped her letting go of that part of her life, to put it behind her.

Edward, who understood her better than most, wished she would count her blessings, as he did. All in all, life had been good to him. He had been fortunate to have Margaret’s love and devotion and a fulfilling job, a job that had brought Lydia into his life. That had been fate, he supposed, a benign fate. He remembered the traumatised child she had been and the woman she had become – a good wife and mother, but one deeply scarred. He was well aware of how things stood between her and Robert. He could see the bleakness in Robert’s eyes whenever Lydia mentioned Russia. The poor man obviously adored her, and though she was always affectionate and loving and, apart from an occasional tiff that was soon over, he had never heard them quarrel, there was something missing, something vital: the beating heart of a marriage. She did not seem to understand Robert’s needs, nor he hers. Robert would have to come out of the navy at some point, and then what? They ought
to have a home of their own, not live with a decrepit old man. Supposing he made the house over to her and moved out himself, would that answer? On reflection, he didn’t think it would because Robert needed to be the provider. He sighed and returned to his newspaper.

‘I can’t think why you want to,’ Robert said in answer to Sir Edward’s suggestion.

‘I just thought we could make a few enquiries,’ Sir Edward explained. ‘The war’s been over nearly eight years, things have settled down a bit and I’ve still got a few useful contacts.’

The two men were sitting in the library, having a general discussion about Edward’s plans for the future. Gradually the country had pulled itself out of the post-war blues. The National Health Service had come into being and London hosted the Olympic Games. Clothes rationing came to an end and the couturiers took full advantage of it and produced the New Look. Full skirts worn well below the knee became the fashion. Lydia loved it.

New houses were being built everywhere, including Upstone, which was growing from a village into a small town, and Edward was considering selling some land on the fringes of the estate for much-needed housing. It was not
a subject Robert was particularly interested in; he had no stake in the property. It was after that, apropos of nothing, Edward had brought up the subject of Yuri. ‘There must be records somewhere. At least, we could try.’

‘Why are you so keen for him to be traced? You’re as bad as Lydia. She’s too firmly wedded to the past.’

‘I’d like to make her happy.’

‘She is happy, or so she assures me.’

‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? That doesn’t mean that there isn’t a great hole in her life. Knowing where Yuri is and that he understands she had no choice but to leave him in Russia would be the best thing for her. Make her more content.’

‘You haven’t told her this, have you?’ Robert asked.

‘No, I wouldn’t want to get her hopes up for nothing.’

‘And it would be for nothing. Even if you find him, what good would it do? They can’t be reunited, that’s just not possible. It’s past, Sir Edward, past and gone. We all have to move on. She’s got Bobby and Tatty and that should be enough.’

Edward had not realised how strongly Robert felt over Lydia’s past, but he supposed it was understandable; it was a past he could not share. And now, instead of improving matters, he had made them worse.

‘Who’s Yuri?’ Bobby appeared suddenly, sitting on the floor almost at their feet, startling them both. Neither had noticed him sprawled on the carpet playing with the cat.

His father seemed reluctant to answer him, so Sir Edward did. ‘Your mother had a baby in Russia at the beginning of the Second World War and she had to leave him behind.’

‘A baby!’ he exclaimed. ‘How did that come about?’

‘It’s a long story and best forgotten,’ Robert said.

‘But why did she leave him behind? Did she have a love affair?’ Bobby’s curiosity had been roused and he wasn’t going to let the subject drop.

Edward smiled; where had the boy learnt such terms? ‘No, she was married to a Russian. He was killed early in the war.’

‘I never knew that.’

‘No reason why you should,’ his father said. ‘Now, run along and play.’

‘But I want to know more.’

‘Then I suggest you go and ask your mother.’

Which is exactly what he did, when he found her making an apple pie in the kitchen. He loved his mother’s pastry, especially when she had a little left over, sprinkled it with sugar and dried fruit before rolling it up and cutting it into slices before baking. He could never wait for the slices to grow cold before he wolfed them. ‘Mum, I want to ask you something.’

‘Ask away.’

‘I heard Dad and Grandpa talking about someone called Yuri. Dad said if I wanted to know about him, I was to ask you.’

She was taken by surprise. ‘Why were they talking about Yuri?’

‘They were talking about trying to find him; Grandad was telling Dad they ought to make enquiries, but Dad said it was useless. When I asked who Yuri was, Grandpa said he was your son and Dad said if I wanted to know about him to ask you. I never knew you had another son, Mum.’

Lydia looked at Claudia who was busy peeling potatoes. The older woman put down the knife, dried her hands and left the room.

Lydia sat at the kitchen table and pulled Bobby down on the chair next to her. He knew she had been born in Russia, she had told him in his first term at the infant school, when he complained about taunts of being a poor little rich boy. Wealth or its lack had never entered his head. He had all he needed and he supposed he was lucky to have all that garden to play in but it didn’t make him different. He rebelled when the bigger boys had demanded money off him and wouldn’t believe that his pocket money was even less than theirs. Lydia had advised him not to give in to them, that if he did, they would only ask for more. She had told him about when she first went to school at Upstone and how frightened she had been, especially when she hadn’t been able to speak English properly.

‘Not speak English!’ he had exclaimed. ‘What language did you speak, then?’

It was then she had told him about being born in Russia and how Grandpa Stoneleigh had saved her and adopted her. He was not her real father and therefore not their real grandfather. She had not said anything about her return in 1938 and the birth of Yuri. She had known one day she would have to tell her children they had a half-brother, but had put it off until they could understand why there had ever been anyone in her life besides their father. Now it seemed the time had come.

She smiled. ‘And you are curious?’

‘Of course I am. Why was I never told? You think you know all about someone and then you discover you don’t know anything at all. And why should Dad and Grandad argue over him?’

‘Were they arguing?’

‘No, not exactly, but Dad got a bit hot under the collar.’

‘I’m sorry for that. It’s nothing they should be arguing about. It was all so long ago.’

‘What were you doing in Russia and why didn’t you bring the baby back with you? And what happened to your Russian husband?’

‘Were you eavesdropping?’

‘Not on purpose. I was playing on the floor. They didn’t know I was there.’

She and Andrei had played on the floor at Kirilhor, she remembered, and had heard things they shouldn’t which had only become clear years later. Believing, as she always had, that if children asked questions, they deserved honest answers, she told him a watered-down version of what had happened

‘Wow!’ he said when she finished. ‘That’s like a fairy story. Can’t you find him again?’

‘I don’t think so. Russia is nothing like England, you can’t move about freely and if you are a foreigner you can only go where the Russians choose to take you. And it all happened too long ago.’

‘But you must think about him.’

‘Sometimes I do. It’s only natural, I suppose.’

After he had gone, Lydia returned to her pastry, musing as she rolled it out. Her son had set her thinking about the past again. Fancy Papa thinking they ought to try and find Yuri. Of course, it was impossible. She didn’t like them arguing over it and she must warn Papa not to mention it again. And she must make a point of taking Tatty on one side and telling her the story before she heard a garbled version from Bobby.

How swiftly the years had flown by, Lydia mused. The children were no longer babies, they were little people with
personalities and temperaments all their own. Nine-year-old Bobby was like Robert, though not so patient and tolerant. He might learn those virtues as he grew older. He was certainly brainy. Tatty, two years younger, was intelligent but could never sit still long enough to learn her lessons; she would rather be active, skipping and running, climbing trees, taking part in sport. But she was also tender-hearted and would weep buckets over a wounded bird. How she would react, Lydia did not know.

Getting the children ready for school next morning, after an unusually stormy night, she was only half listening to the breakfast news on the wireless; she was still musing on Tatty’s reaction to her tale. Her daughter had gazed at her in wonder and asked all sorts of questions Bobby would never have thought of: What colour was Yuri’s hair? His eyes? Was he fat like her friend Chloe’s baby brother was? Did he cry much? When was he coming home? All of which she had endeavoured to answer. Tatty must have been satisfied because she had gone to bed and straight to sleep, and hadn’t mentioned it since waking up.

Struggling with Tatty’s wellington boots, she heard the newsreader speak of extra high tides which, combining with wind and rain, had caused widespread floods down the east coast, from Lincolnshire to Kent. It was feared there was some loss of life and many injuries as people tried to escape the water. Some were trapped in the upper storeys of their houses, some had gone out onto the roofs of their bungalows and sat there awaiting rescue. Thousands had lost their homes, especially those close to the low-lying coast.

‘It reminds me of 1947,’ Edward said from the rocking chair by the kitchen hearth. He was still a handsome man,
white-haired, a little bent, but still active, refusing to give way to old age. ‘Do you remember? Robert took a rowing boat out and helped rescue people and brought them here, and you and Claudia wrapped them in blankets and gave them tea and soup.’

‘I remember. It was a terrible time.’ Valleys all over the country had become lakes; the Fens, so close to Upstone Hall, had become a vast inland sea. Field after field had become inundated, the farmers lost their crops, cows had to be rescued using boats. But it was not only the floods, the shortages and the strikes which made it terrible, but the fact that Robert had not been able to settle down in civilian life and gone back into the navy. She sometimes wondered if he needed to get away from Upstone and her memories. However careful she was not to mention Alex or Yuri, he knew she could never completely let go. It filled her with guilt because her husband deserved to be more than second best.

He had left very early that morning to return to duty. The war in Korea between the Communist North and the non-Communist South had been going on for three years. South Korea was being backed by troops from America and Britain and it involved the Royal Navy.

‘When Robert comes home again, I think you should think about taking a holiday,’ Edward said, almost as if he had read her mind. ‘He needs you to himself sometimes, you know. Claudia will look after the children.’ Claudia was still with them, but for how much longer, Lydia did not know. The fifty-year-old was courting a bus driver who drove the bus that passed their gate and took passengers into Upstone. Apart from two women who came in daily, she was the only live-in servant left, though no one thought
of her in those terms. She was a friend and helpmate to everyone, especially the children, whom she adored. She had told Lydia she was torn in two when Reggie had proposed, not wanting to leave Upstone Hall, but Lydia had told her not to be so silly and to go ahead.

‘I know. We’ll talk about it when the time comes.’ She finished putting Tatty’s coat on and buttoning it up, then turned to Bobby. ‘Are you ready? Have you got your lunch and your football boots?’

‘Yes, Mum.’ He picked up his satchel and all three said cheerio to Edward and left by the kitchen door. The wind was still howling round the house and it was raining hard. Water was streaming down the drive like a small river.

The school was within easy walking distance and usually she encouraged the children to walk there and back, but today even she was struggling to stand upright. ‘I think I’d better take you in the car today,’ she said. In 1950 when petrol rationing was abolished, Robert had bought Lydia a new Morris Minor.

The storms abated at last. Over three hundred people had lost their lives, twenty-four thousand houses had been damaged, some beyond repair. In the countryside thousands of animals drowned and fields inundated by salt water could not grow crops. Winston Churchill, who had been returned as prime minister after the general election of 1951, declared it a national disaster.

Stalin died in March and Lydia wondered if it would make any difference to East-West relations. The entente of the war years had soon disappeared and the Soviet Union and its satellites were as cut off from the Western world as they had been when Churchill spoke of an iron curtain.
Any news from Russia set Lydia thinking of Alex and Yuri; she supposed she would never stop thinking of them, but the pain had dulled, leaving a quiet nostalgia that she deliberately kept at bay. To let it come to the forefront of her mind would be a catastrophe and unfair to Bob and her children. They deserved the very best she could do for them.

One happy event was the coronation of Queen Elizabeth on the second of June, which was televised almost in its entirety. It was a day of great pageantry, which the country loved. They turned out in their thousands to watch the procession as Elizabeth travelled to Westminster Abbey in the golden State Coach.

The Korean War ended and Robert came home in time to take them all on holiday in Scotland during the school holiday. The weather was kind to them, and they had a lovely time, walking in the Highlands and sailing on the lochs. They returned sunburnt and happy, and then Robert and Lydia left the children at Upstone and went to Balfour Place for a long weekend. They wandered about doing nothing in particular, seeing the sights, shopping, going to the theatre and making love. ‘We’ll do more of this when I leave the service,’ Robert said.

‘Are you thinking of leaving?’

He laughed. ‘They’ll kick me out when my time’s up.’

‘What do you want to do? Afterwards, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.’ He paused, then went on in a rush. ‘Lydia, don’t you think it’s time we bought our own home? We can’t live with Sir Edward for ever.’

She was startled. It was the last thing she had expected. ‘Why not? It’s plenty big enough for all of us. And you
know Papa loves having the children round him.’

‘It’s too big,’ he said. ‘An anachronism. It costs the earth to keep up, even though we only use half of it. If we bought a nice house, near the sea, he could have a small bungalow nearby.’

‘He’d hate that. And it isn’t as if he’s poor.’