Valerie's Russia (14 page)

‘
M
ay I join you, Varinka?’

Valerie’s head jerked up from her sewing and she lay down her needlework as she saw Pyotr standing in the open doorway.

‘Oh, please come in – I’ve wanted to talk to you for days, but we never get the chance to be on our own together.’ She held out her hands to the tall, dark-haired man who came loping towards her, looking cool and wonderfully fit in his loose cotton trousers and blue peasant’s blouse. ‘Where are the others?’ she whispered, as he cupped her face in his warm hands and silenced her with a kiss.

As Valerie fondled his springy thick hair and felt his mouth on hers, she rejoiced at the clean masculine smell of him. It had been so long since she had been in his arms, she couldn’t get enough of his kisses and hard body close to hers.

Pyotr, in turn, savoured her sweetness, revelling in her soft receptive lips and smoothing her tender body with his hands, Then he raised his mouth from hers and pulled her to her feet, before seating himself on the chair and drawing her back to lean against him.

‘Sophia and Tassya have gone to Kamenka for yet more shopping, and as Mother is sound asleep next door I felt this was the best time for us to talk, my love. But why so thin, Varinka?’

He had seen little of her since arriving at Mavara, for Tassya always joined him and Sophia at mealtimes, whilst Valerie remained upstairs with his mother. Even when he went to talk to the countess Valerie was scarcely visible, sitting on a chair by the window saying nothing unless spoken to. But what could he say when his mother was always present?

‘I have been working quite hard,’ Valerie said, rubbing her cheek against the light cotton of his blouse, almost purring as his right hand slid down the open neck of her dress and began caressing one small breast.

‘Even these are thinner,’ he grumbled, lowering his head to nibble at her neck then at the smooth milky whiteness of her breast.

‘You must not!’ She was almost whimpering with longing for him to remove her clothing and allow him to kiss and fondle every part of her quivering body. ‘Your mother will wake up soon and I must be ready to go to her.’

Slowly he lifted his head to place his face against her shiny hair, but his hand stayed inside her bodice cupping her flesh, his fingers playing with her nipple.

‘You have been working like a slave, have you not, Varinka? Was it by your choice, or did my womenfolk insist upon such grudging?’

‘Grudging?’ Valerie stared. Then she burst out laughing. ‘You mean drudgery, Pyotr Silakov! Your English is not improving I fear.’ She removed his hand from inside her dress and kissed it. ‘I don’t mind the work, but I hated it at first and it was only thoughts of you that kept me going.’

Then she turned and looked down at him with such longing, such tenderness in her pale face, that Pyotr felt a stab of self- loathing pierce his body. If only he could have married
this
girl!

‘You won’t ever leave me, will you, Petya? I know your wife
and children must always come first, but you won’t forget your Varinka?’

He stood up and drew her close in one last desperate embrace.

‘I will never leave you, my dearest one. Just be patient for a while longer,’ he said. ‘Sophia and I will tell Mother of our betrothal this evening and that news will invigorate her as well as Mavara.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Then we will come down to celebrate Tassya’s birthday in August and hopefully our marriage date will be settled by then. Once that is done I shall be able to plan a future for you, my love.’

‘Not till then?’

August seemed very far away. Why was she not independent and able to leave Mavara and set up her own home elsewhere? Valerie was acutely aware of her dire need of Pyotr, not only physically, but also financially. Without him she was nothing.

Looking across at him standing in the doorway about to depart, she knew she loved him most ardently. But she was not the only female in his life and had to accept that she was the least important.

Sophia possessed the essential wealth, Countess Irina would have to be cared for and her feelings considered until she died, and Tassya would be her brother’s responsibility unless, or until, she married.

Pyotr’s mistress, however desirable, would never have a real claim on him.

Quickly she forced herself to think about the countess as Pyotr left her alone. Countess Irina needed her and in some strange way she was beginning to like the woman. As Tassya had withdrawn more and more from their company, Valerie had grown closer to the invalid.

The old woman never showed gratitude for what Valerie did, but they shared the same taste in literature and, although the
countess snapped at her pronounciation, Valerie knew that her knowledge of Russian was improving rapidly during their sessions together.

So patience was all that mattered now. Patience, and complete trust in Pyotr.

That evening after dinner they all went through to the big salon at the rear of the house, where Sophia had once played the piano so beautifully and where Valerie, clad in Grand Duchess Olga’s apple-green satin gown, had last danced with Pyotr.

Valerie almost smiled, thinking of her changed circumstances. She was wearing her usual drab grey, more worn and faded than during her time with the Imperial family. Because her two day dresses were in constant use, and she was without the funds to pay for new material, her poor grey and blue cottons would have to last the summer.

Fleetingly she wondered what had become of the muslins and laces that had been made for her in the Crimea. But Pyotr had been in such a hurry collecting her belongings from Alexander Palace, it was not surprising that many items had been left behind.

However, the other younger females graced the salon with elegance and style. Tassya in the prettiest of white muslins, which had recently been given to her by Sophia. It had an emerald green ribbon threaded through her round neckline and short puffed sleeves.

Valerie had noticed that Sophia wore a different dress both daytime and evenings, and was now wearing wine red taffeta with pearls at her throat and a rope of them entwined in her high piled lustrous black hair.

The countess reclined on a chaise-longue, which had been given to her by Sophia. It was set in the middle of the bare floorboards whilst the other chairs were placed in a semicircle
in front of her. Her sallow face was flushed with pleasure and she clutched a small velvet box over the rug on her knees.

It was a warm evening and the glass doors had been opened onto the verandah, but Pyotr’s mother seemed to feel cold and told Valerie to run and fetch her shawl.

Pyotr frowned at this command and glanced towards Dunya, as if to order her upstairs, but at that precise moment Tassya turned her head to say something to her maid, who was standing behind her chair.

So Valerie left the room without demur.

‘This has been in the Silakov family for over one hundred years,’ the countess was saying, as she returned. ‘And I am proud to pass it on to you, Sophia Lukaev.’

Valerie placed the shawl around the old woman’s shoulders and saw that the box now lay open, lined with gold satin, and holding a cabuchon ruby set in pearls, on a platinum ring.

‘Here, Petya,’ said the countess, ‘place it on her finger. Wear it with pride, Sophia, and when your first son becomes engaged to marry, you must give it to him for
his
bride. Thus it will continue in the family.’

‘I will.’ Sophia smiled as Pyotr slid the magnificent ruby onto her finger.

Valerie looked away as he bent to kiss his betrothed, trying to show no emotion as she settled down next to Tassya’s wheelchair.

‘When is the wedding to be?’ asked Tassya. ‘It must not be before my birthday, Petya. My celebration must come first!’

She was laughing as she gave her head an imperious little nod, the green velvet ribbon holding back her dark curls.

‘Probably in the autumn,’ said Sophia, glancing at Pyotr. ‘But there is much to be altered and improved here, Tassya, before I can set foot in my new home.’

‘Altered?’ Countess Irina looked across at the glowing,
wine-red beauty with her ruby ring, uncertain what was meant by that remark. She did not like change and would not tolerate any upheaval in her life. ‘What do you intend on doing, Sophia?’

‘It will all be for the better,’ said Sophia soothingly.

Valerie hoped she would not be there.

‘The west wing will remain more or less as it is now,’ said Sophia, ‘although the kitchen needs painting and re-organizing. But the east wing is going to be re-opened and the rooms made ready for all the visitors we intend having. That is agreed, isn’t it, Petya?’

Pyotr nodded.

‘You will have your own suite of rooms,’ Sophia went on, patting the countess’s hand. ‘There are many upstairs that have been unused for years. So Pyotr and I will have our apartment across the centre, where the linen room and your present room are now, and you will have rooms in the west wing leaving the upstairs of the other wing for our children.’

Her yellow eyes were ablaze with excitement as she saw Mavara as she envisaged it – with Chinese wallpaper, and Persian carpets and elegant walnut furniture throughout the many rooms.

‘There is so much space,’ said Sophia. ‘It just needs filling with beautiful objects.’

Tassya was frowning. ‘What about me?’ she said. Her home was about to change before her eyes and, like her mother, she was not sure she liked the idea.

‘There are several rooms along that west wing, aren’t there, Tassya?’ Sophia turned her attention to the girl in the wheelchair. She was Pyotr’s sister and must not be left out of these splendid arrangements. ‘We will go and look tomorrow, dear, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’

‘What about Valerie Marsh then,’ said Tassya, drawing
everyone’s attention to the startled girl, who had been contemplating her moments of approaching happiness with Pyotr.

‘Valerie must return to England,’ said Sophia quickly. ‘Don’t you agree, Petya?’

‘I think it would be polite to ask Valerie what
she
would like,’ said Pyotr. ‘She was invited to Russia by the Romanovs and, when she was no longer needed by them, I invited her to Mavara. What would you like to do, Valerie?’

For one dreadful moment Valerie didn’t know how to reply.

‘Everything has happened so suddenly,’ she said slowly, ‘I need some time to think things through.’

‘Nonsense!’ said the countess, rearranging the shawl around her shoulders. ‘There is no question of Valerie leaving here whilst I am alive. I need the girl, Pyotr, and find her a surprisingly useful companion. Quite intelligent for a foreigner,’ she said, her black eyes glittering, ‘and I cannot do without her. Make your arrangements, Sophia. Do what you will with my old home. But make sure of an extra room in my suite. Valerie Marsh remains with me.’

‘I think it would be best if we allowed matters to drop for this evening,’ said Pyotr, with a reassuring nod at Valerie.

Some time tonight he would go to Valerie’s room and talk to her. Tomorrow she would have to announce her intentions for the future.

‘Let us all have a good night’s rest,’ he went on, ‘and Valerie can tell us her plans in the morning.’

‘Very well,’ said Sophia.

Perhaps it would be a good idea if the foreigner remained at Mavara. Sophia was not sure she could tolerate her domineering mother-in-law even in her invalid state. And Valerie Marsh had been useful up till now. In the morning she would tell Pyotr that the English girl could stay.

That night Countess Irina was restless, worrying over the possibility of Valerie’s departure, and all the changes about to take place in her home.

After being woken on three different occasions, Valerie carried her bedding through and placed it on the floor in the old woman’s chamber. Exactly like a serving-maid, she thought ruefully, but her presence seemed to soothe the countess and she was not disturbed again that night.

However, being in that other room she was unaware of Pyotr’s attempts to see her. Nor did she get the chance to speak to him again as Sophia was constantly with him.

But she did manage to comfort the countess by saying she had decided to remain with her for the time being.

On the morning of Pyotr’s departure with his betrothed, Sophia was dazzling in white lace with a straw hat decorated with blood red roses, and with rubies in her ears and the huge ruby on her finger. She looked so radiant that Valerie hoped fiercely that they hadn’t slept together.

Once Pyotr and Sophia were man and wife, she would have to accept their conjugal state. But the thought that they had already consummated their union was intolerable.

You had the chance, she told herself grimly, plumping up the pillows behind the countess’s back as if they were Sophia’s body, and you prudishly barred the door against him. Now she wished she had given in to Pyotr’s demands and enjoyed a few nights of bliss with her love.

But such thoughts were useless. All she could do now was wait at Mavara for Pyotr to come and tell her what to do.

The next weeks passed so quickly with workmen arriving and transforming the house into Sophia’s dream palace, that Valerie had little time to ponder her future.

Pyotr did not come down again until just before Tassya’s
birthday, but Sophia came and went at unexpected intervals, making sure that the work was progressing to her satisfaction.

Early in July she arrived with news that had not yet reached Mavara.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ she said, taking off her wide straw hat which was decorated with red cherries this time, and flinging it on the floor as she collapsed onto the new Regency-striped sofa in the pink salon.

This room was at last completed and, because the weather was unpleasantly hot, Valerie and the countess and Tassya had all thankfully retired to the room at the rear of the house to greet their visitor.

‘Archduke Franz Ferdinand has been shot by a young Serb in Sarajevo, and Austria is furious!’ Sophia was enjoying the looks of bewilderment on the faces before her. ‘Has Pyotr not written to tell you, madam?’